Hiya guys! I know, what's goin' on here? Another Crossover? Why don't you finish the one you already started? But the thing is, when I get a feeling to write, whether it be my own original story, or a fanfic, I have to write it. And I just thought this was too good to not publish. Soooooo, yeah… Just tell me what you think! I think I did well with the emotion. Did I?

Chapter One: Into the Past

War is never friendly. It's never fun. It will always be sad and pain filled, sorrow seeping around every corner. War is the only thing man-kind is capable of. But they aren't the only ones to start it.

Bookmen are only there to record. They can't choose sides. They can't stick with their friends. They can only sit, watch and record. They don't have names, identities, or even families. They are nothing more than dolls, for the soul purpose writing down history.

But I'm not writing this as a Bookman. My name is Lavi, and I'm writing this as an Exorcist.

.

.

Harry kept reading the entries, enraptured by the words. They were deep, meaningful. They were old. The journal he was holding was crusty, the pages dry and flakey. They looked like they would crumble with the simplest of touches.

But he couldn't put it down. He only just started reading the first entry, and the person who wrote it seemed like he's been through a war. And for all Harry knew, he has. But he also sounded like he lost something, too. Maybe he lost the war? Maybe he lost a loved one? Maybe he lost his sense of self?

All Harry could really focus on, though, were the words dancing across the page. They touched him deep in his heart.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled down stairs. He could hear her feet clumping down on the steps, followed by another pair.

Harry sighed and shut the journal gently, grudgingly laying it down on his temporary bedside table. He stood up and stretched, facing the door just as it opened, revealing his two best friends. As well as his secret crush, Ginny.

"Hey guys," he greeted, pretending to yawn. "I was just about to go to sleep. What's goin' on?"

"Mate, we have a problem," Ron stated grimly. Harry's eyebrows raised. This was new.

"What is it?" he asked, curious and a little wary.

"My ancestor's journal is missing!"

Harry blanched. "You mean…" he started, turning to the bedside table. "This one?" He picked the said journal up gently, facing Ron with a sheepish face.

Ron scowled. "Yes, that one. What are you doing with the old thing, anyways?"

"I was reading it. Your ancestor really has a way with words, ya know." Harry smiled at his best friend, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to work a bit. The crease between Ron's eyes got shallower.

"You're actually reading it? That guys a real loonie! What are you doing reading bedtime stories?"

"Bedtime stories?" Hermione broke in, her curious self as, well, curious as always. "Mind if I look?"

Ron nodded, and Harry handed her the book gently. She cradled it in her hands gently, flipping it open to a random page. She read a bit, her eyebrows becoming more furrowed the more she read along.

"Ronald," she said, looking up from her place in the journal. "I don't think these are bedtime stories. They're too gruesome and sad."

"What? But mom read those to me for bedtime stories all the time!"

"No, I think she read to you the light hearted ones. Here, listen to this:

"June 6, 1902,

"Today was Kanda's birthday. We were going to have a huge celebration since he was turning eighteen. But unfortunately, something came up. We got sent on a mission, Allen, Kanda and I, and it was in the Arctic.

"Of course, being Kanda, he hated it. Honestly, I never understood why he didn't like the snow. Anyway, we were sent to find some innocence in an ice cave. It was filled to the brim of snow, and icicles were everywhere.

"We had just managed to get the Innocence before the cave collapsed on top of us, but the damned akuma weren't lucky enough. But being the damn, stubborn, sorrow filled souls they were, they wouldn't die without it. So Allen gave me the Innocence so I could take it back to the Order, while he and his lover were to take care of the Level Three.

"But when I turned around, I heard a sickening slice and crunch. Me, being the stupid, curious folk, turned around just in time to see Kanda's head being chopped off.

"And right here, it has water drops, which I'm guessing are tears," Hermione said, her own eyes becoming tear filled. Ginny was reading over her shoulder, her eyes watering as well. "It's so sad. On his birthday as well. I don't think I can keep reading…"

"Here," Ron said. "Let me have it." He took the book from her, finding the spot where she left off, and kept reading.

"It was a gruesome sight, let me tell you. I could see his hair getting soaked, as well as the snow below him. The body sunk to its knees, falling chest down into the ice. And Allen. I will never get the look on his face out of my mind. It is forever etched into it and my heart.

"His look was so full of horror and sorrow; I couldn't look for more than five seconds. I can't imagine what he must've felt. The only person you loved, and the only person who loved you, being killed right before your eyes. As I'm writing this, I can see his face, the frozen tears on his cheeks, his bright silver eyes flashing gold in anger and terror, his mouth twisted into the first frown I've ever seen on his face.

I watched, helpless, as he turned around and screamed at the demon. I had to put my hands on my ears to try and keep what little sanity I had left. His cry was so pain filled, so sad. I imagine this was what it was like when he was cursed. When he had to kill his father, the only one who loved him.

"I can remember what he told me, what his father had always said. 'Always keep moving forward.' I can remember everything. I guess having photographic memory is a blessing and a curse. Because I will forever remember the scene that displayed before me today.

"Allen, his white hair making him look like an avenging angel, turned on the spot. He lifted his gun and fired, over and over and over and over. He wouldn't stop, even though the akuma was already long dead. He just wouldn't stop.

"Finally, I had to walk up to him, over Kanda's lifeless body, and put my hand on his shoulder. It was shaking, and though I couldn't see his face, I didn't need to see it to know there were tears covering streaming down it.

"Slowly, his crying and shooting died down, and when it finally did, he fell to his knees, defeated.

"I couldn't take it. This was Allen! ALLEN! The strong one. The one who never broke under pressure, who never snapped. The one who always had that polite mask on his face, hiding his true emotions. The one who was always smiling and laughing, bickering with Kanda and I. The one who got angry when we called him Moyashi. He was the one who was chosen by God himself. The one who had the weight of the world on his shoulders and never bent to its will. He was always standing up for others, even if it meant that no one trusted him anymore.

"It was Allen.

"And because I couldn't take it, I turned him around and smacked him on the face. 'Snap out of it,' I had yelled. 'Do you think he would want you to mourn him like this? Huh? Answer me, Goddamnit!'

"Allen just stayed silent, glaring up at me. In all of my hopelessness, I actually struck a thought. But what kind of Bookman would I be if it didn't? Hm?

'I had forgotten about Kanda's curse! The stupid idiot couldn't die! So in my moment of "Eureka!" I jumped away from Allen and back to Kanda's cold not-corpse. In this moment of hope, I grabbed his head, grimacing as I did so (who wouldn't? It was my fallen comrades head) and stuck it back onto his neck. Of course, I got dirty, his blood staining my silver and black coat, and my white pants, but I didn't care. This was how I was going to save Kanda.

"Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Allen walking toward us, his face set in confusion. 'Hey Moyashi,' I said, grinning brightly. 'Remember a certain lotus flower?'

'Allen's eyes snapped open wide, and for a second, I could see the silver pools once more.

"And it just stops right there," Ron finished. "Huh, I guess it really isn't a bedtime story. Do you think it was real?"

"I don't think someone could've made that up…" Ginny said, her face etched in relief. "Although I must say, it is pretty interesting. Do you think he actually lived? And what was it about the curse? Poor guy, it was on his birthday, too."

"Ron, Ginny!" came a shrill shriek from down the stairs. "You too, Harry and Hermione! Come down here and help me clean up a bit before Dumbledore gets here!"

"Coming Mum!" Ron yelled down, setting the journal back onto Harry's temporary nightstand. "I say we read more tomorrow. What about it?"

They all agreed and went downstairs to help Mrs. Weasly. "Do you think he survived?" Ginny asked Harry when they were walking down. All he could do was shrug.

R&R?