Chapter Text
For a moment, the words on the parchment blurred, their meaning slipping through his grasp like water through his fingers. The room seemed to tilt slightly, the edges of his vision narrowing as he stared at the results. The goblin’s voice faded into the background, an unimportant hum against the storm brewing in his mind.
Raiden Makoto.
The name struck him like a bolt of lightning, sharp and burning, leaving his chest hollow and his thoughts in disarray. It wasn’t just the name itself—it was what it represented. She named me, he thought, his breath catching. She gave me a name.
He had believed, with every fiber of his being, that he was nothing more than a mistake, a failed experiment discarded like a broken tool. He had carried that belief for centuries, letting it fester into anger, hatred, and ultimately, despair. Ei—his mother—had been the root of it all. The first betrayal. The one who had abandoned him without a second thought.
And yet… she had named him.
Makoto.
A name tied to her sister, the one she had lost. A name filled with meaning and weight, given to him before she had turned her back on him. The realization felt like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of his lungs. For so long, he had clung to the belief that her actions had been heartless, cruel, deliberate. But now… now he wasn’t so sure.
Had she truly abandoned him? Or had there been more to it—more than he had allowed himself to consider?
His mind churned with fragments of memories and revelations that Nahida had shared not long ago. The Tatarasuna incident, Niwa’s death, Dottore’s manipulations—it was all clearer now, painfully so. Misunderstandings, half-truths, and deceptions had twisted his perception of the world, driving him to snap. And now, standing here in this foreign world, staring at a name that shouldn’t have existed, he felt the weight of yet another crack in his carefully constructed armor.
He had hated her. For centuries, he had let that hatred fuel him. And now, for the first time, he felt something else creeping in—something soft and fragile and unbearable. Doubt. Grief. The faintest flicker of… understanding.
“Mr. Potter?” the goblin asked again, its voice crisp and precise, cutting through the fog of Kuni’s spiraling thoughts.
Kuni blinked, his mind snapping back to the present. He cleared his throat, adjusting his posture as if to conceal the emotional turmoil beneath his composed exterior. “Apologies,” he muttered, his voice steady despite the chaos within. “Can you repeat that?”
The goblin eyed him shrewdly, its gaze sharp as a blade. “The test stated you are blessed by the Zirkel,” it said, enunciating the words with an almost reverent tone. “That has not appeared in an inheritance test result for centuries.”
Kuni raised an eyebrow, though his expression remained neutral. Centuries? he thought, filing the information away as his mind raced. “I have no clue what that means. Is there any significance to it?”
“As per goblin customs,” the goblin began, its tone taking on an air of solemnity, “we are bound to treat any being blessed by the Zirkel with the utmost respect. In fact, such individuals are traditionally considered allies of the goblin race.”
Kuni stared, his sharp features betraying a flicker of incredulity. “Why?” he asked flatly.
The goblin straightened, placing its clawed hands carefully on the desk before inclining its head. “The Zirkel of Creation are responsible for the very fabric of this world. They are otherwise known as…deities.”
Kuni froze, his mind snapping into focus as the pieces clicked into place. The book…Zirkel…Hexenzirkel… His thoughts narrowed onto one familiar name. Alice, you little…
“Many witches and wizards do not believe the Zirkel to exist,” the goblin continued, seemingly unaware of Kuni’s internal monologue. “To most, they are dismissed as myths or fairy tales. Their stories are woven into magical folklore, legends passed down through generations. Ever heard of ‘The Tale of the Three Brothers’?”
Kuni shook his head, his expression carefully blank. “Can’t say I have.”
“That tale is but one example,” the goblin explained, its voice tinged with the faintest note of disdain, as if it couldn’t fathom how anyone could dismiss such history as mere fiction. “Their influence is woven into the fabric of our magical reality, though it remains hidden to most.”
“Fascinating,” Kuni said dryly, though his mind was anything but dismissive. The mention of Alice and her ties to these deities was enough to make his head spin. Of course, it couldn’t be simple.
The goblin gave a curt nod, as if concluding its lesson, and gestured toward the key resting on the desk. “But enough about legends. I believe you are here to make a withdrawal.”
Kuni eyed the key, its faintly glowing surface reflecting the flickering light of the goblin’s desk lamp. He reached for it but hesitated. “And you’re not going to question the… unorthodox results of my test?” he asked, his tone deliberately even.
The goblin’s sharp grin revealed pointed teeth. “The parchment confirms your identity as Henry James Potter. That is sufficient. Your inheritance, by law, is yours.”
Kuni relaxed slightly, though his sharp mind refused to fully settle. No questions? Good. I don’t have the patience for an interrogation right now.
The goblin suddenly stood, stepping out from behind its desk and bowing deeply, its sharp claws brushing the floor. “It is an honor to serve one blessed by the Zirkel,” it intoned solemnly. “If there is anything further you require, Mr. Potter, do not hesitate to ask.”
He stood, pocketing the key and giving the goblin a curt nod. “Thank you.”
As Kuni strode out of the goblin’s office and back into the grand hall, his mind swirled with unanswered questions, each one more irritating than the last. His sharp eyes scanned the bustling bank floor, but his focus was elsewhere—on the tangled web of information he’d just uncovered.
Henry James Potter? He snorted quietly to himself, his lips curling into a faint smirk of disbelief. Harry is a nickname, sure. But nobody thought it was worth mentioning that his actual name was Henry? It was almost laughable. Almost. Not that it really mattered, but it was one more piece of evidence confirming that everyone in this world liked to keep him in the dark—just like in Teyvat, where he’d never known his name as Raiden Makoto until now. First my name in Teyvat, now my name here. What is it with people and keeping my identity a state secret?
And then there was the godfather. Kuni’s sharp mind latched onto that detail with a growing sense of irritation. Sirius Black. A living, breathing adult who was supposed to be responsible for Harry. Yet somehow, Harry had ended up dumped on the doorstep of the Dursleys, a family so magically ignorant and hostile that it bordered on comedic. Kuni could almost hear the absurdity in his own thoughts. How does that make any sense?
Unavailable, maybe? Dead? No, the parchment listed him as alive. Then what’s the excuse? Kuni frowned, his thoughts churning faster now. If Sirius Black couldn’t take care of him, then why not another magical family? Someone—anyone—who wouldn’t leave a child in the hands of people who clearly despised everything about him?
It didn’t add up. And if there was one thing Kuni hated, it was loose ends. His sharp instincts told him there was more to this—something deliberately obscured. He’d need to dig into it, do some research. And Nahida—she always had answers.
As the rickety cart rattled its way down the winding tracks into the depths of the wizarding bank, Kuni barely masked his impatience. The goblin accompanying him remained silent, though Kuni caught the occasional sidelong glance, as if the creature were assessing him. He ignored it, his mind still spinning with unanswered questions.
When the cart screeched to a halt, the vault door creaked open, and Kuni’s sharp eyes immediately widened, despite himself. The sheer opulence of the vault was staggering. Piles of gold coins shimmered in the dim light, glinting like miniature suns. Glittering gems sat nestled in ornate boxes, and ancient heirlooms lined the shelves, radiating a sense of power and history. For a brief moment, Kuni just stood there, taking it all in.
So this Harry kid was filthy rich, huh? Convenient.
After transferring a generous amount of gold into a magical coin pouch, he had stepped out of the bank.
The cool air of Diagon Alley nipped at his skin as Kuni stumbled out of Gringotts, his kasa pulled low over his face. He kept his head down, trying to blend into the sea of witches and wizards bustling about. But it didn’t matter. His chest was tight, his throat burned, and his vision blurred as tears spilled down his cheeks, unchecked and unwanted.
Stupid human brain. Stupid body, he thought bitterly, swiping furiously at his face with his sleeve. The tears kept coming, warm and relentless, and he couldn’t stop them. It was like trying to plug a dam with his bare hands. The pressure inside him only grew, a tidal wave of raw, unfiltered emotion that he couldn’t shove back down.
“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath, his voice trembling with frustration. “Stupid… everything.”
It had been centuries—centuries—since he’d cried. Puppets didn’t cry. Gods didn’t cry. The Balladeer didn’t cry. But here he was, reduced to this… thing. This human shell, so fragile, so cursed, betraying him at every turn. He pressed his hands to his face, hoping to smother the sobs that threatened to escape. Why now? he thought, his mind a storm of bitterness and confusion. Why does this name matter so much?
Raiden Makoto. It wasn’t just a name. It was a truth—a truth he had spent centuries refusing to acknowledge. Maybe, just maybe, his anger and hatred toward Ei weren’t the whole story. Maybe there had been something more, something he hadn’t allowed himself to see.
The name replayed in his mind, cutting deeper with every syllable. His emotions roiled, a chaotic mess of grief, anger, and something far more vulnerable that he couldn’t name. His steps faltered, and before he knew it, he had ducked into an alley, slumping against a cold brick wall. He didn’t even remember how he got there. The world around him felt distant, muffled, like he was trapped underwater.
“Hey.”
The voice was sharp but not unkind, cutting through the haze in his mind. Kuni blinked, startled, and glanced up. A teenage boy with pale blond hair and ice grey eyes stood a few feet away, his hands shoved into the pockets of his expensive-looking robes. He tilted his head slightly, his expression curious but calm.
“You okay there?” the boy asked, his tone casual, as if he hadn’t just found someone having a breakdown in a back alley.
Kuni tensed, his first instinct to push the boy away—metaphorically or literally—but he was too exhausted to summon his usual sharpness. “I’m fine,” he muttered, his voice raw and unconvincing.
“Yeah, no,” the boy said, stepping closer and leaning casually against the opposite wall. “You’re clearly not fine. You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Or fought one. Hard to tell.”
Kuni glared at him weakly, wiping at his face again. “What do you care?”
The boy shrugged, his blond hair catching the faint light of the alley. “Don’t, really. But you looked like you were about to hyperventilate or something, so I figured I’d check before you keeled over.”
Kuni let out a shaky breath, his hands curling into fists as he fought to steady himself. The boy was annoying, but his calm demeanor was oddly grounding, like an anchor in the middle of the storm raging inside him.
“Breathe,” the boy said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. “In through your nose, out through your mouth. Don’t want you passing out on me.”
Kuni scowled but followed the advice, focusing on his breathing. The tightness in his chest eased slightly, though the ache in his heart remained.
“Better?” the boy asked after a moment, his tone less flippant.
Kuni hesitated before giving a small nod. “I guess.”
The boy smirked faintly, pushing off the wall. “Good. You’ve got this whole ‘mysterious brooding loner’ thing going on, but it’s not as cool when you’re crying in an alley.”
Kuni shot him a glare, his usual sharpness returning in flashes. “What’s your name?”
The boy hesitated for a fraction of a second, “My name’s Draco. Draco Malfoy.”
Kuni noted the faint hesitation before he said his name, but he didn’t dwell on it. He adjusted his kasa hat, making sure his scar was hidden beneath its brim, and replied curtly, “Kunimitsu.”
Draco raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he sat down on the edge of a nearby crate, keeping a respectful distance. “So, Kunimitsu,” he said lightly, “what’s got you so worked up?”
He shot him a glare. “None of your business.”
“Fair enough,” Draco said with a shrug.
Kuni looked away, his fists clenching in his lap. He hated how perceptive this boy seemed, how his tone wasn’t mocking or pitying, just… curious. It made him uncomfortable.
Before he could respond, another voice cut through the quiet. It was sharp and commanding, yet somehow laced with the exasperation of someone who had seen this kind of nonsense too many times.
“Draco.”
“Oops,” Draco muttered, his expression shifting to something between sheepishness and defiance. He turned toward the alley entrance with the air of someone who knew they were about to get a lecture but still wasn’t entirely sorry. Kuni followed his gaze to see a tall, elegant woman stepping into the alley. She had long, pale blond hair and piercing blue eyes, her movements precise and deliberate. Everything about her screamed control—except for the twitch in her jaw that suggested she was one second away from losing her patience entirely.
“Um, hi,” Draco said, his voice awkward but trying to sound casual, as if he hadn’t just been caught in the act of doing something he probably shouldn’t.
The woman crossed her arms, her piercing gaze boring into him. “What are you doing here? You know better than to show yourself so obviously in public.”
Draco sighed dramatically. “I wasn’t ‘showing myself.’ I was helping someone.”
“Helping?” Her gaze flicked briefly to Kuni, who remained seated on the ground, still trying to process the bizarre situation unfolding before him. Her eyes lingered for a moment before snapping back to Draco. “We are not here to play savior.”
Draco straightened his back, puffing out his chest ever so slightly. “He looked like he needed help. What was I supposed to do? Just leave him here crying in an alley? That’s hardly honorable.”
The woman’s lips twitched, her expression teetering on the edge of incredulous. “Honorable?” she repeated, her voice dripping with disbelief. “You? Since when?”
“Since always,” Draco shot back, his tone haughty but playful. “I’m a very honorable person. Ask anyone.”
“Honorable people don’t loiter in alleys,” she retorted.
Kuni, despite himself, let out a quiet snort. The interaction was so bizarrely casual and familial that it almost felt surreal. He adjusted his kasa hat, making sure his face—and the infamous scar—remained hidden as he watched them bicker like siblings rather than a mother and son.
“Anyway,” Draco continued, ignoring her comment, “I think I did a pretty good job. He’s not crying anymore, is he?” He gestured toward Kuni with a faintly smug smile.
Kuni shot him a glare, his face heating up under the brim of his hat. “I wasn’t even crying in the first place.”
“Sure,” Draco said with a grin that was clearly meant to provoke. “Whatever you say, Kunimitsu.”
The woman sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose as though summoning every ounce of patience in her being. “Draco,” she said, her voice dropping into that dangerous, quiet tone that could freeze fire. “We have rules. Do you remember what those are?”
Draco shrugged, his grin widening. “Don’t get caught?”
Her eyes sharpened, and for a moment, Draco flinched, clearly rethinking his choice of humor. She straightened, her gaze cold and controlled again. “Don’t call attention to yourself. That includes making dramatic rescues in public alleys.”
Draco huffed, running a hand through his hair. “Alright, fine. But it’s not like I caused a scene or anything. And besides—” He gestured vaguely toward Kuni. “He’s not exactly the type to tell anyone.”
Her sharp gaze returned to Kuni, who immediately stiffened. “Draco didn’t bother you, did he?” she asked, her tone still frosty but with an odd flicker of something softer beneath it—concern? No, it couldn’t be.
Kuni shook his head, adjusting his hat and making sure it covered his scar. “No. He was… fine.”
“See?” Draco said, a hint of smugness creeping back into his tone. “I wasn’t causing trouble.”
The woman’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression unreadable. “We’re leaving. Now.”
Draco hesitated, glancing back at Kuni. “You sure you’re good, Kunimitsu?” he asked, his voice quieter, almost genuine.
Kuni nodded, his tone flat. “Yeah. Go.”
Draco gave him a small nod before turning back to his mother, who was already walking toward the alley’s exit. He jogged a few steps to catch up, his usual bravado slipping back into place as he muttered, “You know, mother, you could at least pretend to be impressed by my humanitarian efforts.”
The woman stopped abruptly, her icy gaze snapping to him. “Don’t call me that.”
Draco blinked, his smirk faltering. “What? Mother?”
“I said don’t,” she snapped, her tone clipped and final.
“Sorry,” Draco muttered.
As they disappeared into the crowded street, Kuni leaned back against the wall, his mind buzzing with questions.
Draco Malfoy and his mother… They’re not what they seem.
Kuni pushed open the door to the Magical Menagerie, the little bell above it jingling as he stepped inside. The shop smelled faintly of fur, herbs, and something earthy he couldn’t quite place. His kasa hat was tilted slightly lower than usual, hiding the exhaustion in his eyes. After the storm of emotions earlier, he wasn’t in the mood for more shopping or the bustling chaos of Diagon Alley. He just wanted to find Nahida—Mrs. Figg, as she called herself here—and regroup.
The sound of raised voices drew his attention to the back of the shop, where Nahida stood stiffly behind the counter, her expression calm but tired. Across from her was a tall man with long, pale blond hair and sharp, aristocratic features. He was impeccably dressed, but there was an air of disdain about him that Kuni recognized instantly. It was the kind of superiority complex he had dealt with countless times before—entitled, arrogant, and utterly insufferable.
“I don’t know why someone like you would even bother running a business in a place like this,” the man was saying, his voice dripping with condescension. “A squib selling magical creatures. The irony is almost amusing.”
Nahida remained calm, her hands folded neatly in front of her. “I assure you, sir, I run a reputable business. If you’re not interested in purchasing anything, perhaps you should move along.”
The man scoffed, his lip curling. “Reputable? From someone like you? Spare me. You’re lucky you’re even allowed to operate here.”
Kuni’s eyes narrowed as he took in the scene. His exhaustion evaporated, replaced by a sharp edge of irritation. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
“Is there a reason you’re standing here wasting everyone’s time, or are you just naturally insufferable?” he asked, his tone cool and biting.
The man turned sharply, his pale gray eyes narrowing as he looked down at Kuni. “And who are you to address me like that, boy?”
Kuni crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as he gave the man a once-over. “Just someone with basic manners. Something you seem to be sorely lacking.”
The man’s expression darkened. “Do you have any idea who I am?”
“Not particularly,” Kuni replied with a shrug, his tone deliberately casual. “Should I? Because all I see is a pompous windbag throwing a tantrum over someone else’s life choices.”
Nahida stifled a laugh behind the counter, her eyes sparkling with amusement. The man, however, looked utterly scandalized.
“How dare—”
“How dare you,” Kuni interrupted, his voice sharp. “You think being born into a magical family makes you superior? Newsflash: it doesn’t. All it does is give you a bigger platform to make a fool of yourself.”
Just then, movement in the shop window caught Kuni’s eye. He glanced over to see a familiar face—Draco, peeking his head around the edge of the glass. His silver-gray eyes widened slightly when he saw Kuni, and then he quickly pressed a finger to his lips in a “shush” gesture.
Beside him, the same tall, elegant woman Kuni had seen in the alley gave an exasperated sigh and dragged Draco back by the arm, clearly trying to keep him out of sight. Kuni watched them disappear down the street, herding themselves as far away from the shop as possible.
He frowned slightly, assuming the pale-haired man berating Nahida was Draco’s father. Great family dynamic they’ve got there, he thought wryly.
“Are you even listening to me?” the man snapped, his voice pulling Kuni’s attention back to the argument at hand.
“No, not really,” Kuni said bluntly, his voice dry. “I tend to tune out when people start ranting about things that don’t matter.”
The man’s jaw dropped slightly, his hand hovering near his wand as if he couldn’t decide whether to draw it or leave before he lost the last shred of his dignity.
Kuni leaned closer, his tone dropping to something cold and deliberate. “Here’s some advice: Go find someone else to bother. Because if you stick around, I promise you’ll regret it.”
The man glared at him for a long moment, his pale face twitching with barely contained fury. Finally, with a sharp turn of his heel, he stormed out of the shop, slamming the door behind him.
The moment he was gone, Nahida let out a soft chuckle. “That was… impressive.”
Kuni shrugged, adjusting his hat. “It’s not hard to take down someone who’s all bark and no bite.”
Nahida stepped out from behind the counter, her warm smile chasing away the lingering tension in the room. “Thank you, Kuni,” she said softly. “I appreciate you standing up for me.”
He waved her off, his voice casual but sincere. “Don’t mention it. I wasn’t about to let someone talk down to you like that.”
Nahida’s smile widened, a hint of pride in her eyes. “Still, it means a lot.”
Kuni adjusted his hat again, glancing at the door. “So, what now? Because I could really use something bitter after dealing with that.”
Nahida chuckled, already heading toward the small kitchen area in the back. “I think I can arrange that.”
As Kuni followed her, he couldn’t help but glance once more toward the shop window where Draco and his mother had been.
They’re definitely hiding something, he thought, but I’ve got enough to deal with already. He shook his head, deciding not to think too hard about the Malfoys. Still, it wasn’t his business, and he had no intention of revealing to anyone that he had seen them.
Nahida poured a cup of tea as they settled into the small, cozy backroom of the shop. It was quiet here, the warm scent of herbs and faint traces of lavender filling the space. The hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley seemed a world away, and Kuni was grateful for the calm. He sat down at the small wooden table, adjusting his kasa hat slightly, the brim casting a shadow over his face.
Nahida placed the cup in front of him, her gentle smile carrying the kind of warmth that made the room feel just a little brighter. “You’re back early,” she said softly, taking a seat across from him. “I thought you’d be exploring all day.”
Kuni looked down at the steaming tea, his sharp eyes fixed on the swirl of liquid as if it held all the answers to his troubled thoughts. His hands fidgeted slightly, fingers tracing the edge of the teacup. He tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat.
“Kuni?” Nahida tilted her head, her expression soft with concern.
And then, to his utter frustration, the tears came again. He quickly turned his head, wiping at his eyes with the sleeve of his robe. “Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice shaking slightly. “Not again.”
Nahida’s expression softened even further, and she reached out to gently place a hand on his. “It’s alright,” she said quietly. “Take your time.”
Kuni took a shaky breath, refusing to look at her. “I went to Gringotts,” he finally said, his voice low. “I… I didn’t wanna burden you with the money, so I went to the Potter vault.”
Nahida nodded, waiting patiently for him to continue.
“They… they ran an inheritance test,” Kuni said, pulling the folded parchment from his pocket with trembling hands. “I didn’t think much of it at first. Just thought it was a formality, you know? But then…”
He slid the parchment across the table, his gaze still fixed on the tea. Nahida picked it up, her green eyes scanning the document. Her expression didn’t change immediately, but there was a subtle shift—something soft, understanding, and deeply empathetic.
“Raiden Makoto,” she read softly, her voice almost a whisper. “Named after her sister…”
Kuni clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “I didn’t even know she gave me a name,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “I thought… I thought she just made me and left me, like I didn’t matter. Like I was just some… failed experiment.”
Nahida set the parchment down and leaned forward slightly, her voice gentle but steady. “But she did name you,” she said. “She gave you a name filled with meaning.”
Kuni finally looked up, his sharp eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Yeah, well, it doesn’t make sense,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness. “If I mattered so much, why did she leave me? Why didn’t she—” His voice cracked, and he quickly looked away again. “Why didn’t she stay?”
Nahida’s expression didn’t waver. “Kuni,” she said softly, “I don’t know the full story. But what I do know is that people are complicated. They make choices for reasons we don’t always understand, and sometimes those choices hurt the people they love the most.”
Kuni let out a bitter laugh, though it sounded more like a choked sob. “Love? That’s a funny way of showing it.”
Nahida didn’t argue. She simply let the silence settle for a moment before speaking again. “It’s okay to be angry, Kuni. It’s okay to feel hurt. But it’s also okay to let yourself wonder if there’s more to the story. To give yourself the chance to heal.”
Kuni wiped at his face again, his frustration evident. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not simple,” Nahida admitted, her voice gentle. “But you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and I’ll help you figure it out.”
Kuni looked at her, really looked at her, and for a moment, the weight on his chest felt just a little lighter. He nodded, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thanks,” he muttered. “I guess.”
Nahida smiled warmly, reaching for her tea. “Anytime.”
Kuni leaned back in his chair. “So…,” he began, stirring his tea absentmindedly, “Apparently my ‘official’ name is Henry James Potter. Why Henry?”
Nahida tilted her head with a small smile. “Ah, that’s a good question. The name Henry comes from your great-grandfather, Henry Potter. He was a prominent wizard who served on the Wizengamot from 1913 to 1921. He’s quite well-known in wizarding history for speaking out against discriminatory laws against Muggles.”
“The Wizengamot?” Kuni interrupted, frowning.
Nahida chuckled, the sound soft and warm. “It is the wizarding world’s equivalent of a high court and parliament. It handles judicial and legislative matters.”
Kuni blinked, processing the information before smirking faintly. “A high court, huh? Guess that means I’ve got some old family connections. Makes sense, given the vaults and everything.”
Nahida’s smile widened slightly. “You’ve inherited more than you realize, Kuni. The Potters have a long history of standing up for what’s right, even when it wasn’t popular. Perhaps it’s something you’ll find in yourself too.”
Kuni snorted. “Don’t get your hopes up. I’m not exactly known for playing the hero.”
Nahida took a sip of her tea before setting the cup down gently. “Speaking of your family’s connections, there’s something else you should know. It’s about your godfather, Sirius Black.”
Kuni’s smirk faltered, replaced by a sharp, questioning look. “Sirius Black? The name was in the test results, but I’ve never heard of him before.”
Nahida’s expression softened, though her tone remained steady. “Sirius Black is—or was—a close friend of your parents, especially James. He was named your godfather and would have taken care of you if… circumstances had been different.”
Kuni leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing. “What kind of ‘circumstances’?”
Nahida hesitated for a brief moment, as if choosing her words carefully. “Sirius Black is currently in Azkaban.”
“Azkaban?” Kuni repeated, his voice edged with incredulity. “Is that a prison?”
“Yes,” Nahida said quietly. “A wizarding prison, known for its terrible conditions and its guards—Dementors. He’s been imprisoned there for the past year, accused of betraying your parents to Voldemort and killing thirteen people, including twelve Muggles and his close friend Peter Pettigrew, with a single spell.”
Kuni froze, his sharp mind racing to process the revelation. “So, let me get this straight. My so-called godfather, the one who was supposed to look after me, is in prison for mass murder and treason.”
Nahida’s eyes met his, calm but firm. “That’s what the wizarding world believes, yes.”
Kuni leaned back, his expression unreadable as he stared at the ceiling. “This just keeps getting better and better.”
She tilted her head slightly. “But… I believe there’s more to Sirius’s story than what most people believe. I think it’s worth investigating more into this matter.”
His sharp gaze snapped back to her. “And why would you think that?”
Nahida sighed, her delicate hands folded in front of her as she leaned slightly forward. “Both Sirius Black and Arabella Figg were members of the Order,” she began. “Figg wasn’t close to him, but she observed a lot—she always does. Sirius Black had a reputation, yes. He was fiercely loyal to the people he loved, but he could also be reckless and dangerously impulsive. His temper was notorious, and during his school years, he often caused trouble and sometimes even hurt people.”
“Sounds like the perfect candidate for mass murder,” Kuni said dryly, his lips quirking into a bitter smirk.
Nahida shook her head, her expression calm but firm. “That’s precisely why so many believed he did it. But based on Figg’s memories and my impressions of him from her observations… I don’t think Sirius is the type of person to betray his closest friends.”
Kuni raised an eyebrow. “And this is based on what? Gut feeling? Because that’s not exactly the strongest evidence.”
Nahida gave him a faint smile. “No, it’s based on what happened in Godric’s Hollow that night. Dumbledore, McGonagall and Hagrid told Figg about it when he assigned her to watch over you.” She paused, her tone softening. “Do you want to know what really happened?”
Kuni’s sharp gaze narrowed, but he nodded slightly. “Go on.”
Nahida continued, her voice even and thoughtful. “That night, after Lily and James… after they were killed,” she said delicately, choosing her words carefully, “Hagrid, the gamekeeper at Hogwarts, was the one who arrived to retrieve you. He carried you from the house in the aftermath. According to Dumbledore, Sirius Black arrived shortly afterward.”
Kuni frowned, leaning forward slightly. “Sirius showed up? Why?”
“To check on you,” Nahida said softly, her voice laced with a rare seriousness. “Sirius had lent his flying motorcycle to Hagrid that night, so Hagrid could take you to safety. He wasn’t running or hiding—he was there, ready to fight if needed.”
She paused, her gaze distant, as though recalling something far away. “According to Hagrid, when he had found him, Sirius was still in shock. He’d just realized… well, something devastating.” Nahida’s expression softened, though there was a hint of hesitation in her tone, as if she didn’t want to speak of things she didn’t fully understand. “He was grief-stricken, Kuni. Not just because of your parents’ deaths, but because he felt he had failed them somehow.”
Kuni’s sharp eyes narrowed, his mind already racing. Sirius Black—grief-stricken? The man who had supposedly betrayed his parents? Something didn’t add up. But he remained silent, letting Nahida continue.
“Sirius offered to take you that night,” she went on, her voice gentler now. “He wanted to protect you himself. But Hagrid refused—Dumbledore’s orders were clear. You were to go to the Dursleys immediately, no exceptions. Sirius didn’t argue. He handed you over to Hagrid and left.”
Nahida continued, her tone soft but steady. “After Sirius left, Hagrid didn’t think much of it. He was more focused on getting you to safety. But later, when they arrested Sirius, Hagrid told McGonagall and Dumbledore that he couldn’t believe it. He kept saying, ‘He didn’t look like someone who’d done something so terrible.’”
Kuni’s sharp eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and suspicion. “And yet, they sent him to Azkaban.”
Nahida sighed, her expression tinged with regret. “The evidence was damning. Witnesses said they saw him laughing after the explosion, standing among the ruins and bodies. And he didn’t deny it when they took him. He didn’t fight back.”
“Laughing?” Kuni echoed, his tone dripping with skepticism. “That’s convenient.”
Nahida hesitated. “I’m just telling you what I know. But if there’s more to the story… it’s locked away in Azkaban with Sirius.”
Kuni leaned back, his expression unreadable, though his mind was already working through the puzzle. Sirius Black, the supposed traitor, the man who had handed his parents to Voldemort… didn’t sound like a man who would lend his motorcycle to ensure their child’s safety. Nor did he sound like someone who would stand idly by if he had truly betrayed them.
Nahida’s voice broke his thoughts. “I thought you should know, Kuni. Whatever he did—or didn’t do—that man cared about you. Enough to hand you over to Hagrid without hesitation. Enough to not argue, even when his world was falling apart.”
He stood there for a moment, the name “Sirius Black” echoing in his mind like an unsolved puzzle. Kuni’s sharp eyes darted toward Flourish and Blotts. Without warning, he turned on his heel.
“I need a book,” he declared, pointing to the shop.
Nahida blinked, then chuckled lightly. “Of course you do. Go ahead.”
Kuni didn’t wait for further permission, his stride purposeful yet somehow restless. As he walked away, Nahida watched with a knowing smile, her expression tinged with something more—perhaps hope, perhaps sorrow. She understood better than anyone that Kuni’s mind was always moving, even when he didn’t realize it himself.
A few hours later…
Kuni flipped through yet another dusty tome, his sharp eyes darting over the faded text. The pages on the Zirkel were frustratingly vague, dancing around the truth like a half-told secret. Most of it dismissed the Zirkel as mere myth—a collection of legends designed to explain the unexplainable. Yet, nestled between the skepticism, a few names stood out: Death, Fate, Time, Magic.
Still, the lack of concrete answers gnawed at him. He shoved the book aside and grabbed another, more recent volume. This one was just as elusive but offered a tantalizing rumor: the Department of Mysteries, and more specifically, the Unspeakables, served no one but Lady Magic herself.
However, the section on Sirius Black wasn’t just sparse—it was non-existent. The most he could find were sensational headlines about his arrest.
“Typical,” Kuni muttered, shoving the old newspaper aside and grabbing another. “A wizarding world full of nosy gossipers, but no one thought to write down something useful about the trial?”
Just as he leaned against the towering shelf to skim his latest find, a sharp voice cut through his thoughts.
“Excuse me, you’re blocking the way.”
Kuni glanced up irritably to find a tall, elegant woman reaching past him toward a book on the top shelf. His annoyance turned into incredulity.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said flatly.
It was her. Again. For the third time today.
“Don’t look so surprised,” Draco’s mother said coolly, brushing nonexistent dust off her sleeve as she retrieved the book. “The world isn’t big enough to keep us from bumping into each other, apparently.”
Kuni’s patience, never his strong suit, was rapidly eroding. “Do you have some kind of magical radar for wherever I’m standing?”
She smiled faintly, her sharp gaze flicking to the book in his hands. “Not at all. You just have an uncanny knack for being in my way.”
Kuni resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What are you even doing here? Shouldn’t you be doting on your son or… whatever it is you do?”
Narcissa’s smile tightened. “Draco went home,” she said smoothly, but there was something about the way she said it—like a half-truth wrapped in silk.
“Uh-huh,” Kuni said skeptically, but he didn’t press. Instead, he focused on her gaze, which had wandered to the book he was holding.
“The Legend of the Zirkel,” she read aloud, her tone shifting to one of mild interest. “An unusual topic for light reading.”
Kuni narrowed his eyes. “What’s it to you?”
“Curiosity,” she said with a shrug, though her gaze lingered on the pages. “You’re not the only one intrigued by things that are more than they appear.” Then her expression changed as her eyes flicked to the stack of newspaper clippings next to him. “Sirius Black?”
Kuni snapped the book shut, watching her closely. “Yeah. Got a problem with that?”
Her lips twitched, the faintest ghost of a smile. “Not at all. Just… interesting taste in reading material.” she tucked her book under her arm and held out a hand. “Narcissa Malfoy. And you are?”
Kuni hesitated before reluctantly shaking her hand. “Kunimitsu. If you’re so interested in my light reading, care to explain why?”
Narcissa gave him a long, unreadable look before saying, “Let’s just say you’ve given me… insight into something I’ve been pondering. Thank you for that.”
Kuni blinked, baffled. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Precisely,” she said cryptically. She paused, as if considering her next move, before adding with deceptive casualness, “For what it’s worth, Sirius Black is my cousin. We haven’t met in a long time…but he isn’t a Death Eater.”
Kuni’s sharp eyes narrowed. “And how exactly would you know that?”
Narcissa tilted her head slightly, her composure as smooth as glass. With a subtle flick of her wand, she cast a soft, nonchalant murmur, “Muffliato. Don’t worry, that was a privacy charm.” She lowered her wand, meeting Kuni’s gaze with cool confidence. “Because my husband is one.”
Kuni stiffened, his mind immediately jumping to the man who’d been harassing Nahida earlier. His expression must have given him away because Narcissa’s sharp gaze flicked to him, her voice cutting through his thoughts like a blade.
“Relax,” she said smoothly, a glimmer of amusement in her tone. “I have my reasons for keeping Lucius out of Azkaban. He’s a rather... reliable source of information. And unlike others, I play the long game. A useful pawn is better on the board than locked away in a cell.”
Before Kuni could retort, Narcissa reached into her pocket with deliberate elegance and withdrew a neatly folded piece of parchment. Her movements were calm, unhurried, and yet there was something disconcertingly sharp about her poise. She handed it to him without fanfare.
“Here,” she said coolly. “My contact information. If you want to plan something useful—like breaking Sirius Black out of Azkaban—you’ll know where to find me.”
Kuni stared at the parchment, his brain struggling to keep up. “Wait a second, what...?”
“Sirius is innocent,” she continued, her voice soft but laced with quiet authority. “Peter Pettigrew isn’t. But if you think you can just tell the authorities that, you’re deluding yourself. No one will listen without evidence, and we have none. Truth potions are unreliable, memories can be tampered with, and a dead man can’t defend himself—unless, of course, Peter Pettigrew turns up alive and well. So, the question is, Harry Potter…”
Kuni stiffened, his sharp gaze locking onto her.
“Do you want to save your godfather?” she finished smoothly, tilting her head ever so slightly, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous calm.
For a moment, the world seemed to slow. Kuni’s thoughts raced, panic and suspicion vying for dominance. “How do you know my name—”
Narcissa’s lips curled into the faintest smirk. She reached into her robes again, and this time she pulled out something far more incriminating: a parchment stamped with Gringotts' official seal. His inheritance test.
“Keep your belongings safe next time, will you?” she said lightly, as if chastising a careless child.
Without waiting for his reply, Narcissa inclined her head gracefully and swept out of the shop, her robes billowing elegantly behind her.