Chapter Text
It felt ridiculous, honestly. Sneaking around the village outskirts like some green academy boy with his first crush. Shikaku Nara, Jounin Commander of Konoha, thirty-two years old, picking wildflowers like his life depended on it.
He crouched down, the grass brushing against his flak jacket, and carefully selected another stem with a practiced eye. The bouquet in his hand was already looking half-decent, though the arrangement was… well, not Inoichi’s level of artistry.
The smirk tugging at his lips deepened as he remembered his oldest friend’s face when he’d asked for advice. Inoichi had been thrilled at first, until Shikaku mentioned he wanted to pick the flowers himself. The Yamanaka head’s scandalised sputtering and pouting had been worth every second.
Honestly, the things he did for love.
Love.
Shikaku caught himself there, pausing mid-pluck.
The word felt too big to associate with a man he had known not even a month. But the truth was, every time his mind circled back to Hari, his chest tightened in a way he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager. He scowled at himself, shaking his head. Thirty-two, and here he was, gushing like an academy girl.
Kami save him.
And yet, the warm, tingling rush hadn’t gone away since that first moment in the Palace, when he’d laid eyes on the man who had become his son’s mother. It had only gotten worse since Hari had stepped into his life properly. Dangerous. Addictive. Every smile, every stubborn tilt of his chin, every flash of power, it tugged something primal in him.
Shikaku wasn’t sure how long he could last through a proper courtship without pinning him against the nearest wall and making him his.
He tied the stems with a strip of ninja wire, hoping it didn’t look too messy. It was still early, and he knew they were probably still wandering the village.
It had been only a few hours since Hari had let his dragons fly in the sky by themselves, the spectacle still a buzz in every corner of Konoha. He’d catch up with them, hand Hari the bouquet, endure his teasing, maybe earn a smile that would make his day.
That was the plan as he made his way through the village.
But then he felt Shikamaru’s tiny chakra flare.
Shikaku’s body moved before his mind finished processing the thought. Shadows stretched around him as he blurred into a shunshin, bouquet clenched in one fist.
He landed in a nearby alley to see a familiar head of black hair, green eyes narrowed, holding Teddy snug against his chest. Shikamaru stood next to him, small shoulders bristling, while Ko and Daen looked tense and ready to step in.
And opposite them was a Jounin, wild brown hair, red fang marks on his cheeks, and a ninken snarling at his side.
An Inuzuka.
He’d seen Kenta around before, newly promoted, loud-mouthed, more bark than bite. He was Tsume’s cousin if memory served. Shikaku had tolerated his bluster during missions, chalking it up to youth. But then his words carried over the crowds silence, and Shikaku’s stomach curdled with anger.
“…not as stunning as their master. If you like riding dragons so much, maybe you’d like to ride something else tonight—”
The flowers crumpled in his fist.
Before Shikaku could descend, Hari had already stepped forward, Teddy still snug to his chest. He stomped once, and the ground responded like an extension of his will. A stone column shot upward between Kenta’s legs. The man yowled, flying backwards as his ninken barked in alarm. Gasps rippled through the crowd, but he could hear his mother’s laugh ring clear, but Shikaku saw red.
If it wasn’t for Hari’s clear ability to defend himself, he would have slit that Jounin’s throat already, damn the consequences.
Hearing the support from the onlooking civilians, stayed his hand. He should have probably gone down there as the Jounin Commander to defend the ninja, but Shikaku couldn’t care less about civilian and shinobi relations right now.
It was when Kenta shifted to lunge at Hari—who was still carrying Teddy— that Shikaku moved.
Wildflowers slightly crushed in one hand, his other blurred through a seal. Shadows spilled from his frame and surged across the street.
They wrapped around Kenta’s limbs before he could take a step, binding him tight. The Jounin yelped as the shadows squeezed, not just holding but hurting.
Shikaku’s voice cracked like a whip across the square. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
He stepped forward, every inch the commander, bouquet hanging forgotten at his side. His gaze raked over Hari, eyes flicking down, checking for injury. Teddy squirmed in his harness, unharmed but fussy. And Shikamaru’s small hands were balled into fists, furious but safe.
Only then did his eyes snap back to Kenta.
“Kenta,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “What exactly do you think you’re doing? Harassing my family in the middle of the village? Attempting to attack a civilian holding a baby on his chest?”
The younger man stammered, sweat breaking across his brow. “I—I—you didn’t see what this bitch did to me—”
He let his shadows tighten until Kenta winced. “I’m starting to wonder if you’re even Jounin material,” Shikaku said, voice dropping lower, sharper, enough to make even the civilians lean in. “If you think this kind of behaviour is acceptable, if you can’t recognise where the line is… you have no business wearing that flak jacket.”
Kenta’s face drained of colour. His mouth opened, closed, no sound coming.
“Apologise,” Shikaku ordered. “To all of them.”
Kenta’s gaze flicked wildly to Harry, to Teddy, to Shikamaru glaring at him like he was about to bite his ankles. “I… I’m sorry,” he croaked.
“Louder.”
“I’m sorry!” Kenta barked, voice trembling. “To you and the boys, Ryūjin-sama!”
Harry only arched a brow, unimpressed. But the crowd—oh, the crowd erupted in murmurs.
Shikaku let them murmur. Then he leaned closer, shadows tightening one last time before they began slithering back into his body. “You will report to me tomorrow morning for your disciplinary hearing. Don’t be late, Kenta or I will come find you.”
The tone left no room for argument.
Kenta blanched. “Y-Yes, Shikaku-sama.”
The moment the shadows released fully, he bolted, his ninken scrambling after him, tail tucked.
Shikaku turned immediately, closing the space between himself and Harry and his eyes swept over them again.
The tension in his chest only eased when he confirmed they were unhurt. Then his gaze snapped to Ko and Daen.
“And why didn’t either of you step in sooner?”
Both guards stiffened, shame written plain on their faces. “We—” Ko started, but Hari cut him off.
“I told them not to interfere unless it was violent,” he said firmly. “It would have caused a scene if they stepped in for every flirtatious interaction.”
Shikaku’s gaze flicked to him, reluctant amusement fighting with his fury that this had happened before, softening the hard line of his mouth. “You caused a scene anyway.”
Harry’s lips quirked. “Not on purpose.”
Shikamaru broke the tension.
His son latched onto his hand, face bright. “Dad, that was really cool! I can’t wait to learn how to do that.”
Shikaku chuckled, pulling him snug against his side, ruffling his spiky hair. “One day, kid. Plenty of time.”
From Hari’s chest came a small, insistent noise. They both looked down to see Teddy squirming, pudgy hands reaching for Shikaku. “Sh’kuuu!” the baby demanded.
The sound melted something in him, their kids were just too cute.
He couldn’t help but catch the little hands, pressing a gentle kiss to Teddy’s knuckles without hesitation.
Hari’s smile softened, green eyes sparkling like gems. He looked dangerously beautiful like that, riding clothes still clinging to him from earlier, hair messy, cheeks flushed, lips curved.
Gods, he wasn’t sure his heart or his self-control would survive this.
Shikaku smirked knowingly as Hari flushed though, as if he’d heard his thought.
The man really was too easy to read sometimes.
Before the moment slipped, Shikaku remembered the flowers still clutched in his other hand, stems crushed but salvageable. He shifted awkwardly, ears pinking. “Uh—I, uh… I thought you might like these. Since you mentioned wanting to brighten up your kitchen table yesterday.” His voice roughened. “I, um, asked Inoichi for advice… hope you like them.”
The silence stretched, and panic prickled under Shikaku’s skin. He started to pull the bouquet back, scowling at the stupid gesture. “Never mind. It was stupid—”
But Hari stepped forward, quick as lightning, catching his hand. His smile was blinding. “They’re beautiful,” he said, warm and utterly sincere.
And then he leaned in and pressed a light, lingering kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Shikaku froze, every nerve in his body sparked alive.
Just as he was about to regain use of his limbs and drag him into a kiss he would never forget, Hari pulled back with that same brilliant smile, bouquet now in his hands as he lifted them to his face.
Shikaku rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand, feeling the blush creeping across his nose and up to his ears.
Kami, pinning him to the wall sooner rather than later might not be optional.
He cleared his throat roughly. “Can I walk you home?”
Before Hari could answer, his mother’s voice cut dryly from behind him.
“And what am I son, chopped liver?”
Hari’s laugh rang out, bright and genuine, and Shikaku groaned under his breath at how unfair this was.
~
Shikaku didn’t bother pretending to be calm that morning. The moment Kenta stepped into his office, still smelling faintly of cheap smoke and sake, Shikaku knew his patience was going to be tested. The Jounin had a swagger in his stride despite yesterday’s humiliation, as if the whole village hadn’t watched him get his crotch rearranged by a stone pillar.
“Commander,” Kenta said with a half-bow that wasn’t nearly deep enough. “I came, like you ordered.”
Shikaku leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin.
“Sit.”
Kenta slouched into the chair opposite. His mouth was already twisting into a sneer. “I don’t see why I need to be lectured just because some civilian with a couple of overgrown lizards—”
Shikaku’s eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing.
“—thinks he can boss shinobi around. What’s he done for the village, eh? Flown around, shown off, got people gossiping. If he didn’t have dragons, no one would care. And now what? He gets to glare at me, stomp his foot, and suddenly I’m the criminal?”
Shikaku’s teeth ground together. He stayed silent though, letting the fool dig his own grave.
Kenta leaned forward, voice low and mocking. “He’s got you all wrapped around his finger, doesn’t he? Everyone’s whispering about it. Just because you’re fucking him doesn’t mean you should let some civilian treat a loyal Jounin like dirt. I’m from a clan, Commander. He’s nothing without those beasts.”
For one long, deadly moment, the office was silent.
Then Shikaku let his killing intent bleed into the room. It dropped like a rope around a neck, thick and suffocating. The shadows in the corners writhed, slithering out, curling over the walls like writhing snakes.
Kenta froze, face paling, sweat springing to his brow as he realised that he had fucked up.
Shikaku’s voice was soft, scorn curling in every syllable.
“Do you realise how close you came yesterday to dragging your clan into disgrace? If Ryūjin-Sama had been less kind, if he’d decided to treat you the way you treated him, the Inuzuka could have been blacklisted from Fire Country entirely. The Ryūjin clan has ties to the Daimyo, to his sons. You think insulting him so publicly is smart? You think jeopardising your own clan’s trade and missions makes you loyal?”
Kenta swallowed hard but tried to sneer again. “So what? He’s got money, influence, a couple of scaly summons. Still doesn’t make him one of us.”
Shikaku’s eyes narrowed. He leaned forward, voice dropping to a lethal whisper. “One more word about him and I’ll see to it personally that you don’t wear that flak jacket again. You’ve disgraced your clan, your Hokage, your commander and this uniform. Do you think the village would be able to protect you from the retaliation that could have been used against you? As of now, you are suspended from all out-of-village missions until my investigation is complete. Your conduct yesterday and today will be discussed directly with Tsume-sama and the Hokage. Dismissed.”
Kenta shot to his feet. “You can’t—”
Shikaku’s shadows slammed down across the floor, flaring outward with such force the desk rattled. His voice cracked like a whip. “You. Are. Dismissed.”
Kenta bolted, practically tripping over his own ninken on the way out.
As soon as the office door shut, Shikaku reached for the nearest paperweight and hurled it across the room. It smashed straight through the wall, leaving a neat hole to the hallway beyond. A startled Chuunin squeaked and scurried off as he was nearly hit with it.
Shikaku didn’t care. His fingers twitched with the urge to reach for a kunai and bury it in that bastard’s throat. Instead, he dragged in a long breath and smirked coldly as he pulled fresh parchment toward him. The disciplinary report practically wrote itself. He addressed a copy of it to Tsume, knowing full well that anything he might dole out would pale in comparison to what she’d do to her cousin for dragging their Clan name through the dirt. Her wrath would be legendary, and the thought soothed some of the fury coiled in his gut.
By the time the ink dried, the anger had faded into something warmer.
Hari’s smile, bright and blinding as he’d kissed the corner of his mouth yesterday, replayed unbidden in his mind.
Shikaku groaned softly, running a hand down his face.
He’d survived a war, countless missions, political nightmares, but he wasn’t sure he’d survive this.
Not when the man looked like he did all the time. Messy hair, bright eyes, soft smile that made Shikaku’s chest ache. And gods, that mouth.
The memory of it brushing his skin sent a thrum of heat low in his stomach as he thought of what else that mouth could do. He shifted in his chair, cursing under his breath. It was far too early in the day to be this distracted, and in work no less.
Shikaku’s pen snapped clean in half in his hand and ink bled onto his fingers.
“Troublesome,” he muttered, tossing the ruined pen aside into the bin.
He ignored the stack of paperwork entirely, leaning back and staring at the ceiling instead.
He needed to plan a proper date, and soon.
The picnic in the park with the kids didn’t count. No, he wanted Hari to himself, without a thousand interruptions or curious stares. A dinner, maybe. Or a quiet walk under the stars. Something simple. Something where he could finally kiss him properly, slow and deep, until Hari stopped teasing him with those quick brushes and let him taste everything.
Shikaku smirked faintly, arousal still humming in his veins.
The paperwork could wait.
Planning a date with Hari was much more important.
~
Harry was on a mission.
Not the kind filled with danger and adrenaline. This was tamer, but no less important. He had too many tasks stacking up, and too little time to himself these days.
So today, he decided, was for catching up on everything he had pushed aside.
Step one: finally let Sirius have the “grandfather and grandpups” day he had been begging for since he woke up.
It had been difficult. More difficult than Harry liked to admit. Dropping the children off at the Keep was supposed to feel safe—of course it was safe, between Sirius, Barty, and the elves, there wasn’t a chance in hell anything could go wrong. And yet, when Teddy clung stubbornly to his collar with a wobbly lip, Harry nearly caved and was going to drop everything he had planned to do that day.
But Barty, naturally, was merciless. Cruel, even. He should fire him.
“You’ll hover all day if you stay,” he’d said blandly, peeling Teddy off him with all the gentleness of someone handling a flobberworm. “Go. The children will survive a day without you. You, on the other hand, will not survive if you don’t start carving out time to breathe and finish your tasks in the outside world.”
Harry had opened his mouth to argue, but Sirius had been swept up by an excited Shikamaru, who was dragging him away by the hand begging for the man to tell him everything he can about his Maashah. As if that thought alone didn’t make Harry want to drop everything to protect his innocent son from Sirius’ influence.
Barty, of course, had been smirking the whole time. “Relax,” he’d said, one hand on Harry’s shoulder, the other shoving him out the Castle door. “We’re perfectly capable of handling two children for a day.”
Then, with a wicked little glint in his eyes, he’d added, “Three, if you count Sirius.”
Harry had almost doubled back then, because what was he thinking, but the elves were already closing the doors with cheerful little waves.
He forced himself not to apparate straight back inside like a panicked mother hen and instead popped back to the compound.
The library project came first.
The elves had done wonders in the past week, but Harry had promised Tsunade, Shizune, and himself that he would see it through properly.
The building they’d chosen had been stripped bare, doubled in size, reinforced with expansion charms. Tsunade told him it used to be a meeting hall, now it had been emptied and smelled faintly of polish and sawdust.
Floor-to-ceiling bookcases stood in neat ranks, dark wood gleaming. Staircases curled upward to a second floor lined with even more shelves, waiting for the tomes and scrolls that would soon flood them.
Harry stepped inside and just breathed.
It was beautiful.
He moved slowly, fingertips brushing along the edge of a shelf. His magic reached out, hand lifting, tugging the spare cases into position. They floated across the room and landed with soft thuds, forming secluded rows that would make quiet alcoves for study.
It reminded him of Hogwarts in the best way. Tucked corners and shadowed desks, safe places to lose hours between one page and the next. A place where he and his friends would meet before the chamber became their refuge.
The Naras would thrive here. He thought of Saeko, already bright-eyed when he’d mentioned his translated texts. Thought of Shikaku, that flicker of sharp excitement when they’d spoken about old herbal remedies and medical practices. Thought of Shikamaru, who he knew would one day devour every book in this room if left unchecked.
The thought made him smile softly.
He checked the side rooms. One, already claimed for the “special collections”, anything too dangerous to be left out for casual browsing. Curses and their counters. Rituals. Potions and poisons not meant for beginners or the feint of heart.
He snorted softly. Not that curses even exist in this world, unless I start tossing them about. And I can already picture Tsunade refusing to waste time curing someone if I did it.
The other rooms he left empty, undecided. Maybe a small kitchen someday. Or a quiet office if he decided to ever let anyone outside the family use it for research.
Circling the main hall again, he paused at the sight of what looked like decorative doors built into the back of some bookcases. Curious, he pulled one open and chuckled seeing a hidden nook inside, large enough to fit three people comfortably at least.
With a small snap of his fingers, he called for the two elves he’d set to the library project.
“Pip, Dally,” he greeted warmly when they popped in, ears twitching eagerly. “This all looks incredible. Are the copies ready to be brought in?”
Pip bounced on his toes. “Yes, Master Harry! Pip has the catalogue nearly dones, Dally says we’s should sort by country and subject but Pip says alphabetically makes more sense—”
Dally elbowed him in the ribs. “Master will decide, Pip. Don’t be’s cheeky.”
Harry laughed. “Why don’t you put all the poisons, potions, and special or rarer healing texts into the back room for now? I’ll sort them myself later. The rest should be grouped by subject and catalogued like the system at the Keep.”
Both elves gasped like he’d suggested burning them.
“Master Harry already does too much work!” Dally protested. “Master Ignotus says you’s overworked, that Master doesn’t rest enough!”
Harry held up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave the cataloguing to you. But,” his lips curved slyly, “I’m going to get some furniture and cushions from the vault. If I can’t help with the books, then you can’t stop me from decorating.”
Pip opened his mouth to argue again, but Dally jabbed him harder. “Let him be, Pip. Master Ignotus says to expect negotiations!”
So that was what Harry spent the rest of the morning on.
He pulled ornate tables out of the vaults beneath the Keep, enlarging them to suit the room. He arranged plush armchairs in corners, charming them for comfort. He filled the hidden nooks with oversized cushions and soft blankets, turning them into cosy little nests. Brass sconces were fixed to the walls, enchanted so the candles could never drip or catch fire.
By the time he was done, the place looked less like an empty building and more like a library begging to be lived in.
Or take a nap in, he thinks longingly as he looks at one of the hidden nooks.
Which was when the elves promptly kicked him out.
“Go eat, Master Harry!” Pip scolded, flapping his hands. “Yous’ll only get in the way now.”
~
The market was bustling when he got there. Harry resisted the urge to walk through the streets with his veil over him. It wasn’t as bad as yesterday, though. People watched, whispered, but no one lunged at him with babies or petitions. Shikaku’s public dressing down of the Inuzuka Jounin must have cooled some of the bolder impulses, or his rock to the crotch did.
The children were braver, though. Running up to him, tugging at his coat, eyes wide and excited.
“Ryūjin-sama! Will the dragons come back today?”
Harry crouched to their level, smiling. “They’re flying in their own realm today. But I’m sure they’ll want to visit again soon.”
Squeals followed and he smiled warmly at them as he ducked into one of the restaurants Tsunade had shown him.
He ordered a spread of dishes for sharing, then sank onto a bench to wait. His gaze wandering to the notice board by the counter, cluttered with papers.
Most were printed neatly, some barely legible. He squinted, sounding out the characters under his breath. His reading level in Japanese was decent by now, but handwriting still tripped him and he fought the urge to cast a translation charm on it.
“…model wanted for next Icha Icha release?” he murmured. “What’s Icha Icha—”
A chuckle broke in from behind him.
“I didn’t know you were a fan of Icha Icha.”
Harry turned, startled.
Kakashi stood there, a slim orange book in one hand, the other shoved deep in his pocket. His visible eye curved in a foxlike smile, but it looked more practiced than natural.
Harry’s tension eased at the sight of him though. Kakashi might not have warmed easily to him during their time in the capital, but Harry had come to understand him better on the trek here. He was guarded, yes. Overly cautious, certainly. But it wasn’t out of malice.
It was weariness that came with loss, or overprotectiveness of the rare few that got past his prickly facade.
Harry knew the feeling well.
“I wouldn’t say I’m a fan,” Harry answered wryly, tilting his head toward the flyer. “Never read it actually. What is it? Is it any good?”
Kakashi shifted. For a moment, silence stretched.
Then, carefully, he said, “It’s a… masterpiece.”
Harry’s brows lifted.
“Jiraiya-sama is a genius,” Kakashi continued, voice quickening slightly as though surprised by his own words. “The prose, the—ah—the emotional resonance. The romantic scenes alone are very detailed. It’s very… insightful.”
Harry bit his lip, fighting a grin, as Kakashi’s tone grew more and more animated. The man who normally spoke in clipped syllables was practically glowing as he spoke of this Jiraiya’s brilliance.
Harry tilted his head.
“Insightful,” he echoed, hiding a smile.
Kakashi cleared his throat, his visible eye flicking away. “Yes.”
Harry let the pause linger just long enough before asking, deadpan, “It’s porn, isn’t it?”
Silence.
A beat later, Harry swore he saw the faintest red creep above the line of Kakashi’s mask.
“…it’s artistic porn,” Kakashi muttered at last.
Harry clapped a hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking. “You should see your face.”
Kakashi snapped the book shut with a sharp smack, his eye narrowing. “I didn’t think you would be one to judge someone reading choices, Ryūjin-sama.”
“Judge?” Harry grinned. “You’ve been waxing poetry about erotica in the middle of a restaurant.”
A strangled noise escaped Kakashi before he gave up, slouching against the wall with studied nonchalance. “You have not changed since our last meeting.”
“And you’re still terrible at small talk,” Harry teased, but softer this time, gentler.
Kakashi’s eye flicked to him, wary. Then, slowly, his shoulders eased. “…Maybe,” he admitted.
Harry was glad, honestly, that he’d run into Kakashi.
He didn’t say it right away though.
The man’s single visible eye was sharp and alert still, the muscles in his shoulders already prepared to react to whatever hidden strike might come.
The paranoia stung.
It wasn’t directed at him, Harry knew that. Not really. But Merlin, it still hurt to see someone so guarded that even a simple conversation made them brace like cornered prey.
Harry folded his hands loosely in his lap, keeping his own body language easy, and spoke quietly.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” he said.
Kakashi tilted his head minutely, suspicious. “...Why?”
“Because,” Harry said, lifting a hand in a vague gesture, “I think there’s a conversation we should have. Sit?” He patted the space beside him on the bench.
Kakashi hesitated, but after a moment, he moved to sit. He perched on the far edge of the bench, posture loose enough to look casual, but Harry could feel the coil of readiness beneath.
Harry sighed softly and flicked his hand, privacy charm settling around them. Kakashi stiffened even more.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Harry said gently.
The man’s visible eye darted to him, sharp and calculating. “Old habits,” he muttered.
Harry smiled sadly. “Bad ones. But I understand.”
For a moment, silence lingered. The bustle of the restaurant outside their bubble of quiet carried on unnoticed.
Then Harry spoke again, voice low. “I imagine you’ve been suspicious of me and Tsunade since we first met. That you wondered if there was another reason for us coming back to the village besides Shikamaru.”
Kakashi’s head tilted, his silver hair shifting with the movement. His tone was flat, but not dismissive. “Yes. I asked the Commander directly. He said whatever reason you carried had nothing to do with the mission.”
Harry chuckled without humour. “True.”
Kakashi’s eye narrowed. “I found it strange,” he said after a pause. “That Tsunade-sama would end her self-imposed exile for the sake of a cousin she had just met. It does not fit her profile.”
Harry huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “You profile her, do you?”
“I profile everyone,” Kakashi said simply.
Harry’s smile dimmed, softened. “You’re not wrong. Our meeting was a happy event, but it led to information coming to light that devastated her.”
The faintest crease formed in Kakashi’s brow. He leaned forward slightly, voice sharpening with interest. “Information that led you to fight Orochimaru.”
Harry’s lips twisted. Of course he’d latch onto that detail.
“It’s not important,” Harry said, brushing it off with a small wave of his hand.
Kakashi made a low sound of disbelief. “Unimportant. Information that made you battle with one of the Sannin is unimportant?”
Harry shrugged. “What mattered wasn’t the fight. What mattered was what it confirmed. That the information was true. And that we came here to right some wrongs.”
Kakashi’s visible eye fixed on him like a hawk. “What information?”
He looked at Kakashi, really looked at him. The ease of his slouch was a mask, the careless tone a cover. Behind it, there was steel and sharpness and suspicion. Shikaku had spoken of him with respect, even fondness, but trust…
Could he trust him?
Harry’s mouth opened. He was on the edge of saying Tenzo’s name when—
“Ryūjin-sama! Your order is ready.”
The bell at the counter rang loudly, cutting through the charm.
Harry exhaled, tension bleeding out in a rush. He smiled apologetically at Kakashi and stood. “That’s me.”
Kakashi’s eye narrowed. Frustration was subtle in his body, but Harry could feel it all the same.
Harry turned back, meeting his gaze. “Is your curiosity strong enough to join me for lunch with Tsunade?” he asked lightly. “Perhaps we can help each other.”
The man hesitated. For a moment, Harry thought he’d refuse. But then he gave that little curve of his eye that wasn’t quite real. “Lead the way.”
Kakashi tried to pry the whole way to the hospital.
Harry had to bite his tongue not to laugh at the tension simmering beneath his aloof act. The way his arms crossed just a fraction too tightly. The way his questions circled around, subtle but insistent.
Harry only smiled and shook his head. “Not here,” he murmured. “Not in public.”
That earned him a faint twitch of Kakashi’s fingers, irritation hidden well enough that most wouldn’t notice.
So Kakashi shifted gears, trying his hand at small talk. Harry caught the awkwardness in it, the effort to fill silence with words he didn’t really know how to use.
“I saw the dragons yesterday,” Kakashi said finally, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “It was a bold display.”
Harry hummed. “You disapprove?”
“It was effective. It will stay the hands of many who might have tested you otherwise,” Kakashi admitted.
Harry’s mouth quirked. “It doesn’t stay their tongues, though. Attention isn’t something I enjoy. I grew up in a cupboard under the stairs. If I weren’t so stubborn when I was a child, my social anxiety would be crippling.”
That made Kakashi glance at him sharply. “A cupboard?”
Harry chuckled. “Yes. A cupboard. My parents died when I was a baby. I grew up with my mother’s sister, her husband and their son. It was not a kind childhood, or an easy one.”
There was no self-pity in his voice, just quiet truth that he had long accepted.
Kakashi stopped walking for a moment, confusion evident. “But you’re a lord.”
Harry barked a laugh. “Now I am. Not then. I was nothing then. Their attitude taught me what not to be. I learned kindness. I learned that knowledge mattered, and I learned to fend for myself.”
He looked at Kakashi, eyes warm. “It makes me glad that I found Shikamaru when I did. He’ll never have to learn that way. Not if I can help it.”
For once, Kakashi seemed unsure what to say. He looked away, hand lifting to rub the back of his head.
Harry let it be.
“Oh look,” he said lightly, breaking the quiet. “We’re here already.”
Harry smiled politely at the receptionist as they passed. The woman fluttered her lashes at him, her voice pitched unnaturally sweet as she tried to get his attention.
He must not have hidden his disdain well, because Kakashi made a faint sound that suspiciously resembled a snort.
Harry shot him a glare and elbowed his side, steering them both toward the familiar signature deeper inside the hospital.
He knocked briskly.
“WHAT?!” Tsunade’s voice snapped from inside.
Harry huffed a laugh. “Is that any way to speak to your favourite cousin?”
There was a pause. Then a smirk in her tone. “What if Saeko’s my favourite now?”
Harry gasped theatrically. “Betrayal!” Then, after a beat, sighed. “Fair. Saeko is an angel.”
He opened the door.
Tsunade sat behind her desk, eyes full of humour. When they landed on Kakashi, her brows arched.
“Well, well. Kakashi-brat. Finally here for your yearly check-up? The one you’ve skipped for the last five years?”
Kakashi froze like a deer caught in light. His eye darted to Harry, betrayal clear even through the mask. “You lured me here under false pretences.”
Harry laughed, tugging him gently into the room. “Don’t be so dramatic.” He closed the door, flicked a privacy charm into place, and glanced at Tsunade. “Shizune?”
“Lunch with the medics,” Tsunade said, waving a hand.
“More for us, then,” Harry said cheerfully, setting out the food on the low table by the sofa. He motioned for Kakashi to sit. Tsunade rolled her chair closer, interest sparking in her eyes.
Harry took a breath. “We ran into each other at the restaurant,” he explained. “I thought now would be a good time to ask him about you know who.”
Tsunade’s eyes widened, realisation dawning. “I’d forgotten Shikaku mentioned they were close.”
Kakashi’s patience snapped. “What are you talking about?”
Harry gestured at Tsunade. “You should tell it.”
She hesitated, then began. “Over twenty years ago, my younger brother Nawaki died. After his body was returned to the village, maybe even before, someone stole a sample from it. Desecrated his body for their own sick, twisted needs.” Her jaw tightened. “Three years later, a child was born of that theft.”
Kakashi blinked, clearly lost. “What does this have to do with—”
Tsunade’s throat closed and her words stalled.
Harry picked up the thread when she couldn’t.
“Not long after, children were being given to Orochimaru, and he was ordered to experiment on them for a specific reason. Someone in this village provided him with a stolen sample of Hashirama’s DNA and was told to try and recreate the Mokuton with it.”
Fury still burned low in Harry’s chest at the thought.
He went on. “That child was given the name Kinoe at birth and he was the only survivor of Orochimaru’s tests to recreate the Mokuton.”
Kakashi’s entire posture shifted, tension vibrating through him. Harry saw the protectiveness rise, the dawning horror.
Harry softened. “But he chose a different name for himself. Tenzo.”
The silence was heavy.
Tsunade finally spoke, her voice rough. “Shikaku tells us you’re his friend. I need to know about my nephew.”
Kakashi didn’t move. For a long moment, he didn’t even breathe. Then he said quietly, firmly, “I won’t betray my comrade’s confidence.”
Tsunade bristled instantly, fists clenching. Harry reached out, resting a calming hand on hers before she could slam it into the desk.
“Will you at least tell us if he’s safe? Healthy? Happy?” Harry asked gently.
Kakashi hesitated. Then sighed, eye closing briefly. “Tenzo is a very private person. And there’s little I can say without breaking orders from the Hokage about his career as a ninja.”
Tsunade snorted. “We know about Danzo and Root. We’re not asking for mission secrets or whatever ANBU has him up to. We’re asking about my brother’s son.”
Kakashi’s voice sharpened. “How can you be so sure he’s your nephew? We searched everywhere we could for information about his birth. There was nothing about his origins. He believes he was born in Orochimaru’s labs.”
Harry leaned back. “Have you noticed my bloodline is quite versatile?”
Kakashi’s gaze flicked to him, nodding a bit sarcastically, as if saying ‘you don’t say’.
“I have a family tapestry,” Harry explained softly. “It records every living and dead blood relative, updates itself whenever that changes. That’s how I found Tsunade, and how we learned of Tenzo’s circumstances.
Kakashi looked stunned. “Such an artifact…”
“It’s true,” Harry finished simply.
Tsunade pressed forward, grilling him with more questions. Kakashi parried each one with evasive answers, his loyalty to Tenzo ironclad. Finally, she demanded, “Is he coming back soon at least?”
Kakashi’s eye curved faintly. “Within the week. Specifics are classified.”
Harry saw Tsunade’s temper spike and quickly stuffed a spring roll in her mouth.
“Manners,” he teased lightly.
She glared at him, chewing furiously.
Harry turned back to Kakashi, smiling. “Thank you for telling us what you could.”
Tsunade growled around her food. “Like it was much…”
“It was enough for now,” Harry said firmly. “We know he’s not captive. We know he’s safe. And now, when he comes back, you’ll tell him everything we’ve said here. Tell him he has an aunt and cousins who are eager to meet him. If family isn’t reason enough, then tell him I’ll train him in the Mokuton myself. I have more literature on it than even the Senju.”
Kakashi smirked under his mask. “Well played.”
Harry snorted. “If he doesn’t come, Tsunade will just hunt him down anyway. He won’t be able to hide for long.”
Tsunade chuckled, finally swallowing. “Damn right.” She jabbed a finger at Kakashi. “Pass it on, brat. Or I’ll pulverise you.”
Harry groaned. “Stop threatening him.”
Kakashi stood then, his tolerance for conversation clearly spent.
Harry rose as well, smiling warmly. “It’s nice to see that my baby cousin has such a good friend in you, Kakashi.”
Kakashi snorted. “I’m fairly certain you’re the same age.”
Harry grinned. “He’s at least ten days younger than me. I won’t let him forget it.”
A swirl of leaves, and Kakashi was gone.
Harry glanced at Tsunade, who was already reaching for the noodles. “That went well,” he said brightly.
She grumbled, “We didn’t learn much.”
“We learned enough,” Harry corrected gently. “It’ll be easier for Tenzo to hear all this from his friend than to be ambushed by a Sannin.”
Tsunade was silent. Then, softly, “...Thank you. For bringing him here, I kept putting it off.”
Harry smiled at her warmly and picked up his own cold noodles, warming them with his hands.
A moment later, Tsunade shouted in outrage. “THAT BRAT STOLE ALL THE EGG ROLLS!”
And Harry’s laugh echoed through the halls.
~
Harry mentally checked find Tenzo off his ever-growing list.
Knowing that Kakashi would carry his and Tsunade’s words to Tenzo, knowing the boy—man, really—would hear that he wasn’t alone, that he had family waiting…
He knew from bitter experience that orphans clung to any thread of knowledge about their origins. Harry himself had nearly driven his grandparents’ portraits mad in those first weeks after finding them, demanding story after story, memory after memory. Even things as dull as what his father ate for breakfast or how his mother tied her hair had mattered to him. For years he’d told himself it didn’t, that he was fine without answers. But the moment he’d had someone to ask, he hadn’t been able to stop.
Tenzo would come. Of that, Harry was certain.
Walking back through the compound, he made his way back to the library.
It was well on its way to being catalogued by nightfall. Harry couldn’t help smiling as he trailed through the wide aisles, running his fingers over the polished spines. The elves had outdone themselves once again.
They’d even started setting up the greenhouses in the clearing out back while he’d been gone. Harry had half a mind to rush out and start planting, but he forced himself to wait.
“Better to ask Shikaku or Saeko what’s worth cultivating here,” he murmured to himself. “Could make it a family project.”
The thought made his chest warm.
Next on his list was something more mundane; writing invitations for Shikamaru’s first playdate in Konoha. He sat at his desk in the main house, quill scratching steadily. Ino, Shino, hopefully Chouji, if Shikaku remembered to speak to his father. He left that one unsent for now, stacking it neatly aside.
Then came the master portrait frame that the elves had connected to the one in the Keep.
It took little effort to heft the gilded wood onto the wall of the family room, charms locking it into place. The moment it settled, the canvas shimmered and was soon filled with familiar faces. Ignotus raised a brow, already scanning the room with a smile, while Salazar lounged against the edge of the frame with that hawk-like precision of his.
“Well, it’s about time,” his grandfather drawled.
Harry laughed, exasperated. “You can harass the children yourselves now.”
“Perfect,” Salazar said, rubbing his hands. “I’ve been looking forward to teaching the boy more about parselmagic.”
Shikamaru was going to thrive with them here. Or they’ll become utterly insufferable. Possibly both.
Hours later, Harry was buried in bylaw scrolls that Shikaku got him from Konoha’s archives.
“It’s a dictatorship,” he muttered darkly, rubbing at his temple.
The more he read, the less sense it made. Shinobi treated one way, civilians another. Contradictory rulings that tied council meetings into knots. And the Hokage with the power to override it all on a whim.
He missed the Wizengamot. He hadn’t thought he ever would, but he did in this moment.
The scroll in front of him detailed the mandatory clan contributions to the village. He traced the lines absently. Nara: knowledge and medicine, Uchiha: policing the public, smaller clans offering things ranging from food supplies to token rituals. Some contributions were robust. Others—Harry wrinkled his nose—were downright vain.
His own clan would be expected to give something that contributed to the village as well.
It made his mind race with ideas.
Potions? Magical artifacts? Impossible. Even with Sirius and Barty, they’d be overwhelmed in weeks. He wasn’t about to paint a target on his family’s back by advertising just how effective his brews could be. And supplying the whole ninja force with things like enchanted tents, potion kits and expanded bags would be costly, not to mention time consuming. No, he would save those for the ones closest to him.
But wards… yes, that might work. Not flashy, not constant labour, once their up they just need to be checked every decade or so and maintained.
Wards for the hospital. For the Academy. For the evacuation site.
His quill scratched quickly over parchment, ideas forming. His brow furrowed when he wrote “Hokage Mountain – evacuation risk?? Collapsible.” He’d have to raise that with Shikaku.
He was mid-thought when a familiar voice cut through the quiet suddenly.
“Harry!”
He jerked, then broke into a grin, spinning his chair to face the mirror on the wall behind him.
“Blaise! Is anyone else there?”
The other boy’s dark eyes narrowed in mock affront. “Am I not good enough for you?”
Harry smirked. “Grimbok’s prettier.”
Right on cue, a gravelly goblin laugh rasped through the glass, and Blaise was shoved aside.
Grimbok’s sharp features filled the mirror.
Harry’s expression softened. “Grimbok. Tazgira and the boys?”
“Busy,” the goblin rumbled. “She’s working a curse-breaker case. The boys are with their sword tutor.”
“They’re growing too fast,” Harry said fondly.
Grimbok’s gaze sharpened looking around. “And where are your hellions?”
Harry chuckled. “I caved. Sirius is having a grandfather-and-pups day at the Keep.”
The goblin snorted. “You’ll be lucky to get them back in one piece.”
Harry laughed, shaking his head.
Blaise’s face reappeared, his tone casual. “Theo and Nev are at Hogwarts. Want me to call them to the cottage?”
Harry waved a hand. “No, we spoke a few days ago. I’ll send something through the journal.”
“Time for the weekly update, then,” Blaise said, and suddenly looked shifty.
Harry narrowed his eyes. “Blaise…”
Silence.
Harry’s brow arched, and he turned deliberately to Grimbok.
The goblin sighed. “Coward,” he muttered at Blaise. Then looked back at Harry. “The foul stain on the Black family has been making some noise. Claims you kidnapped her son.”
For a moment, static filled Harry’s mind. Then white-hot rage.
The rant that burst out of him scorched the air. Vile words tumbled, curses in two languages, vicious enough that even Blaise—Blaise! —looked shocked.
When Harry finally stopped for breath, his hands clenched white-knuckled on the desk, he spat, “And what are people saying?”
Blaise exhaled slowly. “We’ve been watching her and Lupin since the blood adoption, but they’ve been quiet since. Tonks lost her job as an Auror a fortnight ago apparently.”
Harry blinked. “What?”
“Shaklebolt kept her on after the war out of pity and respect for her fighting at Hogwarts,” Blaise explained. “But she overdosed a suspect on Veritaserum a few weeks ago, despite being told she was off the case. Left the man a vegetable. That was the last straw. And with her Metamorphmagus gift no longer with her, she’s not worth much of anything to the department anymore.”
Harry rubbed his temple.
“She and Lupin never made it public that Teddy was theirs before you adopted him,” Blaise went on. “Most people don’t know much of anything about it.”
Harry nodded grimly. “Good.”
Grimbok’s grin was savage. “She tried to claim access to the Black fortune once more at the bank. Threw a tantrum in the atrium when I told her she’d never see a Knut of Black money. Not even from her mother’s vault. All of it belongs to the Black line. To you. Although, she would be very disappointed to discover that nearly all of the gold was withdrawn anyway.”
Harry crossed a leg, thumb pressing under his lip in thought. “And Andromeda?”
“No public sightings,” Grimbok said. “Not since she withdrew some coin a month ago.”
Harry’s mouth tightened. “It doesn’t matter. They’re dead to me anyway.” His voice dropped, bitter. “I’ll never forgive them for handing Teddy over that night. For rejecting him because of what he is.”
Blaise shifted. “She went to the papers anyway a few days ago. Speculations started already of course. Headlines asking if you stole him. If that’s why you left Britain so suddenly.”
He heard some paper rustling and Blaise said. “Check your letterbox.”
The enchanted box on his desk glowed briefly and he took out the folded Prophet editions. The front page showed his own face beneath the headline: WHERE IS HE NOW?
He snorted. “Even worlds away, they won’t shut up about me.”
Blaise smirked. “Mate, there’s at least one article about you every week still.”
Harry groaned and looked at the stack of Papers that had been piling up unread for weeks.
“Amelia’s going to make a statement soon,” Blaise added. “She has the paperwork from the adoption and she’s going to tell the press everything. How they rejected Teddy. How you adopted him without question, and how she was a witness to the blood adoption, no one would question the Minister of Magic. She’ll make you look like a saint.”
Grimbok sniffed. “No need. The public already thinks he’s Merlin reborn.”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Point is, Tonks won’t have a leg to stand on. And you’re untouchable, all the way out there.”
Harry’s lips curled. “Good.”
“There’s more,” Blaise said after a pause, his smirk returning. “Charlie Weasley’s been demanding answers. Again.”
Harry smiled. “Charlie…”
“Can’t tell if he wants you or your dragons to be honest,” Blaise teased.
Harry sighed. “I’ll send a letter for you to pass on to him then. He promised to keep looking for Lyra’s missing hatchling, unless this is about Altair’s eyes.”
Truth was, he was fond of Charlie. Had been drawn to him, once. But whatever attraction he’d felt then was a flicker compared to the burn that rose in his chest when he thought of Shikaku. Regardless, he was still a good friend and he would always value the intense knowledge and love the man shared about dragons and their care.
“Oh,” Blaise added, suddenly sheepish. He pushed another clipping through the enchanted letter box. “And there’s this, some news about an old friend.”
Harry plucked it from the box and his eyes skimmed the print. Then stopped.
“Oh,” he said again, softly.
Lord Petar Ivanovich and his wife, Katya, welcome their heir: Henry Ivanovich.
A photo showed Petar older, broader, hair longer and face softened as he gazed down at the baby in his arms. His wife stood stiffly beside him, lips pressed thin.
Harry’s chest squeezed suddenly.
He hadn’t seen Petar in over two years, nearly three. And yes, he had known about the arranged marriage. But seeing the proof—even with the distance between husband and wife, the devotion in Petar’s eyes only for his son—it still stung.
Because once, Harry had thought he might have had this. Might have built a family with Petar. If not for the binding magical contract that kept them apart, and now they were literal worlds apart.
But he was happy for him. Truly.
Even if he felt bittersweet at the loss of what might have been, the child that could have been theirs had they run away together all those years ago.
Blaise smiles at him sadly, “I think there’s no doubt who he named his son after.”
“Henry,” Harry murmured. His lips curved, bittersweet but pleased. “Close enough to Harrison, I suppose. Becoming a parent is something beautiful. I’m glad for him.”
Blaise studied him quietly. “He’ll be disappointed when he learns you’re gone.”
Harry shook his head. “He has what matters. Our moment passed already.”
Grimbok’s gravelly voice cut in, sly. “Speaking of what matters…” He elbowed Blaise. “Ask him.”
Blaise smirked. “Oh yes. Imagine our surprise, Harry, when Sirius of all people tells us you’ve got intentions of letting Shikamaru’s father court you.”
Harry flushed, then scowled at their eager faces.
Grimbok’s grin was all teeth.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, trying not to laugh.
“Sirius is such a snitch,” he muttered. “See if I let him watch the kids again.”
Blaise leaned in, dark eyes gleaming with wicked amusement. “Well? You’ve not even been in that village a month, and already you’ve got someone courting you. I always knew you were into older men.”
Harry flushed, heat rushing up his neck. “We haven’t even begun courting properly yet,” he said quickly. “There’s been a lot of flirting and talk. But that’s all.”
Blaise’s face was utter disappointment. “That’s all? No midnight rendezvous? Sneaky hand jobs in the garden?”
“I’d gladly let Shikaku bend me over anything at this point.”
Blaise threw his head back and howled with laughter.
Grimbok choked. “Harrison!” he barked, scandalised, sharp teeth flashing in the mirror’s reflection.
Harry snorted, shaking his head, the flush not leaving his face. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Honestly, I’m a healthy, horny seventeen-year-old with eyes, and Shikaku is a very handsome man.”
“You’re impossible,” Blaise retorted gleefully, still wheezing. “Gods, only you could say something like that with a straight face. You’ve got to send us a picture of this man.”
Harry swiped at the mirror as if to swat him. “Shut up.” But he was laughing too.
And then, more quietly, more honestly: “He’s… he’s different. I don’t even know how to explain it.”
He leaned back in his chair, eyes softening as he let himself talk—really talk—for the first time about the man.
Harry found himself telling them everything.
About Shikaku’s dry wit, the sarcasm that made Harry grin even when he tried to stay serious. About the way the man dotes on Shikamaru, how his patience with the boy seems endless even when Harry can see him dead on his feet after work. How Teddy is included in that same circle of affection without hesitation.
“Honestly,” Harry murmured, “the man treats Teddy as if he’d been born his already. No hesitation. No difference between him and Shikamaru.” His voice dipped, went quieter. “And that kind of acceptance—it’s not something I ever thought I’d be given. Not after telling him about the blood adoption. He just… trusted me. Trusted me with his son.”
Blaise leaned his chin on his hand, studying him. “And you’re asking if you’re moving too fast?”
Harry blinked. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks. Isn’t it—”
Blaise rolled his eyes. “Harry. You always trust your instincts with people. Always. And they’ve never steered you wrong when it mattered.” His smirk softened into something gentler. “What do your instincts say about him?”
Harry didn’t need to think. The answer slipped out before he could stop it.
“He’s kind. Strong. Sarcastic as hell. Ridiculously attractive.” His mouth quirked. “Wears these stupid mesh shirts that show his nipples—don’t laugh, Blaise, I can see you trying not to—and it’s so unfair. He spent three months straight searching for Shikamaru. Never gave up. Spent over a million Ryo just to be able to leave the village to search. He’s loyal. Stubborn. And gods, he makes me feel safe.”
His lips curved into an unconscious smile. “And he makes me laugh. It’s been a long time since someone’s done that.”
Grimbok groaned loudly, interrupting. “Your bearer instincts must also see that the man is a good provider for your children. It’s urging you to mate with him, regardless of his lack of magic.”
Harry flushed scarlet. “It’s not just that!”
Blaise roared with laughter again, clutching his stomach.
Harry glared, but his lips twitched despite himself. “Fine. I’ll admit, I’ve had… thoughts. Maybe some of them come from my ridiculous hormonal womb. But my feelings are my own. They’re not just instincts.”
He waved his hand vaguely. “It’s not like we’re getting married next week. We haven’t even had a proper date yet.”
Grimbok crossed his arms, unimpressed. “I will be telling Tazgira everything, Harrison. And you’d better follow proper courtship rites, or face her wrath. You are still a Lord. Behave like it.”
Harry pouted, petulant as a teenager. “We’re both clan heads. We both already have heirs. What does it matter if I let him pin me down when I see him next?”
Blaise nearly fell out of his chair laughing.
Harry smirked at his reflection, teasing, but then sobered slightly. “Jokes aside—I won’t become intimate with him until I tell him about magic. Not properly. Not until he knows everything.”
Blaise tilted his head. “Why haven’t you yet?”
Harry bit his lip, worrying at the skin.
“There’s been so much happening since we met,” he admitted. “Even just telling him about the blood adoption was nerve-wrecking. I didn’t want to drop the knowledge of magic on him the same night. And then I realised he might be obligated to tell his Hokage everything. I don’t want to put him in that position. Not yet.”
He exhaled slowly. “I want to wait. Get to know each other more first. Then tell him everything.”
Grimbok was still grumbling. “Too fast. Far too fast.”
“What’s he going to do? Get me pregnant?”
The goblin’s face twisted—half exasperation, half a flicker of something sad. “Being away from the magical world has made you less respectful,” he said snarkily.
Harry smirked. “Thank Merlin for that.”
Silence lingered a moment before Harry broke it, his voice gentler. “How is she?”
Both Blaise and Grimbok sobered immediately.
“Still the same,” Blaise said quietly. “The stasis is holding. No change.”
Harry’s chest ached, but he nodded.
Grimbok leaned forward. “And you? Have you found anything new?”
Harry shook his head. “My last idea got vetoed by Ignotus. I thought about powering the pendant again, sending it through the letterbox. You could perform the ritual from your side. But it would have required someone there to power it. And that would bring them through with her. I couldn’t ask that of anyone.”
His fingers traced the grain of his desk. “Besides, Ignotus said no one outside the bloodline should use the crystals. That every time a life is taken, the power twists if the wearer isn’t Peverell. Brings misfortune or something.”
He swallowed. “Cadmus blamed himself for decades for giving his necklace to his wife. Thought it was why she died in the end.”
Silence stretched.
Harry added quietly, “I think Tsunade gave the necklace to someone she loved at some point as well and he died wearing it.”
Blaise whistled low. “Damn.”
Harry rubbed at his face. “I’ll have to tell her about that nasty little clause eventually. Especially if she ever gives it to Tenzo. He’d need to know too.”
Grimbok rumbled. “It would have been a sound plan, if someone had been willing to pay the price.”
Blaise winced, shoulders tight. “I couldn’t leave. Not yet.”
Harry smiled softly, reassuring. “I’d never ask you to. And I would never force anyone to wear it knowing the potential outcome for misfortune.”
He straightened, forcing warmth into his tone. “We’ll figure it out. We always do. She said so herself before she went under—Luna always knows.”
That pulled faint smiles from both of them.
The rest of the call was lighter. Idle chatter. Little updates. Promises to speak again next week.
When the mirror finally dimmed, Harry sighed deeply and spun his chair around.
On the desk, the Prophet article about Petar lay waiting.
The photo stared up at him and Harry’s lips curved into a sweet smile. He picked up a quill, unrolled fresh parchment, and began to write his first letter to the man he adored nearly three years ago.
Dear Petar…
Because despite the ache of what could have been, he was truly happy for him.
He knew better than anyone; the love of a child was the best gift life could give.
And despite his clearly unhappy marriage, he had been blessed with something wonderful.
~
Harry jerked awake at the gentle shake on his shoulder, the stiffness in his neck snapping into sharp awareness. His hand slipped, nearly sending his quill skittering across the parchment spread out in front of him. He blinked hard, eyes blurry from exhaustion and too many hours bent over his desk.
The fog cleared just enough for him to register the tired but fond face looking down at him.
Saeko.
He yawned so widely his jaw cracked, muffling the sound with his fist. “What time is it?” he mumbled, blinking up at her blearily.
Saeko sighed, shaking her head. “Hopeless,” she muttered. “Falling asleep at your desk like a child up past his bedtime. Tell me you at least ate dinner?”
Harry rubbed his eyes, sitting up straighter in his chair, stretching until his back popped loudly. “Lunch,” he admitted around another yawn. “Had takeout. That counts, right?”
“That counts as poor judgment.” Saeko folded her arms, one brow raised in unimpressed matronliness.
Harry chuckled weakly and finally pushed himself up from the desk, his joints protesting. “So… what time is it?”
“Late,” Saeko said. “I came to say goodnight to the boys. I thought perhaps they’d returned already, but…” Her eyes softened, and her voice took on a teasing edge. “It seems someone fell asleep?”
The words slammed into Harry like a kunai to the chest. His gaze darted to the clock, and his stomach sank. Nearly an hour past when he was meant to pick them up from the Keep.
“Oh, hell.” He shot to his feet, fumbling for his shoes. “I—”
Saeko raised her brow higher, clearly unimpressed at his panic.
Harry gave her his most sheepish smile. “I’ll just… go get them now.”
She didn’t ask to come, thank Merlin. She thought the Keep was just the dragons’ summoning realm, a safe haven where Sirius was staying with Barty for now.
If she knew the truth, that it was a magical castle and grounds filled with portraits, elves, and magical greenhouses, he doubted even Saeko would be willing to stay put.
A moment later, Harry apparated directly into the Keep’s entrance hall, his voice ringing out through the stone corridors.
“Sirius? Teddy? Shika?”
A sharp pop answered him, and Tilly appeared right in front of him, her bat-like ears quivering.
“Master Harry is late!” she scolded, tiny hands on her hips. “Master Padfoot and the little masters are in the library, but Master Harry should have been here long ago.”
Harry winced, offering her a sheepish smile. “You’re right. My fault. I’ll take them home now. You should take the night off, Tilly.”
Her stern expression cracked into a beaming grin. “Master Harry is too kind. Goodnight!”
With another sharp pop, she was gone.
Harry shook his head fondly and made his way to the library.
The sight that greeted him there tugged a smile out of him.
Sirius looked like he’d been through battle and come out worse for wear—his hair a wild mess, clothes wrinkled and askew. Shikamaru was curled against his side, fast asleep, while Teddy was strapped snugly against his chest in a carrier. Harry’s eyes narrowed with amusement at the dark damp patch spreading across Sirius’s chest.
Padding forward, Harry crouched beside them and shook Sirius’s shoulder gently, whispering his name.
Sirius startled awake with a bleary blink. “Harry? You here to save me from my hyperactive grandpups?”
Harry clapped a hand over his mouth to smother his laughter. “How’d the babysitting go?”
“How—?” Sirius groaned, letting his head thunk back against the chair. “How do you do this every day? My everything aches, they wanted to do everything at once, and—” He trailed off, eyes softening. “—it was the best.”
Harry’s smile gentled. He reached out and brushed a wayward curl from Sirius’s face, a familiar gesture that had the other man batting his hand away.
“Mother hen,” Sirius muttered, though there was no real bite in it.
“Did they eat dinner?” Harry asked.
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Fed and watered, like good little garden gnomes.”
Harry snorted, carefully unstrapping Teddy from Sirius’s chest and securing the baby against his own. He leaned down to rouse Shikamaru, brushing a hand over his hair.
The boy swatted at him, mumbling nonsense, and burrowed deeper into Sirius’s side. Sirius smirked smugly. “I’m the chosen one, now.”
Harry rolled his eyes but tried again, shaking Shikamaru gently. This time, the boy blinked up, saw him, and his face broke into a sleepy, joyful smile.
“Maashah,” he whispered, voice thick with drowsiness. “Time t’go home?”
“Yes, sweetheart.” Harry kissed his forehead. “Say goodbye to Sirius, hmm? Thank him for watching you today.”
Shikamaru leaned forward, arms wrapping Sirius in a soft hug. “Th’nks for watching us, Grandpa,” he mumbled, half-asleep.
Harry caught the sudden tears in Sirius’s eyes, the way his throat worked as he swallowed them down. Sirius sniffled, voice rough. “Anytime, pup.”
Harry hid his own smile behind his hand as Sirius shot him a watery glare.
With some manoeuvring, Harry got Shikamaru onto his back, the boy’s arms looping loosely around his neck. He whispered goodbyes to the portraits lining the shelves. Ignotus’s voice followed him warmly. “We’ll visit the new frame tomorrow morning!”
Calling another elf, he asked them to pop them outside the main house back at the compound.
Thanking them softly, he shifted Shikamaru higher on his back, and stepped inside, slipping his shoes off at the door.
Voices drifted from the kitchen, low, warm. He wondered if Tsunade or Shizune had come home already.
But when he stepped into the doorway, his breath caught at the sight of Shikaku.
The man sat at the table, flak jacket discarded over the back of his chair, posture relaxed, a steaming cup of tea before him. His eyes lifted at the sound of Harry’s steps, and the smile that curved his mouth was slow, warm, and Merlin it made Harry feel unsteady.
“Welcome back,” Shikaku murmured.
Harry melted at the tone.
Shikaku rose at once, crossing the kitchen in two strides to gently lift Shikamaru from Harry’s back and relief loosened Harry’s shoulders.
“Help me put him to bed?” Harry asked.
“Of course.”
Teddy went down first, charmed into a soft night onesie with a flick of Harry’s fingers. Harry lingered a moment, pressing a kiss to the boy’s forehead, adjusting the glow of his nightlight.
Across the hall, Shikaku was already halfway through swapping Shikamaru into his pyjamas. Harry leaned against the doorframe, watching quietly. The tenderness in the man’s hands, the patience in the way he shushed the boy back to sleep.
When Shikamaru muttered nonsense words and shifted restlessly, Shikaku simply brushed a hand over his hair. His eyes lifted, found Harry watching, and softened into a smile. He motioned for Harry to come closer with his hand.
Harry did, crouching at the bedside. He kissed Shikamaru’s brow. “Busy day, hmm? You must have had so much fun if you’re this tired.”
Shikaku’s mouth twitched. “Is that disappointment I hear?”
Harry swatted his arm lightly. “You wish.”
They both chuckled quietly as they slipped out into the hall.
Harry froze when Shikaku’s hand lifted suddenly. The man’s thumb brushed gently over his cheek. Amusement flickered in his eyes as his thumb stroked lower, brushing the flutter of Harry’s pulse at his neck.
“Writing letters today?” Shikaku asked teasingly.
Harry blinked. “How did you—?”
Shikaku chuckled, withdrawing his hand and showing him the black ink smeared over his thumb.
Harry groaned, patting his face. His fingers came away smudged with ink. “Saeko didn’t tell me—”
A cackle rose from the kitchen as he stormed into it.
Harry shot her a glare as he strode to the sink, scrubbing his face clean. When he looked up, Shikaku was leaning against the counter, eyes warm with amusement.
“Gone?” Harry asked, wiping his face on a towel.
Shikaku stepped closer, his hand cupping Harry’s jaw again, tilting his head side to side.
“Almost.” Shikaku’s thumb tugged briefly at his bottom lip, mischief sparking in his gaze. He leaned close, close enough that Harry could feel his breath as his thumb caressed his lip.
“Yeah. Got it.”
Harry’s heart pounded. Gods, he wanted to close the last inches. To just—
But Saeko was still at the table, watching them with a look that was far too invested.
Instead, Harry blushed and blurted, “Eighty percent.”
Shikaku’s eyes darkened, something hot flickering in them, before he pulled back with deceptive ease.
“Hungry?” His voice rasped.
Harry grinned, relief and frustration tangled together. “Yeah. I could eat.”
Shikaku’s smile tugged crooked, and Harry thought, today had been a good day.
And it was only getting better as the three of them sat down, talking about their day, laughter threading through the warm kitchen.
Despite his best friends being worlds away. Harry thought this little family of theirs meant everything to him.
~ extra spicy ~
Shikaku lay on his back in his room at the Ryūjin compound, the bed beneath him still too warm, too soft to match the tension lining his body. The house was silent, save for the faint creaks of wood settling and the distant hum of insects outside. He’d been staring at the dark ceiling for over an hour, unable to wrench his mind away from the man sleeping down the hall.
He cursed under his breath, dragging a rough hand over his face.
Every time he closed his eyes, the memory from the kitchen came back with cutting clarity—the flush on his cheeks, the faint smudge of ink across his mouth, the way he’d looked up at him from under those thick lashes. Lidded green eyes catching him, pinning him in place.
And then those lips had parted, plump and glistening, to whisper in that breathy, sinful tone.
“Eighty percent.”
Two words and he had nearly given in right there.
Heat pooled low in his belly, his cock stiffening against the thin fabric of his loose pants. He let out a ragged sigh, dragging his free hand down the hard lines of his chest, pausing at the faint dip of his navel before sliding beneath the waistband.
His grip around himself was firm, almost punishing.
He bit back a groan, teeth sinking into the inside of his cheek.
If only they’d been alone—
Shikaku’s breath stuttered, his hand tightening. He would’ve leaned that last inch, would’ve taken Hari’s mouth in a kiss that left no space for teasing percentages. He could imagine it so clearly—Hari arching into him, gasping into his lips, those long fingers curling into his loose hair as if he’d never let go.
His strokes quickened, his mind painting the scene with cruel precision. Hari sprawled across the kitchen table, dark hair a wild halo, head tipped back, throat bared ready to be marked by his teeth. His lips parted around broken pleas, voice high and breathless as Shikaku drove into him again and again, holding his hips steady with bruising force. That mouth whispering his name like a prayer, like he’d never said anything holier in an act so sinful.
The thought ripped through him, white-hot and consuming.
Shikaku’s back arched, a harsh curse escaping as he spilled hot and heavy into his hand, the release shaking through him in sharp waves.
He lay panting in the dark, his hand sticky, his body trembling with the aftershocks.
For a long moment, the only sound was his uneven breathing.
Then, slowly, he pulled his hand away, cleaning it with a nearby cloth, and pressed his palm to his chest, feeling the frantic pound of his heart.
A humourless chuckle escaped him. Thirty-two years old, commander of the Jounin, and he was rutting into his own hand like some hormone-drunk academy boy because one maddeningly beautiful man had whispered eighty percent at him.
Shikaku turned his head, staring at the moonlight spilling faintly through the window.
No more waiting.
No more interruptions.
He’d take Hari out, away from watchful eyes, away from distractions, and show him exactly what his teasing was doing to him.
His lips curled into a small, dangerous smirk as he planned it all in his head.
Tomorrow, he thought.
Tomorrow would be their first date.