Storming Skies
It was just a silly high-school girls' love ritual. Nothing was supposed to happen. Nothing would have happened, had Gokudera's mother not been a Squib. Now he's caught in another country, and in the middle of a deadly tournament. Gokudera/Harry.
000
Chapter Nine
Solutions Found
000
Waking up, Hayato hummed happily, tightening his grip on Harry who slept soundly against him. Uri was curled up at the foot of the bed as usual, her Storm Flame providing faint scarlet light throughout the closed off area behind crimson bed hangings. Thankfully, he had awoken with no problems this morning – yesterday had been beyond mortifying to wake up after some very, erm, pleasant dreams with a very sticky problem. A problem that had him haring into the bathroom to clean up, very nearly getting caught by Tesoro as he washed his hands clean of... well. He found it particularly difficult to look his beloved in the face the whole morning and didn't trust himself to even lay a finger on him. Tesoro was so pure and innocent that he felt wrong even dreaming of him in such a way, especially since he was so innocently sleeping right next to him.
But that didn't happen this morning.
He was free to enjoy the moment, the feel of having him in his arms, the smell of his skin and the warmth of his body so small and firm in his arms. Too small really, he decided frowning. He needed to eat more, he decided, recalling that last night he only ate buttered bread from the soup selection – not actually ladling himself out a bowl. How could he have missed that? Lunch was only somewhat better, in that he ate all of it, but there wasn't very much of it to begin with! A ham-sandwich and a fruit bowl was hardly good enough!
The curtains were suddenly jerked open with a sharp snap.
"What," Neville hissed, glaring down at him and somehow managing to look intimidating despite his blue and white striped button up pyjamas, "are you doing in Harry's bed?" he snarled, wand tapping menacingly against his arm, sparks spurting from the tip to glimmer maliciously in the morning light coming from the windows.
Hayato squawked, practically yanking himself away from Tesoro as if burned, flinging himself out from the bed and crashing to the floor – dragging all the bedding along with him in his mad-scramble. Waking Harry up in the process with a yelp, his hand snapping out to grab his wand as he rolled to one side, bringing it up, sleep dazed and blind.
"What?" the young Gryffindor spluttered, squinting at the two of them in confusion.
Neville glared at Hayato, "Harry, come with me. Hayato can sort himself out while we shower," he declared coolly, grabbing his Godbrother by the arm and tugging him out of the bed. Thankfully, Harry was much more malleable in the mornings, he often took a long time to wake up, or a cold shower to shock his system into the same realm as the rest of them. Neville lead the stumbling Gryffindor past Hayato, still on the floor and now wrestling his way out of the bedding, and into the bathroom – Harry still clutching his wand in sleepy confusion.
Hayato stared after the pair with a wounded expression before sighing. Okay, he had been in the wrong on that one. The last thing he wanted was to put Tesoro in a bad situation – that meant behaving himself, and obeying these people's stuffy dumbass rules. And reminding himself, repeatedly, that Tesoro was fourteen and a very sheltered and innocent one at that. He gathered up the bedding and got to his feet, folding it up and tossing it back over Harry's bed, glancing over to the rest of the room – none of whom were awake.
Weasley was snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and the other two bed-hangings were drawn shut and only had a faint sound of heavy breathing coming from them. Figuring that this was a blessing in disguise, he kicked open his trunk and began to get changed. He would shower tonight before bed. He also made certain to pack away his supplies and set all of his dynamite in pockets and other easy-access points on his body once he had dressed himself appropriately. Opting to completely scorn the uniform in favour of more manoeuvrable jeans, T-shirt and an open red shirt, all of which were copiously accessorised with chains, studded belts, and his usual jewellery. He only paused when he found that oh-so-special dynamite that Harry had picked up. He could tell it was his because it was the only one on the bedside table.
After a moment of floundering, Hayato carefully adjusted the wick and tied it to one of the necklaces he wore, that way he would never lose it. It was his lucky Dynamite after all.
000
In the bathroom Harry spat his toothpaste down the drain, "So, long story short," he said before swishing a mouthful of water and spitting that after it, "because I'm younger, I'm pretty much the 'girl' of the relationship. I've got to let Hayato handle any insults, I'm not allowed to disagree with him, or look like I'm angry at him, I'm not allowed to lie to or about him. No purposefully attempting to hurt him, no rituals, no trying to adjust the bond," he listed sceptically. Neville nodded and suppressed a grin at the look of absolute disgust that twisted Harry's face, "Why?" the younger boy demanded plaintively.
"Do you want Malfoy insinuating you're a Prostitute again?" he asked sarcastically.
Harry scoffed, "I don't care what Malfoy thinks," he stated bluntly, "But why should I behave any differently than I already do? I'm not Pureblood, I don't care what they think, Hayato's a Hedge Wizard who grew up muggle. Apart from people being mildly snooty and looking down on us, what would happen if I didn't act like the perfect little doormat?" he demanded coldly, folding his arms and frowning at the brunet wizard who blinked in confusion.
"Doormat?" Neville echoed warily.
Green eyes narrowed as he started ticking off his fingers, "I'm not allowed to disagree with him. I'm not allowed to look anything but deliriously happy with him. I'm not allowed to fight my own battles. And he is the one who has to support me, protect me, speak for me, defend my honour – what, exactly, then is left for me to do in this supposed relationship? Stand there and smile like a moron while someone else dictates what I do with my life?" he asked blisteringly.
"Harry, it's etiquette, you have to," Neville pointed out desperately.
He scoffed, "A hundred, two hundred, years ago maybe. But I'm not a girl, nor am I an Elizabethan Maiden owned by her male relatives until she's palmed off on a husband and ordered to look pretty and squirt out the next generation. I can support myself, I can defend my own honour, I can speak for myself. I'm not going to play second best just to sooth the egos of people who aren't even involved in this clusterfuck," he swore – a very sure sign that his temper was high. Neville flinched and lifted his hands placating.
"Okay! Okay, I was just warning you. I'm sorry," he soothed as sincerely as he could.
Harry eyed him sceptically for a moment before sighing, "Sorry, Nev, I just... I – forget it." How could he explain that he was fed up of being thought of as sub-human, a thing, a possession, looked at on the merit of what he can do, what he can give to others, instead of who he was? Besides, this whole thing was just an accident, once the year was up Hayato would go back home and Harry would stay here. They'd probably either become pretty good friends by then or end up hating each other – Harry hoped they stayed friends, but either way, what did it matter if they played by the Purebloods' stupid rules when they weren't Purebloods themselves?
Neville nodded meekly, "Okay," he agreed, unwilling to bring Harry's temper down on him. He knew his Godbrother had one, it was generally very well controlled, but to have it suddenly turned onto you like that was scary. Why on earth did Malfoy keep doing that?
The two finished washing and dressing and made their way out of the bathroom to where Hayato was puffing quietly on a cigarette on the window-ledge, lazily flicking a shoelace for Uri to claw and chase. Harry grinned a little at the sight of it as he gathered up the books they needed for the day. Transfiguration, Charms, and Herbology. No doubt they would have to answer to McGonagall about the Potions' incident yesterday – Harry was rather surprised they weren't called in last night but assumed that Snape had tried to go to Dumbledore or something first, or hadn't said anything because of those stupid Pureblood rules of etiquette that clearly painted him in the wrong and deserving of it. He didn't know what to think.
Greetings and well-wishings were thrown at Hayato as they made their way down to breakfast, boys and girls still clamouring over his handling of Snape and Malfoy yesterday. Harry could only sigh, but he refused to comment on it, memories of Neville's advice still lurking in the back of his head like a malicious whisper. There was some merit to not rocking the boat, he had just been telling that to Hayato, and now here he was bridling away from it and kicking up a fuss because he didn't like what he was hearing. They were as bad as each other, he decided absently as they came into the Great Hall to thunderous applause and cheering from Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw students, and hissing boos and death glares from the Slytherins who were looking particularly mutinous today – Snape being absent from the staff table, and Malfoy apparently still laid up in the Hospital Wing.
Harry sighed as they took their seats at the Gryffindor Table, feeling his appetite abandon him in the face of such attention as he worried absently over the confrontation to come. Would it be Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore who took to them over yesterday's unpleasantries?
He managed to get a cup of tea down his neck and choke on a slice of toast, but never before had bacon and eggs looked so unappetizing. He grimaced and turned away from the plate in order to get some more tea. Looking back down he found fried mushrooms and potato fritters on his plate. Scowling, he shot a glare at Hermione who didn't notice, too busy flipping through her volume of Hogwarts, a History – clearly not her. The day Ron gave up food was the day someone died, so not him either. Neville was having a minor break down over whether or not he should go for a cooked breakfast or a cold one, looking between the dishes of scrambled eggs and cornflakes as if his entire future hinged on which one he chose. Which left...
He turned his glare onto Hayato who tried, and failed, to look innocent as he drank his coffee and stuffed a buttered croissant into his mouth while looking studiously at the ceiling. Huffing, he pushed the plate away and sipped at his tea, he couldn't eat anything more right now, not with his stomach in such knots.
Frowning, Hayato gently nudged it back, "Harry," he scolded quietly, "You have to eat more than a single slice of toast," he pointed out.
The dark haired Gryffindor shook his head, "I'm not hungry," he muttered, pushing the plate away again.
"You barely ate anything last night. At least eat the eggs, please?" he pleaded, Harry shot him a scowl over the rim of his tea but made no move to pick his fork up as he spotted Professor McGonagall making her way towards them over Hayato's shoulder and went stiff.
"Mister Potter, Mister Gokudera, please report to my office after breakfast," their Head of House commanded coolly, eyeing them disapprovingly before sweeping off out of the Hall, no doubt to prepare for what was to come.
"Let's get this over with," Harry muttered, draining his tea.
"But you haven't finished eating!" Hayato squawked, glancing between Harry and his unfinished plate.
He shot the Italian a dirty look, "I'm not hungry," he reaffirmed sternly. He would throw up if he ate anything right now, he knew what his body was like and what it could take. Right now he was far too unsettled for food. Either some of his reasoning must have occurred to him, or he was just unwilling to argue in public after Neville told him about those stupid Pureblood etiquette rules, but regardless, Hayato scowled and finished his coffee before joining him, bag slung over his shoulder. Ignoring the eyes that followed them, the two left the Great Hall in silence, climbing the marble staircase to the Transfiguration Corridor.
"Are all these rooms in use?" Hayato asked hesitantly, as if uncertain if he should be talking to Harry right now. The Gryffindor ignored the momentary stab of guilt and shook his head.
"No. I imagine they were once, but the last two wars have drastically cut our population numbers," he explained quietly, glancing at the unused classroom doors as they passed.
"Two wars?" Hayato questioned, "Obviously there was Voldemort but, another one?"
Harry nodded, "Gellert Grindelwald, the man behind Hitler during the Second World War," he explained, letting them into the McGonagall's classroom. Hayato obediently followed after his otherhalf, eyes flicking this way and that, drinking in the reference tapestries, the formulas and arrays left chalked on the blackboards, the numerous shelves of Transfiguration and Conjuration tomes and even cages of sleeping creatures and tanks of beetles and mice. Harry dropped his bag at his usual desk, Hayato following suit and setting his things beside him.
"So, what do you think this is about? Why does Professor McGonagall want to see us?" Hayato asked curiously, glancing around the room once again, his words making Harry pause in disbelief.
"You..." he stared at the silver haired youth before waving his hands, "Yesterday? Snape, Malfoy? Attacking them?!" he bit out sharply in disbelief. Surely Hayato wasn't that detached from reality?
"What about them?" he grumbled belligerently as they made their way to the door at the back of the classroom - McGonagall's office.
"About how it is completely beyond unacceptable to physically attack students, and members of staff, Mister Gokudera!" Professor McGonagall answered sharply as her office door snapped open, the woman in question gesturing them inside with a scowl.
Hayato bristled, "They deserved it!" he snarled hotly.
"Absolutely nothing excuses physical violence, Mister Gokudera!"
"HE CALLED HARRY A WHORE!" the Italian roared, slamming his fist onto McGonagall's desk hard enough to upset the stack of homework papers onto the floor and make the woman in question jump and twitch towards her wand. "THAT SLICKED BACK ALBINO WASTE OF SPACE ISN'T EVEN FIT TO BREATHE TESORO'S SECOND HAND AIR! AND THERE'S NO WAY IN HELL I'M LETTING THAT GREASY DUNGEON BAT GET AWAY WITH SAYING I'LL BETRAY - " At this point, the boy in question quickly shot behind the screaming seventeen year old and clamped a hand over his mouth, looking horrified as he muffled the dire promises of violence and blood-letting.
Professor McGonagall's mouth was the thinnest Harry had ever seen and he scrambled for a way to excuse Hayato's temper tantrum AND the incident yesterday.
"Malfoy knows the etiquette of the situation! It would have been frowned on if we HADN'T retaliated! So he brought it on himself, saying what he did, KNOWING that by cultural rules one of us would have had to respond with force!" he babbled quickly, keeping his hand firmly over Hayato's mouth. "As for Professor Snape, he nearly KILLED Hayato! Any insult or upset he had to deal with kind of pales in comparison to the fact he threw a high-powered cutting curse at Hayato's NECK! Kick or not, he tried to MURDER someone!" Harry rushed, his voice getting higher as he recalled the three foot long gouge in the stone work of the Dungeon wall with a sick twist of his stomach.
"That is a serious accusation, Potter," Professor McGonagall warned him darkly, her fingers lacing together in front of her mouth.
"ARE YOU CALLING HIM A LIAR?!" Hayato roared, yanking his head free.
"Hayato, stop it!" Harry hissed, struggling to cover his mouth again.
"NO!" the Italian snarled, grabbing his hands tightly, "THAT ASSHOLE CALLED YOU A WHORE AND TRIED TO BUY YOU! THE BASTARD SAID I WOULD BETRAY YOU TO YOUR DEATH AND STARTED THROWING SPELLS LEFT AND RIGHT, AND NOW SHE STARTS ACCUSING YOU OF LYING?! DOES SHE EVEN FUCKING KNOW YOU?!" he bellowed furiously, yanking Harry around so they were face to face, gesturing wildly in the general direction of the Dungeons and at McGonagall who was looking more and more severe with every word. "THEY AREN'T WORTH THE DIRT YOU WALK ON AND I WON'T STAND THERE AND LET THEM BADMOUTH YOU!"
"I DON'T NEED YOU TO FIGHT MY BATTLES FOR ME!" Harry finally shouted back, his own temper flaring. McGonagall took a breath and leaned back in her seat, clearly being ignored by the two boys, she Silenced her office door and settled back to wait until the screaming ended. "YOU CAN'T GO AROUND PICKING FIGHTS WITH PEOPLE JUST BECAUSE YOU DISAGREE WITH THEM! IT'S NOT RIGHT AND IT'S NOT FAIR! IF I HADN'T PULLED YOU OUT OF THE WAY, SNAPE WOULD HAVE KILLED YOU! YOU WOULD HAVE BEEN DECAPITATED! I MIGHT NOT BE FAST ENOUGH TO SAVE YOU NEXT TIME AND YOU DON'T HAVE MAGIC TO DO IT FOR YOU EITHER!"
"THERE WON'T BE A NEXT TIME!" Hayato roared back.
"DAMN STRAIGHT THERE WON'T! I'M NOT LETTING YOU GO ANYWHERE NEAR SNAPE EVER AGAIN!"
"And how do you intend to pass your end of year Potions exam?" McGonagall interrupted flatly, "Or your OWLs next year?"
"Self study," Harry bit out, not taking his eyes of Hayato who equally stubbornly just narrowed his gaze right back, refusing to step down.
"Potter - "
"No. I'm not letting those two near each other again," he stated firmly, "Hermione can tell us what gets covered in class, and we can have one of the Upper Years overlook our practical work in the Common Room."
Hayato twitched thoughtfully, nodding slowly, "I can draw up lesson plans, ingredient reaction tables, preparation shortcuts and chemical composition charts," he offered, the tension in the room fading as he relaxed, no longer looming so aggressively over Harry's significantly smaller frame.
The Gryffindor nodded and turned to face McGonagall, his face serious, "We'll make it work. But I'm not letting him near Snape again."
McGonagall observed the pair grimly. Mister Gokudera had a point earlier when he asked if she even knew her student. Potter was not the lying type, yes, once or twice, but almost always with good reason that resulted in saving someone's life more often than not. She swallowed back a sigh. As much as she would like to chalk this current incident down to Harry seeing an opportunity to escape having to deal with Severus, there was some merit to his intentions of self-study. She herself would definitely support any kind of action that placed Mister Gokudera as far away from Severus as possible. The man's bad attitude and acerbic tongue, on top of his baseless hatred of Harry, was a recipe for trouble, especially with the temper of the young man in question.
However...
She nodded, "Very well. I will be keeping an eye on your results, Mister Potter. If there is any drop in your grades, you will return to your classes under Professor Snape. Am I clear?" she demanded sharply, eyes narrowing behind her glasses.
"Yes Professor," Harry agreed at the same time as Mister Gokudera saluted and declared, "Yes ma'am!"
"As for your punishment, Mister Gokudera," Hayato began to splutter in disbelieving protest but Professor McGonagall continued to speak, her voice rising in order to drown him out, "Professor Snape has taken more than enough House Points so you will be serving Detention for the next four weeks with me after dinner and on weekends for an hour!" she declared as she made a note on a sheet of parchment in front of her and handed it to Harry – she had been a breath away from giving it to the young man in question but felt it perhaps safer with Potter who had yet to skip a detention before in his life.
"Yes Professor, we'll be there," Harry promised, taking the slip and pocketing it.
"Very well. You're dismissed. I will see you in class," she told them firmly as Harry wrapped a hand around Mister Gokudera's elbow and dragged him out of the classroom.
"Detention?" Hayato spluttered the second the door closed behind them.
"Don't complain, at least it's with McGonagall. Last time she assigned me Detention it was with Hagrid and we nearly got killed going into the Forbidden Forest," Harry warned him with a dark look as they made their way to their seats. Thankfully the only people in the room were Neville and Hermione, the two of them having left breakfast not long after them in order to get to class ahead of everyone else.
"Killed?" Hayato squawked in horror.
"Something was killing the unicorns. So Hagrid took us in to go and find it," he explained dully as he sat down and took his work books, parchment, quill, ink, and wand out and set as he usually did, Hayato gaping slack jawed at him.
"How many times have you nearly died?" he whimpered, sitting down and catching Harry's sleeve.
The younger of the pair glanced uncertainly at Hermione who, looking queasy, answered, "So far that I know of... F-fifteen times," she admitted miserably.
Harry nodded, "Mmm, sounds about right. Give or take a few," he added. If it hadn't been for magic, he was pretty certain Petunia, Vernon, and Dudley would have accidentally killed him once or twice. To say nothing of the starvation in his second year. Without magic, a normal child would have died.
He glanced at Hayato and recoiled a little at the look on his face. What...
The Italian made a pained noise in the back of his throat and began to hyperventilate, his eyes rolling dizzily. He wanted to shout and scream, hunt down everyone who dared lay a finger on Tesoro, bundle him up and away and never let anyone go anywhere near him ever again, burst into tears of sadness that he was forced to face such things on his own, burst into tears of relief that he managed to survive, screech in confusion that anyone could ever want to hurt someone so incredible, beat his fists on the tables in fury, beat his fists into the teachers and the police here for not doing something, not protecting Tesoro. He couldn't think! He gasped, panting, as his vision blackened at the edges, too much happening all at once, he didn't know what to feel, it was all conflicting and screaming and –
He whined, high and painfilled, sliding off his chair to curl into a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth.
"Hayato!" Harry yelled in panic, dropping down beside him, hands hovering in anxiousness. "Hermione!" he yelled, as the girl scrambled around the nearest desk.
"I don't know!" she yelled, "It-he – he can't breathe!" she shouted as the silver haired boy gasped on the floor, eyes almost completely sightless and twitching as Harry went chalk white. She shot to her feet and she ran for Professor McGonagall. "Professor! Professor!" she screamed hammering on the door, "Hayato just – he stopped breathing and collapsed hyperventilating! Professor!" she cried hysterically.
The door flew open, Hermione having to jump backwards as the woman sprinted to the fallen student. "He's having a panic attack," she summed up shortly, "Potter, get him to the Hospital Wing!" she ordered levitating the huddled up Italian, "There's nothing I can do for him."
Harry nodded, grabbing hold of Hayato's shirt and sprinting for the Hospital Wing.
He dodged classmates and other students, he almost bowled over poor Professor Flitwick and gave a passing thought to an apology – or he would have had he the air to spare as he hurtled down the stairs, Hufflepuffs pressing out of the way for him as he launched himself down the last eight steps and landed hard, scrambling to his feet and shooting off down the Arithmancy corridor and the secret passageway that would take him to the Hospital Wing on the second floor.
"Madam Pomfrey!" he yelled as he shouldered open the doors, "He can't breathe!" he shouted as the woman in question paused where she was examining Draco Malfoy's nose before releasing him.
"Get him on the bed, Potter! Malfoy you're good to go!" she called over her shoulder as she rushed to the Bonded pair as Harry not so gently pushed Hayato onto the bed and cancelled the levitation charm, panting heavily from his mad run. "What happened?" the nurse barked as she flicked her wand.
"We – we were talk-talking," Harry panted, swallowing painfully, "about how many times – I'd nearly died. Hermione – kept count. Hayato suddenly – he just made this weir–weird noise and fell out of his seat," Harry explained, his voice rasping as he tried to drag air into his oxygen starved lungs. "He – he stopped breathing and started gasping like this."
Madam Pomfrey nodded, "You brought him here in good time, Pott- MALFOY I SAID OUT!" she suddenly roared over her shoulder at the nosy Slytherin lurking in the background. He yelped and shot out of the Hospital Wing under the matron's blistering gaze. She huffed and turned back to them, "You brought him here in good time, Potter. But there's nothing to worry about. He's just having a panic attack," she assured the Gryffindor.
"Really? I thought those were pretty serious though!" he got out, breathing a lot more easily now.
"Physically he's fine, just overwhelmed. You see this in some pureblood families when they get too overcome with emotion, they just have to sit easy for a bit," she explained soothingly, studiously not mentioning the small fact that this was an affliction most often seen in pureblood girls.
"Okaaay..." Harry trailed off uncertainly. "So, he's just... a bit delicate, right? Okay. I can deal with that," he muttered, a look of pity twisting his features for a split second. With the way his life was, Hayato would be absolutely doomed.
Pomfrey nodded, "Just keep him calm when it happens, Mister Potter. Keep him warm and comfortable, head massages are good for the release of tension, if you don't know how to do it, just stroke his hair. Calm repetitive motions. I'll write you a note for your next lesson if he isn't ready to move yet. The only thing to do, really, is wait this kind of thing out," she assured him as the dark haired Gryffindor fussed momentarily with the blankets, tugging them free and gently wrapping the miserably shaking ball on the bed up firmly before crawling up beside him. He looked completely bewildered and out of his depth as he very hesitantly, and awkwardly, touched the older boy's head, stroking his hair the same way one would a bad tempered cat – ready to snatch his hand away at a moment's notice.
Poppy suppressed a smile and turned away from the pair in order to see to a pair of second year Ravenclaws who just came in with boils blistering their hands, sobbing about Potions' class.
Harry sighed quietly, becoming a little more at ease with petting the older boy when no physical attack was forthcoming. How on earth was he going to handle the rest of the Triwizard Tournament when just hearing about the many times he nearly bit the dust was enough to overwhelm him into crashing? It couldn't be healthy. Perhaps it really would be safer for him if they broke this ritual bond thing and just sent him home? Surely his friends and family would know how to care for him properly. Harry scowled and shook his head, Hayato wasn't some puppy, he couldn't just palm him off on someone else, it was his choice as to whether or not he stuck around.
Getting a little more comfortable against the headboard, he fussed a little with the blankets, making sure that the Italian wasn't going to feel a draft or anything, before returning to stroking his hair.
That was the scene the Headmaster walked in on when Professor McGonagall informed him as to their whereabouts. Severus had come storming into his office, positively frothing with rage, about being attacked by Mister Gokudera, the whole school was rife with the rumour that he had kicked the man in the face over some manner of insult. But looking at the boy now, Albus was finding that very hard to believe. He was sceptical to begin with – Hufflepuffs were hardly the violent sort – but seeing the boy in question looking so miserable and sick on the bed with Mister Potter petting his head so tenderly, well, clearly Severus was exaggerating whatever it was that had occurred.
He made his way to Poppy and asked her what the young man's problem was, she shot him a look of amusement, "He's just overwhelmed. A panic attack, the vapours, whichever you want to call it," she told him bluntly and Albus chuckled to himself. Well, it was hardly surprising. Most Purebloods were of a surprisingly delicate constitution. He recalled young Bellatrix Black being the same way when it came to emotional encounters until she reached puberty – and wasn't that a terrifying transition? To go from delicate little flower who couldn't handle confrontation, to actively seeking it out and ending it in a violent and messy way, as if to make up for every tear shed, and panicked breath drawn.
Still chuckling, the Headmaster crept out without bothering the two boys, glancing wistfully over his shoulder at the pair. Harry deserved a little love in his life, and it was reassuring to know that Mister Gokudera was of a more fragile constitution, there would be very little chance of his attempting, or succeeding, to harm Mister Potter. Or being able to stop them from removing him if it became necessary.
000
It took the entirety of Transfiguration and half of Charms before Hayato was in any state to do anything beyond moan and whimper as he tried to sort through his tangled thought processes and chaotic, powerful, emotions. Harry stayed there the whole time, gently running his hands through his hair, it was nice... The others would normally just leave him to deal with it himself, occasionally shift him to a bed or a chair. But in the typical way of the Japanese, they would politely ignore his emotional break down and try to give him as much privacy to pull himself together as they could.
He quite preferred Harry's methods, he decided as he shifted and flung his arms around the dark haired boy, crushing him tightly to his chest, hands tangling tightly in his hair as he pressed his face against his head.
"Are you feeling better?" Harry asked, shifting a little in his grasp.
Hayato shook his head wordlessly. How could he be feeling better when Harry had been put into such danger when he wasn't even there to protect him? How could he be feeling better when he knew he had to stay here, and let Harry go into even more dangerous situations? How could he feel better when he may very well lose his Soul Mate after only just finding him?
"Okay," Harry soothed, arms reaching up to keep stroking his hair as Hayato clung to him like an oversized baby-koala. "Okay, we'll just... stay here, until you do."
000
And Chapter end.
Reighost, my beloved, and I spoke long and hard about Hayato and his personality quirks. For someone who is so perpetually emotionally exhausting, to feel so much, and have almost all those feelings in conflict with each other, it would not be too far out of the way to picture Hayato just shutting down for a time and needing to reboot. This will be an on-going thing. Thankfully, Hayato isn't completely crippled by it, anger and determination are emotions he can handle in overwhelming quantities.
This will mostly be played off for comic relief, so don't get your panties in a knot.
