Shouta wanted to be mad.
He'd expected to be mad, in all honesty. Shouta had been simmering in slowly increasing levels of anger for at least a week.
He'd started by being irritated a week ago when a testy and exhausted owl had interrupted his class to drop an official looking roll of parchment on Shouta's lap before turning to Koda and the birdseed the boy kept in his desk. He'd then been mad two days ago when he was sitting on a plane on his way to England and away from his responsibilities. He'd progressed to being angry four hours ago while walking across the most obnoxious lobby he'd ever seen to meet people with the fakest smiles he'd ever seen (and Shouta worked in U.A. while occasionally having to meet with the Hero Commission).
Anger had been a foregone conclusion from the beginning; if his family didn't want his squib ass when he was born, not to mention his mother's and grandfather's, then they shouldn't want him now.
But Shouta had also been curious. Just a bit. Because they hadn't wanted anything to do with him before, and his limited interaction with Japan's magical world said that shouldn't have changed. Hizashi had always liked to say that it was Shouta's curiosity that led him to underground heroics, as much as his intolerance for idiocy and desire to help those that so often got missed.
Regardless, he'd entered the bank angry. Three hours after sitting through this ridiculous meeting with the English Ministry of Magic, Gringotts Bank, three teenagers, and sundry other adults whom apparently had no purpose, and Shouta felt safe in saying he was no longer mad. Which was a shame, because mad would be much easier to handle.
No, Shouta was downright pissed.
These Ministry wizards had brought him across the damn globe to try and use his mother's bloodline to gain access to the Black family accounts for reparations. Apparently, Shouta was a direct descendent even if from a squib line, while Potter, one of the teenagers, was named heir only through the Will of an escaped convict. The same convict who'd also removed the only other people with Black blood from the family tree in a way that was so permanent that it actually topped what had been done to Shouta's squib grandfather, Marius.
Shouta didn't like being dragged across the ocean (away from his Hell class, Hizashi said they were doing fine, which was impossible; the man must be lying). Shouta didn't like the thought of paying for reparations for a ministry and bank he wasn't a part of, all for a fight he's also played no part in finishing. The significant amount they assured him would be left over for personal use didn't really change his mind (and it wasn't suspicious at all how they knew exactly how much was in a private account).
He also didn't particularly like the part where the vast majority of people in this room, particularly Madam Hopkirk and her superior Pius Thicknesse, were clearly planning on the squib being too dumb to ask the right questions.
He loathed, however, with a coiling fury, the part where two teenagers and one thin red-headed man in worn robes were the only people who seemed remotely on the legal heir's side. And that included the kid himself (17 was still a fucking kid no matter what their backwards laws said).
Potter looked like he wanted to say nothing more than fuck the money, throw it at Shouta, and go hide under a particularly think blanket for the next month or six.
Shouta was pretty confident in his assessment of the kid, since Potter's eyes kept drifting over to Shouta no matter who was speaking at the time. And, kami, those eyes. They were a brilliant green that shone only more starkly against the purple and white paleness of his skin.
Shouta knew exactly how tired you had to be to get bags like that.
They also shone with a look that Shouta had only seen as Eraserhead. Only seen when someone was so sure no help was coming that right up until the end they couldn't truly buy into the idea that they were actually being saved. The look was filled by a hope worn thin with resignation and tempered by ravenous hunger.
What was really interesting, in a holy-shit-please-notice-this-warning-sign kind of way, was that Potter had flinched, ducked, and hid behind the massive redheaded teenager, Weasley, when Shouta had tried to follow custom and shake the kid's hand. The motion was practiced and smooth with a very neat cover-up as the last teenager, Granger, took complete control of the conversation with one of the cleanest redirects Shouta had ever seen.
Shouta was sure no one else had flagged the teenaged trio's behaviour, even the other redhead who had been introduced as Mr. Weasley (none of the trio had flinched from this man; Shouta had been watching).
Potter's reaction was enough to cut into Shouta's initial anger (damn his curiosity but no one had told him that he would be meeting family, even if only distantly and in the eyes of the law). As the meeting started, Shouta had attributed Harry's response as potentially logical considering Shouta was some strange unknown family member being brought in to take the kid's inheritance. A little aversion would be more than fair
But that look. But the hope-please-maybe-don't-hurt-me lingering in the kid's eyes and the tired- love-protection-hurt-him-and-burn etched into the faces and hands and spines of the other two teens. These weren't normal emotions and they weren't normal actions (they weren't normal now and they weren't normal after Hizashi, Nemuri, and Oboro had tracked him down to the locked closet in his second-worst foster home the year after his grandfather's death).
Shouta slowly tuned back in just in time for a Ministry sycophant, Hopkirk with the grating voice, to finish her speech about how they were sympathetic, but ultimately this solution was for the best since Potter need to focus on matters other than rejuvenating an old House and managing the payments that were only natural in occurrence with his duty to the Ministry.
The responses across the table were far more interesting to Shouta than the witch's actual words since, even though Magicals seemed to be predominantly quirkless, they all had some very physical tells. Granger was visibly bristling while Weasley the younger was turning a red more reminiscent of chilli peppers than tomatoes. Mr. Weasley was echoing the shade but also maintaining a stiff posture, subtly trying to distance himself from the ministry toadies who projected a smug self-satisfaction that was almost completely overwhelmed by the smug violence the goblins were projecting.
Potter was watching Shouta.
Shouta caught the kid's gaze this time, quite the feat considering how fascinating the worn wood of the table had previously been to Potter whenever Shouta had looked back. Shouta grinned at the kid, a wide grin full of teeth that would've had his class sweating buckets and Hizashi heading for
the hills. Harry Potter just smiled, a little hesitantly, a little faintly, but sincerely.
And yes, Shouta decided, thinking back on the last several speeches and explanations, being mad might have been easier to manage, but he was now really quite a bit closer to incandescent fury. (This was a child who had never even met Shouta, yet looked at him with eyes of weeping steel and standing oceans.)
He took a moment to weave the fury under his skin, forcing into a lattice that made him stronger, clearer, fiercer. Made him into Eraserhead instead of Shouta or even Aizawa-sensei. Because this wasn't just about inconveniencing Shouta now. (This was a child who walked with a pro hero's vigilant gait, yet sat gaunt with a posture of woven wire and shattered ice.)
"So let's see if I have this straight," Shouta said in a low, clear voice, palms on the table in front of him. He immediately had all eyes on him, since he'd been mostly silent so far, though he really only felt the weight of Potter's.
"You want me to sign this document," the one that was sitting by Shouta's elbow which he refused to touch, "that the bank has so lovingly prepared, stating a blood claim granting me Lordship over the Black family-"
"Fiscal Lordship. Mr Potter would still retain political power held under Trust. The political ramifications of being Lord Black require significant interaction with magic and the Ministry and spending extended time in the magical world can be quite uncomfortable for squibs."
"Right." Shout blinked, before deciding to ignore both the sudden requirement of guidance for Potter, despite him being a legal adult in their world, and the statement about squibs that could either be a subtle threat or casual bigotry. The two were so often difficult to distinguish. "Right. So I get access to finances, pay reparations to the bank and the Ministry, take control of the rest of the funds, and return to Japan a little richer with no other lasting interaction with the magical world?"
Potter looked down when Shouta mentioned going back to Japan. Shouta hadn't wanted to punch someone this badly in weeks.
"Correct." Thicknessee looked proud in that way elderly women were proud when their tiny puppies actually manage to get the hang of going to the washroom somewhere other than their recently redone floors.
"Gringotts will, of course, exchange the gold for muggle Japanese currency at the correct rate and fee." Hardskull, on the other hand, looked like he was about to get away with murder. Shouta was very familiar with that look. When it came to people with mutation quirks and apparently goblins, overconfidence was often found in the lines of the hands.
"Of course." Shouta stared at the gold inlay of the ceiling.
"Excellent," Hopkirk practically squeed. If you'll just sign-"
"No."
There was dead silence for four heartbeats and then Thicknessee looked down bushy eyebrows. "I beg your pardon."
"I wasn't finished. There are a few other things that I want to make clear." Shouta kept his voice as bland as possible and tried not to smirk as various shoulders relaxed.
Potter was refusing to look up, but Granger was studying him with something sharp in her gaze.
Shouta got the most chilling sense that Nezu would like this girl.
"These reparations are necessary because of the war with Voldemort-" he ignored the flinch of every single adult in the room, "that Potter won."
This time, Potter flinched.
Shouta reached out to tap the much larger roll of parchment that held the details of the reparations. He'd been give a brief amount of time to look at it during an earlier break, though it was notably in English (which failed utterly as a potential power play because Hizashi adored English and Shouta adored Hizashi and had maybe learned an entire language so the man would have someone to talk with about Western songs).
Shouta had skimmed the parchment with the ease of a long-time teacher and the experience of a long-time hero. The wizards had left him in the Leaky Cauldron alone with only a patronizing warning about war damages. Shouta had cased the shit out of Diagon Alley (he may not have magic, but he had common sense, stealth skills, and an imposing glare). Shouta had context.
He traced down the page, finger rasping slightly on the material. "Gringotts is, if I'm understanding things correctly, asking for payment in the order of one dragon, one broken vault, one act of theft, structural damages to the building itself, and damages to reputation." And also for the pay of goblin soldiers, chairs knocked over in the lobby, the chains that had held the dragon, and many other things.
Shouta didn't think he'd need those to make his point, though. He moved on. "All accrued during the war that Potter was fighting against a tyrant."
"The Goblins were neutral." Hardskull's voice was rocky and absolute.
Shouta just nodded. "Yes, because I can see how the possibility of working for a Blood supremacist who doesn't even like half of his own species much less one that is, for whatever stupid reason, often already looked down upon, is a good strategic role. But well done, it's worked, and here we are." Shouta bared his teeth right back at the creature. "But that's hardly my point, and certainly not my business.
"I'm more curious about the fact that according to the Black Family documents," not the ones sitting by his elbow, the ones sitting on Shouta's lap that he hadn't wanted anyone to tuck away in an effort to be 'helpful,' "Potter's inheritance came due on his seventeenth birthday. Meaning that the vault he broke into and out of, belonging to Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, was already Potter's. This is fact according to the formal disownment and banishment that Sirius Black enacted, before his death, that reclaimed any family vaults the woman had in her possession. Since the vault in question was a Black vault, then Potter stole out of his own vault. I hardly imagine he's going to press charges against himself."
"The damages-"
"Ah yes, the damages." Shouta took great pleasure in cutting the goblin off, clearly seeing his affront at a mere squib doing so. Shouta had seen how the wizards looked down on the creatures during interactions, and was certainly not above being petty enough to do the same knowing his being a squib would only increase the insult. "I would imagine that a hole in the wall created by a dragon is very conspicuous. The trial must have well attended."
"As this is a Goblin matter and guilty party is hardly in question, we prefer keeping the matter in- house," Hardskull gritted out.
"Hmm." Shouta flicked his eyes to the other wizards involved. "Yes, I can see how putting the Saviour of the Wizarding World on trial for crime he committed to save said Wizarding World might be uncomfortable."
Hardskull's growl wasn't quite loud enough to cover Weasley the younger's snort. "The Goblin Nation does not care about wizarding comfort. The boy broke into our bank, regardless of what he stole, released our dragon, and damaged our reputation. He must pay for that, at least if he wants further access to his family legacies."
Shouta would give Hardskull credit for delivery and general ferocity; several of the wizards (again, not the teenagers, what the fuck) were grimacing and shifting uncomfortably. Shouta was not; he'd been trained by Nezu.
Shouta grinned wide. "Yes, I can see what damage a couple of teenagers could do to your reputation. I imagine the knowledge that one teenager, the Saviour of the Wizarding World no less, being so unsafe on your premises as to be unable to make a withdrawal from his own account in an ordinary manner probably wouldn't be much help. Even worse," Shouta rested his head on his hand, staring directly at Hardskull, "the idea that he might not have even known the account was his. That would certainly show shoddy service."
There was a moment where Shouta liked to think that everyone was admiring the squib's sheer cheek (or, as Hizashi liked to put it, Shouta's ability to be a little shit).
"Ahem." Potter and Weasley the younger whipped their heads around to stare at Granger the moment she made the sound, who ignored them in favour of staring at the ceiling.
"There's also the matter of the dragon. Quite illegal, using a dragon in such a capacity, goes against all sorts of international treaties. And the condition of the poor creature. Well, Charlie Weasley was just telling me that his Dragon Reserve was up in arms. I understand the Goblins do quite a bit of trade for rare ingredients with the Reserves? And also with ethical potions companies, schools, and Creature Preserves?"
Forget Nezu, Shouta liked this girl.
Granger blinked at the ceiling before turning to the younger Weasley. "Luna was mentioning to me her plan to write to Newt Scammander for Charlie, apparently Scammander is an old family friend and did quite a bit of work with dragons back in the day, to make sure the dear was recovering as much as possible."
The young witch's eyes slid back to Hardskull, not backing down a whit at his expression as she continued innocently, "Quite a shame if the extent of Gringotts involvement was widely publicized. I'd imagine some of those trade agreements might just...dry up."
Shouta nodded as Granger inclined her head to him, clearly inviting him to continue. Shouta's shoulders twitched, the weight on them seeming much heavier with her regard, but he folded his second hand under his chin and blinked his dry eyes at the fuming Goblin representative.
"If that's settled," Hardskull gave a snarl but didn't interject so Shouta counted his win and moved on, "then I believe all we need to to do is address the charges on behalf of the Ministry."
Hopkirk tittered. "There are no charges, Mr. Aizawa. The reparations are a way for Mr. Potter to do his duty to the the Ministry as a member of an ancient family-"
"Beyond saving the Ministry." Shouta interjected.
"-beyond saving the Ministry, ye..." Hopkirk blinked.
"Do you even have the power to authorize that?" Shouta asked with a raised brow. He knew a stooge when he saw one, even if their explanations about filing in across departments in these trying times held any weight.
Thicknessee puffed up his chest. "As the Minister of Magic-" "Candidate," Weasley the younger coughed.
"You've done such a great job as Minister already that I'm sure you're a natural choice for re- election." Shouta did his best to channel Nemuri into his tone, particularly when she was staring down an asshole who thought 'she was dressed inappropriately' despite drooling for over twenty minutes.
"I was under the Imperious curse." Thicknessee looked down his nose at Shouta, who bared his teeth in his wildest grin just to see the man shudder. "That's-"
"Mind control. I know." Not even from his lurking in Diagon Alley. Shouta's grandfather had told many stories about his family, never believing that Shouta should be coddled after seeing the darkness that already existed in his own parents (no one had ever been prouder of him than Grandfather Marius when Shouta had decided to be a hero.)
"I'm certainly not judging you for leading an entire government against a couple of school children already busy fighting a villain. That seems well beyond my capability as one man and I'm sure your completely recovered and functioning legal system has already come to the logical conclusion." Not the correct one, maybe. But only Granger and maybe a wide-eyed Potter caught that distinction. Must be the only two raised muggle if they weren't disregarding the squib in the slightest.
Shouta leaned forward, knowing his eyes were glowing just faintly from the faint movement of his hair. "I am, however, judging you for trying to steal money from a child, a child who won the damn war for you."
"He's seventeen!" Hopkirk flinched under the full force of Shouta's red glare. "Now and when he killed Voldemort, sure."
There was a moment of silence after the collective name-associated flinch where it sunk in, hopefully since apparently wizards and witches were pretty thick, that this squib knew quite a bit more than might have been expected. (They'd left him, overnight, in their main thoroughfare, only a hop, skip, and jump away from the seedier area of Knockturn. Child's play was unable to convey the ease and speed at which Shouta had learned things.)
Granger was the one to break the silence with a softly spoken, "Eleven."
"Excuse me." Shouta's class would have literally fallen into battle formations at his tone.
"He was eleven the first time he was attacked by Voldemort," Granger also ignored all the adults flinching, "at least if we're looking for the moment when Harry first used his own agency to defeat him."
Weasley the younger nodded, his hand conspicuously absent from the table and likely resting on Potter's knee. "I say the time when he was two shouldn't count. I get that the killing of his parents was the first time Harry and Voldemort met, but it's not like Harry remembers the event. Well,
without a Dementor present." He reached over and ruffled Potter's wild hair, receiving a tiredly amused and barely even half hearted swipe in return. "Probably all his mum anyway, that. Can't imagine this idiot doing anything great at two. Hardly a genius, is he?"
Granger's hand ducked under Potter's casual sweep to tug deliberately at a black lock. "True. I'd hardly say his saving-people-thing started that early."
Potter leant into his taller friend, smirk unfolding under the warmth in their voices like a fucking sunflower, "I'd say we go with fourteen. That's when I was kidnapped from school during a life- threatening tournament I'd been illegally forced into competing. The one that an entire Government of people couldn't find a way for me, a fourth year, to not participate."
Granger moved in for the kill shot; if Shouta was furious the girl was livid, though she buried her anger under a layer of composure so thick even Nezu would be impressed. "Oh, I don't think so. Since the Ministry is so intent on being involved, we should hardly put the start date of the war at the time when the Ministry was still in denial and running it's smear campaign against Harry. No, we should probably go with fifteen, when a bunch of teenagers and Voldemort himself broke into the Ministry - ah."
Granger interrupted herself and tapped her chin with her wand. "Wait, no that won't do. Headmaster Dumbledore was the main force against Voldemort then, wasn't he? No, really, I think we must choose the moment that Headmaster Dumbledore, as Voldemort's largest adversary, was murdered right in front of Harry. Harry was sixteen, then."
She then calmly clasped her hands in her lap, staring intently at the ministry officials while both Weasleys stared at the ceiling in order not to break the moment with inappropriately timed cheers or laughter.
Potter looked like he wanted to hug the girl, then clearly decided what the hell and threw an arm over her shoulders. His face darkened when he looked at the glowering officials and the arm turned protective.
Shouta watched that particular interaction out of the corner of his eye, refusing to turn his head from the officials.
The officials that were now, officially, a threat.