Konnichiwa konnichiwa, Planeshunter desu!
You guys don't have any idea what a relief is to finally publish something at all. Lately all my ideas and projects seem to fall apart way before they're ready. And don't let me start with Mystic Eyes of Reincarnation. For every four lines I write, I delete three, rewrite the remaining one and then delete it too. Nothing feels right, it's beyond frustrating.
Anyway, this little piece is nothing special. Or maybe it's a tad too special. Without caring too much about the result I just imagined a Girl-Who-Lived in a wheelchair with a loyal ninja maid at her side. You know, meshing together some random ideas and see what happens. Well… this happened. I swear I have no idea how. Prologue-ish one-shot from the POV of the Maid.
Now, on with the show!
All Night needs to win, is for good men to do nothing.
For Night can be defeated, but it cannot be destroyed.
Night always comes back.
Night nests in everyone of us, waiting for us to lower our guard or believe ourselves above it.
Night can hide away in the most unlikely places, waiting for a chance to take hold.
But Night can also bloom from nothing, as the mere act of living gives all the openings it needs.
When good men do nothing.
The fight is eternal, and cannot ever be truly won.
But we stand, we fight, and we keep Night at bay.
For ever and ever.
To not falter, to not doubt.
That is our victory.
Those words were the first I heard, the first I understood and the first I learnt by heart. Those words were also my only comfort on the painful nights after a day when training had been simply too much, and my young body protested against the abuse.
But even then, those words kept me from giving up and despairing. I stood between Night and Humanity, I had a purpose. At least, I would have, once I completed my training. I was a good person.
Oh, I was vaguely aware I was being brainwashed, and Mother never failed to disdainfully point it when my instructors laid it a tad too thick. It didn't hurt either that I remembered another life, lived before this one. That gave me some perspective.
It also didn't change anything. I would be dragged through inhuman training and I would enjoy it, or else.
Being a reincarnator kind of helped, actually. Memories of an indolent, average live without peaks or slumps, where every day simply made way for another in a lukewarm contentedness where nothing was specially important was a good motivator to excel.
In any case, Father was a Belmont, and Mother made the excellence-focused family of monster hunters look like half-assed sissies with her own fixation on flawlessness. Perfection was the bare minimum expected of me.
Fitting for the Belmont I was born as in this life, my body and mind were far above average. Kind of strange, that last part. Because one tends to assume intelligence is something that would remain coherent through reincarnation but it's actually bound to the brain chemistry, and thus affected by the body.
I could remember how I used to think, back in my old life, and can only shake my head in amused shame at how simple and slow my thought patterns once were.
Also, I'm pretty sure Mother knows something about reincarnation herself. Not many mothers back on 1974 would insist in naming their daughter 'Raszagal'. Starcraft won't be released for long years yet, much less the Brood Wars expansion pack.
That she got away with it against the wishes of an entire clan of hardened fighters says something about her own worth, if not much for her naming sense.
In any case I trained, from very young, to one day stand in the front lines against the Night in whatever form it took. And I put my all into it.
I said I had the body of a Belmont, but that's not completely true. While extraordinary, my physique has closer to Mother's, and thus too lithe for the muscle-focused training of my paternal Clan. That's why Mother was in charge of my physical training and close quarters combat, teaching me how to exploit my slim body and nimbleness to the max.
While my cousins learnt to overwhelm with superior strength and tear defenses apart with solid blows, I danced around targets, never hitting twice the same spot and slipping past barriers and shields like flowing water.
Of course training with the whips that made our clan famous was a must, but since I wasn't in line to inherit the mythical weapon of the first Belmont, the focus of my efforts laid elsewhere. After some experimenting, both handheld and thrown knives proved the best fit. They were easy to hide, handle or carry around and, with the emphasis my training put in precision, as lethal as anything else.
…
I can handle the claymore something wicked too, but nobody talks about the claymore.
Stupid bearing columns, always getting in the way.
Everything non directly physical I learnt with my peers, with Mother only interfering to throw scathing remarks on the way of any stupidity that managed to creep its way in my training. Strategy, tactics, infiltration, magical and mundane lore, politics… you name it I had at least superficial competence on it.
Applied magic too, even if it soon became apparent I would never amount to much in that field. Mother was the only one who called the discipline 'wandless magic combat', which made me believe the wandless part was somewhat relevant specifically to me as a reincarnator. Considering the age I was born into, I had my suspicions.
Indeed, it wasn't much of a surprise I was assigned my first mission on my thirteenth birthday, to locate and protect a child of prophecy in the United Kingdom. Apparently, a recently vanquished Dark Lord wasn't as dead as preferable, and the one fated to face him had disappeared from the face of Earth
The name in the file being 'Harriet Lily Potter' was a bit of a surprise, but life without surprises is kind of pointless anyway.
The arrival at the UK was nothing out of the ordinary, just an uneventful journey by plane. Most of my weaponry had been smuggled into the country ahead of time, and what I had with me was non-metallic and didn't upset the sensors. So yeah.
Okay, maybe some thug-like idiots had to pick themselves out of the rubbish bin, but seriously, what kind of scum tries to mug a thirteen years old child? And here I thought this country was safe.
Plopping into the bed of my hotel room wearing only a wet bathrobe, I thank all stars in Heaven the Clan is actually quite well-off. Our ancestral home is quite spartan, but we pay good money to have privacy when we travel, and the places who offer decent privacy also offer a considerable quality on their other services.
Like bubble baths.
I let out a contented sigh. I know exactly where my charge is, have a shitload of money reserved for investigation that I'll have to return if it proves unneeded and a lot of places to sightsee I can justifiably include in my investigation. This place's amenities aren't too shabby either.
Still, if I take more than three months the Clan will probably question my competence and send reinforcements. Which means Mother will arrive in three weeks tops to drag my by the ear.
Meh, two-weeks-and-a-half actually sounds like the perfect stretch for my first holidays ever. Longer than that and I'll probably grow restless anyway, a life of intense activity does that to you.
Instead of getting frustrated about it, it's best to enjoy the moment, so I put on something cute-stylish, rescue some comfortable shoes from my luggage, grab my purse and leave towards Diagon Alley for a bit of people watching. First things first, I have no idea how wizards actually dress, but chances are I don't own anything like that. Overhearing popular topics will help me with small talk when I actually try and mingle too.
Two and a half weeks later find me walking down Privet Drive, a bag of chinese steamed buns on my hand and a last half-eaten one gingerly held on the tip of my fingers and humming lightly. Smuggling the bag under the Dursley's noses will be decent practise to keep my skills honed after my first holiday ever.
It's been one productive holiday I've had on the Clan's budget, all things considered. My wardrobe has easily quintupled, and I now truly own robes and dresses for all occasions and then some. I've visited all the important landmarks from both magical and muggle britain one can reasonably cramp into my time constrictions and even done something that can pass for a professional search for Harriet Potter.
I've got my own wand too. Cherry wood, thirteen inches on the dot and quicksilver core. Old man Ollivander almost had a stroke when a foreigner went to him with a selection of exotic cores for a personalised wand, but turns out there's perfectly competent alternative wandmakers one can reach with enough money and a bit of polite inquiry.
In any case, I'm feeling well rested and full of energy, ready to tackle life again. Being a Belmont has never been easy and, while the crowning moments easily outweigh the bad parts, it'd been really nice to have a couple of weeks to worry about nothing at all.
I finally reach Number 4, half-expecting to find my first mark ever busying herself on the garden. I see nothing, but that's not overly surprising. To begin with, she's seven, I don't even know if she started at such tender age. There's also a chance Dumbledore's protections are keeping her hidden from magic users.
So I reach with my senses, trying to figure out whatever it is the Chief Warlock did with blood wards here. I might not be particularly gifted for magic, but it there's any magic we Belmont can do better than anyone else out there, is blood magic. Kind of a tradition, that with our history.
...
Nothing. Either Dumbledore's skills stand above those of Death and the very Lord of Darkness by a very fair margin or there's no blood protection of any sort in place. Now that has some very interesting implications…
But I'm getting ahead of myself, introductions come first. After ringing the bell, I can't help but bounce on the balls of my feet in anticipation. I've actually put a lot of thought into this.
-"Yes?" -Wow Mrs. Dursley looks even less pleasant in person- "I'm not buying anything child, run along."
Well, the situation degraded quickly. That wasn't how I expected it to go at all and it's only a well-placed foot that keeps the door for closing on my face.
-"Hello there Mrs. Dursley!" -I exclaim cheerfully, completely ignoring the actual situation. I have a plan and I'm sticking to it.- "I'm here to see Harriet!"
-"Are you one of her kind, then?" -She asks with with a frown after what I could've sworn is a flash glee- "Will you get her away from us?"
-"Er… yes?" -I must admit, her willingness to depart with her is a teensy little bit unexpected. Kinda suspicious too.
-"Good. Maybe you freaks have a way to make anything out of her after that freakish accident somehow but decent, down to Earth, medicine says she'll be useless the rest of her life."
...
Okay, what the fuck is she talking about?
-"I'm sorry ma'am, that incident you mentioned...?"
-"Oh, don't remind me! She somehow sent our car tumbling away from the road! It's a miracle we didn't all die!"
-"If you forgive my insolence," -Yeah, I wasn't expecting to be polite either, but I'm kind of at a loss here, cut me some slack- "You seem awfully spry for almost dying in a car incident. When did this happen again?"
-"Oh, we somehow managed to leave unscathed, in spite of all the obvious freakishness happening all around us. My word, the door of the car had somehow turned into marshmallow when I hit it, it's a miracle we didn't all die there. The car was totalled."
I bite my the scathing remark and manage to keep my hands away from my knives… barely. Reading between the lines it sounds like someone used a cushioning charm to keep her alive. A cushioning charm and Heavens knows how many other things. Surviving a totalled car crash without a bruise takes much more than blunting the impacts.
-"Ma'am, when…?"
-"Last week," -Whatever I was about to say gets stuck in my throat. A question, a reproach, whatever. I no longer remember- "And before you ask, no. We won't be taking care of her anymore. If we hadn't had word of your kind by Sunday, he was going straight into an orphanage. We can't be expected to keep providing for a burden like her when she can't even do basic chores to help around the house and she's taking space in Duddikins second bedroom, so you better take her with you right now. "
Her rambling gets lost in the distance as a loud thumping inside my ears deafens any other sound.
Last week.
I was here last week.
I could've been beside her last week.
I should've been beside her last week.
Protecting her, that was my mission.
Instead, I decided to take a holiday. With money that wasn't even mine, mind you.
I should've been protecting her, instead I did nothing.
All Night needs to win, is for good men to do nothing.
Can I even call myself 'good' anymore?
After this… betrayal?
-"The freak is here" -Petunia's voice snaps me from my reverie, we've somehow gone all the way upstairs without me noticing - "Now take her away."
She's standing in front of the door of a bedroom, but makes no move to open it, just looking at me impatiently.
A part of me, trained to always be clinically cold and analytical, notices the guilt and fear the woman is trying to hide under all the criminations and anger. But it gets filed for later contemplation. Right now I'm too busy kicking myself for my negligence.
Actually, this goes beyond negligence. It's shortsightedness, wilful blindness… If not plain Night.
Swallowing hard, I push down everything going on my head and reach for the door. It takes me a couple of tries to actually gather the nerve to turn the knob and open it. I don't know what's waiting inside, but I'm afraid of finding out.
Opening the door takes a vaguely disapproving noise from beside me and another hard swallow.
The room manages to look pristine and desolate at the same time under the golden evening light. On the floor, on the selves and even all over the small table in the corner, broken toys of all shapes and kinds pile up. And yet the room itself, and the few pieces of furniture on it, are spotless clean.
Someone more poetry-inclined might find this dichotomy inspiring, and maybe compare it to the young girl on a wheelchair in front of the window. I don't.
Looking at the profile she cuts, I can only say she looks at peace. I could spend hours talking about her silky red mane or the remarkable figure she cuts against the last lights of the evening. She was a cute little girl that would no doubt grow into a beautiful woman. But it's the quiet confidence of her features, the soft smile on her lips what draws my attention.
A girl who, not a week prior, performed a feat of accidental magic like nothing in recorded history just to save the lives of her abusive relatives and had paid the price.
I had hurt this girl, this girl that, even after suffering untold pain and losing the use of her legs, can still smile without a hint of bitterness on her features. I have to do something for her. Forget the mission, that doesn't even begin to measure what I owe her, what I've ruined for her.
-"Harriet Lily Potter?" -I manage to croak.
She turns towards me, but her eyes never open. I feel a new stab of guilt. Her legs weren't everything my Night cost her.
-"I am Harriet." -There's surprise and curiosity in her voice, but it still sounds warm and welcoming- "Who are you?"
Is it guilt that makes me answer the way I do? A snap decision to make good to her? In any way the words fly from my lips with a sudden certainty that honestly catches me unaware.
-"Sakuya Izayoi. Your new maid here to take you home." -It feels natural, easier in a way, to kill my old name and accept this new one. Sakuya will serve Harriet well, come hell and high tide- "Please take good care of me."
It's only much later, after a taxi trip full of uncomfortable questions to the hotel, a good bubble bath and a hearty dinner that I leave Harriet sleeping on my bed. Tomorrow I'll have to sack her hospital for whatever medical files she has and figure out what exactly she's been through, both because of me and whatever came before.
And probably think out a decent backstory to have her happy without lying to her and yet keeping quiet everything that must remain so. I also need to find that new home I promised her.
...
Maid for a grand total of five hours and I'm already feeling out of my dept. I also need a new uniform. To think I considered the vampire slayer training harsh…
I step into the terrace, wanting some peace and fresh air to ponder on my recent actions and how they affect my future, when a thick folder hits me on the face. With long-practised reflexes, I grab it before it falls and eye it curiously. They're Harriet's medical files.
Turning towards the figure waiting for me in the shadows, a sigh escapes my lips. There's only one person in the world who can anticipate my needs like this and infiltrate my freaking room without triggering my danger senses.
-"You didn't go directly to her" -There's no recrimination on her voice, but she doesn't bother with little things like tact either. Straight to the point, that's Mother for you.
-"So you knew after all." -She knew about Harriet, she named me Raszagal, that pretty much confirms she's a reincarnator too. Unfortunately, I'm not on the mood to celebrate my deductive skills or feel validated- "Was it a test?"
Mother hesitates. It's just a fraction of an instant, but I've known her all my life. That doesn't bode well -"The last one."- Ouch. Too cruel Mother, I didn't need to know I failed so close to the goal.
-"What was the right thing to do?" -It's only out of a defeated, morbid curiosity that I ask. I don't really want to know.
-"The right thing?"
-"The flawless thing."
She snorts, and I can't hold back a small, self-deprecating smile. Flawlessness in Mother's domain. -"To go and find her, then get her away from her toxic home life." -Yeah, figured it would be something like that- "Your own would've improved radically afterwards."
-"Damn, I was so close…" -Mother hesitates again, and that's getting so out of character it's giving me the creeps. She turns away from me to gaze at the city night.
-"People is fallible."
-"Except you."
-"Except me." -She concedes- "But even my own flawlessness manages to create flaws by itself."
-"How so?" -It's the first time I hear of something like that, even Mother has regrets? It's her turn to smile self-deprecatingly.
-"I allowed you to fail."- I decide right there and then that I don't like it. Mother shouldn't have that expression on her face, ever.
-"It was the right thing to do."
-"It hurt you" -She continues after a long sigh -"How can a mother consider that right?"
-"I need to make my own mistakes to grow." -I protest. Mother can't keep me in a glass dome forever, no matter how much safer it is.
-"I know, I repeat that to myself every single time." -I've never seen Mother look so small. She always looked so calm, so in control… Guess I never bothered to walk a mile on her shoes- "Can't say it makes it any easier."
-"Being a mother is hard work, isn't it?"
-"Yes, yes it is." -"The fact she's bothering to give an obvious answer might be the biggest sign of how she's feeling. I take a deep breath, doing my best to hide all the self-pity somewhere out of the way and sound determined.
-"What comes next?"
-"Next?" -She now sounds vaguely amused. Guess it was too much to ask for my act to fool her, but even that's a welcome change on her- "Your assignment stands, to prevent that accident wasn't really feasible."
-"And yet I could've done it." -Dammit, that's more self-pity! Stupid emotions getting in the way of everything.
-"That's why whatever comes next depends entirely on you."
-"Damn, you don't make it any easier, Mother."
-"It's not supposed to be."
-"Yeah, figured as much."
After that, we remain silent for a while. There's not much more to say anyway, but I'm reticent to leave her. Whether that's because I don't want to be alone or because I don't want her to be doesn't really matter. Enjoying this minutes together is what really counts.
Far too soon, Mother turns towards me again.
-"Will you tell her your true name?" -Oh, yes. I have been dreading this question.
-"That's not my true name, not anymore." -I hope she doesn't take it badly. I'm discarding the name she gave me herself, after all. In a way, I'm killing her daughter.
-"Oh?" -Arched brow and a smirk. Kind of a relief she took it with amusement, since she can wipe the floor with me using only her pinky-"That's a heavy commitment you're signing yourself for. And the last Belmont to take that name ended up serving a vampire lord."
-"Wait, you mean that happened for real?" -Sakuya and Remilia? Gensokyo?- "I thought it was just a legend!"
-"What is a legend in one world might very well be reality in a different one, you should know that better than most… Sakuya."
-"… Yes, Mother." -We both seemingly come from another world after all.
-"Was there anything else?"
-"Mother?" -The question that weighen my heart the most, that I'm almost too afraid to ask, even to her- "Am I… a good person?"
-"Even good people can make mistakes." -She answers slowly- "Again, what you do in the future will be what determines the answer."
-"… Yes, Mother."
Because making Mother repeat herself is a good way to have a bad time. Better quit while I'm ahead.
How the heck did I end up with that? I just wanted a story with Harriet Potter in a wheelchair and Sakuya Izayoi at her side! I swear half the time I didn't know what I was doing. About the references here, nobody was expected to recognise everything.
The Belmont clan, and the Night, are from the Castlevania franchise. Most main characters of the saga belong to the clan.
'All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing." Is a popular quote of disputed origin. Many prominent people have used versions of it, but the earliest reference I could find was from Plato.
'Mother' has been referenced in one of my other stories, but I daresay she's unrecognisable. She stars or makes cameos in a good chunk of my unpublished works, so maybe there'll be more sometime in the future?
Raszagal was the matriarch of the Dark Templars living in the plane Sakuras, during the events of Brood Wars, the Starcraft expansion pack.
Remilia Scarlet and the original Sakuya Izayoi are characters from the Touhou Project franchise, which takes place in the land of Gensokyo, hidden somewhere in the mountains of Japan. Since Sakuya lacks an official past, there are various fan theories around. I always found the one making her a Belmont amusing
Any resemblance between this portrait of Harriet Potter and a certain Nunnally vi Britannia from Code Geass is mere -if astounding- coincidence.
To be fair, the reincarnator part was completely unnecessary. It might not be if this was a longer work instead of just skimming over Raszagal childhood and training with the Belmont Clan, but it didn't come to that. In a potential following work from a different POV it could come handy, to portrait a Sakuya who always seems to anticipate events and know what's going on. It also ties up nicely with 'Mother', but that's just an excuse.