Memories.

Memories.

Memories assaulted his mind.

Memories, so many of them that it made even thinking about thinking hurt.

Memories about another time, another place, another world.

Memories about three people: himself, a red-haired boy, and a blue-haired girl. He kept his orange hair, though it was a bit messier. Like how he planned to have it in the fourth year.

The fourth year that never came.

He had woken up to find an old house and a new batch of memories. Well, that wasn't all true. The Burrow wasn't that old (his dad had built it), and he still had his memories in his head, and they weren't all new. But the house was old to him, and he thought that had a new way of thinking. So he believed that he was justified in saying those things.

Speaking of his new way of thinking, he had a newfound hatred for the rain. It was in his new old memories that he found the origin of that hate. He had thought that, in his time as Yahiko, rain represented the people of his village's tears. He had vowed to stop the rain and all it portrayed.

Of course, he realized that it was a silly dream, even with his thirteen years of experience ― twenty-eight if you counted his life as Yahiko. Still, it was ingrained into him to want to stop the endless rain. Perhaps he would learn a spell―

No. No magic.

He had chakra now. He knew how to use it. He knew how to access it. He knew how to flow it. Jiraiya-sensei had taught him and Nagato and Konan.

He (Yahiko, really) wondered if they had also come with him.

"Ron!" came a voice from downstairs. Right, he was Ron. Not Yahiko.

But that ignited something within him. Who was he? Was he Ron? Yahiko? Both? Was he neither? He thought on this for several minutes.

No, he decided, he would be who he wanted to be.

And he wanted to be Yahiko. He wanted to be the poor orphan who knew the value of everything, the boy who sparked a revolution, the boy who was Nagato and Konan's friend.

Yes, he was Yahiko. Now, all he had to do was force everyone else to call him that.


Hermione clutched her head. The influx of memories that invaded her six-year-old head burned her brain, sizzled her circuits, fried her― french fries? Where was she going with this?

It was so hard to think with all of these memories to sort through! And the blue hair! Well, it wasn't all that new. She'd had it as Konan.

Regarding Konan, by the way: wow. Talk about a real-life love story. She still had hearts in her eyes thinking about it! The boy Konan had a crush kills himself to save everyone, and then her other crush turns into a crazy psychopath, and-then-and-then-and-then!

Where was she going with this? Right. Konan. Konan was awesome.

Konan was so awesome because she fought with paper! Hermione loved paper. Paper made books, and books made knowledge. Hermione liked knowledge. Konan loved paper. Therefore, Konan and Hermione loved each other!

Wait, no, that wasn't right, they loved paper― no, knowledge― no, books! Yes, that was more like it.

Hermione frowned. Her thoughts weren't always this insane. But then she grinned.

Her memories of her previous life (for that's what they were) weren't all that good. Her brothers/crushes both died for what they believed in, which made her both sad and happy. Sad because they died, and happy because they died how they wanted to. In a sense.

It made her very ambivalent when she thought about such things.

She decided to leave Konan's memories alone and practice her origami. Oh, and maybe find Harry, because he had likely come back in time with her when the time-turner broke.

But her origami came first.

She decided to do Tobi's mask. Konan hadn't ever liked him, especially since he had killed her, but Tobi's mask's reverse-spiral was a design she had thought would be very intricate.