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Chapter four

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Upstairs in his modest apartments' kitchen, Harry jacked up his smile. Seated at his dining table - a mahogany one, sides carved intrinsically with mountain trolls, goblins, unicorns, thestrals, as many a magical creature Harry could name and then some. These guests would be the first he had ever played host to in this universe. Making it a good one was the goal.

As such, Harry brought out the finest tea available. Leaves plucked by skilled hands of a thousand year old wizard. Milk freshly squirted from a cow in far off Ireland - it being fed the finest grass and pampered regularly.

Harry sniffed the milk and tea. Satisfied.

And just to be safe he slyly magicked up tea pots, cups and saucers he had nicked from Queen Elizabeth. Barmy old lady.

"Here we are," Harry chirped as he brought the tray over to the table. The guests, Harry should mention, were police officers.

Yes, they were here to investigate that nasty business with the Nomu not some hours ago.

"This is very generous of you, Mr Potter," a young officer said. Taking a cup and thanking again as Harry poured him tea and milk when asked. Repeating the action thrice for his parter and Shota.

His neighbour looked rumpled. Dirty, bruised, hair hazardously tied back in a bird-nest bun and arm currently held in a makeshift sling by paramedics. Why he wasn't already in the hospital had Harry concerned. He should really take him there after this is finished.

"Would anybody care for a biscuit?" He asked, just having sat down and rising again at the realisation of no snacks. "Miss Mao down the hall gave me a box of her homemade choc chip a few days ago. Angelic woman, she wouldn't mind me sharing."

"Thank you for the offer, Mr. Potter," the young officer smiled benevolently. "Very kind of you. But we're here to discuss a serious matter and we'd like to get down to it."

"Are you certain you wouldn't like one? I don't mind," Harry was already back in the kitchen, taking out floral decorated plates by Royal Albert and the box of cookies from a pantry.

"For heavens sake," Shota grumbled and marched over. Snatching the box and jabbing Harry back to the table with his knee. "I'll take care of this. Detective Tsukauchi," he ordered the young officer, "start talking!"

"Er," the Detective sipped his tea, "Yes -"

"Detective, are you?" Harry dropped into his seat at the head of the table and stared enamoured at the young man. Looking no older than a university graduate. "That explains why you're in mufti. Why, you're younger than my James!"

"Excuse me? Mufti?" Tsukauchi asked. Smile polite, eyes unblinking.

"I mean no offence!" He shook his head. Propped up in hands as he leant on the table. Eyeing the detective from head to foot - of which he had to slightly wobble in his seat to get proper viewage. "Honestly it's remarkable. You must be a very hard worker. Tell me, do you have any family in the police?"

"Er, no," Tsukauchi said quietly.

"Then you worked your way up all by yourself," again he shook his head and ruminated on this. "What an amazing individual you are. You must come by again for tea."

"Given the current circumstance of me being here I hope not." Said Tsukauchi. Severe.

"Potter," Shota returned with the cookies and plates - balanced on top of one another in one arm - and slammed them down on the table. Visibly disgruntled. "Would you let the man speak."

"Please, Shota," Harry implored the man. Hand on bandaged arm. "Be careful they're delicate."

"You, noobie," Shota turned to the officer taking notes besides Tsukauchi. "Say something."

"Uh," she looked startled at them speaking to her. "I'm just here for the record."

"Detective," Growled Shota.

"Yes, yes." Tsukauchi nodded. Taking one last sip of tea. Wonderful blend. The offer of coming again seemed promising. "Mr. Potter, I'm here to take an incident report for the, well, incident."

"It was all done in self-defence, I assure you," Harry said easily. Leaning back in his chair after having plucked a cookie from the opened box. "I took no pleasure in beheading that mongrel." Well now, that was a downright lie. Harry thoroughly enjoyed watching that fragile little cretin's head go pop. Good way to get the old endorphins going.

"Huh. That is good to know, please," the man gestured. Quirk going 'ping'. How curious. "Go over it for us."

So Harry did. Having experience with these sort of proceedings it was over and done with quicker than Shota could believe.

"You'll also have to register your quirk at the local hospital," Tsukauchi told him afterwards. "It appears your immigration documents at the British Consulate Embassy misplaced that information. Nobody could locate it when I called."

"Oh?" Harry hid his smile behind his third cookie, "how embarrassing." For them.

"Out of curiosity," Tsukauchi leaned in. Interest clear. "What is your quirk?"

"Strength. Strong as an ox," he answered firmly. "Pretty neat, yeah?"

"Mmh," the man hummed his sure agreement. "Thank you for your time, Mr Potter. Please don't forget to register at the hospital."

Harry stood with and insisted on letting him escort them out. Neither officer had any opportunity to deny the man who was already opening his front door and ushering them out.

"No cookies, to take on the trip back to the station?" Harry enquired in the lift, "I have a cafe downstairs. You can help yourselves to muffins, cakes, cupcakes, pastries. Anything."

"Er, no," Tsukauchi laughed, "No thank you Mr Potter. We're off to the morgue straight away to get a professional opinion on what exactly the creatures are. Doesn't exactly inspire hunger."

"I assume not," Harry smiled back. Glancing to Shota, he asked, "What are your plans this morning?"

"Sleep."

Shota went to press his floor's button. Harry gripped the hand. "Mmmh," he cocked his head. "You don't look very well. Let me take you to the hospital."

"I'll go tomorrow."

"It's not good to let a broken arm go unseen for so long. I insist."

"He's right, you know." The silent officer put in her two cents. Shota shot her a bloodshot stare. She shrugged. "My Dad's a nurse."

"So you're a professional, are you?" Scathed Shota, immediately regretting it when Tsukauchi gave a chiding look. Harry a disappointed one. "Fine. I'll go."

"Goodie!" Harry enthused just as the elevator doors pinged open. "Have a lovely day, Detective Tsukauchi. Officer Chiho," he called. Leaving the officers in his speedy wake - along with a very confused Chiho, as she never recalled giving him her name.

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A gift shop stood near the waiting room for families and friends of patients. Flowers of all ranges in colours and collections decorated the outside in wide bulks. Cards. Snacks. Plushies and balloons. Harry examined everything with keen, sparkling eyes while Shota got his arm x-rayed and body checked over.

"Shota Aizawa's Guardian?" A nurse at the reception desk called and Harry danced over. In no way was he Shota's actual Guardian - the man simply put him down as one to skip a troublesome phone-call to a fellow named Yamada.

"Yes. I'm the Guardian," Harry shone a warm smile. "Is everything alright, not going to die is he? I'm awfully attached."

The young lady giggled, "Oh no, sir. But I'm afraid I'm not eligible to give exact details. That's something you would have to ask Doctor Sado," she advised. Instinctively, Harry turned to the doors leading to the ER as they opened. Out walked the presumed Doctor and Shota. Cleaned, bandaged and looking tired as Hell.

That being the souls tortured in Hell. Demons that worked there were overzealous creatures. Harry is fairly certain they're the founders of the drug known as Ecstasy.

"Doctor Sado?" Harry called. "I'm the Guardian. How's our Shota doing?"

"Broken radius, bruised ribs, six stitches on his hairline and mild concussion," Doctor Sado reported. "You should hang around Shota more often. He rarely comes here after a scuffle."

"Oi," Shota warned then stared at Harry. Or to be more precise what Harry was holding. "Is that a plushie?"

"What a relief, the concussion hasn't affected your perception," pleased, Harry handed over the man's gift. A teddybear holding a heart embroidered with 'get well'. "It's only proper." He explained to the man's stupefied look.

"I've given Aizawa his instructions," Doctor Sado interrupted whatever was about to be said, "he's more than used to these proceedings. Well, then," the man bowed. Harry returned it and wished him well. By the time he rose Shota was already out the door. Knuckles white around the bear's head.

"Should I call another cab?" Harry wondered aloud. Simply to diffuse the static air that had been brewing around Shota since they got here.

In a sighful manner, Shota dropped to sit on the steps outside the hospital. Nodding permission for Harry to do so. Droopy gaze stuck on the pink of the sky's morning glow.

"God I'm tired."

"You fought those stubborn creatures," Harry took his own seat next to the man. Crossing his legs as he texted a local taxi service. "And stayed with me during my interview all morning - which you didn't have to. I'm pleased nonetheless for the company." he absently patted the man's arm. "Of course you're tired."

"Yes, thank you for pointing out the obvious. Potter."

"Harry."

Shota turned to his Landlord and asked lamely, "Huh?"

"Harry," he said. Casual as can be. Smile radiant in the sun. "You saved my life. It's fair to say you can call me by my God-given name, Shota."

"I didn't save you," Shota corrected. Mouth ash at the shameful admittance. "You saved me."

"Semantics," Harry flapped a hand. Checking the returned text from the taxi service. "The cab will arrive in ten minutes."

"Ten minutes," Shota sighed again. Head bowed. Body and mind full of led.

"Rest in the meantime, Shota," Harry directed the man's head to rest on his shoulder. Applying a softening charm on it. Too exhausted by the events to throw a glare or refusal, Shota allowed it and fell asleep instantaneously. "You've worked hard."

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Dressed more appropriately this time in a suit akin to a Victorian Count, Harry decided now or never to speak to his son. Utilising the bathroom door, Harry opened it and stepped into his son's home. In one arm Harry had a bouquet of red and white roses along with a gift card that sang one of Elton John's apology songs. He hadn't looked at his reapers responses to the questionnaire Mai had handed out this evening no ten minutes ago - confirmation text fresh on his phone.

Patience was never his strong suit.

Either this would work or Harry seriously had to resort to plan B which was originally Plan A until just now.

Swanning into the kitchen, Harry was halfway into an operatic greeting when he spotted a slightly familiar face seated at the kitchen table. Blonde hair, blue eyes and that strong pompous aura of heavy prejudice.

This must be Draco's spawn.

The spawn stared at him. Jaw dropping further as Harry got along in his greeting.

Finished, Harry lowered his flower raised arm and pinned a narrowed stare. "What are you doing in James' house?"

The Spawn scoffed and shouted for his son. "Better yet," it spoke, "who in the ever-loving Merlin are you?"

"I'm the one asking the questions here, son."

"Son?!" Draco's son guffawed. Flaring to his feet. "You don't look old enough to have sex. Who's calling who son?"

Before Harry could tell the little spawn he was old enough to at least create two generations, or three if he was that into it, his son barged into the room through the hallway door. Sodding wet with a Gryffindor alumni towel wrapped around his waist.

"What in the blazing tits is going on here?" He shouted then sobered like he was struck with an enervate spell the moment he laid eyes on his caped father.

Harry boggled at James' appearance, then to Draco's spawn, and back to his son. "You and I are going to have a serious talk later on about morality."

"Just who the fuck is this guy, James?" The spawn rounded the table, placing himself between him and his son.

"Does your father know you're here?" Harry asked the blonde. Grin all teeth.

"I stopped telling my father my whereabouts a long time ago. How about you, kiddo?" The spawn taunted. "Does your father know you're here?"

Harry threw back his head with laughter and stared at the spawn through dark eyes. "Let me know when you ask him."

The man snarled in confusion. "What the heck is that supposed to mean?"

"Morgana give me strength," James breathed and shoved the man aside. He gripped Harry's wrist and dragged him out into the field. "Back in a second Scorpius." Just as the door shut behind. Harry twisted around to stick his tongue out, enjoying the expression he got in return.

James took him to a the green house Ginny made up when the boys were young. Last time he saw it she was pregnant with their third. Harry took a moment to take in the spacious house of flowers, magical herbs and succulents. Most hung from pots Harry had to duck under the further he followed James. He passed vines dancing up wooden beams and flocks of tiny fairies Harry brought back from the first universe he travelled to - pollinating bunches of prosperous flowers. He had forgotten about them.

In the back were a pair of deck chairs. James sat in one. Running his hand through the mop of wet curling hair.

"Before you ask, no. I'm not together with Scorpius."

"Oh thank goodness," Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Seating himself opposite. Shifting a bit to get comfortable. Next time he comes he will definitely bring better seats. These were cheap and atrocious. "I have no issue with you taking up with another man. All fair in love and sex, I say. Just be it not one of Draco's."

"Gee, thanks Dad," James arched a brow. Only now spotting the bunch of flowers and sparkly homemade card. "Please tell me that's for mum's grave."

"Distasteful, son," Harry wrinkled his nose. "They're for you. An apology, for…" He couldn't find the right word. "All of it." He settled.

Uncertain, James took the flowers and card. Opening it the garden house was filled with a symphony of violins and slow piano music. Harry swayed in his seat.

'What have I got to do to make you love me'

James snapped it shut. Expression stone. "Is that Elton John?" His voice wobbled. Either from suppressed laughter, sobbing, or anger.

"Your favourite."

"Since when?" His voice pitched.

"Er," Harry faltered. "Is it - not?"

"Not!" James shook. "It's Lily's."

"Drat."

Silence imbued between them. James making a small puddle beneath himself. Harry took issue and flicked him with a drying spell. A gust of hot wind slapped his son and Harry watched in shock as it upended him entirely.

"This is why I don't like having you over, Dad." James wheezily told him.

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"An innocent faux pass," Harry retold what happened with James to Shota. Version being heavily edited, mind you. "We left on civil notes this time though, so I believe Elton John did do its service."

"What?" Shota asked bleary eyed. He had come down to the cafe for an iced Americano before Yamada picked him up on his drive to U.A. Not once did he anticipate Harry dragging him into his family disputes at five thirty in the morning. "Punching your brother is a faux pass?" Said mainly to himself as he looked about to try and spot any other workers, or patrons. None.

Then seriously he asked, "is he even alive?"

"Excuse you?" Harry reared back. Flabbergasted at Shota's cruel question.

"The last time I saw you punch something you sent it flying - and that something was able to withstand Endeavours full throttle fire blast," Shota explained.

"Ah," Harry laughed a polite little laugh people used when hiding something. "Yes. He's very much alive."

"Some family," Shota muttered, thinking he should go back and check the file he had on his landlord. First look didn't reveal any brother. It got the hair on his back on end.

Finally Harry handed him his drink.

"On the house."

"You've got to stop spoiling me," Shota told him with no little ease.

"I spoil who I like," declared the Lord.

Who had punched his brother out.

Shota shook his head, unable to wrap his head around the European guy.

A loud car horn startled him and Shota whipped around to spot Yamada waving from his open sports car. Style was something his friend cared deeply about, and spotting Harry's twinkly gaze; Shota despaired.

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Thoughts? Feelings?