Chapter 4 - Decisions for One
I'm not dead yet! I'm burnt out AF. And I'm tired. And broke AF. I also want to cry. Also I hate college fees. Did I mention I wouldn't mind a coffee?
Warning : ANGST, don't tell me I didn't warn you. Also, discussion of cancer.
Harry trudged to his apartment, completely exhausted. Adult life was tiring and shitty. He had barely reached adulthood. Maybe he could bury himself into some caramel popcorn and soda and a new series, settling into his comfortable couch after removing his shoes and hanging his coat, so that he could forget all of his very serious and adult problems. He would have gone straight to watching Sherlock usually but it was back to its excruciating hiatus, again. He only had to wait for at least three years for a new season. Instead, he sat down to watch Voltron: Legendary Defender. It was perhaps intended for younger audience, but he could not deny that the show was attention-catching and made it easy to get involved.
He truly loved his job - he did! - although he sometimes had sneezing fits from inhaling too much pollen, but the amount of times he crashed into his cough and passed out because he was getting too tired was exceeding Hermione-levels. Even the walk to his apartment was now exhausting. Harry was just thankful that it was not too far from the store. He could perhaps invest into getting a bike, instead of insisting to get to work on foot. He was a stubborn ass, but not to this point usually. Or he could simply find an apartment nearer to Nakamura's.
Nakamura was slowly showing that he was fatigued as well. Perhaps was it because of his old age - he was nearing his eighty fifth birthday - but he was less energetic. He had become more lethargic and took more regularly naps. It worried Harry, but the sole thing he could attempt to do was to nag the old man to go see a doctor until he agreed to, even if he had to find one who was willing to do home visits. He had scheduled an appointment for three days from now, for which Nakamura had requested he stayed with him for it.
As expected, he flopped onto his soft couch, sinking into the soft squish. He had fallen in love in this red couch as soon as he spotted it, and proceeded to buy it immediately. It livened up his living room quite a lot, especially in addition to the earthy tones and flat beiges.
He had lost his button up shirt along the way to what he considered his final resting place, and wiggled out of his skinny jeans. He laid there, just in an undershirt, which rode up to expose his lower back, and his boxers. He dragged the quilt from the back of the couch to roll into, snuggling into the fluffy hand-knitted wool. It was a gift from both Mrs Weasley and George, who unexpectedly took up to knitting during his free time. He had listened to them rant about how they had argued for hours on to find the perfect colour combination, and the right type of wool to use. Eventually, Molly won with her beige and pastel blue combo, but George was the one who bought the yarn at a small specialised shop which were selling enchanted (and not jinxed) yarn balls. It would be very difficult for him to snag the quilt onto anything.
Harry yawned, and grumbled a little under his breath. His back was yelling at him again for trying to lift up heavy objects, such as the bag of about thirty kilos of nutrients. At least it was not dirt, since The Green Stalk was a hydroponic plant cultivator. It was a bit more expensive to maintain, but on the long run, it was more beneficial since they could closely monitor the amount of water and different nutrient blocks which were distributed around the cultures.
Harry should probably move his butt into action. He had yet to eat dinner, and Luna had this supernatural -even for Wizarding standards- ability to sense when he would miss a meal, and he would be left dealing with an irritated Seer (they had all suspected, but Luna was an emotion-based seer. She could only see glimpses of the near future, and had visions of the present, especially about persons she cared about). Last time, she had passive aggressively threatened to come all the way to Japan to cook up a storm, posting sticky notes on all of his furniture so that he would not forgo anymore food and probably stare him down until he would allow her to feed him some of her heavily nutritious rice soup. It scared Harry into behaving and eating at regular times.
It was also a known fact among their group of Hogwarts alumni now that Harry was a light eater at night. His dinner had to be gentle on his stomach. Most of the time, Harry settled on eating a bowl of light soup, fruit salad and some yoghurt, which contrasted with the way he had been eating during his school years. At least he no longer suffered of heart burns.
Heaving a huge sigh, Harry managed to unstick his butt from his beloved couch, rolling onto the floor and stared at his ceiling, the faux-furred carpet cushioning his aching back. Time to get stuff done, in all of their adult glory. Dinner, cleaning up, taking a shower and crashing into his bed. He still had to massage in the new hair oils Hermione had advised him to try. Less oily, and with different fragrance from the coconut oil he had been using before. That kind of sucked. It took so long to cover the entirety of his roots and working the oils to the tips. He'd better start moving soon or he'd be stuck doing his dishes the next day, and it was a bad idea for him to clean the cutlery in the morning when he had to wake up so early.
The following weeks passed by quietly. He had heard about some commotion about the Heroes, something about endangered students - which hit too close to home for comfort - and/or a breakout of Villains and Quirk cancelling skills. He had been tempted, and almost investigated, but in Japan, he was only a civilian. He did not even have proper Quirk papers; it was a mystery since he would have to get them updated before going to Japan, but the Potter name still had some kind of subtle influence even in Eastern Asia. He had expected his family's fame only getting all the way to India, because of the origins of this branch of the family. Moreover, he had only learnt of it when he had asked his Magical liaison agent about why were there way more Heroes patrolling the streets.
Nakamura was doing fine, although he was advised to leave more of his workload to Harry, if he wanted to avoid getting overworked. Of course, he was a stubborn old man, and Harry had to herd him back to his home upstairs when it became clear that the old man was ready to take a good nap, and eat some fruits when he would wake up.
Harry also found his new spot for him to enjoy his free time, which was honestly not that much. It was a pleasant library-coffeehouse, with several respectable-sized bookshelves, and the quite the cozy sofas that graced his butt with their comfort. The staff was polite and friendly. He had become familiar with several of them, finding out that he did actually appreciate human contact. It had been a long time since he had been able to go safely outside without being recognised or having half a dozen of Aurors on his tail to protect him. He had defeated the greatest evil overlord in the last century; he did not require the excessive protection he had been assigned to. It would have been more productive to simply let him do his things while the active Aurors they still had left would round up the remaining Death Eaters that had escaped during the panic after the war to face proper trials.
Hermione and Ron were back from their quest to retrieve the former's parents, which in the end failed. His friends had been able to convince them that they were indeed from the Wizarding world, and eventually gained back their trust and were allowed to call their specialised team. The Grangers were able to retrieve their memories without any huge complications, except the one time when Dr Granger was led too quickly within a memory. Hermione had teared up. It was the memory of her eleventh birthday. Her mother had been nauseous and had to step away for a moment to take a breather, but they had a stock of chamomile tea on hand, which was mentioned by Hermione to be Dr Granger's go-to remedy to any bouts of upset stomach.
The team and the elder Grangers had to go through about seventeen years of shared memory with their daughter through several days to monitor closely their progress and stabilize their mental stability. Hermione and Ron had set camp in the neighbourhood to overview the procedures. As soon as their team were finished with the last medical overview to determine whether the procedures had left too much of residues, or had invoked any kind of complications, they popped the big question: Would Hermione's parents come back to England?
Finally, Mr and Dr Granger decided against it. They had settled well in Australia, and Hermione was already legal both in the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, and her plans for the future had been put on hold for a long time. It pained Hermione, but she could understand her parents. They parted soon after, Hermione having to go back to start up on whichever projects she had left back home, and Ron had to catch up on the Auror program he had put to a halt to help Hermione. It was by a few months, but he could take the accelerated course to compensate the time he had missed training. Moreover, Hermione had been planning to go to a law school, and having Hogwarts as a backing source could assure her a spot in any schools she would have chosen. Muggleborns who wished to go back to the Muggle world for studies were often provided with documents necessary for them to attend whichever classes they required. They only needed to catch up on approximately seven years of their schooling, which was the reason most of the Muggleborns were unwilling to go back to the Muggle job market. Unfortunately, it was a tactic Magicals had been using for centuries to trap in new magical blood within their conservative and static hidden society. Plus the blood status quo
Harry sighed. He was back at the coffeehouse, during his lunch break, planning for a scheduled ConVorb conversation with his friends back home, pushing around his schedule for his duties in the shop and his planning for his chores in his apartment. For once, he had forgone to make his own lunch, instead choosing to take a quick meal-and-coffee combo, although he had prepared something easy on the stomach for Nakamura. The old man could probably cook something up for himself, but Harry was happy to do it. For the moment, Nakamura had no complaints. Harry counted it as a win, coming from the picky and prickly old man.
Harry curled up even further inside the booth he occupied, left hand wrapped firmly around his hot cup of peppermint mocha, trying to take up as little space as he could. He had about forty five minutes before he had to go back to The Green Stalk. His salad and chicken bread combo had already been devoured; Harry had been famished and his belly was rumbling too loud to ignore. The fluffy cheesecake he had ordered jiggled and bounced as he sliced into it with his spoon. He contemplated whether to get something for Nakamura as he nibbled on the delicious cake. He would probably get the blueberry muffins. He nodded to himself. Nothing better than a sweet dessert to complete a meal. Moreover, Harry knew that Nakamura had a weakness against blueberries.
He took his sweet time finishing his dessert and appreciating his drink. He would deal with the stress of managing a store by himself later. And perhaps put up a job offer. He only needed somebody to man the shop while he was out and about during the evening, so perhaps he could open up a spot for students who would be interested. He would discuss it with Nakamura when he would go back. For now, he better focus on ordering a cup of their sweetest caramel macchiato.
Nakamura was indeed pleased with the muffins, chomping down one before requesting Harry to put them aside so that he could eat the rest of them later. Harry was out of his mentor's hair as soon as he did what he was asked, leaving Nakamura to his own things, and returning downstairs to open up the store for the afternoon shift. Nakamura's appointed doctor was due to come for a home visit later during the evening, and the old man had offered for them to share dinner before Harry would go back to his apartment, to which Harry agreed.
Harry occupied himself for the rest of the evening, catering to his sparse clients. The most noticeable of his customers was the to be married couple who wanted to coordinate hot pink, red and gold roses with green gardenias for their wedding ceremony. It was hideous, but they insisted, and Harry did his best to soften the blow of the hard colours with the soft green of the gardenias. Rosy had apparently never been more displeased, Nakamura informed him. She was not used to have her flowers painted on, and growing actual golden roses were still not a process available, unless Harry somehow became Hades, and instead of creating iron roses, would make gold ones. Harry almost let it slip that it would surely clash with the groom-to-be's orange wings and red hair, but bit back his comments. Still, they were a lovely couple who was out of his shop merely after one hour of negotiations and arguments and a headache, leaving him to arrange the flowers and hide the hideous behind sheer white veils and shiny ceramic pearls for their marriage not even a week away.
The rest of his day passed slowly and he occupied himself with a book as he counted down the minutes for his day to end. His read was a bit boring, since he had opted to read about flower care so that he could take up more duties from the tired and cranky old man who had burrowed his way to his heart like a clingy leech.
He dragged his tired body away from his workstation at five o'clock sharp, when the doctor he had called showed up at the back door. He had thankfully had the sense to close up the shop before the doctor would show up, considering his promise to stay at Nakamura's side. He invited her in politely, leading her upstairs through the greenery screen, and steered her towards the bedroom where he knew Nakamura was waiting for them. His plant friends would surely have informed him of the doctor as soon as she walked past the marigolds, potted as "pet" plants in the back room. Harry would most definitely have been whacked in the back of the head by Nakamura, and most of the plants there had they heard what he had been thinking.
They arrived at the apartment, and Harry let themselves in using his own key - given to him as a sign of trust between the grumpy old man and him. Harry went in first, peering into the living room and immediately spotting Nakamura sitting in his usual sofa. The doctor followed him, entering the room with a warm smile to the man. She had been screened by Harry, along a list of other doctors, and he had finally settled for her after hours of deliberation and attempts at convincing Nakamura. Even if he was out of England, he was still almost as paranoid as he had been back in the homeland. PTSD tended to do that to you, and he was generally an anxious person.
Harry went to the kitchen so that the doctor and Nakamura had more privacy. He was not kin - not officially anyway, and if that did not hurt - and he additionally still had to respect patient-doctor confidentiality, and Nakamura had shown no indication that he wanted Harry to remain with him for the entirety of his checkup.
He sat down at the dining table, pulling out his phone and tapping away at the screen, trying incredibly hard not to allow his brain to process the conversation that leaked through the walls to his ears. He had no idea how long the checkup could take, so he made himself comfortable. Anyway, he had spent so much time at Nakamura's it was a second home to him nowadays. His apartment did not even make it - it was more of a place for him to spend some of his time away from work.
He had not seen Yagi in a while, he hummed as he let his mind drift, his fingers still instinctively tapping his screen during the game of reflexes. The blond man had made himself scarce, and it worried Harry. He was conscious of the fact that Yagi worked with students more, as he was told during his latest visit. Perhaps he had been involved in the recent criminal activities? If so, Harry would have to contact him. They had each other's phone number, but they rarely reached out to the other, since Yagi had been around often enough not to warrant a call.
Somebody cleared their throat from behind him, startling him into almost throwing his phone out of his grasp. He whirled around, deflating instantly when he noticed Doctor Sakamoto at the doorway. She nodded politely, and gestured in the vague direction of where Nakamura was currently. She was ready to take her leave, her bag already on her shoulder. Harry would have offered to accompany her to the door, but she made such a grim face; he needed to talk to Nakamura as soon as possible. He offered a hasty thank you and goodbye, before retreating to the living room.
Nakamura was facing away from him, leaning heavily on the armchair of the sofa. He looked so tired, as if his age had caught up with him too quickly. Harry was hesitant to talk to him. He coughed in his fist to announce his presence, his heart clenching in pain when Nakamura slowly turned to him, eyebrows drawn in worry. He had the options to sit either opposite of the old man, in the love seat, or next to him on the sofa. He decided on the latter.
He waited in silence for a few seconds, worry eating at him steadily. Given the sorrowful glance the good doctor had sent him before she had departed, Harry was bracing himself for the worse turn. He would survive it anyway, he had dealt with enough funerals back in England that he knew what to prepare for. Still, he had gotten so attached to the old man, he felt as if a hand had grasped his heart and was trying to squeeze it through his throat.
"Harry," the utterance of his name had him so surprised he almost fell over his own ass, even when seated. He rumbled a quiet yes, apprehension creeping through him. "I am very old, you do realise that, don't you son?"
Harry just choked the tiniest bit, tears forming in his eyes, but he resolutely refused to let them fall and nodded anyways. He had gone through a bloody war and got out of it as a victor, goddammit! He had lost family and close friends. He could be strong for this again.
"I..." Nakamura trailed off, his face a mask of pinched pain, regret and sorrow burrowed in each wrinkle, each laugh line. "I do not have the clearest medical history. A few years back, I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I was told that there was a large possibility that it would resurface again, even after chemotherapy, if I even survived it."
Harry's breath stuttered. No. That could not be happening. Nakamura was a strong man, he could defy death another time yet. Quirks had to have a way to reverse this. There was probably even a Quirk that could rewind Nakamura's body by a decade or two. Medical Quirks were a thing, Harry knew that. He would bring Nakamura to a healer if he had to. Medicine had advanced so much since Harry had been a child. Even back then, cancers were something that was curable.
"Harry, I did not want to tell you this so soon. But I was tested again, and the good doctor Sakamoto has taken a sample of blood for analysis, because she believes that I have developed a tumour. I won't lie or sugarcoat anything," Nakamura said, his voice as shaky as Harry felt he was. "If we find out that there was a new tumour, I do not wish to undergo surgery or therapy. This time, I want to go. My husband has been waiting for me long enough now. I'll contact my other children, so that you can finally meet. I'm sure they'll be glad to spend some time with you. My grandchildren will be most delighted to meet a younger face, especially if they are stuck with their old grumpy grandpa."
Everything was a blurred haze afterwards. Harry was numb.
He ate whatever they had had for dinner. He was supposed to have spent a pleasant evening with a man he cared for incredibly. He should have been laughing at the sharing of the thought of his customers, coming in to retrieve their wedding arrangements, only to be met with the most ridiculous bouquets and paying overdue to have simpler ones. He should have bit into a cupcake and made a mess of himself because the ones he had bought were huge and filled with jam. Nakamura was supposed to scold him for being so messy, but still pass him some sheets of tissue and help him out, the corners of his mouth stretched into a small smile of contentment. His little potted friend - a small fern plant, looking sad and a little worse for wear - in the middle of the dining table should have moved to drop the bottle of soy sauce closer to Nakamura with no trouble at all, instead of slowly crawling along the wood to push the condiment into Nakamura's outstretched hand.
Nakamura was not supposed to be speaking so softly and gently. Harry should have been the one to comfort him, to assure him that he would be healthy, that there was no concern about cancer. Nakamura was a stern and gruff man, not one to coddle him.
He should have argued about getting him to the hospital, where they would take care of him better. That Nakamura had to get something, anything to be sure to outlive Harry. He should have insisted that he would have loved to give him more grandchildren to dote on. He should have told Nakamura. He should. He still had time, nothing was lost yet.
Harry meant to talk about employees, but the thought had escaped him until he was back at home, sitting on his bed with his work clothes still on while staring with watering eyes at his wall. He tried his best not to acknowledge the tears as they fell down his cheeks and to his mouth. They tasted as bitter as he thought defeat would taste like.
AN: I'd like to mention that this was absolutely emotionally exhausting. I had not expected it to swerve this way. I didn't think I was that far gone down angst-town.