Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Fire Emblem. These belong to J.K. Rowling and Intelligent Systems Co. respectively.

(just realised I forgot the disclaimer for my new chap of A Piece of Paper o0 oh well... hopes she doesnt get sued) anyways...

Welcome to, what I believe, is also first of its kind - a HarryPotterFireEmblem crossover + slash!! Hope you guys enjoy it :) plus you as you can probably see, I really had no idea what to name this story ;; so title is subject to change unless people like it? o0

italics - thoughts

italics+bold - flashback

Prologue.

What was once a vast plain of the greenest grass was now tainted with blood of friend and foe alike. With family and strangers alike. Stained with a red that gave meaning to the phrase, "in death, we are all equal". A red, that not even the rain that poured without end for seven days and nights had cleansed the foliage of the dark stain that assaulted his every sense.

Sight. Touch. Taste. The smell.

While his ears rang with the chorus of pain and anguish.

'What – live with you?' he said, accidentally cracking his head on a bit of rock protruding from the ceiling. 'Leave the Dursleys?'

'Of course, I thought you wouldn't want to,' said Sirius quickly. 'I understand. I just thought I'd –'

'Are you mad?' said Harry, his voice easily as croaky as Sirius'. 'Of course I want to leave the Dursleys! Have you got a house? When can I move in?'

Sirius turned right around to look at him; Snape's head was scraping the ceiling but Sirius didn't seem to care.

'You want to?' he said. 'You mean it?'

'Yeah, I mean it!' said Harry. Sirius' gaunt face broke into the first true smile Harry had seen upon it. (1)

Was this it? Was his life flashing before his eyes?

'Three up… two across…' he muttered. 'Right, stand back, Harry.'

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.

The brick he had touched quivered – it wriggled – in the middle, a small hole appeared – it grew wider and wider – a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway on to a cobbled street which twisted and turned out of sight.

'Welcome,' said Hagrid, 'to Diagon Alley.' (2)

Dust and vague memories flickered into his sight before jumping just out of his reach.

Don't go…

But unwilling to return to himself and his awareness, preferring the strange comfort of the uncertainty and unclearness of his thoughts, he pitched himself forward further and further, reaching, trying to get them within his grasp…

'Petunia!' roared Uncle Vernon. 'He's getting away! HE'S GETTING AWAY!'

The Weasleys gave a gigantic tug and Harry's leg slid out of Uncle Vernon's grasp. As soon as Harry was in the car and had slammed the door shut Ron yelled, 'Put your foot down, Fred!' and the car shot suddenly towards the moon.

Harry couldn't believe it – he was free. He wound down the window, the night air whipping his hair, and looked back at the shrinking rooftops of Privet Drive. Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and Dudley were all hanging, dumbstruck, out of Harry's window.

'See you next summer!' Harry yelled. (3)

Happy memories. Yes, he remembered vaguely, they were happy memories. Yet, despite this, each and everyone came with a sharp pain in his chest. In his heart.

He remembered.

And then it was all black.

He had been crouching there for the past hour but the lone Sacean nomad was not about to budge from his position anytime soon. Why, you ask? Because behind the calm exterior lies a cacophony of thoughts.

And because, there, laying several metres away from him, was a similarly lone black mass.

Yes, a black mass.

Now, this posed three possible situations to the lone Sacean. Each a scenario he would wish to avoid.

The first was that a shaman had dropped his robe.

The Sacean grimaced. Now this may not seen like such a bad thing but to him this meant a shaman (or possibly shamans) was in the surrounding region, which meant his tribe was in danger. After all, why would shaman travel through the vast plains of Sacae if not to conquer it?

The second was that the shaman was still in his robe. This in turn gave him two options. Shoot arrows at it from a distance or sneak up on it and run it through with his blade. He grimaced again. But what if it counterattacks? He thought with apprehension while simultaneously cursing his low resistance to magic.

He glared at the figure again.

The third reason was the reason he had failed to attack. What if it isn't anything related to shaman at all and just someone (in black for some strange reason) who was wounded and needed help? A messenger maybe…

Steeling himself, he finally decided to move in to get a closer look. Maybe too close a look because before he knew it, his curiosity got the better of him and he found himself slowing reaching forward for the unmoving figure, doesn't look like it's just a robe, slowly, tentatively…

…before flipping the figure over completely.

Jumping back into an attack position, he got ready to defend himself against a possible assault. But nothing happened.

Edging forward once more, he saw what seemed to be a small boy. Not the adult he had assumed it was. A small boy with dark hair. It's only a child! …but, none that I recognize, he thought after a moment, oh well, I will let the elder deal with him.

And with that, he lifted the small boy upon his shoulder and made his way back to his tribe. The elder would know what to do.

His head pounded, his scar ached and his limbs felt numb but if he was force-fed another one of those things Snape called potions, he promised that there would be hell to pay. He'd rather his whole body be paralyzed than have his mouth tasting as if it had a sewer in it.

So he was pleasantly surprised when Poppy did not disregard his need for a sewer-free mouth as was usual.

So surprised that it made him a little paranoid.

Heavily laden eyelids forced themselves to open, though they refused to cooperate – there was far too much light shining for their liking. But eventually, he pried them open and immediately realised two things.

One – the ceiling of the Hospital Wing wasn't brown and made of fabric.

Two – the nearest magical being/object he could feel (apart from himself) was several kilometers away.

"Toto," one Harry Potter scowled to himself, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

(1) extract from Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban

(2) extract from Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

(3) extract from Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

Well that's that, hope you liked the beginning :) please review and tell me what you think! Should I continue or should I just throw the brain power I used on this back into my other stories? XD