Title: Wizards and Puppies

Disclaimer: I'm just a poor fanfic writer, so obviously I don't own Naruto or Harry Potter, or I would be rich.

Summary: It was supposed to be a simple mission, to protect a school of children. The only thing Sakumo worried about was leaving his son Kakashi at home. What he didn't count on was the stubbornness of a three-year-old prodigy.

Author's note: Another crossover. I couldn't resist. XP And I have no plot, so I hontestly don't know how this is going to turn out... well, here goes nothing.

Chapter: Prologue

"Kunai?"

"Hai."

"Shuriken?"

"Hai."

"Katana?"

"Hai."

"Summoning Scrolls?"

"Hai."

"Toothbrush?"

"……"

The three-year-old looked up from the large trunk that they were packing, a large grin on his face. He shook his head, sending snowy hair flying around his face. The older man, whose white hair was tied in a long tail that flowed down his back, but who otherwise looking no more than twenty-five, raised an eyebrow.

"You forgot the toothbrush, tou-san." The boy chirruped, eyes creasing into a grin.

"I did." Hatake Sakumo agreed, the corner of his mouth twitching. He ruffled the boy's hair, "Thank you for telling me, Kakashi."

"So you'll stay?" the boy—Kakashi—asked hopefully, his eyes going wide with expectation. The puppy-eyes ploy again. Sakumo sighed, "No, Kakashi. I'm still going on the mission."

He watched with slightly amusement as the puppy eyes disappeared, only to be replaced by a pout, complete with the crossed arms, the watery, half-pleading look, and the trembling lower lip. Sakumo raised an eyebrow; he recognized The Pout, the one that had won Kakashi the undying adoration of every kunoichi he turned it on. The kid was bringing out the heavy artillery.

Fortunately (for Sakumo at least) he was mostly immune to anything his son could throw at him. Years of building up his defenses left him with only a slightly guilty tug at his heartstrings as he refused the plea to stay again.

"And you can't come with me either." He added, seeing Kakashi open his mouth again. The mouth snapped shut and Sakumo fended off the glare sent towards him with a smile and a half-shrug, "Sorry, kid. Maybe when you're older."

"I am older!" Kakashi protested with all the vehemence a three-year-old prodigy could muster, "I'm three!"

The complete seriousness of his tone only served to elicit a chuckle from Sakumo. "Three isn't exactly old." He murmured, ruffling the boy's silvery hair again, much to the displeasure of the owner of said hair.

It was, Kakashi decided, the wheels turning in his genius three-year-old brain, time to use that move. He started by scrunching up his face, then drawing in a large breath of air in preparation to loosen it in a wail that would have melted even the iciest of hearts. A look of panic flitted across Sakumo's face; he recognized the signs of the boy's ultimate move ,the infallible ploy that not even Sakumo was immune to. He knew he had to act quickly.

The White Fang rose fluidly from his cross-legged position in front of the trunk, and he was already halfway to the door before Kakashi could make a sound. "Sorry kid, gotta go find that toothbrush."

He was out the door in a heartbeat leaving behind a scowling three-year-old. However, because he was in such a hurry, Sakumo never saw the crafty look that passed over Kakashi's young face. If he had, then he would never have returned with his toothbrush.

It was early in the morning. Too early, Sakumo thought, to be up. There should be a law against early-morning missions. Maybe he would have a talk with the Hokage after he got back from this mission (what were time zones anyways? Sakumo had never had any problems with them in the other shinobi countries.)

Yawning, the White Fang grabbed his packed trunk. The wooden trunk itself was heavier than anything a shinobi would normally carry, but he was going to be in a completely different country and he would fit in, even if this meant he had to lug this cursedly heavy thing around with him.

As he passed through the hallways of his family house (painfully empty with only two inhabitants, but he had grown accustomed to the echoing silence), Sakumo paused outside a door. It was half-open with the messily scrawled words "My Room" on the door in the shaky script of a three-year-old (how proud Sakumo had been when Kakashi learned to write, or at least scribble something along the lines of kanji, at the age of two-and-eight-months).

A smile crossed Sakumo's face, despite his sleepiness. He peeked inside, greeted by the comforting sight of a kid-sized bed, with a small lump in the blankets and a small tuft of silvery hair sticking out at the top of the blankets (Kakashi had asked for his own room a few months ago, arguing that he was "already three!"). The lump moved up and down steadily with each even breath the occupant of the bed took.

Sakumo watched his son sleep for a moment, savoring the warm feeling that welled up inside him, marred by a hint of melancholy. It was, after all, the last time he would be seeing Kakashi in a long time. His mission to protect a certain school in a faraway country on the mainland (a land without ninjas and where people used sticks instead of kunai and "spells" instead of jutsu), would last almost a year. There would be periodic breaks when he might return, but most of the time he would spend away from Konoha.

If he had a choice he would have declined; a year was too long to be away from his only family member left. But Sarutobi had insisted ("The client asked for the best of the best, Sakumo. The White Fang, as one of Konoha's top shinobi, is perfect for this mission. Kakashi will be cared for—in fact, jiraiya practically volunteered to watch him."). And though he doubted the motives of his Sannin-friend, Sakumo knew there was no questioning Jiraiya's devotion—or the Hokage's orders.

With a soft sigh, Sakumo closed the door to his son's room. If only Kakashi was old enough to come with him…but the boy was only three, not yet an academy student, let alone a genin. There would be no place for him in the mission, only possible danger. With another, final glance towards the bedrrom door, Sakumo left, lugging his heavy wooden trunk.

He didn't look back.

Ten minutes later, Sakumo stood in the Hokage's office, staring at the object the Sandaime had just handed to him. Unconsciously, his eyebrow twitched. "Just what exactly am I supposed to do with this?" he asked, brandishing the old (and smelly) boot.

"Patience, Sakumo-san." The Hokage chided, "I was about to explain that."

Sakumo shut his mouth, settling for a half-interested glare instead of vocal objection. The Hokage cleared his throat, "As I was explaining before the completely unnecessary interruption," here he shot a pointed glance towards the jonin in front of him, "This is a, ah, 'port-key'." He explained, as if the single foreign word would clear up all matters.

The twitch returned to Sakumo's eyebrow. No, strangling the Hokage is not allowed. Nor is ripping out his tongue.

"The client, you see, is very secretive of where this assignment is taking place." The Sandaime continued, unaware of the jonin's murderous thoughts, "This port-key is a unique invention of their society. It will take you to your destination without revealing to you the exact location of the school."

Sakumo eyed the dilapidated boot skeptically, This is supposed to bring me to the client? "With all due respect, Hokage-sama-"

But the Sandaime was not listening. He glanced at the clock on the wall instead, "It will activate in approximately ten seconds." He informed the jonin calmly, "Hold onto your things. The client said that the effects were quite disorientating."

Sighing in resignation, Sakumo obeyed, grabbing a hold of the handle of his trunk, "I really don't think that this-"

"Don't worry, Jiraiya should be arriving at your house about now. He will take care of Kakashi during your absence." The Sandaime interrupted.

"Hokage-sama, I was about to ask-"

"Three seconds left, remember that the client has asked you to try your best to blend in with the people of his society."

"Damnit, Sarutobi, how am I going to get back-"

But Sakumo never got his answer because at that moment he felt a tug at his navel, as if a hook had gripped him there and was pulling him forward towards the boot. Panic welled up in Sakumo's chest; no ninja liked being caught unawares. What came next was a ninja's worst nightmare, as the world seemed to melt away like candle wax and spin like a blender, and Sakumo felt his non-existent breakfast churn uncomfortably in his empty stomach. It was all he could do to hold on to the trunk in one hand and the boot in the other.

When the ground finally stabilized below his feet, he had the urge to kiss it. But the white-haired old man who stood watching him amusedly through half-moon spectacles reminded him that it would not be ninja-like to do so.

"Hello," the old man greeted in Sakumo's language.

"You're the client, I assume." Sakumo replied, dusting off his clothes, making sure that his trunk was still with him.

"And you must be the shinobi from Konoha." The old man said, sticking out a hand, "Albus Dumbledore at your service."

Sakumo stared at the outstretched hand, wondering what kind of strange custom this was because he was sure he didn't owe any money to this old man. "Um, Hatake Sakumo." He said, saluting instead.

The old man—Dumbledore, if Sakumo remembered correctly—raised a white eyebrow but did not comment. Instead, he smiled, the kind of smile that Sakumo imagined the Sandaime would have twenty years from now, when he was older and nicer to his subordinates.

"Welcome to Hogwarts."

TBC