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Chapter Text

Lily Evans Potter had few regrets she could think of. The number of times she has thought of what she could have done to have prevented this very moment was uncountable. She had spent a lot of her time in hiding thinking of her mistakes and regrets to prepare herself for the event that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the very demon in front of her, somehow found her little family and she could meet her death with grace. But even with her little preparations, with the ancient runes inscribed in blood on nursery walls, her hastily made barricade to buy herself time, she still couldn't help but feel remorse for her little boy babbling to himself in his cot, completely unaware of the seriousness of the situation. Lily couldn't help but mentally hit herself for being stubborn and refusing to leave the country with her older brother. If nothing else, she should have sent Harry with him to safety.

But now was not the time to dwell on the past. All Lily could do was hope Hizashi would eventually forgive her. If her research was correct, her little Harry would be getting a second chance tonight. All Lily had to do was bye him some time. Suddenly, the barricade was blasted apart. Lily was flung backwards, hitting her son’s crib. Wood splinters and chunks of furniture flew across the room as a tall, robed figure slowly meandered his through the carnage. Voldemort. His pale white hands played with his nimble wand as his barely concealed, ruby red eyes and sinister grin examined Lily against the crib. In an instant she was on her feet and began pleading with the snake-like man.

"Please! Not Harry!" Lily screamed desperately as she moved to block Voldemort's view of Harry. "Kill me! Please, Kill me instead!"

Voldemort narrowed his red serpentine eyes into slits, and his grin slid into a scowl as he scoffed at her and moved to push her to the side. "Stand aside, girl, and I may spare your life." Instead of letting him push past her, Lily persisted in her pleading. 

"Please, I beg you! He's just a baby! Spare him and kill me! Please!" Her green eyes showed with desperation as she begged the serpentine man to consider her offer. Instead, it just seemed to fuel his irritation. 

“You test my patience, girl!” Voldemort growled. “I give you one more to step aside and give me the child, or you shall meet the same fate.”

“Please! Please, Spare him!” Lily was almost on her knees as she pleaded with him. 

Voldemort snarled, “So be it,” He pulled up his wand so quickly Lily barely had any time to react “Avada Kedavra!” Like a marionette with its strings cut, Lily fell to the floor in a clump, with her long fiery red hair spreading around her in a haphazard halo. Voldemort barely paid her corpse any attention as he made his way over to the crib holding little Harry. He peered down at the toddler with barely held disgust as he muttered to himself. 

“So, this is who was prophesied to kill me. Well,” Voldemort pulled the head of his cloak back, the reds of his eyes and his milky white skin tone becoming far more prominent in the dim lighting surrounding the nursery. “Best not to worry. You shall be meeting your Mudblood mother and Bloodtraiter Father soon, Harry James Potter.” Voldemort began to laugh at nothing as he raised his wand and uttered the killing curse at Harry.

With this utterance of his lethal killing curse, Voldemort unknowingly activated the last step needed in Lily Potter’s backup plan. And instead of killing little Harry Potter, he inadvertently killed himself. Sadly, as the old saying goes, Evil never truly dies. And as little Harry sat in his crib with the Sowilo rune now carved into his forehead, a tiny piece of this evil took advantage and started to leech off his young soul, while Voldemort himself slunk off into the shadows, devoid of a physical form.

Chapter Text

Hizashi Yamada considered himself to be quite accomplished. His hero career had taken off quite nicely, his radio show was a success, his teaching job let him explore different aspects of the English language, and he was married to the man of his dreams! What wasn’t there to like about that? Well, a lot of things, as it turned out. Hizashi found himself sitting at his dining room table, staring out the apartment window, with a mug of green tea in his hands. His long blond hair is pulled away from his face and into a bun, his green eyes string distractedly through red horn rimmed frames. He occasionally lifts his left hand to fiddle with his sweater sleeve before refixing his hand back to his mug. The position is a familiar one. It’s one Hizashi found himself in when grading papers, waiting for his husband to get home from patrol, or like now, contemplating the past. 

Hizashi found himself wondering what life would have been like with the rest of his biological family in it more often than not. He didn’t grow up with bad relationships with his mother and sister’s, quite the opposite. But as he began establishing his life in Japan with his father, his connection with his beloved sisters, especially Petunia, took a huge plunge. It didn’t help that it felt that he was the only one left of them. Hizashi’s parents were murdered in a mysterious house fire that he knew without a doubt was connected to Lily somehow. Lily herself was murdered along with her husband and her son had disappeared without a trace, and Petunia had all but cut off all contact with him after their sister’s funeral. Hizashi had always known that Petunia craved normalcy and he wasn’t about to trample on that, so he left her alone, no matter how much it hurt.

Of course, Hizashi knew about wizards, how could he not when his twin was one. He still remembered watching amazed as Lily would float down after jumping off swings and making Tunie’s hair turn vivid colors when she got irritated. At the time, their parents had written it off as some powerful, out of control quirk the doctors couldn’t identify. It wasn’t until a boy named Severus befriended his sister that her quirk had a name. Magic. His parents had been skeptical at first, until Lily had been diagnosed as quirkless, and her magical outbursts still continued to manifest. Hizashi himself was over the moon at having a witch for a sister, much to Tunie’s chagrin. 

He, Lily, and Severus would spend hours talking about magic and quirks and their plans for the future. Lily wanted to be a Charms Mistress, even before Hogwarts Hizashi remembered fondly. Mrs. Snape had inspired her with her hidden magic tomes that she had smuggled away from her family home. Severus would sneak them away with his mother’s permission for Lily to read whenever she wanted, and Hizashi would tease Severus for having a crush on his sister every time he blushed when Lily thanked him. Severus was whipped for Lily, everyone knew it. It’s a shame his childhood friend had turned into such a coward in the end, Hizashi thought to himself often. 

So yes, Hizashi had success, but at what cost? His sisters? His family? It wasn’t often he fell down this rabbit hole, Shota made sure of it, bless him truly. But there were moments where the blond felt the time to sit down and ponder what might have been. Should he have been more insistent? Should he have proposed an alternative? Hell, should he have joined them? He shuddered at the thought of facing up against someone like Bellatrix Lestrange. Even with his versatile quirk, he didn’t think he would have stood a chance against that nutcase.

His musings are interrupted by an impatient tapping to his right. Confusion draws on his face as he turns to face a rather ruffled looking barn owl tapping on his sliding door. Hizashi slowly got up, green tea in hand as he trudged towards the living room patio to let the poor creature in. He hadn’t had any dealings with wizards since Lily had died, obviously, so what would one want with him? The owl in question huffed in thanks before flying and perching on the chair Hizashi just vacated. He stared at it bemused before walking back over to the dining table. He took a sip of his green tea and sat it down on the table and turned towards the owl’s outstretched leg. Carefully, Hizashi removed the owl from its burden and went to sit in the chair opposite of it. The owl didn’t look bothered and instead went to put its head under its wing, a universal sign of ‘Do Not Disturb.’

Hizashi shook his head at the bird’s antics before looking down at the parchment in his hands. He took a moment to admire it and its thickness before reading the envelope.

To: Yamada  Hizashi

Apartment Number 432

73423 Tadashi Prefecture, Mustafa, Japan

Return Address: Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley

28645 London, United Kingdom

URGENT! MUST BE READ IMMEDIATELY

Hizashi’s eyes bulged at the warning listed on the front and wasted no time opening it. He knew the risks of waiting in a potentially life or death situation, and he didn’t want to risk potentially getting answers. 

Dear Mr. Yamada,

I am contacting you on behalf of Heir Harry James Potter. It would appear that the joint Will of the late Lord and Lady Potter were not enacted as the late couple wished, resulting in a misappropriation of funds and heirlooms from the main Potter vault. As well as the appropriation of illegal guardianship of Heir Potter himself by Albus Dumbledore. 

As the appointed guardian of Heir Harry James Potter, as dictated by the joint Will of Lord and Lady Potter, it is my responsibility as the Potter account manager to request your audience here at Gringotts at the London location as soon as possible. There is much to discuss in terms of getting the Potter accounts in order, and regaining proper guardianship in person. Please owl me at your latest convenience.

Potter Account Manager Ironlung

All Hizashi could do was stare at the parchment. What the fuck had Dumbledore done with his nephew?! Illegal assumption of guardianship?! Just wait until he could get his hands on that old codger! For YEARS Hizashi had assumed Harry was kidnapped by one of Voldemort’s lackeys and tortured to death, only to now know his little Hare-bear was still alive and being kept from him. Oh, he was going to raise hell. But, he would need help. Hizashi quickly got up from the table, startling the owl as he went, and bolted to his bedroom. On the nightstand, his phone flickered on with a message. Hizashi ignored it and pressed the call button. It answered with only a single ring and he didn’t even hesitate to speak to the person on the other line.

“Nedzu. I need a favor.” If it were any other person, the amount of cackling on the other line would have been concerning.

“Oh I know, Yamada!” Nedzu cackled gleefully, “Consider Dumbledoor’s inevitable fall from grace your payment!” 

Hizashi sighed as a response. “You just want to cause chaos, don’t you?” Cackling could be heard on the other side as he hung up the phone. 

“Right,” Hizashi looked around the room, “Gotta get Shota up to speed,” He started moving around, stopping at a random dresser right next to the door and pilfering through it as he muttered to himself, “schedule plane tickets, get to Gringotts, get the kid, try not to kill Dumbledore. Simple. Easy.” Next, he rushed over to the closet on the far right wall and pulled down the two suitcases lying on top of the shelf before tossing them haphazardly on the bed. 

“Fuck me, what am I talking about. I’ll be lucky if I don’t accidentally start an international incident.” Hizashi groaned to himself as he tossed clothes into each suitcase. A series of dings sounded from his phone momentarily distracting him from his packing. Hizashi sighed irritably and brought his phone up to face to look at the messages.

You are texting {RatGod}

{Sent 5:47 pm}

RatGod: I have already procured your and Aizawa’s plane tickets, and a room at the Leaky Cauldron for a week’s stay.

You are texting {Tired ™}

{Sent 5:51}

Tired™: Why the fuck did the Rat just text me that were taking a vacation to England of all places?? 

Hiashi groaned. Of fucking course Nedzu decided to surprise his husband before he got a chance to explain himself. He decided right then and there to collapse onto the bed, careful not to jostle the suitcases, before replying to his, no doubt, confused husband.

You are texting {Tired ™}

Cockatoo: I am so sorry about this SHo!! I didn’t think Nedzu would spring this on you with no warning. 

Tired™: Spring what? You’re not making sense right now.

Cockatoo: Remember my sister Lily? The Redhead?

Tired ™: Yes?? I went to her funeral with you, dumbass. How could I not forget.

Cockatoo: Yess yess, sorry. Just really stressed right now. Um, you remember how her son just disappeared? 

Cockatoo: Poof? 

Cockatoo: Alakazam? 

Cockatoo: How no matter how much we asked about him we’d get half answers or nothing at all?

Tired ™: Zashi, you're kinda scaring me right now. What happened?

Cockatoo: I finally have a fucking lead on him after almost 12 fucking years Sho. 

Cockatoo: Gringotts, magic bank, sent me a statement saying something about how I was supposed to get him when James and Lily died but Dumbledoor found a way to steal custody right under their noses. 

Cockatoo: He’s not dead Sho. Omg he isn’t dead. I can’t tell you how happy and angry and sad and just overwhelmed I am over it all. 12 years. We lost almost 12 years with him. I can’t tell you how much I wan’t to strangle Dumbledoor with his own beard right now. 

By the time Hizashi was done typing all that out, he was shaking. All the emotions he had been keeping pent up from the moment he saw that blasted letter to now were finally letting themselves out. He could feel his eyes pricking with unshed tears as he stared at his phone screen. He refused to let them shed. No, not until Shota was home. At least then Hizashi would have someone to lean on, someone who understood his pain. Until then, texting his frustrations would have to do. 

{Sent 6:37}

Tired ™: Call Me.

Chapter Text

Harry James Potter was having a pretty rotten summer so far. Being released into his quirkest, magic-hating relatives' tender loving care after killing a fifty-foot-long snake was not his definition of a good time, thank you very much. Then again, it's not like Harry expected them to act differently than usual, even if he had said something about his little jaunt into the Chamber of Secrets. If anything, he'd probably get double the chores for having the audacity to survive. 

Yeah, not a fun time. Especially with Harry's barely healing bruises and the tennis ball-sized crater in his right arm, throbbing with every move he made. The last thing he needed was to aggravate something and unintentionally bleed to death. It was best not to mention the event, and Hogwarts, in general, for as long as possible until the Basilisk bite looked less aggravated. In the meantime, Harry planned on staying under his relatives' raider until he could find the right time to bring up the Hogsmeade permission slip Professor McGonagall handed out at the end of the year. It would have to snow in June for the Dursleys to agree to something for Harry's benefit, but Harry had to hold on to something to remain somewhat optimistic. 

The Dursleys got the phone call about a month into Harry's summer break. The day started pretty average for the Dursleys. Aunt Petunia dragged Harry out of bed to make the family breakfast, the standard English fare, then made him wash the dishes from the night before, before letting him eat with the rest of the family. As usual, he got a little strip of bacon with a small egg and a pitiful piece of toast, the dredges that not even Dudley would touch. The conversation was pleasant amongst the Dursleys, with a few digs aimed at Harry occasionally. But that was fine. He was used to it. As long as they weren't screaming at him for something utterly ridiculous, he didn't care if they didn't talk to him. 

It was a quiet, maybe even pleasant, Saturday morning until the landline on the kitchen wall started ringing. Uncle Vernon set his fork down on his plate in barely concealed irritation and set his face in a scowl. "Who the bloody devil is calling at this hour?!" Vernon's face was starting to turn red in his fury. "And at breakfast too!" Petunia was quick to nod along with her irate husband.

"Yes, the lack of manners is appalling!" Petunia simpered. "Why, I wouldn't be surprised if the person on the other line was some teenager pulling a prank!" 

"Or some blasted telemarketer!" Vernon's face started to deflate back to his normal skin color. "I could have sworn I removed our home number from those damn lists."
It wasn't odd for a phone to ring somewhere in the Dursley house. Petunia loved gossiping with the neighbors, and Vernon always had some supposedly important person he was schmoozing up regularly. What was unusual was the landline ringing instead of one of the Dursleys' phones. Every member of the household, barring Harry since they didn't consider him important enough to spend the money on, had the newest and shiniest smartphones on the market. They prided themselves on owning the latest and greatest things and replaced their phones religiously. So, of course, the family rarely used the landline. 

"Boy!" He barely glanced Harry's way as he turned to glare at the landline. "See what they want." Harry held back a sigh as he slowly got up and made his way over. From the corner of his vision, he could see his whale-like Uncle lumbering over to his Aunt and plastering a kiss on her cheek before turning and ruffling Dudley's mop-like hair. "Well!" Harry jumped a bit at his uncle's sharp tone. "Answer the bloody thing!" 

Harry quickly took the phone off the dial and held it to his ear. "Hello?" He winced at his audible voice crack.

"Hi! Does Petunia Dursley live here?" A male voice came from the other line. He sounded young, but Harry couldn't didn't want to make any assumptions.

"Um, yes, she does. Uh-what do you wa-uh n-need with her, exactly?" Harry started fiddling with the landline cord as he stuttered through his response. He wanted to hit himself with how stupid he was being. It didn't help that the Dursleys were actively sneering at him with vindictive glee at his suffering, Dudley especially. 

"Oh, that's great!" He could hear the audible relief in the stranger's voice. "This is the sixth number I've tried in the past hour, and I can't tell you how relieved I am to find the right number finally! Phone books suck, I tell ya!"

"Oh, ah yeah, I-I bet." Harry took a tiny breath and gathered his courage. "I-I don't mean to be rude, but uh, w-why have you called, exactly? My Aunt doesn't usually use the landline."

"Oh! I'm so sorry! I completely forgot my manners!" There was a small beat of silence and shuffling before the stranger started talking again. “My name is Yamada Hizashi! I'm Petunia's younger brother! We've been out of contact for over twelve years, and I've been trying to track her down, so to speak." 
Harry stood stock still, staring at the receiver for a minute. He turned to look at his Aunt with his eyes wide before quickly turning his head back towards the wall. "W-well, Mister Hizashi, sir, I can get my Aunt and let you talk to her if you'd like. " A beat of silence held over the other end of the receiver for a second before Harry suddenly felt the phone being snatched from his hands by an irate Petunia. He didn't even hear her stomp up behind him. He was so in so much shock! 

"How dare you call this house!" Petunia spat out. "I thought I made myself clear to you years ago to stay away from my family!" Suddenly, Harry heard a loud voice coming from the opposite end of the receiver. Harry had to cover his ears at the volume as the voice berated his Aunt. 

"OH, YOU MADE YOURSELF CLEAR, ALRIGHT!" Harry could feel his eardrums pounding as what he could guess was an amplified quirk continued. "NOT ONLY DID YOU COMPLETELY CUT ME OFF, BUT YOU FAILED TO NOTIFY ME HARRY HAD BEEN DROPPED ON YOUR DOORSTEP?!" At that, Petunia went a deadly shade of pale, and the hand holding the receiver far from her head started to shake. "JESUS CHRIST, TUNIE! I THOUGHT HE WAS KIDNAPPED! OR WORSE! WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! WHY DID I HAVE TO FIND OUT THROUGH MY BOSS, OF ALL PEOPLE?!" Petunia could do nothing but stare at the receiver with barely concealed fear.

"THAT WASN'T A RHETORICAL QUESTION, TUNIE!" Petunia jumped a bit and closed her eyes to steal herself. A moment later, her eyes snapped open and landed on Harry. She jerkily tipped her head towards the kitchen door, and Harry took it as the dismissal it was. He quickly bolted out of the kitchen and up the stairs and tried to ignore his Aunt's shrill shouting as he went. It was none of his business, as far as he was concerned. 

Harry quickly opened his bedroom door and stepped inside before shutting it silently behind him. He didn't want to stir up any more of his Aunt's ire if he could help it. Harry looked around his room, and his eyes landed on Hedwig's empty cage. Good. She wasn't back yet. Harry didn't want to risk his uncle locking her back up for some mistake when he didn't have his wand on him to get her out. Harry quickly turned himself to his bed and crossed the room to meet it, instantly flopping face-first onto it. His threadbare blanket rubbed unpleasantly into his cheek, but Harry couldn't bring himself to care. He could still hear Petunia screaming downstairs and couldn't help but roll his eyes. Even to her long-lost brother, she couldn't help but be unpleasant. 

A brother. That's right. Aunt Petunia had a brother. Harry found himself sitting up as his thoughts began to spiral. Did this mean that he had an uncle now? What is he talking about? Of course, it does. But why, now, of all times, did he decide to call? He seemed pleasant on the phone, at least to Harry, but he didn't know long his eardrums would keep screaming due to what he assumed was the man's quirk. And if this Hizashi person was Petunia's brother, was he also his mother's brother? Harry wasn't stupid. He knew half-siblings existed. He even remembered asking his Aunt on some memorable occasion why a classmate of his in Primary had to go to two different houses throughout the week. Harry just got slapped for his trouble and a long-winded lecture about being nosy. 
Harry couldn't count the number of times he wished for some mysterious relation to whisk him away from here to somewhere safe. It was all he thought about when he was younger, and he needed something to keep him motivated in that dark, damp cupboard. And even now, when he had a bad nightmare or day, he'd hug himself and pretend it was someone else. He'd often imagine his mother singing to him as he buried his face into her fiery red hair, her delicate hands running through his hair.

By Aunt Petunia's reaction, the Dursleys didn't like him very much. Honestly, it didn't take much for the Dursley's not to like someone. Have magic or a quirk deemed 'undesirable,' and it was a one-way ticket on their unlikeable list. It made Harry curious: did his new uncle have magic as he did? Was his quirk not up to Dursley standards? He could see why that once might be the case. His eardrums were still ringing, and he was positive at least one of the kitchen windows shattered at the sheer volume. Petunia probably saw her brother's quirk as a nuisance, incompatible with home decor or gardening. But even with an "undesirable quirk," there had to be something else that caused all the bad blood between Aunt Petunia and this Hizashi guy. What was it about Mr. Hizashi that made Aunt Petunia scream like an angry Banshee? 

Suddenly, there was a sharp knock on Harry's door. Once his head had swiveled around, he saw Aunt Petunia walk briskly into his room with a pinched look. She quickly glanced around, spotting Hedwig's empty cage and the various articles of clothes on the floor, and morphed her face into a scowl. Her watery blue eyes turned sharp once they landed on Harry.
"Pack your things. You're leaving." She said with as little emotion as possible. Harry could only look at her, stunned. 

"Leaving?" Harry bolted up from his bed and turned to face his Aunt. "For where?!" Harry asked in alarm. Petunia only scoffed and turned to leave.

"I don't know, and I don't care to know either." Her hands paused on the door handle as she turned her head to look at Harry. "Be ready by tomorrow at 11." With that, she quickly made her escape. Harry could hear the clicking of the various locks on the door, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Where was he going? What was happening to him? Was Uncle Vernon finally doing good on his promise of ditching him at some random orphanage? Merlin, he hoped not. Harry's eyes started darting across the rooms as he began to take stock of things. 

There were a few shirts on the floor that Harry could quickly shove into his trunk. The only problem came in getting to it. Uncle Vernon had the key to access his old cupboard, and he doubted they would let him out of his room until the next day. Harry was completely fine with that. It just bought him time to try and plan his next move and let this all sink in. Harry could do this. He'd be fine. He's not panicking.

Oh, what was he kidding? Harry was definitely panicking. He needed Hermione to come and logic him out of this. There was a reason why she was the designated brain cell out of the three of them. Harry could barely think his way out of a paper bag, and Ron could barely last a day without getting involved in a fight. It's a miracle Harry had managed to survive to thirteen. Guess it doesn't matter anymore if he had his valuable brain cell friend or not as Harry moved frantically around his room, picking various clothes and objects off the floor and throwing them on his bed. Harry then threw open his wardrobe next to the door and pulled out his old school backpack and clothes. He tossed all the clothes on the bed and walked to his bedside table, where he laid his summer homework. He barely glanced at it before he picked up the parchment and threw it into one of the main pockets of the backpack, along with his Transfiguration textbook that he could smuggle up and his quill and ink pot. Harry then turned to his bed and eyed all the clothes. 

Not all of them were going to fit into the old backpack. No matter. Most of what Harry had was falling apart at the seams and had holes in them. Harry supposed he could pack the least holey and most presentable-looking collection of hand-me-downs. But that would be its challenge because all of his clothes had holes and ripped seams somewhere. In the end, Harry sighed in frustration and picked things randomly until his backpack filled up. He tossed the bag to the foot of his bed and took the remaining clothes into his arms. He returned to his wardrobe and threw them into it without care before returning to bed. Harry collapsed onto his bed face-first for the second time that morning and screamed into his stained pillow. Merlin, what had his life come to?

Chapter Text

The past few days since the letter had come had proved to be beneficial. It gave time for Hizashi and Aizawa to come up with a game plan for when they arrived in London, and time to draw up lesson plans. It had also proved fruitful for Nedzu. Somehow, and Hizashi really didn’t want to know how, Nedzu had been able to dig up some old documents from the British Ministry. One in particular was a hastily written custody transfer signed by none other than former Minister Bagnold to a certain Albus Dumbledore. The child in question? Harry James Potter. Hizashi had seen red when he was presented with the yellowed parchment. His rage was exasperated when Nedzu followed it up with a thin manilla folder, detailing how the headmaster had immediately transferred custody in the Muggle world to his estranged sister. Speaking of, Nedzu made sure to “accidentally” slip Petunia's home phone number into Hizashi’s clenched fists.

Hizashi wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Especially when the horse was his boss. God knows how the insane creature hasn’t taken over the world yet. Hizashi would put his money on boredom, but Shota says he’s too entertained torturing the school faculty to give a damn about world domination. Evil bosses aside, it hadn’t been until the couple were at the airport, waiting to board the plane that he finally made the call. It was… enlightening. For starters, it was obvious his nephew was being abused to some extent. No twelve-year-old that Hizashi had come across was that meek or nervous unless they were hiding something. And while Hizashi did regret using his quirk in a confined space, he couldn’t help but feel some catharsis for the five minutes he was able to shout at Tuney before his husband canceled his quirk. 

For another, Tuney seemed all too glad to rant and rave about how awful Harry was. He was ungrateful, a bully, a thief, the list was endless. Hizashi could barely get a word in before he was steamrolled with various insults and threats to him and Shota. Eventually, Hizashi had enough and used his quirk to slightly elevate his voice.

“Tuney!” Various people around the airport turned to glare at him. Hizashi paid them no mind. “Will you shut up for five minutes?” He said exasperatedly. “Or would you prefer I showed up at your door and talked some sense into you instead?”

There was silence on the other line, before Petunia’s irritatingly fake London accent came back on the line. “How dare you-”

“No,” Hizashi interrupts, “We’re not playing this game anymore. You had your turn, now it’s mine. Don’t like it, though.” He could hear Petunia start to sputter and grinned to himself before pressing on. “Nope. No talking. Now listen here and listen good, sister dearest. My lovely husband and I are about to board a plane to Heathrow. When we get there, you and your poor excuse of a husband are going to pick us up and take us back to your house.” He pauses for emphasis, taking Shota’s hand. Shota barely lifts his head from his slouched position to acknowledge him. “There, you are going to serve us tea and happily explain why you never bothered to tell me you came into possession of my favorite nephew. Then, you’re going to sign over all your guardianship rights of Harry to me and Shota. Afterwards, you and your bloated, bald, greasy husband are going to sign so many NDA’s and legal statements that promise you will never see the light of day again if I find a single hair out of place on Harry. Am I clear?”

“C-crystal.” Petunia answered with a shaky breath. “What time shall we expect you, brother dearest?”

“We land at 10 am.” Hizashi sniffed. “And Petunia?”

“Yes?”

“You have no idea how disappointed I am with you. How disappointed Lily would be with you.” With that, Hizashi pressed the end call button. He couldn’t help but feel disgusted at his sister. How could Tuney have sunk that low? He knew she was a jealous person, especially when it came to Lily, but he couldn’t believe she had let it consume her so readily. Hizashi was starting to overthink, was this his fault? Of course, it was! He was never there for either of his sisters when they needed him. All he even thought about was his hero career and getting together with Shota and quirk training. Did that make him a bad brother? A bad uncle? Was he cut out to raise a child? Shota slapped him across the face.

“You’re overthinking again.” he said dryly. Hizashi could only stare at him blankly before taking his hand. 

Suddenly, the overhead system announced boarding for their flight and Hizashi felt himself glued to the floor. Why couldn’t he move? Shota took it in stride and gently pulled him towards the ticket counter to check them in, before walking into the terminal. Shota helped ground him as they walked through the terminal, towards the plane. The glass hallway quickly morphed into a cement tube as they got closer and closer to the plane. Hizashi gave him a little smile as the flight attendants checked their tickets and showed them where their seats were. Taking a deep breath, he led Shota to their seats and sat down. 

‘Here we go.’ Thought Hizashi. ‘Time for a long overdue family reunion.’

Time Skip

The car ride to Number 4 was awkward. Hizashi and Petunia were in no mood to make conversation with each other, and Shota was positive Vernon was about to stroke out on them with how purple he was. Nevertheless, once they reached the driveway, everyone in the car breathed a collective sigh of relief. At least Hizashi and Shota did now they weren’t stuck in such a confined space. Hizashi’s first impressions of Private Drive was…dull. Everything was dull, and orderly and identical. Even the lawns were all cut the same. It made him shiver. How could someone live in this HOA paradise?! 

Apparently, Petunia and Vernon Dursley could. The second both of them got out of the car, Vernon began bragging about how they had “the best gardens on the block,” to which Tuney blushed. Yes, the roses were impressive, but so were everyone else’s on this God-forsaken block. Hizashi might have been more impressed if Petunia had actually displayed her true capabilities. But, if she wanted to limit herself, that was none of his business. Vernon could probably tell neither he, nor Shota were impressed by the shrubbery, or his driveway, or his car by how red he was getting. Eventually he gave up and grumpily led everyone into the house. 

The inside of the house was even less impressive. Floral wallpaper everywhere with cheesy family pictures littering every known surface. Hizashi could feel Shota cringe right next to him at all the unnecessary color. Vernon huffed and led them into the living room, which held the most obnoxiously green couch and armchairs set Hizashi had ever seen. The fuzzy red shaggy carpet underneath the worn oak coffee table made the room feel like Christmas… in June. There was a noticeable dip in the armchair closest to the door leading to the kitchen, coincidentally the same chair Hizashi noticed Vernon was lumbering over to. 

“Well!” Hizashi clapped his hands together, startling Petunia next to the fireplace. “Let’s not waste any more time! Why don’t you show me where you store your kettle, Tuney, and I’ll get some tea going.” Petunia pinched her lips in disgust at the very suggestion and Vernon was starting to go red.

“No, no,” she replied hastily. She moved quickly to put herself in between Hizashi and the kitchen. "I am perfectly capable of making tea for our...” she paused for a moment, “guests.” She almost spat the word out as if the very notion offended her. Vernon grunted in agreement as he tossed his coat jacket onto the garish couch. With that, she hurriedly rushed off through the door. 

Hizashi heard a thump to his left and saw Shota had face planted into the couch. He couldn’t blame him. It had been an agonizingly long flight. Hizashi moved to sit in the armchair adjacent to Vernon’s. The rotund man narrowed his beady eyes at him as he sat down in the ugly green thing. All Hizashi did was smirk and tilted his head into his right hand, starting right back. He never liked Vernon. Vernon was far too rude, brash, and greedy for Hizashi’s tastes. The man’s ego could be seen for miles. It’s a surprise he hadn’t been fired for his sheer arrogance. Tuney could do far better for herself, and even she knew that. But Hizashi felt no sympathy for her. She made her bed, now she should have the decency to lay in it. 

Vernon eventually looked away, intimidated by Hizashi’s piercing gaze. Hizashi smirked to himself as he watched perspiration form over Vernon’s massive brow and under arms. A lesser man would have looked away from the quivering mass of blubber, but Hizashi was not that. He had seen and done far worse than to intimidate this pathetic excuse of a human. And he would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit he got some pleasure out of finally putting Vernon Dursley in his place. 

Suddenly, Petunia burst through the kitchen door with a tea service in hand. Vernon’s head swiveled quickly to make eye contact with his wife. An obvious call for help being conveyed through his beady eyes. Hizashi boredly glanced up at her, his green eyes flitting briefly between her and Vernon, before landing on the tea service. Petunia shakily set it down on the table and sat on the arm of Vernon’s armchair. Tense silence loomed throughout the room for a minute, before Hizashi sighed harshly and got up to serve himself. Petunia flinched at the sound before readjusting herself on the arm. Slowly, everyone, including Shota, helped themselves to the small tea serves before falling back into silence.

“Well,” Hizashi said suddenly, “If no one else is going to address the elephant in the room, I will.” He narrowed his eyes directly at Petunia, who straightened up at his piercing gaze. “You have some serious explaining to do, Tuney. No call, no letter, Nothing! Then, not even a week ago, I got a letter from the Potter estate- oh don’t flinch Tuney- stating not only is Harry very much alive, but I was supposed to be his rightful guardian. Would you happen to know anything about that sister dearest?” Hizashi tipped his head to the right for effect. Petunia’s hands were shaking. The cup of tea she held was chattering as she tried and failed to get herself together. Vernon did nothing but watch her in barely veiled annoyance. 

“I-I-w-well,” Petunia took a shaky breath to stabilize herself. “W-we had no choice! You m-must understand.” 

Hizashi narrowed his eyes. “Understand what?”

Petunia took another breath and found the courage to look her brother in the eyes. “It isn’t like we wanted him, but we were threatened! T-that-that old codger threatened us with death!” Petunia was beginning to get hysterical. “Said the same loonies who blew up Lilly would come for us if we didn’t take the brat in. Something about sacrifice and blood, some tripe like that!” She visibly scoffed as she took a long swig of her tea. Her natural accent started to come through. “He even threatened Vernon’s job! Said some nonsense about him harassing his secretaries!” At this Vernon started too visibly pale. “What was I supposed to do? I had my own son to think about. That brat is lucky we blessed him with a roof over his head!” Petunia crossed her arms and turned away from Hizashi.

“You could have called me, Tuney.” Petunia scoffs at Hizashi’s reply. “I’m serious. I have the resources to help you. It’s clear to me you let your bitterness and jealousy take over you. I don’t understand why you feel the need to put everyone around down, nor do I want to. You seem happy in your manufactured wasteland, but I can tell that deep down, you're a miserable husk.” Petunia could only sputter in reply. Hizashi took the opportunity to take the stack of rolled up papers out of the inner pocket in his leather jacket, along with a pen, and place them on the table. “Now that the unpleasant part is out of the way,” Hizashi stood up with the paper and pen and approached Petunia and Vernon. “Sign these.”

The couple stared at the stack in thinly veiled shock. Petunia 's kept glancing at the stack and up at Hizashi’s hard glare before she took the pen from his hands and shakily signed the papers. She passed the pen to Vernon who narrowed his eyes on it. 

“That’s it?” he said. “No compensation for all the clothes and food we’ve wasted on the boy. No payment for keeping him alive for you fairies? Well, I-” 

“I would watch the next words that come out of your mouth very carefully, Dursley.” interrupted Shota. His eyes were ruby red, and his hair was floating around him like a dark halo. Shota had traded his lazy position on the couch for an upright one. His cup of tea is long forgotten on the coffee table. Vernon let out a high-pitched squeak when he looked over at him. His normally ruddy skin was now a ghastly white as he tried to mold himself into his armchair. If anything, it made his blubber look even more prominent. “Now sign.” Shota practically growled. Vernon quickly grabbed and hastily scrawled his signature on the forms. 

“Perfect!” Hizashi rerolled the forms and put them back into his jacket pocket. “You can keep the pen. Now,” he clapped, causing the Dursley couple to jump. “Where is Harry?”

“U-upstairs.” Petunia slowly rose from her spot. “I’ll go get him.” She quickly rushed from the room, nearly knocking over the umbrella rack in the hallway. Hizashi watched her as she practically ran upstairs and hummed to himself.

“Penny for your thoughts?” asked Shota. He had resumed his lazy position on the couch, but he made sure to keep a stern eye on Vernon.

“A penny?” Hizashi snorts. “If I got a penny for all of today’s thoughts, I’d be set for retirement.” He moved to sit next to Shota on the couch, making sure he was sitting as close as he could to Vernon. Didn’t want him to get too comfortable, and if the obvious sheen of sweat on his face, and his pale pallor, was any indication, they were doing a good job. 

After a few minutes, Hizashi could hear two sets of hurried footsteps coming down the stairs. Everyone focused on the hall as a small black-haired figure was herded by Petunia into the living room. Hizashi gasped slightly as the small figure looked up and revealed nearly identical green eyes to his own, to Lily’s. Hizashi stood up slowly to not startle Harry, Shota not that far behind him, and approached his nephew. Petunia stood behind the boy with a pinched expression and narrowed eyes. Harry’s expressive eyes showed his curiosity and slight mistrust towards him. In his right hand, he held a small backpack covered in various rips and tears. Honestly, everything the boy had on was ripped to high heaven, even his shoes. 

Slowly, Hizashi kneeled in front of Harry, making sure to keep eye contact. Harry’s eyes widened slightly at this. “Hi, Harry.” Hizashi made sure to keep his voice low and level. “It’s nice to finally meet you. You probably don’t know who I am, and that’s ok, but I’m your Uncle Hizashi.” 

Harry’s jaw visibly dropped as he stared at Hizashi. “W-what?” he asked, startled. “This has to be a joke!” He turned to look at Petunia. She only glared at him. “Aunt Petunia?” he pleaded desperately.

“It is true, boy.” Petunia answered stiffly. “Hizashi is your mother’s twin, and unfortunately for me, my brother.” She sniffed at Hizashi with disdain and turned her head to look out the window. “Now hurry up and get out of my house. We don’t want anything to do with your lot.”

Harry looked at her in horror before turning to Hizashi. Hizashi slowly moved to put his hand on his shoulder, Harry didn’t move out of the way and allowed for the hand to make contact. “Harry, it’ll be alright. Do you have any belongings that need to be moved? Any keepsakes you want to bring along?” 

“My trunk.” Harry responded simply.

“Ok, can you tell us where it is?” Hizashi slowly stood up, keeping his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry simply shrugged his other shoulder and pointed to the small door at the base of the stairs. “Ok,” Hizashi nodded to Harry. “Let’s go get it.”

Chapter Text

The screaming match between Aunt Petunia and this Hizashi person was intense. The pictures on the walls were rattling in their fragile frames as both of the adults seemed to get louder and louder. Little vines were growing out of groaning floorboards, and curling around Petunia’s ankles the more irate she became. Plaster burst from various points in the walls as thorny vines burst from the walls and made their accent to the ceiling. All the picture frames and a glass window in the kitchen shattered as Hizashi made an affronted shriek at a hard-hitting insult. 

All Harry could do was stare between the two like some demented tennis match as each party threw threats at the other. He had to keep looking down from time to time to avoid getting wrapped up in moving vines. The homeless looking man (who Harry thinks is named Shota?) seemed preoccupied glaring Uncle Vernon down in his armchair. Aunt Petunia shouted about how she would ruin the other’s reputation and career. Hizashi fired right back, with threats of arrest and imprisonment. What his Aunt would be imprisoned for, Harry had no idea. Stalking the neighbors? Mediocre gardening? The thought caused Harry to hold back a snicker. 

“What are you laughing at, boy?!” roared Aunt Petunia. Her attention suddenly snapped to Harry, making him pale dramatically. “Think this is funny, do you?!” Harry shook his head furiously in a no as his Aunt started to make her advance towards him, only to be wrapped up in a white binding material.

“I think that’s enough of you,” A raspy voice snapped. Harry instinctively turned around to face it, to see the mystery man glaring at his Aunt with piercing red eyes and black hair flowing around him. “‘Zashi,” The flustered blond snapped to attention at his gaze. “Sit the kid down and get Nedzu on the phone. God, this is such a mess.” Sighing, he released his quirk and began dragging Aunt Petunia to the kitchen with that weird scarf thing as Hizashi led Harry to the living room. 

Uncle Vernon watched on in muted anger as Harry sat on the couch and Hizashi brought his phone out. Harry just stared right back, never breaking eye contact with his rotund uncle. Beside him, a heated conversation in heated Japanese was happening between Hizashi and who Harry assumed was Nedzu. He wasn’t paying much attention to it because, well, he didn’t know the language and watching his uncle turn various shades of purple was far more entertaining than speculating what was being said. Harry watched in barely concealed delight as Vernon had trouble keeping his ill-thought comments to himself. After years of being subjected to his verbal, and on occasion physical abuse, this felt like victory to Harry. Of course, he knew this would be short-lived when he eventually left with these people, but for now, Harry was going to savor this moment. 

A crash was heard in the kitchen, drawing Harry out of his revelry and drawing Hizashi out of his phone call. Cursing in both English and Japanese could be heard, as well as the piercing voice of his Aunt Petunia. Harry turns to Hizashi and watches as he mutters an unheard curse and yells something to the person on the other line before rushing to the kitchen. The scuffle only gets louder as three people shouting at each other in various languages adds to the cacophony. Things were obviously being thrown if the metal clanging and glass shattering was any indication. Harry sneaked a glimpse at Uncle Vernon and saw him trying to melt into his chair. Every crash and scream had him collapsing further into his blubber. Harry would have found it humorous if he wasn’t partially concerned. A particularly large crash makes him flinch in sympathy. He debates getting up to look at what's going on, but an even larger crash accompanied by a cry of anger made him reconsider. 

A firm knock at the door draws Harry’s attention away from the chaos and towards the hall. Hesitantly, he rises from his spot and makes his way to the door. Every step accentuated by crashing or screaming coming from the kitchen. Harry stands on his tiptoes and looks out the peephole to see a stern looking police officer standing on the porch. Quickly looking back towards the living room to see Uncle Vernon effectively melded to his recliner, Harry slowly opens the door with a well-timed crash accompanying him. Harry attempts a smile as he looks up at the female police officer. 

The officer in front of him was dressed in the standard police uniform. White dress shirt with a black tie, pressed and neatly tucked into her black slacks. She wore a kevlar vest with her badge pinned firmly on her right shoulder with her radio. Graying purple hair was drawn tight into a high bun onto her head, and her steely grey eyes spoke of a no-nonsense demeanor. Wrinkles around her eyes and mouth indicated a life filled with laughter and sorrow. 

“How can I help you, miss?” CRASH. 

“Yes,” She cleared her throat as someone screamed. “We were called as backup for Pro Heroes Present Mic and Eraserhead in a domestic dispute.” She raises an eyebrow in the direction of the kitchen as the crashes and clangs become more frequent. “The international office was quite insistent.” 

‘We?’ Harry looks around her and sees a full SWAT team all geared up and ready to go. “They’re uh,” Another crash went off, causing Harry to flinch “They’re in the kitchen.” He steps aside and lets everyone in. Before he closes the door, he notices quite a few of the neighbors standing around, gossiping with one another. Harry even caught a few pointing at the house. With a slight chuckle to himself, he closes the door and goes back to the couch. 

The police officer was waiting for him as the SWAT team went into the kitchen to help out. There was some added yelling before everything suddenly stopped. Two members of the team came out to the living room and began to haul Uncle Vernon out of his recliner, much to his many protests. They nodded to the officer and she promptly took a seat in Vernon’s recliner like she owned the place. Harry just watched on in slight awe as various teammates came and went, updating the officer, their boss? He wasn’t quite sure. 

Soon enough, Hizashi and Eraserhead come back into the living room looking exhausted. Both had bandages and wrappings around various injuries, and Harry’s positive he saw Eraserhead with his arm in a sling. They both threw themselves on the couch next to Harry with Hizashi throwing an arm on the back of the couch, right behind Harry. Eraserhead just leaned his head back and seemed to fall asleep.

“Wow,” said the policewoman. “You two are seriously out of practice if you let someone as bony as that shrew land that many scrapes on ya.”

“That shrew,” growled Hizashi. “Is my older sister. If anyone would know how to land one on me, it’d be her.” 

“Ouch my condolences.” Hizashi threw a heated glare at her, causing her to throw her hands up in surrender. “On a more serious note, we need to discuss what happened today, and what your plan is going forward. From what I understand, Mr. Potter here,” she nodded her head towards Harry, “is your nephew and was placed with your sister illegally. Is that correct?” 

“Yes,” Hizashi nodded his head slowly, “I received a missive from Gringotts bank,” Harry let out a choked squeak at the mention. Hizashi looked at him apologetically. “I’ll explain later in private, kiddo, I promise.” Harry nodded dumbly at him and turned back to the policewoman.

“A missive?”

“Yes,” Hizashi sighed as he dug out familiar parchment and handed it to the policewoman. “It seems a certain old codger thought it appropriate to mess with my late sister’s affairs.” 

“I can see that,” she replied. “It’s quite unusual for a Gringotts missive to contain such sensitive information.” She paused, looking Harry up and down for a moment. “Especially for such a high-profile client.”

“Wait, high-profile?” squeaked Harry. “How am I high profile?!” 

Hizashi sighed next to him and leaned forward onto his knees. “I’m going to assume Petunia told you nothing about your parents. Is that right?” Hizashi looked at Harry, who nodded in reply. “Sounds just like her, Jesus.” He brought a hand over his face before continuing. “Harry, your mother and father, well your father really, were nobility. Not Muggle nobility, unfortunately, but wizard nobility.”

“What?” Harry stared at him wide-eyed.

“Yep.” Hizashi turned to face him better. His blond hair had long since fallen out of its confines of the rushed ponytail he had thrown up on the plane. “They had titles and everything.” 

“H-how come no one ever told me?!” Harry looked down, blinking back tears. 

“They probably assumed you already knew.” Hizashi sighed and moved to put his hand on Harrys. “Is it ok to touch you, Harry?” Harry looked startled a moment before looking down to Hizashi’s hand and then his own. He slowly nods and goes back to looking at his hands. Hizashi slowly takes Harry’s hand in his and squeezes it.

“As touching as this is,” The policewoman interrupted. “We need to discuss your next steps. Nedzu briefed me as much as he could, but seeing as I have no magic to speak of, he couldn’t tell me everything without risking me getting Obviated.” 

“Of course.” Hizashi turns back to face her. “What do you need to know?” 

The policewoman smirked, sending chills up Harry’s spine. “I need you to tell me everything you know about Dumbledore. From start to finish. Leave. Nothing. Out.”

Hizashi breathed out a humorless chuckle. “You’re calling for a tall order, O’Rielly.” The now named O’Rielly’s smirk only grew sharper. “Well, no avoiding it.” Hizashi turned to Harry and looked him directly in the eyes, green against green. “To start, my English, well Welsh name technically is Carwyn Hizashi Evans-Yamada. And your mother was my twin sister, Harry. From the moment we were born it was evident that Lily was different from Petunia and me. There was just,” Hizashi paused for a moment to find the right words. “Something different, almost otherworldly about her. It’s hard to describe. It was like she glowed during the day. There was no word for it and it only seemed to grow as we got older. Of course, now in hindsight it’s obvious it was her magic expressing itself.

“I probably don’t have to tell you that people with magic don’t get quirks.” Harry nodded up eagerly at Hizashi. “Well, our parents didn’t know that, and no doctor’s appointment your mother went to prove or disproved the existence of… something going on. It got to the point where they just threw their hands up in the air and decided to wait things out. It wasn’t until your mother, Petunia, and I were at the park one day that we finally got answers. You see, your mother loved jumping off the swings at the highest point she could and using her magic to float herself down. It was mesmerizing to watch.” Hizashi looked off to the side with a glazed look in his eye, as if seeing something no one else could. “Well, on this particular day, we had someone watching in on us, more specifically on your mother.

“It wasn’t until Petunia started scolding her that he showed himself.” Hizashi huffed a laugh to himself. “Even back then Petunia was all about appearances, so when Severus, the person watching us, heard her blabbing about what the neighbors would think and all that junk, he swoops in and declares Lily’s a witch. I almost couldn’t believe it! Neither could she, but after Severus explained himself a bit more, it just… made sense. 

“Fast forward… 3 years? Yeah 3 years and Lily’s letter finally gets her letter. Everyone is excited for her, well almost everyone. Petunia goes on a rampage calling her a freak and how Lily should just ‘be normal’” Hizashi looked disgusted just saying it, “but thankfully our parents were pretty supportive and shut that down quickly. I was thrilled that Lily would finally be able to learn how to control her magic in a safe environment. I even got her a farewell scarf! Just…” Hizashi looked down, slightly distraught. “A part of me wishes she accepted her invitation to Mahoutokoro. Maybe then she would have avoided all of this.”

“That’s all interesting, Mr. Yamada, but I believe I asked you about Albus Dumbledore.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it.” Hizashi looked back at Officer O’Rielly with a glare, “From the very start of your mother’s magical education, Dumbledore seemed to have an unhealthy interest in her. He visited our house constantly with updates on her academic prowess, who she made friends with, if she was sick, it became overwhelming. At first my parents were grateful he was looking out for her, but after the fifth visit, it became suspicious. My father was suspicious he was a glory hound, looking to cash in on having the child of a pro hero in his care.” At Harry’s gasp Hizashi added, “My dad was a low-level limelight hero who mainly specialized in gathering intel and reconnaissance. 

“Well, it turned out dad was right, well partially anyway. I don’t know the full details, dad died before he could tell me everything, same with Lily. But I do know that Dumbledore planned to expand his power base into the Muggle hero scene as a backup of sorts. It was a ‘in case everyone died’ scenario I’m assuming. I don’t know how successful he was in establishing himself. I was out of England and attending UA by the time he started poking around.

“Never really liked him if I’m being honest with you. His whole grandfatherly persona just reeked of deceit to me. And I told Lily to stay away from him too. But did she listen? No, just had to go and join that stupid Order with her dumbass husband and his merry band of idiots.”

“I’m sorry,” Officer O’Rielly interrupted, “Order? What Order?”

“Dumbledore started this Order dedicated to killing Voldemort called the Order of the Phoenix.” Hizashi said in a mocking voice. “Said it was made up of the best wizarding Britain had to offer, when really it was a bunch of scared teenagers and paranoid old men. Can’t tell you how many times I begged Lily to leave England and move in with me, especially when she found out about you.” Hizashi turned to look at Harry briefly with what looked like remorse. “But, she inherited the Evans’ stubbornness and refused. Now look at what happened. She’s dead and an old man who doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone decided to play God.” Hizashi shook his head at the thought.

“So,” O’Rielly sighed, “If what you’re telling me is correct, we have a manipulative egotistical, grooming sociopath in charge of most of the known public offices of wizarding Britain, and to put the cherry on top of this shit sundae, he’s formed a cult of potentially fanatical followers, dedicated to his every word.”

“Unfortunately, yes.” 

“God, you’re lucky I like you, Yamada.”

Chapter Text

The night before had been incredibly restless for all parties. Harry had insisted on cooking dinner for anyone in an attempt to make himself useful to his new guardians. Hizashi and Shota had merely waved his attempt at hospitality off with good humor (Hizashi) and ordered takeout from a local Indian place (Shota). There was an underlying sense of anxiety and trepidation coming from Harry as everyone ate and Hizashi tried to make small talk around the dinner table. Questions like, how is school? What are your friends like? Do you play sports?

It was the last question that got Harry to light up like a Christmas tree. His emerald-colored eyes lit up in delight as he described his love of flying. The thrill of testing new maneuvers during practice and feeling the wind in his hair. The jolt of adrenaline that goes up his spine when he catches a glimpse of the elusive snitch, and the amazing feeling that comes with the chase. Shota noticed the more that Harry talked, the more he relaxed and came out of his hunched state. The conversation flowed a lot easier after that. Harry was a lot more forthcoming about his likes and dislikes, his friends and his hobbies after the initial icebreaker. Shota made sure to file Quidditch away as something to research later.

Officer O’Rielly had made quick work of claiming the guest bedroom after dinner, and assured Harry that his cousin was being taken care of by social services when the boy hadn’t returned home by 9:00 pm. If anything, that seemed to make Harry fret worse. Shota honestly couldn’t understand why he bothered to worry. From what he understood, Dudley, the cousin, had been nothing but a bully to the small, gangly thirteen-year-old. It was illogical, but Shota supposed it was a family trait.

Shota and Hizashi were hesitant in claiming what was once Petunia and Vernon Dursley’s bedroom. But when examining the trash pile that was Dudley’s bedroom, and with the guest room occupied, they decided to rough it out for the night. The bedroom itself was covered from floor to ceiling with the gaudiest floral wallpaper Shota had ever seen in his life. It looked like a garden magazine had thrown up its contents all over the walls in a hideous lined configuration. Rows of lilies and roses and peonies stared back at Shota mockingly with their bright colors, horribly contrasting with the bright green carpet. The room looked like someone had tried to recreate the outdoors in this one room blindfolded.

In the center of the room, up against the back wall was a queen-sized bed with a large, Vernon sized indent on the right side. The bedspread was thankfully tamer than the eye-wateringly awful wallpaper. The dull gray was a pleasant respite from all the wacky patterns and bold colors littering the house. Shota suspected his brother-in-law might have picked the bedspread. Hizashi and Shota played rock-paper-scissors to see who would sleep in the huge crater. Shota lost. As the night drew to a close, Shota swore he heard a feminine whisper dancing in the breeze outside.

Shota Aizawa was observant. He knew how to look between the lines, find the little details that others would miss. It’s what made him so good at Underground heroics. Not saying that his husband couldn’t or wasn’t capable of looking, Hizashi certainly was. He wasn’t in the top 10 in popularity for nothing. But the difference between Spotlight and Underground heroics often involved case complexity. Shota was the one who more often than not was working with the police looking for missing children or helping solve cold cases. Hizashi, meanwhile, might get an attempted mugging or assault or two, but usually never more complex than that. Out of the two of them, Shota had more practice utilizing his deductive reasoning and critical thinking when it came to hero work and everyday life. So when the smell of bacon permeated through the air around six in the morning, naturally Shota was the one who began stirring.

It didn’t take a genius to piece together Harry had been abused by Petunia and Vernon Dursley. His awkward, lanky frame spoke of food insecurity in a house brimming with excess. The clothes covering him were obviously hand-me-downs and cast-offs from the much larger males that once occupied the house. If anything, it was shocking no one else had noticed sooner. The child’s meek and anxious demeanor matched with an almost fervent desire to please those around him was alarming to Shota. Especially when paired with the thoroughly unpleasant disposition of Petunia Dursley and her spoiled son Dudley. Shota shuddered at the thought of his overindulged, frankly horrific nephew, and leaned himself against the door frame to the kitchen.

He wasn’t surprised to find Harry at the stove, balancing two plates of food at once while tending to a glistening pan of bacon and sausages. Shota wasn’t doubting Harry's seriousness about cooking dinner for everyone the night before. He’s worked with abuse cases before, hell, he and Hizashi had even housed a few of them while they waited for placement. But this was a bit much. The table was set with glasses of coffee and milk and various cutlery lying next to plates heaped with food. A Full English was laid out on each plate with everything cooked to glistening perfection. Just looking at it all was making Shota hungry.

Glancing at Harry, he noticed the more Harry moved throughout the kitchen, the more he seemed to be slowing down. Every movement seemed to be more and more burdensome to the young boy. The plates in his arms looked to weigh more than his arms would allow, even as Harry piled bacon and sausages onto them. Suddenly, Harry lurched forward and hurriedly placed the plates on the counter before leaning to the sink and throwing up into it. Shota decided it was then to stop his observations and lend a helping hand to the sick child. Taking long strides, he was by Harry’s side in four quick steps.

“Easy,” Shota says as he gently places a hand on Harry’s back. “Take small breaths, kid. Yep, there you go.”

Harry stood hunched over the sink, taking shaky breaths while Shota gently ran a hand up and down his back. They stood there a minute before Shota began to gently lead Harry to one of the dining chairs. Once Harry was sat down did Shota notice the lump sticking up on Harry’s right forearm. He squatted in front of the boy and carefully rolled up the flannel shirt he was wearing, despite the boy's weak protests, and uncovered an amateur attempt at a bandage made from a cast aside T-shirt. The “bandage” was completely soaked through with blood and cemented onto the boy’s skin. Shota hisses in sympathy as he looks at the wad of bloodied cloth.

“Stay here.” Shota says. “I’m going to grab my first aid kit.” He stands up and quickly rushes to the living room where his suitcase was left. Shota wastes no time in locating it on the ugly couch and unzipping it in urgency, throwing all its contents all over the floor. Finally, he finds the white case nestled in between two spare capture carves and makes haste in grabbing it. When Shota returns to the kitchen, Harry is hunched forward in his chair and covered in a thin layer of sweat that wasn’t there before. Every breath he takes sounds raspy and forced. Shota resumes his post, squatting down beside Harry, this time with an open first aid kit.

“Ok kid,” he starts, “I’m going to attempt to get that makeshift bandage off with some saline solution I have on hand.” Shota holds up a small plastic bottle to show Harry. “I’m not gonna lie. It’s probably going to hurt like a bitch.” Harry gives a small huff of amusement but gives no other indication of protest.

Taking a deep breath, Shota grabs one of the gauze pads and opens the saline bottle. Slowly, he guides the bottle to the top of the wound and places the gauze pad to the side of the bottle to prevent significant spillage. He gives no warning and starts pouring the clear liquid down Harry’s arm. Instantly, Harry let out a guttural moan of pain as the saline sinks into the incision and does its work at unsticking the cloth from his skin. Shota winces in sympathy as he slowly moves the bottle from left to right to increase the effectiveness.

Blood mixes with saline drips onto the tiled floor as he works, leaving behind discolored varicose veins splayed all up across the poor boy’s forearm. Various shades of greens and purples and reds could be seen just under the skin, getting steadily worse the closer to the covered incision. Once the bottle was empty, Shota braved a look at Harry. The boy in question had his head thrown back and his eyes were closed, probably in an effort to dissociate from the pain.

“I’m going to slowly try and peel this off.” Shota says. “I have another bottle of saline in the med kit just in case, but it looks loose enough to start.” He only receives a groan in reply. Shota grabs and uncaps the extra saline bottle in preparation and turns back to the cloth. Slowly, he grabs the top of it and pulls down. Almost instantly he meets resistance, so Shota picks the saline up and pours a small amount as he tries again. This time, the cloth comes loose and almost instantly falls into Shota’s hands.

The smell, followed by the onslaught of blood and corrosive looking puss is what catches Shota’s attention. Immediately after being uncovered, the smell of rot and acidic decay floods the kitchen, followed by a pool of blacked blood mixed with yellowish-green pus that hisses as it touches the kitchen floor. The wound itself looked like a pulsating crater about the size of a softball. Destroyed muscles and tendons could be seen being actively eaten away by the puss leaking out of the wound. The varicose veins littering Harry’s forearm were leaking blood into the wound, only adding to the mess.

Shocked, it takes Shota a second to respond before he’s spraying the whole thing down with the extra bottle of saline. Heavy drops of blood and puss hit the kitchen floor, hissing and making squelchy noises respectively as Shota tries desperately to clean the wound out. No matter how much he got out, the more seemed to spawn out of nowhere. It isn’t until he’s out of saline and covered in Harry’s blood that he admits defeat and puts a proper bandage on Harry, which immediately begins to bleed through.

“Stay right here,” Harry doesn’t respond. “I’m gonna get help.” Shota bolts up the stairs double at a time and bursts into the master bedroom. “Hizashi!” Hizashi bolts upwards at the sound of Shota’s voice. “Harry has a-a wound of some kind. Magical, I think. I need help!”

“What!” Hizashi quickly rushes over to Shota and scans his partner for some kind of lie. “How can you tell? Wait-where did this blood-?”

“It’s Harry’s.” Shota interrupts. “I’ll tell you later, but right now we need to take him to some sort of hospital.”

“Right.” Hizashi says flustered. “I’ll wake O’Rielly, you grab Harry, and we’ll take him over to Gringotts.” Hizashi moves to put his shoes on.

“The bank?” Shota raises an eyebrow. “Yes, the bank.” Hizashi snaps as he struggles to fit his left shoe on. “Do you honestly think I’m going to take Harry somewhere that might be littered with spies?”

“And you think Gringotts won’t have them?” Shota asks.

“No,” Hizashi sniffs. He turns towards Shota with a pointed look. “If there’s one thing goblins hate most, it’s wizard interference in their affairs, especially when it comes to money. Trust me on this.”

“Fine.” Shota sighs. “Grab the detective, I’ll grab the kid.” They both nod to each other and rush to do their prospective tasks.

Shota can hear O’Rielly cursing Hizashi to hell and back as he bolts back down the stairs. He makes a quick pit stop to the living room and grabs one of the gaudy throw blankets laid over the couch. He made sure to avoid the growing mess of bloodied gore on the kitchen floor as he made his way next to Harry. ‘Petunia won’t have much use for this anymore’ Shota thought to himself as he wrapped an unconscious and clammy Harry in it. Carefully, he avoided the wound as best as he could as maneuvered his way through the house and out the front door. Upon seeing Harry, Hizashi lets out a choked noise and tries to hover over the both of them.

“Now isn’t the time.” snapped Shota.

“He’s right.” O’Rielly replies, dressed in only a nightgown and her utility belt and standing next to her patrol car. “You can fret later, Evans, when the poor boy’s stable.” Hizashi gave her a blithering glare before hopping into the front seat. Shota follows suit immediately and lays himself and Harry against the backseat of the patrol car.

The drive to The Leaky Cauldron was the most perilous and stressful of Shota’s life. O’Rielly had wasted no time in switching on her emergency lights and alerting her colleagues she was escorting a “special case” across central London. This allowed her to go over the speed limit and make the most perilous turns and short-cuts Shota had ever experienced in his short life. Meanwhile, poor Harry was actively bleeding out on his sleep shirt and Hizashi looked close to having an aneurysm as he gave directions. Shota was just trying his best to keep his grip on the young boy in his arms and remember if his Will was up to date.

When they arrived, Hizashi practically dragged Shota and O’Rielly out of the car and through the doors of the pub before either party had time to react. He knew all three of them were definitely a sight to behold, even by wizard standards. The innkeeper barely lifted his head at their rushed goings on, probably used to hurried clients using the Floo in the back corner or the alley out back. Shota definitely saw the patrons move away from them the split second they were in there. A muggle police officer in her floral-patterned nightgown, slippers and utility belt, a seemingly crazy blond dressed in a bright orange Put Your Hands Up! Sweatshirt, sweatpants, leather boots and unbrushed hair, and a man dressed in all black covered in blood and gore, carrying a child also covered in blood and gore weren’t normal things to come running through a pub. Especially a wizard pub.

‘Cowards’ Shota thought to himself as Hizashi nearly launched him straight into a brick wall. He threw a scowl in Hizashi’s direction, but the blond didn’t notice as he began tapping a pattern into the brick wall. Nothing happened for a second, and then suddenly the wall began to shift. Bricks moved away from the center of the wall itself, forming a crude, slightly bent archway that led into a crowded busy high street. Hizashi gave Shota and O’Rielly a second to gawk before grabbing their hands and running full speed down the boulevard.

Quirked shouts of ‘Move!’ and ‘Outta the way!’ came from the blond as they rushed through the crowded street. Shota could hardly find it in himself to be annoyed. It wasn’t often he heard Hizashi’s natural accent, unless it was in a high stress situation like now. On top of that, Harry was starting to take on a grayish parlor, his body temperature plunging from the blood loss. And Shota could see the noticeable blood trail leading all the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, no doubt also leading back to O’Rielly’s cruiser.

The witches and wizards populating the alley thankfully took the hint before they were run over by the group. One bystander, however, stood stubbornly in the road, even with Hizashi’s loud warnings. Quite predictably, Hizashi ran face first into the silver haired figure as he looked back to check on Harry. Shota thankfully didn’t fall with the two and was kept steady by O’Rielly’s quick thinking. He nodded to her in thanks as he turned to look at the mess of blond and silver on the cobbled ground.

“Just what is the meaning of this?!” yelled the silver haired stranger. On closer inspection, Shota noticed he was wearing green robes cut with gold and silver accents. Little snakes and fleur de Lis patterns flowed up the garment in a seemingly random manner. It might have looked pretty four hundred years ago, but to modern sensibilities it looked over the top and flamboyant. The pants the man wore were solid black with silver trim and tight fitting against his slender frame. His shoes were standard dress shoes found at every man’s suit shop, polished to an almost impossible shine.

“Malfoy!” the sharp voice of Hizashi suddenly brings Shots back to the present. “You were told to move!” Hizashi employed his quirk slightly for added effect, as he spoke, he carefully extracted himself from the cobblestone.

“Evans,” Malfoy replies with a slight snarl. He gracefully picked himself up as he continued. “Back spreading your filth, I see.” He adjusted his robes for emphasis. “Ah,” he says, looking at Shota and O’Rielly with disdain. “You even brought friends, too. Let me guess, that child is some mudblood mongrel you and your partner found playing hero.”

“Now you list-”

“Hizashi!” Interrupts Shota, quirk flaring in warning at both men. “Harry is bleeding out. We don’t have time for this.”

“Thank you, dear,” Hizashi replied evenly. “Another time, Malfoy.” He gives Malfoy a heated glare before taking O’Rielly and Shota’s hands and running into Gringotts.

The black marble floors of the bank were quickly coated in blood from the child in Shota’s arms as they stopped in front of the first teller. Hizashi quickly produces a crumpled piece of parchment from his pocket and slams it in front of the goblin. “I would like to see the Potter account manager about a pressing and urgent matter,” he said evenly. The teller merely raises an eyebrow and examines the letter.

“Proof of Identity?” the goblin asked.

“Shota?” Hizashi waves Shota forward “Will the heir to The Ancient and Most Noble House of Potter suffice?”

The teller’s eyes widen at Harry’s state and quickly ushers them behind his desk and down a series of doors and stairs, shouting in rushed and frantic gobbledygook as he passes other goblins. At a point, the black marble stops and gives way to ornately carved stone walls and braziers. The twists and turns in the labyrinth of caves the goblins call home occasionally open up into wide, open pavilions with grand statues and waterfalls surrounded by greenery. However, at the speed they were rushing through the underground kingdom, Shota could only get bare glimpses of everyday life. From the little he could see, it looked beautiful.

Eventually, they reached a fork in the road and were met by a group of goblins with a stretcher. Shota was hesitant to place Harry down onto it, but logic won out in the end, and he eventually relented. Immediately, the goblin medics descend on him and speak in rushed and urgent whispers before reaching an agreement and lifting the stretcher. Hizashi reaches for Shota, and they hold each other as they watch Harry be carried away by the group. The teller lets them have a moment to collect themselves before immediately rounding them all up and dashing down the right tunnel. Eventually, they reach a small door and are led through it.

The three humans have to duck to enter what looks to be an office. There is a large, presumably oak desk up against the right wall with a plush looking armchair sitting behind it with deep red upholstery. The chairs, four in total, in front of the desk are made of the same wood as the desk and have the same upholstery as the armchair, deep red. A comfortable rug is splayed underneath the table and chairs and colored a lighter shade of red than the upholstery. Various shelves lined the walls, covered in parchment and tomes along with the Potter insignia above the center of the right wall. The desk itself is littered with scrolls, quills, and ink bottles. The room itself exuded a sort of comfort the Dursley house certainly didn’t.

All three humans picked a chair and collapsed into it without hesitation. Hizashi doesn’t waste time curling his head into Shota’s neck, and Shota doesn't waste time taking a nap. Officer O’Rielly, on the other hand, stays vigilant. Instead of staying idle, she takes her gun out of its holster and starts cleaning it with the hem of her nightgown, counting down the minutes. The door suddenly slams open, revealing a stout looking goblin with a receding hairline and a gaze sharp enough to cut diamonds. He’s wearing a modern looking suit, complete with dress shoes and a stack of files clenched in his right fist. The goblin looks at the startled humans in his office with a critical eye, before landing on Hizashi.

“Good, you’re here.” he says gruffly. The goblin closes the door and goes to sit in the armchair across from the others. “Although, not the most ideal circumstances,” the goblin lets out a small groan of relief when his back finally hits the back of the chair. “It was never ideal to begin with.”

“I’m assuming you’re Account Manager Ironlung?” asks Hizashi warily.

“Yes.” replies Ironlung. “Now, to business.”

“Wait!” Interrupted O’Rielly, gun haphazardly resting in her lap. “I apologize for the interruption, but I would like to ask for everyone's consent to record the events that happen in this room. With the case against the Dursleys and Albus Dumbledore still young, I think it would be crucial to get any incriminating evidence on either party, if it is provided here, on a recorded medium. Video or audio works just fine.”

Ironlung thinks about it for a moment before responding. “I have no problem with you recording everything, as long as Mr. Yamada gives full consent.” At this, Hizashi nods at O’Rielly his consent. Consent received, she pulls a recording device out of a pocket from her utility belt and presses a button.

“This is Special Officer Katherine O’Rielly with the British Special Forces, Division SF2745, Badge Number 9103473, working case DV-CA21672. This is the recording of a will reading, indicating the wishes of the victim’s deceased former caregivers, DOD October 31st, 2XXX, causes unknown. Potential speakers are account manager Ironlung, Carwyn Evans, alias Hizashi Yamada, better known as the Japanese Pro Hero Present Mic, and Shota Aiwaza, a Japanese Underground Pro Hero.” After that, O’Rielly waves her hand at Ironlung to indicate for him to continue on.

“Right…” Ironlung clears his throat. “Mr. Yamada, we have been trying to get ahold of you on behalf of Heir Potter for the past twelve years. Will you please enlighten me as to why you have just now responded?”

“Twelve years!” Hizashi said in shock. “The letter I got a few days ago was the only letter I got from Gringotts. I assumed the Potter estate had been handled by James’ remaining relatives.” Shota put a hand on Hizashi’s arm to calm him down.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Yamada, Lord Potter, had no remaining living relatives besides Heir Potter. That, sadly, leaves you as next of kin to Lady Potter, the most eligible recipient of the Potter regency until Heir Potter comes of age. Though from your response,” Ironlung frowned. “I would have to guess… someone has been deliberately interfering with your mail.”

“Hmph! Wouldn’t be the first time!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Dumbledore tried to keep my sister from keeping in contact with me after I moved to Japan to attend UA. I was supposedly a ‘bad influence’, inspiring her to want to make change in the wizarding community and all that. We were fifteen, for fuck's sake!” Hizashi is getting more and more animated as he speaks.

“Careful, ‘Zashi.” Shota butted in. He squeezed his hand trying to get the riled-up blond to calm down.

“Sorry, love, I’m having a hard time keeping my emotions in check.”

“I know. Just be careful with your Quirk.”

“Our parents got him to back off eventually,” Hizashi continues, “but every letter I got from Lily afterwards just felt… wrong. Almost edited.”

“Do you believe it was Dumbledore keeping you away from settling things here?” Ironlung had one of his eyebrows raised and his hands clasped on the desk in front of him.

“Of course.” scoffed Hizashi. “Who else could it have been? That blasted old man doesn’t know when to leave well enough alone.”

“I was hoping you would say that.” replied Ironlung. He leans back in his chair and lets the air run still for the effect. “Over the past twelve years, a number of valuable and antique Potter family heirlooms have been going missing. It started small at first, but over time the culprit has grown quite sloppy and with every appraisal, the emptier the family vaults have gotten. It isn’t limited to heirlooms either. Large sums of money are extracted regularly and put in an untraceable account, that is until I had an underling sniff it out. I had the account number put through the system and only one name came up.” Ironlung leans forward and takes a piece of parchment from one of his many files and slides it across the desk. Hizashi snatches it up and stares at the name printed at the top with complete and utter loathing. Albus Dumbledore.

“What is this?” snarls Hizashi, barely keeping his rage in check.

“It is a thorough and highly detailed account of every withdrawal Albus Dumbledore took from Heir Potter’s account.” Ironlung replied calmly. “Including but not limited to his trust vault, the main vault, and various subsidiary vaults that exist purely to collect interest from various business ventures. As you can see, the damages caused are thorough, and as Heir Potter’s guardian, you are well within your right to sue for damages. Or” Ironlung let a feral grin light up his features. “You can leave it to Gringotts to do it for you.”

Hizashi’s eyes narrowed. “How do you benefit from this?”

“Simple, we get you your gold, heirlooms, and artifacts back, plus interest. We benefit by teaching a cocky old fool not to mess with the goblin nation, and we profit by increasing Heir Potter’s investment portfolio.”

“Win, win” Hizashi says dazedly.

“Win, win” Ironlung agrees with a nod of his head.

Shota and Hizashi look at each other and have a silent conversation before Hizashi faces Ironlung with a determined look on his face. "We’ll leave Gringotts to deal with the Potter accounts.”

“Excellent.” Ironlung gives a sharp toothed grin before digging a contract out of the top folder and sliding across the table with a quill. “Both of you sign here.” Hizashi picks up the quill and gives a cursory glance over the contract before signing it and handing the quill to Shota. He does the same and signs his name on the dotted line next to Hizashi’s. “Now,” Ironlung takes the contract and places it to the side. “With that out of the way, we have other business to discuss.”

“My sister and brother-in-law’s Will reading, I’m guessing?”

“Precisely,” Ironlung replied with a sharp grin. A knock was heard at the door almost immediately after the syllables of the word left his lips. “Enter!” In walked two figures, one clad in billowy all black robes, black dress shoes and unwashed greasy hair that fell to his shoulders. The other was clad in threadbare robes, patches littering the outer robe and the knee of the loose fitting pants the man was wearing. Scars covering every surface of the second man’s skin, especially his face. The tension in the room could be felt as Hizashi directed the meanest glare he could at the two men. The man in black glared right back, while the shabbily dressed one shuffled around nervously, desperately trying to avoid eye contact.

“Snape, Lupin.” Hizashi hissed with complete and utter disdain. “Who do you two think you are? Showing up to my sister’s will reading, like you have any right.”

“We were invited, Evans.” Snape sneered right back. Hizashi tensed up at the usage of his previous name.

“Who the hell invited either of you?!”

“I did.” Ironlung replied calmly. All heads immediately whipped to face him. “They were listed as potential beneficiaries. I am simply following protocol.”

“Of course, Lily forgave you,” Hizashi scowled in Snape's direction. “She was far more forgiving than you ever deserved.” His head then snapped to Remus. “Then either of you deserve.” Remus’ head immediately dips, and he makes a move to the far corner.

“With that out of the way,” Ironlung interrupts Hizashi (and Shota) from his glaring contest with Snape. “I would like to officially begin the joint Will reading of Lady and Lord Potter.”

“They made a joint will?” asks Shots, confused.

“Yes, Mr. Aizawa, Lord and Lady Potter deemed it beneficial if they combined their wishes into one singular legal document. Any more questions before I continue?” Ironlung looked around the room for any signs of confusion and found none. With that, he dug a file from his pile and opened it in front of him.

“‘I, Lord James Fleamont Potter and Lady Lily Jane Potter state on June 15th 2XXX that we are of sound mind and free will jointly writing this Will and Testament.

If either Lord or Lady Potter survives the other, the surviving party shall receive full custody of their child(ren), and full access to the Potter estate including monies, properties, titles, and family artifacts.

If Lord and Lady Potter are to die at the betrayal of their secret keeper, Peter Nigelous Pettigrew, then the custody of their son and Heir, Harry James Potter, and the Regency for the Potter Estate shall go to Lady Potter’s fraternal twin Carwyn Hizashi Yamada-Evans. If Yamada-Evans is unable to be located, custody shall be granted jointly to Sirius Orion Black and Remus Lyal Lupin.

If Lord or Lady Potter are to die of natural causes, then the custody of their son and Heir, Harry James Potter, and the Regency for the Potter Estate shall go to Lady Potter’s fraternal twin Carwyn Hizashi Yamada-Evans. If Yamada-Evans is unable to be located, custody shall be granted jointly to Sirius Orion Black and Remus Lyal Lupin.

Lord and Lady Potter wish to express their affairs to be handled directly by either Gringotts bank, or Carwyn Hizashi Yamada-Evans. Any interference is to be met with swift retribution, with interest. A list of banned caretakers has been listed by Lord and Lady Potter in the event the guardians listed are unavailable.

List of Allowances:

To Severus Snape: 10,000 galleons and Lady Potter’s personal potions journals

To Remus Lupin: a monthly pension of 10,000 galleons, a vault containing 300,000 galleons, and one of the Potter properties.

To Hizashi Yamada: the custody of Harry James Potter, regency of the Potter estate, Lady Potter’s personal research, and a letter from both Lord and Lady Potter

To Shota Aizawa: Two chests full of dragonhide, acromantula silk, and a letter from both Lord and Lady Potter.

Banned Guardians List: Petunia and Vernon Dursley, Albus Dumbledore’”

The room sat in absolute silence as everyone tried to process what was just said. Snape at some point had slid down a wall and put his head in his knees. Lupin looked to be holding back tears as he leaned heavily against the back wall. Hizashi was sitting stock still, mouth wide open, while Shota was gripping both of the arm rests on his chair. O’Rielly was lightly dabbing the corners of her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown.

“Oh, poor Lily Flower.” She says sadly. “Even in death, she still finds a way to look after people.” Hizashi hums in agreement, eyes focused on Ironlung’s desk.

“Indeed,” Ironlung replies. He bows his head momentarily in memory. “Lord and Lady Potter were kind spirits that will be missed by wizards and goblins alike.” He pauses a moment. “Gringotts has already begun the process of distributing the inheritances listed. Everyone in this room will receive letters with keys and instructions on how to access your assigned goods in three to five business days. Any questions?” There were none. “Now, one last pressing matter to attend to. Professor Snape,” Snape raised his head to look and Ironlung. “I was made aware you have experience dealing with Basilisk venom.”

“I do,” Snape says with narrowed eyes. “I fail to see how it is relevant.”

“Heir Potter was brought in, approximately an hour ago, dying from a Basilisk bite. Progression of the venom and stress indicated on his magical core suggest it occurred approximately two weeks ago, during the school term.” At this Snape paled and Ironlung’s eyes narrowed. “Can you tell me how, pray tell, a Basilisk managed to come into contact with Heir Potter long enough to bite him?”

“The Chamber…” Snape whispered.

“Pardon?”

“The bloody Chamber of Secrets!” Snape shouted, jumping to his feet in the process. “The damn fool found his way into the Chamber and decided to play hero, got himself bit in the process! And here I am cleaning up his mess-” A white binding cloth suddenly bound the irate potions master where he stood.

“Quiet.” All eyes turned to Shota, who stood quietly fuming, hair floating all around him and eyes redder than the upholstery. “The fact that neither you, nor either of your colleagues bothered to give him a medical exam after he got bitten is why he’s dying in the first place.” Shota continues, gaze unblinking. “I held Harry for nearly three hours as he slowly bled out in my arms all because of your negligence, and you're going to try and pin this on a thirteen-year-old boy? You’re pathetic.” Shota releases Snape roughly and sits back down in his chair.

“You should be grateful we here at the Goblin Nation possess the means of curing Heir Potter of Basilisk venom,” says Ironlung.

“Then why ask if I was familiar with it?” snarls Snape.

“To check if Heir Potter had access to the proper resources at Hogwarts at the time he was bitten.” Snape paled. “You both may leave, Snape, Lupin.” Both men bolt out the door.

“Harry.” Shota starts. “Where is he?”

“Is he ok?” Hizashi adds worriedly.

“He is perfectly fine,” replies Ironlung. “More than fine, actually. You brought him in at the right time. Any hour more, and he would have lost his arm.” Both men sighed in relief. “His magical core took the brunt of the damage. He nearly registered as a squib when the healers did an initial examination.”

“Will that have any lasting impacts?” asked Shota.

“No, but it will take some time before Heir Potter will be able to comfortably use his magic again. In the meantime, have him focus on improving physically. Maybe relocate somewhere with little distractions.”

“We were planning on taking him back with us to Japan. But we wanted his input before we made a decision.” replied Hizashi. Ironlung grunted in agreement before getting up.

“If you follow me, I’ll escort you to the infirmary.”

Hizashi, Shota, and O’Rielly quickly rose from their seats and quickly followed Ironlung out the door. They walked back down a series of corridors and caves that were just as confusing as the first set. Various twists and turns occasionally leading into wide open, communal spaces before going back into claustrophobic caverns and tunnels. Eventually, Ironlung led them through a large ornate stone arch with beautifully carved statues on either side of it. Inside of the infirmary were two rows of beds and various medical equipment laying on stone tables pushed up against the walls for convenience. There were doors leading to rooms for various medical procedures and private rooms for special cases.

Ironlung led the group to one of the private rooms. Inside, Harry was tucked onto the bed as pale as a ghost, right arm wrapped with more bandages than either man could imagine. His left arm was connected to an IV drip and a half empty blood transfusion. Shota felt his heart break a little seeing how small Harry looked in the bed. O’Rielly quickly locates chairs for them and gently guides the two men to sit down. All three of them stand vigil as Ironlung leaves the room, quietly hoping Harry would wake up soon.

Chapter Text

Hizashi couldn’t help but admire Harry as he slept. Never in a million years did he think he would have this moment. To just sit and take Harry in. Too many wasted years of searching for him, dreading the boy sleeping in front of him was long gone. Hizashi can’t count the nights he broke down, clutching the only picture Lily sent of Harry to his chest. It was a small thing, taken only minutes after Harry’s birth, but Hizashi treasured it. It reminded him he still had family out there who loved and depended on him. 

He breathed in the boy’s features and committed them to memory. The entire Evans-Yamada legacy could be traced in the boy’s features. A boy Hizashi never imagined he would ever get to meet. He could see Lily in his high cheekbones and his beautiful green eyes. The same eyes he shared with Harry. Rosemary Evans’ hooded eyes and plump lips were present as well, and complemented his rounded face, a feature gifted from James Potter. But that nose, that nose with the pointed tip, that was a gift from Toshiro Yamada. Hizashi’s heart aches thinking about his parents, especially his father. He was the one who inspired Hizashi to pursue heroics in the first place. Now, the only memory of the man he has left is the blond hair running down his back and the boy laying in the cot in front of him. 

Hizashi sighs to himself as he leans back in his chair, eyes never leaving Harry. Shota lets out soft snores to his right while leaning precariously on the bed in front of him. Hizashi can’t help but glance at his husband and admire him. Who else would fly halfway across the world at the drop of a hat to help a child he’s never met before? Or hold him as he cried himself to sleep? Hizashi was grateful for him. He knew of no one else who he would spend the rest of his life with. 

Carefully, Hizashi leans forward slightly and brushes some hair out of Shota’s face. His eyes soften as he looks at Shota’s furrowed brow. Even in sleep, Shota was tense. His shoulders were hunched close to his ears, his arms stationed under his head and both hands in closed fists. It was as if he was ready to punch an oncoming villain at any moment. He probably was, Hizashi quietly mused to himself. Hizashi knew how dangerous underground work was, he wasn’t stupid. He also knew he was in no way cut out for it. Shota on the other hand, was another story. His husband practically oozed with the mystique and discretion needed for such a sensitive position. 

Hizashi, on the other hand, was as subtle as a bull in a china shop. He could be discrete when needed, but not enough to qualify for the Underground. Ironic, considering his own father had been notorious for his stealth. Toshiro Yamada was a Twilight hero, who operated on the middle line between Underground and Limelight heroics. He preferred operating from the shadows and rarely went undercover. But when he did, he often left with a tomes worth of information and a wasteland of arrests in his wake. It was an impressive legacy, one which Hizashi could only hope to match.

If there’s any part of his father’s legacy he would want to match, no, yearns to match, it would be his father’s complete devotion to his family. No matter how overworked or stressed he became, Toshiro Yamada always ensured his family knew he loved them. Whether it was playing dress-up with Tunie, listening to Lily ramble on about this or another, or helping Hizashi train his overly destructive quirk. He was a present part of all three of his children’s lives. His mother was no slacker either. If there was one thing to be said about Rosemary Evans, it was a devoted wife and mother. She always made sure their home was filled with warmth and love. Nobody left feeling hungry or upset in the Yamada-Evans household. Obviously, Petunia never felt the same. 

 Hizashi frowns to himself, looking back at Harry. Hizashi takes a deep breath and gently takes the boy’s pale hand in his. His hand dwarfs the twelve, almost thirteen year olds, and Hizashi can’t help but feel his eyes tear up a little. His nephew should not look so tiny in the bed. Especially one meant for pre-teen humans. Harry could easily be mistaken for an eight year old child. He was practically swimming in the various blankets and pillows surrounding him, it confounded Hizashi how no one checked up on the Dursley family sooner. The initial scan provided by the goblins showed signs of prolonged malnutrition, which infuriated Hizashi to no end. It felt like a slap in the face to everything his parents stood for. 

Especially since he knew his other nephew, Dudley (Hizashi can’t help but shiver in disgust at the awful name), was overweight like his repulsive brother-in-law. It seemed to Hizashi that Tunie chose to exclude Harry as a sort of backwards disownment. By not treating Harry like family, in her twisted mind, she could dismiss any feeling of guilt or hesitancy towards the abuse being thrown at the boy. Obviously, it didn’t work very well, if Dudley’s overindulgence is any indication. That, or she just truly wanted to mock Harry that no one in the house loved him. Not that it mattered in the eyes of the law, or Hizashi in any case. He wasn’t going to waste time Psycho-Analyzing his sister when he had bigger problems to worry about. 

A soft, but firm knock at the door interrupted Hizashi’s spiraling thoughts. He muttered for whoever was knocking to come in, and turned to face the door. The heavy wooden door opened slowly, as to not make any creaking noises and startle the sleeping occupants, and in walked Officer O’Rielly in a fresh uniform and her lavender hair tied up in a neat bun. She was holding a bumble of clothes close to her chest in her left hand and a thick stack of manilla folders in her right. 

‘Oh yeah, she promised to bring Shota and I a change of clothes.’ Hizashi thought to himself before glancing at the person next to her. The stranger was a woman, obviously a witch, dressed in professional looking black robes, short cropped gray hair, and a monocle placed neatly on her right eye. On the right breast of her robes was a crest of some sort, and floating behind her just out of Hizashi eyeline was a large pile of scrolls. 

“I apologize it took so long,” started O’Rielly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had to check in with my team and deliver the audio from yesterday.”

“It’s fine,” Hizashi replied. “You haven’t missed anything important.” 

O’Rielly seemed to relax slightly before quietly making her way to the empty chair across from Hizashi, with Harry acting as some sort of buffer between them.The stranger followed behind, scrolls floating behind her aimlessly. He eyed the stranger a moment before deciding he didn’t have the energy to be suspicious. Instead Hizashi turned to Shota and started to lightly shake him awake. It didn’t take much effort. Hizashi suspects he’s been awake for a while now. Probably woke up when O’Rielly opened the door, if the glare currently directed at Hizashi said anything. 

“‘M awake ‘Zashi” Shota said bitterly. “Stop shakin’ me.” He lifted his head up and directed his glare directly at O’Rielly, who seemed completely unaffected. Lucky bastard. 

“Well,” started O’Rielly, “Now that everyone is awake, barring Harry, of course, we can get started.” She gestured to her companion, who eyed both Hizashi and Shota with poorly concealed suspicion. “This is Madame Amelia Bones of the Magical Department of Law Enforcement. Gringotts commissioned her specifically to help with the Magical side of things.”

“How do we know she’s trustworthy?” Shota asked, casually leaning back in his chair. “Dumbledoor’s got his fingers in everything from what I understand. Who’s to say she won’t go blabbing to him.”

“I agree.” Hizashi said. “I refuse to be so lax with Harry’s safety, especially when we just got him stabilized.” 

 She looked at the two men with an unreadable expression for a moment. “You can’t. At least, not by Muggle means.” Madame Bones pauses and straightens her already immaculate robes, a nervous tick Hizashi guesses. “You should thank the Potter account manager for his forward thinking. Gringotts has me bound by a magical Non-Disclosure Agreement regarding Harry’s case. If I decide to violate it in any way…” she pauses and grimaces at the thought, “the consequences would be less than pleasant.”

“They had me sign one as well,” O’Rielly interrupts. “Ironlung was quite insistent on keeping loose ends to a minimum.” 

“Good,” Shouta growls out, voice still heavy with sleep. 

“Oh! Before I forget. Nedzu called ahead and wanted me to let you know that your classes are being covered.” 

“Of course he did.” Hizashi sighed. 

“I must admit,” Madame Bones started slowly, eyes switching from Shouta to Hizashi as she talked. “I was expecting a different outcome than this. It isn’t often a supposed long lost relative comes and claims a child, especially one as famous as Mr. Potter without seeking some sort of financial gain.”

“I can promise you, Madame Bones, the Potter fortune means nothing to my husband and I.” Hizashi replied icily. “We have our own means of sustaining ourselves.”

“Yes, both O’Rielly and the Potter account manager mentioned you’re muggle heroes. I don’t know much about your profession. Us wizards have no use for them.” 

“The less you know, the better.” Shota growled out. 

“I agree,” Madame Bones nodded to Shota, “Plausible deniability will work wonders if one of Dumbledoor’s people, or anyone else comes poking around my department.” 

Shota nodded, leaning forwards and eyeing Madame Bones with a level stare. “I trust O’Rielly has brought you up to speed on Harry’s previous living situation?”

“Yes, I viewed the memories of their initial interrogation. They’re decorum was… less than pleasant to witness.”

“I feel I must apologize, Amelia.” O’Rielly interjected. “The Dursley couple have proven to be difficult. What you saw was, unfortunately, at their most pleasant.” 

“There is no apology needed.” Madame Bones replied while adjusting her robes once more. “I completely understand the challenges of dealing with troubling inmates.”

“Death Eaters, right.” Hizashi leaned forwards and looked Madame Bones in the eye. “I was wondering where I recognized your name. You were James and Sirius’ superior when they were going through Auror training. Lily mentioned you were in charge of hunting down and prosecuting suspected Death Eaters in one of her letters. She seemed to admire you.” There was a pause, tension slowly growing between the four.

“Yes, I was.” Madame Bones’ all but whispered out, her face taking on a rosy complexion. “I would hardly call myself admirable. Most of the suspected Death Eaters were able to buy their freedom in the war’s aftermath.”

“That’s just politics.” replied Hizashi. Shota grunted in agreement right next to him. “The rich and infamous buy themselves out of jail time every day. Can’t tell you how many people I arrested for heinous crimes, only for it to be swept under the rug the next day.”

“It’s an unfortunate perk of the job.” O’Rielly says, shaking her head. “But, we're lucky the Dursley couple don’t have those kinds of connections. Other than Hizashi, of course.”

“Over my dead, goddamn body.” Hizashi growled out.

“Of course not,” O’Rielly continues, unfazed, “Dumbledoor, on the other hand will prove to be much more difficult. He has no presence in the Muggle world, and from what I was told from Nedzu, he will not go down without a fight.” 

“Nedzu is, unfortunately, correct. Albus Dumbledoor is highly adored for his defeat of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald, and his role as a guiding force during the last wizarding war. His many political appointments only add to the complexity.” 

Right as Madame Bones finished her sentence, Hizashi’s cell phone went off. Startled, he digs it out to see who’s calling him: Nedzu. He sighs. “It’s Nedzu, I’m guessing he overheard.” Hizashi reluctantly swipes right to accept the call and puts the phone on speaker. 

“Hizashi! So glad I could catch you! I assume Shota is with you?” The black haired man next to him grunted in affirmation. “Excellent! The lovely Officer O’Rielly and Madame Bones have caught you up to speed, yes?”

“Almost,” O’Rielly sighs. “We just finished establishing credibility between Madame Bones, Evans and Aizawa.”

“Perfect! I came in at the correct time then.”

“Sir,” O’Rielly’s shoulders stiffen, almost like she was at attention, “They still need to be brought up to speed on the Dursley situation and talk to the account managers on how the investigation is progressing.”

“And they will be told, in time.” There was a pause, shuffling paper was heard from the other receiver. No one dared say anything as they waited for Nedzu to find the correct paper. “Ah! Here it is. For now, Hizashi, Shota,” both men gave an affirmative noise that they were paying attention. “Both of you and Harry are being transferred back to Japan, effective immediately.”

“What?!” Shota exclaimed, bolting upright in his chair. “What are you playing at, Rat?!” 

“Shota, please remain calm.” Nedzu says with an almost serene-like calm, “I have determined it to be in the child’s best interest if he were in a far more… controlled environment.”

“Harry is in a coma, for God’s sake!” Shota stood up and started pacing, the others in the room watched him nervously. “Moving him could aggravate his wounds, or kill him!”

“Which is why Harry will not be moved.” Shota ceased his pacing to stare at the phone in Hizashi’s hand. “Gringotts and the British consulate have been more than cooperative in securing the proper paperwork for an… obscure form of magical transportation.”

Hizashi’s eyes widened slightly. “Room Shifting.”

“Precisely,” Nedzu sounded smug, “I believe it was your sister who rediscovered the charm schema required to make it work.”

“Yeah, she did.” Hizashi said quietly, eyes drifting downwards, “I remember the letter she sent. She was thrilled. She kept speculating on its various uses and how it might help the war effort.” Hizashi felt his eyes mist up at the end of his little speech. Shota slowly walks up to Hizashi and pulls him into a hug. He smiles up at Shota to show his appreciation.

“Oh, what a shame,” cried Madame Bones, “To be robbed of a mind such as hers, a damn, crying shame.”

 “A shame, indeed,” replies Nedzu. “Mrs. Potter would have done great things for the world at large. Her mind was without limit, and it’s a shame she is only remembered as a footnote in British Wizarding History.” The silence rang in the air as the last syllable faded into the dull ringing in Hizashi’s ears. No one dared interrupt the heavy feeling that hung in the air. O’Rielly tried to discreetly sneak a tissue from one of her pants pockets to pat the tears away from her eyes. When her eyes met Shota's, she gave up her pretense and blew her nose instead. “Now!” Nedzu suddenly interrupted, causing both O’Rielly and Madame Bones to jump “As I was saying, Harry needs to be transferred to Gringotts Japanese location as soon as possible. The longer Harry is in London, the easier it will be for Dumbledoor and his ilk to track him down and attempt to take him back.”

“So we need to kidnap him first?” Hizashi asks, confused.

“Oh, dear no!” Nedzu says, laughing. “It wouldn’t be kidnapping if you and Shota already have custody over the boy.”

“Wait, what?” Shota says, sitting back down in his forgotten chair.

“I had Gringotts expedite the custody paperwork and secure the rights to your sister’s patents at the same time. I figured it would be easier to fight the British Ministry on home territory, so-to-speak; and as far as Gringotts and the British Muggle government is concerned, you two have had custody of one Harry James Potter since November 1st, 2XXX. In the eyes of the law, Petunia Dursley, her husband, and Albus Dumbledoor are kidnappers.”

“Huh,” muttered O’Rielly. Everyone in the room agreed with that statement. Huh indeed. The amount of information overload kept the group from uttering more. Cackling could be heard from the phone and Shota and Hizashi could only stare at it in barely concealed horror. 

“Have I mentioned how terrifying you are recently, sir?” Shota muttered.

“Not recently, no. But I thank you for the compliment, Aizawa.” 

“Wait.” Hizashi interrupts. “How and when are we going to do the Room Shift? Shota and I still need to do some investigative work for O’Rielly and Madame Bones here.”

“Oh, so glad you asked,” the sound of shifting paper was heard again. “You both are being taken off the cases due to being too close to one of the subjects.”

“Bullshit.” growled Shota. “You just want us back to conform to your mystery plan.”

“While I admire your dedication to your job, Shota, you just had a medically compromised minor come into your custody. Additionally, you undoubtedly need time off to bond as a family unit and working on an active investigation would compromise that.”

“He’s right, Shota.” Hizashi sighs. “I hate it, but he’s right.”

“I would not disparage the detective capabilities of Captain O’Rielly and Madame Bones here. O’Rielly has a success rate of 87% and Madame Bones 78%. Together, they’re bound to be the powerhouse we need to put Dumbledoor behind bars.” O’Rielly and Madame Bones both had light blushes decorating their cheeks and necks. 

“If it makes you feel better, Sho, I grew up around Captain O’Rielly.” Shota whipped his head around to look at Hizashi. Hizashi looked slightly sheepish. “She worked with my dad a lot. Before I left for UA, she was an officer looking to move up into the special forces division. Imagine my surprise when she barreled through the door with her own unit, arresting Tunie and asking us questions like she owned the place.”

“Your dad put a good word for me, kid.” O’Rielly said, winking playfully at Hizashi.

“Good.” Hizashi says, crossing his arms, “You were the best in your unit and your commanding officer was an asshole.”

“My commanding officer was my ex-husband.”

“My point still stands.” 

“Ahem,” interrupts Nedzu, “As I was saying, both the investigations are in very capable hands. Now, the Room Shift will take place about an hour from now. Hizashi, Shota, tell Captain O’Rielly what belongings you left at 4 Privet Drive. I’ll prepare Recovery Girl and meet you at Gringotts Japan.”

“Yessir” 

Albus Dumbledoor was having a pleasant day. He was wearing his favorite periwinkle robes with animated bright yellow canaries and his matching periwinkle cap. His big white beard was looking luscious and voluptuous in the beautiful morning light, thank Merlin for that beard oil Hagrid sent him for Christmas! The half-giant truly knew him so well. It was when he stepped into his office after a lovely breakfast with the summer staff that his grand day had been ruined.

On top of his mahogany desk was a newspaper and a letter with the initials A. Figg . Thinking the letter from his dear friend, Mrs. Figg could wait, Dumbledoor sat in his grand chair and examined the newspaper the letter came with. It was a copy of the Surrey Times and had the bold headline LOCAL FAMILY ARRESTED ON SUSPISION OF CHILD ABUSE: HERO RELATIVE CLAIMS EXTENSIVE ABUSE HAPPENED TO NEPHEW (Pages 12-14). Upon seeing the words “Hero Relative,” Dumbledoor’s face pales to deathly white. He tosses the paper to his right and opens the forgotten letter with gusto.

Dear Albus,

Evans is back in town and he seems to have brought a friend. They’ve taken the boy. 

Hope you are well,

A. Figg

Chapter Text

Nedzu pressed the red button on the receiver, ending the call. The silence that permeated through the office was oppressive. It was early in the morning and Nedzu was the only one in the building. The clock hanging above the door across the room reads 3:26 am and the sky outside was still blacker than pitch. But even so, the chimera pressed on and turned to the monitor to his left. On it was a recording of the Dursley’s interrogation that Officer O’Rielly kindly sent to him just an hour prior. He had already watched it before calling Hizashi, but he didn’t feel as if he absorbed all the details. He let his emotions get in the way of his rationality.

It was difficult to draw the deep-seated animalistic urges lurking within Nedzu. But the Dursley’s blatant disregard for their nephew’s safety and well-being made him want to tear their throats out with his teeth. He had personally interrogated mob-bosses and serial killers with more compassion than Petunia Dursley and her ilk; and yet, the promise that there may be more like her in regards to mister Potter’s welfare makes Nedzu nash his teeth in barely restrained anger. Later. He can inflict his punishment later. For now, he needed to gather as much evidence as possible to bring the rest of those responsible into custody. Taking a deep breath, Nedzu grabbed the cooling tea to his right and clicked play on the screen:

Petunia Dursley sat in a metal chair, arms crossed with quirk suppressant cuffs on in an all gray interrogation room. Her rumpled orange uniform made her already pale complexion look sickly. The pale, fluorescent lights made her bony cheeks look sharper, and the scowl on her pinched face added to the illusion, with her thin, wispy blond locks falling limply around her face completing the picture of an invalid nearing death’s door. But the pure, vitriolic hated burning in her blue eyes broke the illusion. They were aimed at the grizzled looking detective sitting across from her, who looked absolutely unfazed by her attempted intimidation. 

“Mrs. Dursley,” the detective began, “tell me what your relationship was like between you and your sister, Lily.” 

Petunia sneered at the detective. “How is that relevant?” she replied with a tone, colder than ice.

“It’s a simple question. Mrs. Dursley.” 

“Yes, I know that,” Petunia huffed. “But why must you know? It’s not like she’s been around to raise any complaint into how I or my husband treated the boy.” There was no sense of guilt to her tone, but Nedzu could see her closing in on herself in a more defensive posture.

“We’re trying to understand why you would treat your nephew in such a fashion.” The detective looked at Petunia with a hard stare. “The abuse your nephew underwent at the hands of both you and your husband is unparalleled.”

“Abuse?!” Petunia sputtered, “We never abused that brat!”

“His medical examination says otherwise.” The detective leaned out of frame and picked up a manilla envelope. He slid it over to Petunia, who snatched it up and read it with frantic eyes. “Both you and your husband are facing over twenty years in prison for aggravated child abuse, neglect and the list goes on.”

“We never wanted him!” Petunia shouted, as if possessed, “He was dropped on our doorstep and we were forced into looking after the brat!”

“You had options,” the detective said calmly, “You could have surrendered him to your next of kin, or to child welfare.”

“We were threatened! Blackmailed!” Petunia wailed, tugging at her hair, “We had to keep the brat, or our reputations would have been ruined!” 

“You ruined your reputation by keeping him.” 

At that, the video ends with Petunia wailing. Nedzu sits back in his chair and takes a few breaths to calm himself. With Petunia and Harry being Japanese citizens, the legalities could be incredibly difficult to maneuver around. That is, if Nedzu hadn’t already gone through all the necessary negotiations months ago. Luckily, with Shota and Hizashi relocating Harry to Japan, Nedzu can get to work processing the rest of the Dursley’s and Dumbledore’s cases into his jurisdiction. Nedzu grins to himself as he takes a sip of his tea. He couldn’t wait.

Chapter Text

Hello everyone! 

Last time I wrote one of these was almost a year ago and a lot has changed since then. Firstly, this year has not been the best. My community was one of those who was hit pretty hard by Helene, and we're still trying to pick up the pieces. Thankfully, my family didn't lose anything but if we had lived a mile down river it would have been a completely different story. Secondly, I have been incredibly busy since I last sat down and had a chat with all of you. I had the amazing opportunity to march in Macy's parade with my school and preparing for it took up the majority of my time. I have also been advancing in my degree and I'm now at a point where I need to start looking for internships.

So, where does this leave this fic? 

I have no plans on abandoning it, however, updates are probably going to remain slow going. I have plans for this, and some major editing is included in this. There are inconsistences and some things I could have elaborated better on or explained better that I want to improve on. All I ask is that you're patient with me. I'm not the best at being consistent and for that I'm sorry.  I thank you all for your incredible patience so far. Hopefully, the next chapter or first round or edits will be published soon. 

Seen you then!

--Smebulock_Stan