AN: I decided to try a slightly different way of formatting my text. It worked quite well, at least in my opinion, I thjnm I'll apply it to the following chapters. Whp knows, if I am not overcome by my laziness I might even apply it to the previous chapters.

Dimensions of Perception

Chapter 4. Tesseract, part II

Existing in four dimensions, a tesseract has sides and angles we cannot comprehend but only imagine to the best of our modest abilities.

The first sign of trouble on that fine day greeted Harry just as he was approaching his house after a nice morning run in the park. The unmistakable feel of spiritual pressure sang to the young man's senses. All in all he would not have been surprised - what with Kurosaki's friends running around - but the odd presence was stationary and what's more, it was right in his house.

One would expect Harry to run there as fast as he could, zanpakuto blazing in his , they would be quite foolish. To rush to an enemy who was clearly prepared and waiting for him would be most naive. Running straight to a potential trap was something the old Harry would have done, but after meeting Kyoka Suigetsu Harry simply knew better. Therefore he walked calmly to his house, thinking on his feet. His wand was in a holster hidden under his track pants so magic was an asset. If it failed to help, the young man would simply use Kyoka Suigetsu's power and deal with the intruder... after a nice long interrogation of course.

"Bakudo #26: Kyokko," Harry murmured. He felt the kido wash over him and nodded to himself. Good thing that Kyoka managed to teach him quite a number of techniques during his stay in Azkaban - that was probably the only good thing that came from his imprisonment.

The young man crept quietly into his house, which wasn't that hard since the intruder left the door ajar. Harry frowned, but kept on moving further into the hall.

"My, such impressive reatsu control," a male but surprisingly light voice said, almost sang really. "I'm lucky to have a hundred years of experience," the same voice chuckled.

Harry suddenly found himself visible with a zanpakuto held inches from his throat. His eyes trailed the metal of the blade and finally came to a stop at the tall man in green Japanese shirt and haori, a green and white striped hat covering his dirty blond hair. Harry couldn't see the man's eyes, yet he got that distinct feeling of being dissected that only Dumbledore's gaze had ever given him in the past. He was paralyzed by shock, treacherous fear that rose from the pit of his stomach and settled as a lump in his throat. He was found out so easily.

"Oh no," Kyoka said in his mind. "This is Kisuke Urahara - you are no match for him!"

"I have magic on my side," Harry replied mentally. He got the feeling of resignation back from his zanpakuto.

"It won't work on a man like him," Kyoka replied evenly. "Urahara is way too powerful and clever, he has more tricks up his sleeve than you do."

Great. Just Great. Harry sighed. So he had just met Karakura version of Dumbledore. He had a sword at his throats and his own zanpakuto wasn't even materialized. What's worse, Harry knew he would have his head sliced off if he so much as attempted to get his wand. If he survived the encounter, he would place the holster on a wrist, not the damn ankle!

"A penny for your thoughts?" Urahara asked pleasantly.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at the man. "And what the hell are you doing in my house?" Inwardly he felt a sense of approval radiating from Kyoka. Yes, playing ignorant - of Urahara's identity if not the spiritual world in general - was the best choice here.

"Oh! How rude of me!" Urahara exclaimed theatrically. "I'm Kisuke Urahara, a humble shop keeper and a handsome businessman," he introduced himself with flourish.

"Is pointing swords at people a part of Japanese business strategy then?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. The man chuckled in reply.

"That's not a part of our general service kit I'm afraid," Urahara replied merrily, "but we do get special customers like you from time to time, stranger-san."

Harry smirked. Two could play the game.

"But I am just a humble traveller," his smirk grew wider even as prepared as he was to materialize Kyoka any second now, " who just happened to settle in Karakura town for now."

"Oh I can certainly understand that!" Urahara said in a sing-song voice. "After all there are so many nice things here to catch a traveller's attention in our quiet town: the parks, the river, the the forests not too far from here... A certain orange-haired teenager..." he suggested innocently.

Harry had to give it to Urahara: the man could play the game well, as good as Dumbledore if not better. This "humble shopkeeper" knew of Harry's visit to Ichigo, possibly even about his conversation with the boy the previous day. Urahara sure was well-informed. Harry wasn't defeated just yet however.

"Yeah," he nodded enthusiastically, "but maybe the many endearing qualities of teenage girls can be discussed with some nice tea rather than a zanpakuto?"

Urahara let out another chuckle. "You're not that bad," he commented and sheathed his blade. "And I would never reject an invitation to a cup of nice tea!" the man grinned.

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. At least he was no longer under a threat of beheading.

"Just what makes you think that Urahara would need a zanpakuto to kill you?" Kyoka asked sternly. "Don't be so naive, Harry. I didn't tell you much about the Soul Society in hopes you would never need all that knowledge until after your death, but well..." she huffed. "Kisuke Urahara is possibly one of the most powerful soul reapers. Don't underestimate him," she explained with a distinct ring of steel to her voice. "It might be the last mistake you make. It certainly was the last one of Sosuke's."

Harry could only nod. To think that was not sharing a room with a Japanese Dumbledore, but with a much more powerful version of the old man made his feet feel wobbly. He numbly walked into the kitchen and started the kettle. By the time the young man brought tea to the living room Urahara was already seated on one of the couches, staring at one of the windows. For some reason this position didn't strike him as distracted in Urahara's case.

"So what brought you to my house, Urahara-san?" adding honorifics in such a way felt strange to Harry but then again he had to get used to Japanese way of speaking if he was to have a home in this country. The young man took one of the cups filled with steaming tea and sipped it quietly.

"Well, Potter-san," Urahara replied nonchalantly, "I just wanted to know more about a potential client. Oh don't look so surprised," the man chuckled and waved a fan, that appeared virtually out of nowhere, at Harry's shocked face, "I've checked the papers on this property. They had your name all over them."

"You're awfully well-informed," Harry said, narrowing his eyes at his uninvited guest. "I can't imagine anything else about me that could possibly be of any interest to you."

"On the contrary," Urahara smirked as he sipped his tea, "I find you quite fascinating, Potter-san, you came here all the way from Britain and with soul reaper powers no less..."

Harry didn't need to look up from his own cup to feel the man's sharp gaze drilling in him. "My, you seem to know about me just as much as I do," the young man chuckled.

"Ah, but it's natural for a good businessman to know his clients," Urahara grinned. "So many interesting people hang around here, one has to keep track of them."

"So I am interesting," Harry tilted his head to the side.

"Of course you are!" the other man exclaimed dramatically. "It's not every day that I meet people like Kurosaki-san," he finished slyly.

"He knows!" Kyoka exclaimed. "He knows you have soul reaper powers!"

At this revelation Harry was hard-pressed not to show his shock. Judging by the shift in Urahara's pose, he failed.

"I see you are familiar with the young man I've just mentioned," the shopkeeper pressed his advance. "I can't really blame you for taking an interest in him... But I can't help wondering about your intentions, especially given your nature."

The tea was almost gone, what little was left in the cups had long ago lost its heat and become cold, having transferred its heat to the conversation.

"My nature?" Harry asked curiously, trying to drive the conversation away from Kurosaki.

"You are a soul reaper of course," Urahara replied calmly. "But you are not from the Soul Society, in fact, you are not even dead yet. You are what we call a substitute soul reaper."

"A substitute soul reaper eh?" Harry chuckled. At least it was better than the boy-who-lived. "So what?"

"I'm glad we are getting to the point," Urahara smiled again. "Substitute soul reapers are very rare, you are just the third in the entire world history actually," the smile slipped from his lips. "So what would you want with the second one?"

"Well, my zanpakuto did warn me that some people might feel overprotective of him," Harry shrugged, dropping the act. "But I expected this from his friends or family, not a random shopkeeper."

"Kurosaki-san and I have a very good business history," the man smiled.

"Whatever," Harry replied. "I just came to say thanks."

"To say thanks?" Urahara scratched his cheek with his fan. "One has to wonder how you would even know Kurosaki-san..."

"He helped me out a couple of years ago," Harry replied calmly.

"I see," the other man replied thoughtfully.

For some reason Harry believed that the man said that not just to fill a pause in the conversation. Urahara was like Dumbledore with that frightening tendency to figure things out with the barest minimum of information. The young man could only hope that he hadn't said too much.

"Ah well," Urahara stood up, "this conversation has been most illuminating!" he grinned at Harry. "If you need any information or help come to Urahara Shoten, Potter-san!" he tipped his hat. "Although I must say I would like another conversation with you. You are a very interesting individual."

"Who knows, maybe we'll meet again," Harry replied carefully.

"Who knows indeed," the smile on Urahara's lips stretched just a little but it was wise enough to completely expose the man's fangs. "Goodbye, Potter-san," he said finally before disappearing in flashstep."

Harry shook his head at the empty space where his guest used to stand a moment ago. Well, that could have been worse, at least he was still free and alive. In the back of his mind the young man could feel Kyoka's agreement. A rather loud ramble in his stomach brought Harry back to reality. He had yet to have breakfast. With a sigh he went to the kitchen to get those rice balls started.

In the meantime another conversation was happening in Number 12, Grimmuald Place. It fit the house really, with all the resurrected gloom and darkness. Despite Hermione's best efforts she couldn't bring herself to look at her home like she did before. So many things were reminding her of Ron and what he had done. The previously cheerful or calm colors were now daunting and oppressive. It was as if time itself was in disagreement with what had been done to renovate the house.

"I am very sorry, my dear," Dumbledore consoled Hermione after yet another Order meeting. The dining room was now empty save for the two of them.

Hermione was heartbroken after learning of the circumstances surrounding Ron's disappearance or rather escape. To think that Ron could be this deceiving to throw her love right back at her. To think that he was capable of abandoning their child.

"Could Harry have lied?" Hermione asked, "You know he is like that," she said bitterly.

Dumbledore just shook his head slowly. "No one can lie under the influence of veritaserum, Mrs Weasley, not even Harry," he sighed softly. "I am afraid that everything he told us is the truth."

"I should have noticed the signs," she said suddenly, " that look in his eyes... It was telling," Hermione's eyes hardened.

"My dear, I have seen young Mr Weasley when he was talking about your child, and even I, with all my decades of experience, noticed nothing," Dumbledore said gently. "Don't descend into the realm of paranoia. You need to think about your baby."

"He will grow without a father," Hermione's eyes grew wide. "Oh god, he will have no father..." Her baby boy - and she knew it was a boy, spells were useful like this - would grow in a broken family.

"But with a wonderful mother," the aged headmaster smiled tenderly, snapping Hermione's out of her thoughts. She looked at the man before her, who nodded. "And I am sure Arthur and Molly will more than enjoy being grandparents to your son."

"Yes," Hermione's nodded. "You are right, sir."

"I am glad I could help," Dumbledore replied, standing up. "I should get to the ministry, with so many pure blood families out of the picture and goblins out for blood the situation there is still most dire."

Hermione saw the headmaster out and went to bed. She collapsed on the soft mattress, completely exhausted. She was still hurting from Ron's betrayal, but maybe, just maybe her son would help her. Yes, she would call Ginny tomorrow: they had to finish decorating the nursery after all. Hermione fell asleep thinking how sweet it was of Ginny to volunteer to help her with all the preparations for the birth of one William Sirius Weasley.

As Dumbledore appeared in a swirl of green flames in one of the fireplaces in the Ministry atrium he did not pay attention to the people around him, even if the crowd did go out of their way to make a corridor for the elder man.

Why would young Ronald leave so abruptly? He had a good family here, in fact, Albus himself was fairly certain that the joy on the young man's face when he was speaking about his child the other day was genuine. Dumbledore was inclined to trust his initial assessment, and the youngest son of the Weasley family wasn't exactly a guru of deception - or even moderately adept at acting. Yet veritaserum left no room for lies and whatever Harry said had to be true. It was very confusing, but the confusion in itself was another lead, one Albus fully intended to explore.

"Get your hands off me, you filthy wizard!" a goblin yelled at the reception worker. "And don't you dare touch my bag you imbred idiot!"

Perhaps later then, Albus decided as he put on his best smile and went to mediate the conflict before curses and daggers started flying.

It was a week later that Harry took a break from his routine. Usually he would wake up and go on a morning run, then have a proper workout and soul reaper training after breakfast, and the evening would be dedicated to entertainment and generally getting to know Japanese culture.

The afternoon was rather hot, dragon-flames-hot to be precise. In fact Harry was sweaty just from walking from his house to Urahara's shop. The man called yesterday and invited the youth to his place for another talk and possibly some training. The reason for such suspicious generosity was unknown, and that troubled Harry.

AN2: Replying to your reviews:

Charles Ceaser: Who knows...