I can't help it! I must! XD

So I've browsed around in the crossovers (someone keep me out of there), and I have come across some very interesting stories. Some have Harry being Hitsugaya, or the other way around, some have Harry as Ulquiorra or Ulquiorra as Harry ('Waiting in Sin' is hilarious, go read it!), one with Grimmjow being Harry, and even one with Szayel being Harry and Gin being him as well. So I just had to write something.

Everyone, this may seem unlikely, but so did two of those things I just listed. Be ready for this.

Nnoitra as Harry. Awesome. I just have to!

Warnings: I like making Nnoitra gay for Szayel because they, in my opinion, make the cutest pairing. GrimmUlqui make one of the best, but I like NnoiSzay. No mpreg (le gasp!) but yes, Nnoitra/Harry will be gay. Don't like? Go away.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter of Bleach. I'm just playing with them for the time being.



Zanpakutou speaking

Chapter Start

Young Harry Potter is an enigma to many, especially to his relatives. They absolutely refuse to be called his family. The day he arrived with a letter in the basket with him, he was thrown into the cupboard under the stairs, hidden away from their normal lives. Out of sight, out of mind, after all. A week had passed before the mere thought of the boy entered Petunia's mind. When she opened the cupboard under the stairs, she expected a child of nothing but skin and bones, on death's door. Instead, what she saw was a glaring one-year-old boy, accusing her of a great crime. He had not lost any weight and did not even look like he was anything but healthy.

He scared her with that one glare. She shrieked and slammed the door closed, locking it. Vernon had come to investigate why his wife screamed, not expecting it at all. She told him about the boy and Vernon went red, thoughts already racing through his mind about the boy using his 'freakishness' on his normal family. Petunia backed away and Vernon opened the door this time.

The boy was looking around the cupboard until the door opened again and Vernon stuck his head instead, ready to start shouting and possibly wave a fist around. He stopped dead in his tracks. The boy glares at the obese man, heavily. Darkly. Deadly. A promise of pain and suffering should he try anything. It unnerved Vernon. A glare like that should not be on the face of an infant. He backed away from the cupboard, closing and locking it as well, his face pale.

Over the years, the family of three and Harry Potter had come to a silent agreement. They don't bother him, he won't bother them. Dudley had to be trained, but after that incident when the two boys were six and Dudley wanted to show his new friends how tough and strong he thought he was by picking on his cousin, Dudley never bothered him again. Dudley did not get a talking to about picking on Harry, and a glare later, Harry did not get one for kicking Dudley in the balls and breaking the boy's nose with his knee.

Many in the neighborhood believed Harry Potter to be a criminal child. Two reasons for this are his violent tendencies and his language. Whenever his teachers in Primary School tried to make him socialize with other children or to do his work, he would start swearing. Petunia and Vernon were contacted about this problem, but they could do nothing. Not because the boy has a problem with authority, but because he frightens them to the point where they don't even want to look at him.

Another strange thing about the boy is his physical aspects. Petunia expected a carbon copy of that dreadful man her freakish sister married, but Harry turned out very different. He is tall for a child his age, and lanky. He has muscles that he built up from swinging sticks around in the backyard and exercising when he could, but no matter what he wears, his muscles are near impossible to find. He truly looks like a walking, human-shaped stick. Unlike his father, whom had wild and unmanageable hair, Harry's hair is pitch black and straight, flat on his skull. His once bright green eyes developed a tinge of violet to them. Strangely enough, that only made his glares even worse. His eyes are not the same almond shape of his mother's, but slanted, as thought in a permanent glare.

Many are scared of him. He can fight better than anyone had ever seen. He had no friends because he tends to drive everyone away from him, believing them to be nothing compared to him. Also, if he has a stick in his hand, he is formidable.

Petunia and Vernon both decided that no matter what happens, they never mention his freakishness. He makes a vase explode in anger, he brushes it off and his relatives are not going to say anything about it. When he was ten, just days before his own eleventh birthday, it did not even phase him when a glass wall vanished.

In fact, he laughed. Dudley deserved it, after all. He got bored with the snake, after all, and moved on. Harry, or Nnoitra as he was called before his death in Hueco Mundo, though, continued to stare at the serpent.

"Geez, laying here all day, you remind me of Stark," he muttered lowly. The snake rose and stared back at him. "What?"

"A ssspeaker," the serpent hissed, making the young boy jump in surprise. "An honor, it isss."

Nnoitra chuckled. "Holy shit!" he exclaimed, wide grin on his face. Now his glares are one thing. They mainly scare. His grins tend to make people hide under a rock or just run in the opposite direction.

"Mom!" he heard his fat cousin cry out before he was suddenly shoved to the side, knocked down to the ground because of his momentary shock and his cousin's momentum. "Dad! Come over here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!"

A growl escaped the taller boy as he rose to his feet and glared at his obese cousin. "Dudley," he growled. "I think we need to talk about your behavior and treatment of your superiors!"

In the second it took Dudley to look over and realize who he had pushed out of the way, the glass wall of the serpent cage vanished and Dudley fell into the little water pit. Nnoitra's glare disappeared as his eyes grew wide at the sight of his cousin flailing around in shallow water. He started to laugh loudly, clutching his stomach and pointing to Dudley, unaware of the large snake leaving its cage and approaching him.

"Thanksss," the snake said, breaking Nnoitra out of his laughter.

"For that sight, anytime," he snickered, the back of his hand centimeters from his lips.

His snickers turned back into laughter when the snake went chasing after other people in the reptile house, snapping at their heels as they scream and run. Then he heard banging and turned his attention back to the snake cage. The wall returned, trapping Dudley within. Fat tears stream down his face as he cries for his mother. Nnoitra only laughed even more.

Their fear of the boy made Petunia and Vernon never speak of his…abilities. Sometimes, they think he suspects, yet they still say nothing. In their mind, he is dangerous enough.

Then he turned eleven and his letter that Petunia dreaded arrived.

"This is bullshit," he commented, looking at the letter he received. "Total bullshit." His aunt doesn't try to reprimand him about his language, but he can see that she wants to. In his hands, on parchment –of all things!- is a letter. Not just any letter, an invitation.

"Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress"

For a moment, he is tempted to just rip it up and throw it into the fireplace. Then something dawned on him. He may be slow at times, only quick thinking in battle, but he's not stupid or unobservant.

His aunt collected the mail. Meaning she saw that the envelope says it is for him. She tried to hide it in her pocket, out of his sight.

"Oh, Aunt Petunia," he chimed, looking at her with a small grin. "Anything you want to tell me?"

She paled and started babbling, trying and failing to speak. Her hands even tried to wave around, but she brought them back down.

"Why were you hiding my mail from me?" he asked, his grin growing little.

"Well…obviously, it's just a joke!" Aunt Petunia said with a slight, nervous chuckled. "After all, magic! Well, obviously someone is trying to pull your strings."

He didn't say what the letter contained, and the wax on the back of the envelope is still intact. Even Yami could catch that little piece. "I didn't say anything about magic," he pointed out. "So, any one of you fuckers want to explain this to me?"

Vernon's face turned all sorts of colors that Nnoitra was amazed the man didn't pass out.

"You're a wizard, Harry," the large and hairy man in front of his stated, a smile probably on his face, yet lost because of the shaggy beard and moustache.

Nnoitra stood there, a blank look on his face, before he grins. The older Dursleys' cowered at his wide grin, the younger too busy stuffing his face with cake. "Well this should be fun, then," he commented.

The man, Hagrid, seemed shocked that Nnoitra had not started demanding proof about the existence of magic or firing question after question. He just accepts it.

Before he could say anything, Nnoitra scowled and looked over at the fat tub of lard he refuses to call his cousin, bent over a table and shoveling food into his mouth. That cake is supposed to be his! It has his name on it! "Fucker, what the hell are you doing?!" he shouted, making Dudley jump and spin around. The evidence is smeared all over his face. Hesitantly, he swallowed the mouthful he had. "Can you not fucking read?! That had my goddamn name on it!"

"Now, Harry, you should watch your language," Hagrid stated, uncomfortable with a eleven-year-old swearing so casually.

"Fuck you!" Nnoitra yelled at him then turned back to Dudley. "Back the hell off before I make you a chick."

Dudley nodded and scurried over to his parents. Nnoitra sighed. Tesla knew things right off the bat, even if he did screw things up. These guys are a pain in the ass to train.

"Language," Hagrid scolded again.

Nnoitra glared at him. "Fuck. You."

He is very antisocial. This is a fact that many should know by now. And if they don't they are idiots.

This giant man should have noticed he hates crowds, then he takes him into a pub and announces his name loudly for all occupants to hear. In a split second, he was swamped and everyone was taking his hands and shaking them.

Needless to say, Nnoitra was not amused.


Well the bank was fun. He should go more often. That roller coaster was fun and he wanted to know exactly how rich he is.

Eat your heart out, Barragan, 'King' of Las Noches.

A white owl. Well Ulquiorra would like it. Grimmjow would eat it, being a cat and all. Szayel would probably carry it around everywhere.

He wanted that chimera in the back corner.

"Ah, no," Nnoitra scoffed, looking around the wand shop. The place looks ready to collapse, for crying out loud! "Ain't there somewhere else to get a stick?" he asked, hating the fact that he is still small enough that he has to look up at this man. Well, he kind of had to do the same thing with Yami, but that's different.

"Nope," Hagrid cheerfully sighed, looking around with nostalgia in his eyes.

Nnoitra gagged then sneezed when dust tickled his nose. Then a old man appeared and looked at him before smiling. "I was wondering when I would see you here, Mr. Potter," he stated.

"Just cut to the damn chase and I can get the hell out of this shithouse," Nnoitra growled.

"Language," Hagrid scolded again.

The boy looked up at him with a smile. "Fuck you." He wonders how long it will take this giant to realize that is the response he will get every time he is told to watch his language.

Hey, it got Kaname Tousen to stop bugging him about it!

Sticks can have brothers? Weirdo.

This stick's brother gave him his scar? Okay, that stick gets broken. This isn't a battle scar. He wants battle scars!

"Hey, I'll need a ride to the train station the day before school starts," Nnoitra told his uncle.

Said uncle ignored him.

Nnoitra growled under his breath and lifted his leg before dropping it onto his uncle's stomach.

Vernon coughed and tried to recover his lost breaths.

"I said I'll need a fucking ride to the damn train station the day before school starts!" he yelled. "Are you suddenly deaf or something? Useless piece of shit!"

"Alright!" Vernon gasped out, attempting to yell.

Pleased with the response, Nnoitra returned to his room upstairs, one he had commandeered from Dudley a few years ago.

The small cupboard was starting to make his back hurt as he grew taller and he refused to sit there like a bug. He deserves a bedroom.

"Are you retarded?" he asked after reading his ticket. Hearing no response, he looked around. The giant man is gone. "How the hell did he leave like that without me noticing?" he wondered out loud to himself.

With an uncaring shrug, he pushed his trolley, stupidly looking for the platform Nine and Three Quarters. No such thing should even exist.

"Come along now!" a feminine voice said loudly. He looked over to see a clan of redheads. "Everyone stay together! Keep your wands hidden away! Platform Nine and Three Quarters is this way!"

He scoffed to himself. An obvious set-up. Wizards want secrecy, yet they yell the name of the platform at the top of their lungs? Not to mention his guide mysteriously disappears then these people show up. He isn't that stupid.

He watched the three eldest disappear through a brick wall, phasing through it instead of crashing into it. Szayel would have so much fun with that.

The woman, he noticed, squatted down to mess with her youngest son, yet she is also looking around. Obvious set-up, two points now. What shall number three be?

With a scoff, he pushed his trolley around her and ran at the wall. No problem going through it. Problem on the other side.

People packed together like sardines in a very large can. "Well shit," he mutters, pushing his way through the crowd. Forget manners, he wants to sit down.

The train lurches, signaling its departure. Nnoitra lays on the bench in his empty compartment, his white owl the only other occupant. Well he has to admit, she's good company. She doesn't invade his personal space and she doesn't nag him. "Your name is…" he paused, unsure about what he should name this bird. The only female he ever liked in a tolerable way was his zanpakuto, whom he has not been able to contact since his rebirth. "Teresa," he finished.

The owl hoots at him approvingly.

He closes his eyes after that and lets his mind wander. Flashes of pink hair and amber eyes, a mad grin and a lithe form. He wants him back, most of all. Santa Teresa is a hand down, that is his zanpakutou. But he really wants Szayel back. And Tesla.

The door slides open and a redhead boy pokes his head in. Nnoitra scowled at him. "Mind if I sit here?" he asks. "Everywhere else is full."

"Cry me a damn river," he sarcastically commented.

Turns out, no matter how much of an asshole he is, this boy is very determined to sit in his compartment.


"I didn't catch your name," the boy, introducing himself as Ron Weasley, stated.

He hates his new name. "Harry Potter," he scowled, just for the sake of getting the boy to shut up.

His eyes grew wide. "So, it's true then?" he whispered. "Do you really have the…the-"

"What the hell are you going on about?" Nnoitra snapped.

Undeterred, Ron finished. "The scar?"

Double damn. A fan-boy.

"You'll soon learns that some families are better than others," the blond rat said. "I can help you there." He held out his hand, waiting for Nnoitra to shake it.

Nnoitra stared at it then back up at the smirking blond. He rose to his feet with a sigh. This little shit reminds him too much of Barragan, arrogant bastard. The blond, Draco Malfoy he says his name is, pales at the sheer height of him, not expecting such a tall boy that is his age. Then Nnoitra grins his wide grin, showing his piano-like teeth, making Malfoy pale even more. "Fuck off," he said before kicking the smaller boy in the stomach, resulting in him landing in the hall on his ass.


"Whoa," Weasley commented as Nnoitra slams the door shut.

"Will you stop showing me your mouth full of smashed sweets that I fucking paid for?!" Nnoitra snarled at him.

Ron is quickly learning that Harry Potter is nothing like what he heard.

"Haven't seen the damn toad," Nnoitra sighed harshly. "He epically fails at magic and believes anything his joking brothers tell him. Quit being a damn show-off. No one like show-offs. Now beat it, bitch."

On the verge of tears, the bushy-haired girl known as Hermione Granger left the compartment, slamming the door closed.

Both boys were silent. "Damn, haven't had that happen in a while," Nnoitra comments with a smirk. "Weak little bitch can't handle a little insult." Even softhearted Nel could handle that.

The boat ride, boring. The castle, enchanting.

"Meh, seen better," Nnoitra grumbled, crossing his arms.

A talking hat. No, a singing hat. And he's supposed to wear the ratty thing so it can yell out one word and tell him where he's supposed to go.


Please, do note the sarcasm.

Soon his name was called and he approached the talking/singing hat. He can hear all the whispers around him, commenting on his appearance (since he hardly looks a thing like his father) and can see one of the teachers, the Headmaster, lean forward a bit in interest. Nnoitra rolled his eyes and sat on the stool before the hat was put on his head.

He hates the fact that either he is still small enough for the brim of the hat to cover his eyes, or the hat's just that big. Stupid hat.

'Interesting, very interesting,' a voice comments in his mind. Not Santa Teresa. Who the hell is in his head without his permission?! 'Easy, boy. I am the Sorting Hat. Now calm down so I can properly place you. Hmm. You are very difficult. Smart, but only battle wise. Not enough for Ravenclaw. Loyalty to none but those whom are special to you. Hufflepuff would probably anger you. Cunning, but not like a serpent, so Slytherin is out. Quick to fight and brash about it, yet not in the way of the Gryffindors.'

You mind hurrying it up?

'Very well then. I think you would do well in Slytherin, but I believe you would try to strangle them in their sleep. So it better be…' "GRYFFINDOR!"

The table of red and gold exploded in applause. Nnoitra yanked the hat off his head and nearly shoved it into McGonagall's hands, not that she minded, too proud to have Harry Potter in her House. He heard and saw a pair of identical twins singing "We have Potter!" at the top of their lungs. He couldn't help but roll his eyes.

The old man is nuts. That's all there is to it.

"Aren't you hungry?" the redhead, Ron, asked him, a chicken leg in his hand.

Nnoitra raised an eyebrow at him then at the table. Where the hell did all this food come from?

He piled some onto his plate then ate at a sedated pace. Szayel was the only one to ever get him to eat slowly instead of stuffing his face. Guess the habit stuck around.

A lot of these annoying kinds kept asking him questions. He just told them to shut up and leave him alone. His narrowed eyes scanned over the line of teachers, mentally noting their personalities.

Stick up the ass. Strict bitch. Raving madman. Freaky, paranoid fu- shit!

His hand flew to his forehead, rubbing at his scar. The man he was observing had his back to him, talking with a man dressed in black.

"Who's that guy?" he asked, nudging a redhead's side, probably a brother of that annoying brat who won't leave him alone. Like an annoying version of Tesla, one he wants to kill.

"Oh, that's Professor Snape, Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House," the boy answered. "But everyone knows he'd rather teach Defense Against the Dark Arts. He's been after Quirrell's job for years."

Why is it that when asked a simple question, he gets a life story?

"Fuck off, shut the hell up, and go to sleep," Nnoitra grumbled as he climbed into bed, curling up under the blankets. Ah, his one weakness. Soft, comfortable blankets.

Tesla always supplied him with thick, soft blankets.

Then Szayel stole them when he wanted Nnoitra to behave.

Damn, rebirth sucks.

Out of habit from his past life, he was up and ready to go at the crack of dawn, while the other boys slept for another hour then groaned and grumbled as they woke. Deciding that they are a waste of time, Nnoitra left the Gryffindor Tower and headed down for breakfast.

He is one of the first students at the table, leisurely eating a few pieces of fruit and a little bit of meat. One complaint he had about the food, too greasy. He had taken to making his own bits of food when at home simply because the food that the Dursleys' ate was mainly grease and fat. No wonder the two walking tubs of lard can't lose any weight.

Timetables were passed out and he left, determined to find the right classroom before classes start. He may not like going to school, but damn it he wants to make an impression!

Potions class. Nnoitra thought it would be clean and pristine like Szayel's lab. Weren't scientists supposed to be obsessed with clean labs so nothing is contaminated?

The last thing he expected was for the potions class to be in a dark, dank dungeon with a greasy-haired man-bat who didn't seem to care that there is grime everywhere in the room. As Snape does roll call, Nnoitra plays with the thought of how Szayel would react to…this.

"Mr. Potter," Snape drawls, making Nnoitra look towards him boredly. "Our new celebrity. But I believe you will find that fame won't give you everything. Tell me, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Now, being around Szayel, Nnoitra does know what those are (though paid little attention) and does know the effect of them combined. So he can answer this question quite easily.

But, this is Nnoitra.

"I don't care if you give me detention or take away points," he growled. "Cause listen here, asshole! I'm a fucking eleven-year-old kid who is in his first class of this subject and doesn't know a damn thing because his fucking asshole of a teacher decides to ask advanced question instead of doing his motherfucking job and teach! So fuck off and do your goddamn job and leave me the hell alone! I don't know you, so I didn't do anything to make you so pissed at me before now. So whatever stick is up your ass, pull it the hell out and shut up!"

Snape (as well as the rest of the class) were stunned into silence at his outburst. Then Snape glared at him. Nnoitra glared back. Snape's glare faltered little, but enough to make Nnoitra smirk.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your language and your cheek, Potter," he said. "As well as detention for the rest of the week. I expect to see you down here as soon as supper is over to serve your detention."

Oh, a battle of wills, huh?

Nnoitra got to his feet, and even at his impressive height for his age, he still had to look up at Snape. "Well then," he chuckled. "I hope that during these detentions, you'll fucking grow the hell up and by tonight, pull that stick out of your ass before I do it for you. Because I ain't gonna tolerate shit."

"Twenty more points of Gryffindor, Potter," Snape added.

"Like that's gonna bug me!"

"Harry, stop it," the bushy-haired girl next to him attempted to order.

"Shut the fuck up, no one likes you," he commented, dropping back into his seat. Not out of obedience or surrender, but because he just feels like it.

He also noticed Snape didn't take points off for his comment.

Scrub cauldrons clean? Write lines?

"Do I look like a damn servant? Or a scholar?"

"You will not leave until you're done."

"Oh yeah? Let's see who lasts longer."

Needless to say, Nnoitra won that battle.

Flying is more Emospada's style, but wouldn't hurt to try, right?

Turns out, he's quite a natural, and with his brashness, also a little dangerous.

Neville fell off his out-of-control broomstick (why are they flying on these things?) and broke his wrist, meaning the flying instructor had to take him to the Hospital Wing. Also meaning, trouble is stirred.

Malfoy picked something up, commenting about it belonging to Longbottom, then proceeded to insult the other boy while he is away.

Now Nnoitra had his fair share of throwing insults around, and then some, but at least he always said it to the person's face. And if he got in trouble, he didn't go whining about how his 'father' would hear about it. He isn't a coward and this kid is pissing him off.

So he chased Malfoy around in the air, Malfoy tossed the object, Nnoitra shot by him and straight down (bumping into him as he passed), arm stretched out and fingers wide. Then the item is in his hand and he pulled up, missing the ground by a hair.

Damn, what a rush!

"Harry Potter!"

Mother fu-

Seeker? For the Gryffindor Quidditch team? Once everything was explained to him, he firmly stated he wanted to be a Beater, then was told they already had a pair of Beaters but needed a Seeker.

He only gave in because he hopes for more adrenaline rushes. He doesn't get those much anymore.

A midnight duel? With little redhead fanboy as his second?

Not like he'd need one. He'd just punch the little fucker in the nose and call it a night.

"Don't need you and you're just annoying," Nnoitra snarled at the two following him.

"Well too bad, because all Wizarding duels need a second," Ron replied. "Practically a law."

"Don't need you to fight my fight," he snarled then look at the bushy-haired girl. "Name and what the hell are you thinking?"

"My name is Hermione Granger," she huffed, seemingly annoyed that he didn't know her name. "And I'm trying to stop you two from losing our House anymore points."

Nnoitra actually stopped in his tracks and looked at her. "You haven't noticed by now I don't give a fuck about that shit?" he asked. "And seriously, that's you're only reason?!"

One: He hates Malfoy, chickening out on him and sending the old man on him. Coward.

Two: He hates the Poltergeist.

Three: Why the hell is there a giant three-headed dog standing over a trap door in a locked room on the third floor in a castle full of idiotic children?

Four: That chick Hermione has her priorities royally screwed up.

Halloween. Time of candy and ghosts. Nnoitra hated candy. It put too much fat on the body too quickly and messed him up big time, not to mention some of it would always stick to his teeth and he enjoys having no cavities, thank you. True he will divulge himself once in a while, mainly out of curiosity, but now…no. Not to mention, some wizard candy is just messed up. Cockroach Clusters? Blood-Flavored Lollipops? Really? Gross.

The door banged open and Quirrell came running down between two tables, yelling about a troll in the dungeons then proceeded to faint.

Seriously? Over dramatic.

Students then burst into screams of terror, throwing their sugary substances onto the tables before Dumbledore ordered silence then for the Prefects to escort the students to their common rooms.

Nnoitra, though, wanted a good fight. And he gets a troll!

With a wide grin, he broke free from the other students, Ron following him. Why? He doesn't know. Probably to try and stop him.

He smelled it before he saw it. It smelled worse than Szayel's lab after a failed experiment. He rounded a corner and there it is, in a doorway with twitching little ears. "Shit, who shrunk that thing's head?" he commented as the creature slowly entered into the room.

"We should close it in the room, lock the door," Ron suggested.

Nnoitra looked at him like he was insane. "And pass this up?" he asked with a cocky smirk then ran into the bathroom. Later on, he will decide that without a proper weapon, it was a pretty stupid idea.

Now the know-it-all chick is following him. He sighed. At least she knows she isn't above him in anything except grades. Who knows? She might be useful.

Quidditch. The only reason he joined the team was because of the danger possibilities. Seriously, this is better than football. There is little protection, they are flying on sticks, and there are two flying balls that are determined to kill them.

Now that is what he calls a game.

Added bonus, he got the newest and fastest broom made yet, courtesy of his Head of House.

Hello awesome rushes.

Most of the game was boring to him. He mainly just flew around, eyes searching for that golden glint in the sunlight, the annoying Slytherin Seeker following him. Sure, he saw it once…then that asshole knocked him off course by nearly hitting him.

He knows he's being hypocritical since he remembers blind-siding quite a few people in Hueco Mundo, but they were adults! This is a damn kid!

So he hovered, merely leaning away when a Bludger flew by him, then his broom started to rise. The hell?

He could feel it twitching as it rose higher into the air, away from the game, then it started to roll. Anyone else would be scared to death about falling off.

But again, this is Nnoitra.

He whooped. In joy. And got some very weird looks.

He merely just finds it funny that a household cleaning product is trying to kill him, and is enjoying the ride. He was slightly disappointed when it stopped rolling before it suddenly jerked. Caught by surprise, he fell off, but managed to hold on with one hand. Many students started to scream.

He noticed the broom continued to vibrate and when anyone came close, it got higher. He also noticed the asshole that tried to hit him had scored five times without being noticed since everyone was fixated on him.

With a smirk, Nnoitra reached up and grabbed his broom with his other hand, tightly gripping the wood. He tried to pull himself up, but the broom would lurch and he would just drop again, hands holding firm.

Then the broom stopped and he heard a yelp in the distance. Curious, he looked over at the stands to see Snape's robes on fire. With a shrug, he flung a leg over the broomstick, straddling it once more, and shot back down to rejoin the game.

After a few seconds, something flew into his mouth. Once close enough to the ground, he jumped off the broom and landed on his feet and one hand, keeping the other hand on the broom so it wouldn't fly off. Tucking the broom under his arm, he opened his mouth and spat out a golden ball.

Well, that's one way to win a game.

He doesn't know why, but he was dragged along after the game. Ron and Hermione would not listen to his protests to join Hagrid for tea right after the game. Then they told him everything.

"It was Snape," Ron explained. "Hermione and I saw him. He was cursing your broomstick, muttering, and he wouldn't take his eyes off you."

"Glad to know I can still piss people off so well," Nnoitra commented, earning incredulous look from the other three. "What?"

The talk turned into a debate as to why Snape would try to kill Harry, then the dog was mentioned.

"How do you know about Fluffy?"


Nicholas Flamel. Why does that sound so familiar?

Oh well, he'd worry about it after the holidays.

Though his two Fraccion-in-training seem unwilling to drop it for later.

"We'll keep looking and we'll send you the damn owl, now get on the damn train and beat it," Nnoitra practically ordered.

Hermione huffed, but left anyway.

They're getting used to his language and attitude.

A sweater and homemade fudge, a whittled flute from the giant man that sounded like an owl, and a fifty pence from his aunt and uncle, along with a note promising not to touch his other presents left in his room until he gets home. Damn straight. Hermione's seemed more like she didn't know what to get him, so settled on chocolate frogs.

The last parcel puzzled him. The note merely said it belonged to his father and now is returned to him. He opened it up and saw a silvery cloak. Ron seemed fascinated by it.

"I've heard of those!" he stated. "If that's what I think it is – they're really rare and really valuable."

Nnoitra rose and put it on, then looked in the mirror.

"Holy shit! Where's my body?!"

No one every said he follows rules. If something says 'restricted'…he's going for it. That was the second thing Aizen learned about Nnoitra. Never say something is forbidden or restricted. The first thing he learned is that Nnoitra is a bloodthirsty nut.

Though most restricted things he came across did not have defenses that screamed at him…literally.

He slammed the book closed with a curse and put it back, then left the library as Filch came running in. Not paying attention to his surrounding, he ran.

Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

I show not your face but your hearts desire.

Are wizards even able to produce something hard to translate? Nnoitra stared at the frame then looked at his reflection.

What the

There he is, full-grown Arrancar in full Espada outfit, Santa Teresa over his shoulder and wide grin on his face. Tesla behind him, small smile on his face. Szayel right next to him, Nnoitra's arm over his shoulder, holding the taller man's hand over his chest, amber eyes gleaming with madness.

Hypnotized, Nnoitra reached out and ran his fingers over Szayel's face, though felt only cold glass.

"Never thought I'd miss you two so much, you more so, Szayel," he muttered. Szayel smiled at him. "Fuck, stop making me so damn mushy!"

Szayel only chuckled behind his hand.

He went again the next night, drinking in the image of his lover and his Fraccion. The only people he ever let close to him. Szayel, the only one who made him feel complete, whole. Tesla, the only one he would actually call friend. Sometimes, he regretted the way he treated him.

"Back again, Harry?" a aged voice asked him.

Quickly, Nnoitra rose to his feet and spun around, ready for a fight. He didn't relax a bit when he saw the Headmaster sitting on an unused desk against the wall.

How the hell did he get there without me noticing him?

"I assume you, like so many others before you, have discovered the power of the Mirror or Esired," Dumbledore said, motioning to the mirror.

"Shows us what we want the most," he replied.

"Exactly," Dumbledore said with a nod of his head. "Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they've seen, or driven mad by it, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible."

"My image was real, once," Nnoitra stated. "It may never happen again. I don't know. I can hope, I guess."

With a soft sigh, Dumbledore spoke again. "The Mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow and I must ask you not to go looking for it again," he said lowly.

A tiny chance, but one all the same. "It mentions him on this card I got from a Chocolate Frog," Nnoitra stated, tossing the card over to Ron, who read it out loud.

Hermione then gasped and ran off, probably to the library. When she returned, she carried a large tome and said she checked it out before for some light reading.

Light? Right, and I'm Luppi.

"Nicholas Flamel," she whispered dramatically, "is the only known maker of the Sorcerer's Stone!"

"The what?" Ron asked.

Nnoitra scoffed and shook his head. Hell if he knows.

"Honestly, don't you two ever read?" she asked.

"Do you ever not?" Nnoitra shot back, twirling a knife between his fingers.

"You don't want me as your enemy, Quirrell," Snape said.

"I-I don't what you-" Quirrell stuttered.

"You know exactly what I mean."

Well this is interesting. Nnoitra remained in his spot in the tree and simply watched.

Hagrid hatching a baby dragon? No problem.

Being seen by Malfoy? Problem.

Him reporting to McGonagall for all of them being out after curfew and about Hagrid's baby dragon? Problem.

McGonagall giving all of them – including Malfoy- detention for being out past curfew?

Karma, bitch.

"Detention in the dark, creepy forest," Nnoitra said in awe, looking around then gave out a low whistle while Hagrid explained what they are trying to do. Someone's attacking unicorns and killing them. With a grin, Nnoitra looked at Malfoy. "Man, if something is hungry, crazy, and dangerous enough to attack a unicorn, imagine how quickly it can snatch one of us up and gobble us whole!"

Malfoy turned white and let out a whimper.

Nnoitra cackled in glee. It's too much fun picking on Daddy's Boy.

They reached the point where they had to split up. Thinking the dog would be more help, Malfoy claimed him. Not wanting to lose his bit of entertainment, Nnoitra volunteered to go with Malfoy. Hagrid took the other two.

Shortly after, Nnoitra and Draco came across a fallen unicorn with a cloaked figure drinking its blood.

Draco whimpered.

Nnoitra pulled a Nnoitra.

"Yo! Fucker!"

The hooded head rose, silver blood gleaming on its lips. It glided over, Malfoy already running away screaming, but Nnoitra stayed his ground. He sneered at the creature as it got closer, silently daring it to do anything.

A galloping sound echoed through the air from behind Nnoitra, making the figure draw back.

"So Snape is after the Stone for immortality?" Nnoitra asked in confusion, Forbidden Forest Detention story told and theories tossed around. "He looks normal enough to me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione huffed.

"Do you really think there would not be some kind of shitty disfiguration after drinking unicorn blood?" Nnoitra shot back. "I ain't a genius, and I ain't gonna claim to be one, but the bits of face I saw out there don't match that fucker at all."

"Oh?" Hermione scoffed, lining facts up in her mind. "It's obvious he's up to something. He tried to jinx your broom."

"That was a fun ride."

"Tried to get past that Cerberus and got bit by it."

"Probably deserved it."

"Oh will you stop that!"

"Use that oversized brain of your for one second," Nnoitra sighed heavily. "No one is doing shit because Dumbledore is here." How he hated saying that.

Dumbledore's gone, summoned to the Ministry.

Well that bit me in the ass faster than I thought.

"You're not coming," Nnoitra said slowly, as though speaking to someone of lower intelligence. Which Hermione did not appreciate.

"Yes we are!" she huffed. "What if you need help?"

"Not interested."

He lost that fight. How? He'll never know.

A harp playing in the corner already had the dog asleep, and kept it asleep. Without a care in the world, Nnoitra shoved the massive paw off the trapdoor, flipped it open, and then jumped down without a word. Hermione and Ron quickly followed him, not wanting to be left behind.

All three landed on something soft. "Well that was fun," Nnoitra commented, looking up. "Hell of a fall, though."

"Did you not even think about the fall before you jumped in?" Ron exclaimed in shock.

"Nope," Nnoitra replied, popping the 'p' before he felt something wrap around his stomach. "Oh, that's not good."

"Don't struggle," Hermione ordered. "It's Devil's Snare. The more you struggle, the faster it'll kill you."

"Hell, a plant that can kill!" Nnoitra exclaimed with a grin as more tendrils of the plant wrapped around him. Not too far away, Ron struggled endlessly, panicked. "Ain't nothing sane in this world!"

"What did Professor Sprout say about it?" Hermione muttered to herself. "It's likes the dark and damp…"

"Oi, dumbass," Nnoitra called. "Light a fire."

"Of course – but there's no wood!"

"HAVE YOU GONE MAD?!" Ron bellowed, full-blown panic attack. "ARE YOU A WITCH OR AREN'T YOU?!"

Nnoitra could have smacked Hermione for forgetting that tad bit of knowledge.

Flying keys. A simple broom.

A nagging feeling in his gut.

"Trap," Nnoitra scoffed, walking to the door. He inspected it for about ten seconds then walked away from it. He stopped at the other side of the room then ran back to the door. He crashed into it, throwing his full bodyweight into the wood. He, to the astonishment of his two stalkers, managed to knock it off its hinges.

"Ain't nobody got time for that shit!" Nnoitra exclaimed, jabbing a finger to the flock of winged keys. Then he looked around as the other two caught up to him. "Hey, a giant chess set."

Aizen would love this place.

Freaking weirdo brats. One sacrifices himself to the crazy white stone queen. The other tries to get all mushy on him. He decided not to stick around and just went on ahead once Hermione had shut up. She gathered up Ron and left once he left them.

Now, Nnoitra knows he isn't bright. But it just makes no sense for Snape to be behind it all. If he was behind everything, his scar would hurt whenever Snape was around. But it didn't.

Only around… "Quirrell," he greeted, entering the room.

Quirrell gave him a small smile. "Well, you don't seem surprised to find me here," he commented.

Nnoitra chuckled lowly, shaking his head. "Never trusted the quiet ones."

"Use the boy."

The voice echoed through the room, but Nnoitra, even from his bound spot, could tell it originated from Quirrell. But where?

"Yes – Potter. Come here!" He clapped his hands and the ropes, still wrapped around him, flew to Quirrell. The professor grabbed him and stood him upright in front of the mirror. "What do you see?" he nearly demanded.

Nnoitra scoffed, looking away from the mirror. "Go fuck yourself," he growled.

Quirrell grabbed him by the chin and forced him to look in the mirror. "Tell me! What do you see?!"

Slanted eyes narrowed slightly when he saw what the image in the mirror is. Him, his Espada self, watching Szayel tinker with a blood red stone, a grin on Szayel's face. He handed it to Tesla, who stuck it into Nnoitra pocket. Just as the stone fell into the pocket of his reflection, a weight suddenly appeared in his pocket.

Well that's different.

"What do you see, Potter?" Quirrell hissed, grabbing Nnoitra's hair and yanking it back a bit.

"I see you in pieces," he growled, jerking his head out of Quirrell's grasp then swinging his head back again, hitting the professor's nose. Quirrell released him, pressing a hand against his bleeding nose as he cried out in pain. Nnoitra managed to get the ropes off of himself and got a few feet away from Quirrell. "Bring it on, bitch!"

"Let me speak to him…" the voice said, calm. "Face-to-face."

"Master," Quirrell whimpered, his voice stuffy from the damage to his nose. "You're not strong enough."

"I have strength enough for this."

Quirrell straighten and reached up to his turban before slowly unwinding it from his head. With the turban gone from his head, Quirrell slowly turned.

"Harry Potter. We meet at last." A second face. On the back of Quirrell's head.

Nnoitra gagged. "You look like one of Szayel's failed experiments that he just tossed aside to die on it own since he couldn't find the time to do it himself," Nnoitra commented, earning a confused look. "And he's just sadistic in that way."

Cue monologue! And tempting offer. Along with a, "There is no good or evil. Only power and those too weak to seize it."

"Fuck you."

"Seize him!"

Quirrell spun around and started to run to Nnoitra. Easily, Nnoitra kicked him in the stomach then grabbed his face to throw him to the side and off balance. As soon as his hand touched his face however, Quirrell started to scream in pain.

Throwing him to the side anyway, Nnoitra noticed a large burn on Quirrell's face, right where his hand was. With a grin, Nnoitra charged him and kicked his legs out from under him. Quirrell fell flat on his back. Quickly, Nnoitra straddled him, holding him down, and wrapped his hands around the professor's throat.

Quirrell scream in pain. Voldemort yelled in fury. Soon, the burn went completely through Quirrell's throat, killing him.

With a heavy sigh echoing through the now silent chamber, Nnoitra got to his feet and started to walk away. He paused when he felt a ripple of reiatsu in the air.

He turned in time to see a wisp fly through him. A suffocating feeling overwhelmed him and he fell to the ground, loosing conciousness in seconds.

He woke to white. Los Noches? Was all that just a freaky dream?

"Good afternoon, Harry," someone said by his side.

Ah, damn it all to Aizen!

"Where the hell am I?" he asked, sitting up a little bit.

"In the Hospital Wing," Dumbledore answered. "Naturally."

Nnoitra groaned. He hated going to infirmaries. He glanced to the side then nearly jumped off in shock. A mountain of candy by his bed.

"Tokens from your admirers," the old man explained.

"Admirers?" Nnoitra scoffed with a sneer. Too much candy. He only indulges once in a while. Preferably once a year.

"What happened down there between you and Quirrell is a secret," Dumbledore assured. "So naturally, the whole school knows."

"Alright, I'm gonna cut to the damn chase here," Nnoitra growled. "How the hell did the Stone end up in my pocket? Why did Quirrell burn when I touched him with bare fucking skin? What'd you do with that Stone anyway?"

"Ah, well," Dumbledore chuckled. "One question at a time, shall we? The Mirror was enchanted with one of my own defenses. Whoever wishes to find the Stone –find it but not use it – would be able to get it. Otherwise they would see themselves with gold or drinking the Elixir of Life.

"As for why Quirrell could not touch you, it has to do with your mother's sacrifice. Your mother died to save you, and if there is one thing Voldemort cannot understand, it is love."

"Love?" Nnoitra snorted.

"Yes, Harry. Love. He did not realize that love as powerful as your mother's for you has left its own mark. Not a visible mark, but in your very skin. Quirrell, full of so many negative emotions and sharing his soul with Voldemort, could not touch you for this reason. It is agony to touch a person marked by something so good."

"So 'love' basically saved my ass," Nnoitra chuckled. "Man, you're full of it. It's just a useless emotion for useless attachments."

"Is that truly what you think, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "What of those two you saw in your reflection in the Mirror?"

Szayel. Tesla. "I don't gotta tell you shit about them!" he snarled defensively. "How do you even know about that, anyway?!"

"Calm yourself, Harry, lest Madam Pomfrey has me thrown out," Dumbledore attempted to placate. "Now as for the Stone itself, well, Nicholas and I discussed it and decided it was best for its destruction."

Well, damn.

"And they're fine with that?"

"Of course. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is just the next great adventure."

You have no idea.

Amazing how House points can either make students feel superior or bring them down. Slytherin won, of course.

Nnoitra only scoffed and ate a bit of beef as Dumbledore announced the amount of points to all Houses, the Hall decorated in green and silver. "In fourth place is Gryffindor with three hundred and twelve points. In third place is Hufflepuff with three hundred and fifty-two points. Ravenclaw has four hundred and twenty-six. Slytherin, four hundred and seventy-two."

Idly, Nnoitra wonders how did they end up with twos. He's only seen points taken or rewarded by fives or tenths.

He caught Malfoy's smug expression, but only grinned and flipped him the finger. Malfoy seemed to sputter indignantly.

"Yes, yes, well done Slytherin," Dumbledore said. "However!" The Hall fell silent. "Recent events must be taken into account. I have a few last-minute points to dish out. Let me see. Yes…

"First – To Mr. Ronald Weasley for the best played game of chess Hogwarts has seen in many years. I award Gryffindor house fifty points." Gryffindors cheered at the reward and Percy could be heard bragging to other prefects.

Again, Nnoitra just scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"Second – to Miss Hermione Granger… for the use of cool logic in the face of fire, I award Gryffindor house fifty points."

Gryffindors cheered again, happy to be up by one hundred points. Hermione ducked her head and Nnoitra suspected she was hiding tears.

"Third – to Mr. Harry Potter." The Hall fell into silence once more. "For pure nerve and outstanding courage, I award Gryffindor house sixty points."

Old man must be good at math in his head.

Four hundred and seventy-two points. Tied with Slytherin. To him, still a dumb competition, but he wants to see Malfoy cry now.

Dumbledore managed to calm the cheering house down into silence one more time. "There are all kinds of courage," he continued. "It takes a great deal a bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends. I therefore award ten points to Mr. Neville Longbottom."

And there's the shock and disbelief. I want to see tears.

He remembered Neville trying to stop him and his two stalkers from leaving that night. He also remembered Hermione stopping him with a spell that made him as stiff as a board and fall over.

Three out of four tables erupted in cheers, glad to see Slytherin lose the House Cup. Dumbledore clapped his hands then the green and silver changed to red and gold, signifying Gryffindor's triumph.

All Nnoitra wants right now is silence and a bit of food.

And to see Malfoy cry, but that doesn't look like it's going to happen anytime soon.

Before he boarded the train, Hagrid handed him a photo album. A little curious, he looked through it as Hagrid went on about contacting old friends of Nnoitra's parents for a few pictures of them.

He wasn't sure why, but seeing the pictures of his parents, smiling and happy, left a pleasant feeling in his stomach. "Can't believe I'm saying this," he sighed, looking up at Hagrid. "Thanks."

"Of course," Hagrid said with a smile. "Just try to watch that language of yours."

Nnoitra grinned and climbed onto the train. Before it moved, he yelled out at the top of his lungs "FUCK!"

"Try to have a good summer, Harry," Hermione said, watching Nnoitra's uncle like she could not believe someone can be so unpleasant.

"Well I know I'm gonna have some fun," Nnoitra chuckled. "Dumdasses don't know we're not supposed to do magic outside of school."

Chapter Ends

I suppose we can call this the test run chapter. If it turns out people like it, then I will continue it.

I hope I kept Nnoitra in character. He just seems like the type of person who could care less about authority figures and swears every chance he gets. That, and he likes to piss people off.

He just seems like that type of person to me.

Anyway. Review and let me know what you think! ^^