Harry Potter and the Whirlpool Family
By: Scrye9548
Author's Note: Hey everybody, this story was requested by king691. He asked if I could write a Harry Potter and Naruto crossover, and the request sparked an idea in my head that I couldn't resist writing.
This story takes place in the Harry Potter universe and will start during "The Goblet of Fire" before the Quidditch World Cup.
I hope you guys enjoy this story.
This author does not claim any characters, worlds, or ideas from J.K Rowling's Harry Potter, Masashi Kishimoto's Naruto, or Ichiei Ishibumi's High School DXD. This work is purely for entertainment purposes.
Page breaks: (0v0)
Edited: 7/27/2023
Chapter One: Conversations
Harry Potter was gladly helping himself to another bite of Mrs. Weasley's fantastic chicken and ham pie-a godsend after spending the summer under Dudley's new diet-and doing his best to ignore the positively riveting conversation Mr. Weasley was having with Percy about cauldron bottoms when his ears caught talk of his favorite sport; Quidditch.
"Who do you think is going to win the cup?" Fred asked Charlie.
"If you asked me a month ago, I would have said Ireland," Charlie said through a mouthful of potatoes, prompting a wicked side-eye from his mother, which caused him to swallow his food before continuing. "They had three of the top thirty players in the tournament, dominated their group stage, and got the number one seed, but who expected Japan to upset 'em in the first round?" Charlie snorted as he stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork, "Busted all of our brackets at the Sanctuary."
"That's why they call 'em 'upsets,' because people are 'upset' when they happen," George grinned and turned towards his twin, "Isn't that right, Fred?"
Fred nodded as he mimed stroking a beard the length of Dumbledore's; "Indeed it is, George. Though I will say that I don't think anyone saw Japan and Bulgaria in the final."
"Guess what they say about Quidditch is true," George shared a look with his twin, "There's no 'I' in 'team-"
Fred interrupted, "-But there is an 'E' in 'team-" Fred then drew a capital 'E' in the air with his finger.
"-And there's an 'E' in 'Seeker-" George said in a tone as if he was pointing out some great revelation.
"-Three, in fact-" Fred held up three fingers.
"-Meaning a Seeker is worth-" George looked up into the sky, blinking his blue eyes as he started counting the digits of his right hand with his left hand, performing the appropriate calculations.
"-Thrice as much-" Fred helpfully supplied.
"-Thrice as much," George repeated, nodding thankfully towards his twin as he lowered his hands. "A seeker is worth thrice as much as any team-"
"-Isn't that right, Harry?" Fred and George asked as they finished their back And forth and looked toward the boy in question.
The boy-who-lived swallowed his food-his Aunt Petunia had smacked, quite literally, good table manners into him at a young age. "I wouldn't be anywhere as good as I am if I didn't have you two to keep the bludgers off me."
The twins simultaneously cupped their faces in their hands like coy schoolgirls and cooed, "Aww, Harrykins, you'll make us blush."
Harry and Charlie laughed at the twins' antics. When Harry's chuckles subsided, he asked Charlie, "Speaking of seekers, who are the seekers for both teams and what are these brackets you're talking about?"
"I'll answer your second question first," Charlie said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded-up piece of parchment. He unfolded the parchment and laid it on the table before Harry.
The parchment showed a tournament bracket with countries and mascots aligned at the bottom with what Harry assumed was each team's respective seeding in parentheses, next to their names. The bracket wouldn't look out of place in the muggle world if it weren't for the parchment it was printed on and that each mascot was moving up and down the bracket on its own.
The leftmost bracket contained an eastern dragon breathing a stream of orange fire on a leprechaun-Japan's and Ireland's respective mascots. When the dragon finished flambeing its opponent, all that remained of the leprechaun was a green Irish cap resting upon a pile of ash with two green eyes glaring at the departing dragon. The scene reminded Harry of some old Looney Toons cartoons he caught out of the corner of his eye as he scrubbed the hallway floor for the Dursleys. At the top of the bracket, written in giant, bold print, were the words; "Gringotts Brack-Attack."
"This is my bracket," Charlie tapped a finger on it as Harry watched the dragon coil around a creature with the head of a rooster attached to the body of a dragon, a cockatrice, France's mascot. "For a galleon, you can buy a bracket from Gringotts to predict the tournament outcome. Get a perfect bracket, and you get the prize.
"What's the prize?" Harry asked.
"All the galleons from everyone who's entered," Charlie answered, throwing a slight glare at his bracket, specifically at the dragon that had just roared at the cockatrice, causing the fearsome hybrid to revert into a chick and begin waving the white flag of surrender; an act that was entirely appropriate for the French mascot.
"How much?" Harry asked.
"Around a million," Charlie stated, releasing a small chuckle at the shocked look on Harry's face.
"A mil-million?" Harry stuttered. The amount of wealth was mind-boggling. Harry was so surprised that he nearly missed Japan's mascot fly up to the semi-final bracket. The dragon roasted Peru's mascot, a large black bull, leaving behind a large, sizzling t-bone steak, which the dragon ate with relish. Actual relish. Harry imagined the meal was tasty, given the massive belch the dragon released as it soared towards the final bracket where a beautiful woman with white-gold hair and skin as pale as the moon was waiting.
Charlie nodded. "Though the last person to win the bracket was a British wizard in the 17th century. His name was..." Charlie trailed off.
"Isaac Nigel," Ron and Hermione said simultaneously—surprising them both.
"How do you know something about quidditch, Hermione?" Ron asked, sounding confused. Ron didn't think that the bushy-haired brainiac knew anything outside of academics.
"We covered him in our arithmancy class. Isaac Nigel was a famous arithmancer who used numerology to predict events," Hermione explained.
"Predict events? That sounds kind of like divination there, Hermione," Ron teased.
Hermione narrowed her brown eyes at her redheaded friend. "Divination relies upon guesswork, while arithmancy relies upon hard data. Take Isaac Nigel, for example; he could predict the outcome of fifteen games by counting the total number of thistles of each broomstick, divided by the average age of each team, compounded by the square root of the total number of minutes of professional quidditch played that year. Honestly," Hermione huffed as she rolled her eyes, "That's much more impressive than Professor Trelawney using the phases of the moon and tea leaves to predict the future. I bet she's never given a real prophecy in her life." Hermione didn't notice that Harry had stiffened when she mentioned Trelawney.
Ron barked out a laugh. "Yeah, I doubt that Trelawney's ever made a successful prediction, but it's an easy 'O,' right, Harry?"
"Yeah, right," Harry gave Ron a shaky grin as he remembered the real prophecy that Trelawney had given during their exams last year:
"It will happen tonight. The Dark Lord lies alone and friendless, abandoned by his followers. His servant has been chained these twelve years. Tonight, before midnight…the servant will break free and set out to rejoin his master. The Dark Lord will rise again with his servant's aid, greater and more terrible than ever he was. Tonight…before midnight…the servant will set out…to rejoin…his master…"
When Trelawney gave Harry the prophecy, Harry thought it referred to Sirius Black, the Potters' betrayer, mass murderer, and recent escapee of Azkaban. However, as Harry learned later, not everything was as it seemed. Sirius Black was innocent, and the actual traitor, the rat who had led Voldemort to his family, was Peter Pettigrew.
Harry clenched his fists so tight that his knuckles were white, remembering how the sniveling rat had begged the teen for his life, telling him that James-Harry's father-wouldn't have wanted Peter murdered, and as much as Harry wanted to disagree and let Sirius have his revenge, the teen knew the traitor was right; James would have wanted justice, not murder, and there was no better justice in Harry's mind than for Pettigrew to go to Azkaban. So, Harry chose to spare Pettigrew, hoping the traitor would get Sirius's old cell to waste away the rest of his days enjoying the delightful company of dementors.
Unfortunately, that hope never came to be, for Fate can be a fickle bitch. Something that Harry learned early and has been reminded of often. Just ask the mountain troll, cerberus, the possessed dark wizard, the cluster of acromantula, millennia-old basilisk, evil spirit, murderer, werewolf, and cloak of dementors that tried to kill him.
Harry was startled by a soft hand on his left shoulder and a soothing voice in his ear, "Harry, are you alright?"
Harry looked to his left, his green eyes locking onto Hermione's warm, brown eyes; "I'm fine, Hermione."
A frown graced Hermione's lips. "Ok, Harry, but you know you can talk to us, right?"
Harry put down his fork, reached across his body, and rested his hand on Hermione's. He gave it a gentle squeeze, gracing her with a small, genuine smile, and received one in return; "I know, and thank you, Hermione." Harry held her hand for a few seconds, marveling at how smooth it was compared to his. A lifetime of labor and poor living had roughened Harry's hands to the point that, sometimes, he was surprised he could still feel anything at all.
An abrupt cough broke Harry out of his trance, giving him a slight jump and causing him to release Hermione's hand. Harry turned to his right towards Ron, missing Hermione's glare at the redheaded member of the golden trio.
"Mate, didn't you want to learn about the seekers for both teams?" Ron asked, an edge in his tone as the tips of his ears turned red.
Harry looked puzzled, unaware of what could have upset his friend. "Are you ok, Ron? You sound angry?"
Ron sputtered as he avoided Harry's gaze; "What? Me, 'angry?' I just wanted-"
"-Wanted to regale Harry with tales of Bulgaria's seeker, Victor Krum, right, Ronniekins?" George teased as he steered Harry's attention away from Ron and to himself, "Though I believe Harry asked Charlie that question and, given that Charlie is a former seeker, I think that he would have more insight than you." George turned towards Charlie, putting his elbows on the table with his chin in his hands; "Tell us a story, big brother."
"Yeah, tell us a story," Fred mirrored his twin's actions.
"We promise we'll be bad," the twins said simultaneously.
"Don't you mean 'good?" Charlie asked with a raised eyebrow and an amused smile on his face.
"We said what we meant-" George grinned a grin that would make Professor McGonagal's hair turn from gray to white.
"-And we meant what we said," Fred finished for his brother, adopting a similar grin.
Charlie held up his hands in mock surrender as he chuckled, "Alright, you two." Charlie looked at Harry; "To answer your other question, the two seekers playing in the final are Victor Krum for Bulgaria and Naruto Uzumaki for Japan." When Charlie mentioned the name "Uzumaki," Mr. Weasley paused his conversation with Percy.
(0v0)
Mr. Weasley rubbed his chin, muttering, "Uzumaki; now, why does that name ring a bell?" The name sparked an image of red hair in his mind. At first, he thought he remembered the hair of Lily Potter but soon dismissed that notion because Lily's hair, while red, was a dark auburn, and the hair he saw in his mind was a bright red, the color of a sunned rose.
"Father, is something wrong?" Percy asked when he realized that his father had stopped responding.
Mr. Weasley shook his head to dislodge the image; it was probably nothing. And yet, in the back of his mind, the vision persisted as if his brain was trying to remind him of something important. Mr. Weasley decided the best course of action was to continue his conversation with Percy while keeping one ear open to the quidditch talk. "What were Mr. Crouch's thoughts on your proposal?"
(0v0)
"And how good are they?" Harry asked the dragonologist.
"Krum was considered the best seeker in the world-"
"-He's still the best in the world!" Ron interjected, glaring at Charlie for daring to speak such blasphemy.
Charlie rolled his eyes, ignoring Ron's outburst as he continued, "-though, with the way that Uzumaki's been playing, Krum might not be top dog for long. They say Uzumaki really lives up to his name."
Harry tilted his head, curious. "What do you mean, are the Uzumakis famous quidditch players?"
Charlie shook his head. "From what's been reported, Uzumaki's the first professional quidditch player in his family. What they're referring to is that he plays like his namesake; 'Naruto' means 'maelstrom' in English."
"Maelstrom?" Harry asked, a confused look on his face. Hermione, seeing his expression, decided to explain;
"A maelstrom is a whirlpool formed when two opposing ocean currents collide. They swirl and twist around each other, creating a funnel that drags ships and people to the ocean's bottom. Maelstroms are potent, unstoppable forces of nature."
"Wow," Harry gasped, picturing a giant whirlpool swallowing a ship. It wasn't a pleasant thought.
Ron scoffed and crossed his arms, "Krum's still better. He's always caught the snitch. I don't know who this 'Uzimakey' is, but I doubt he's got an undefeated record. Kind of like you-" Ron cut himself off as he remembered his friend no longer had an unbeaten record. Ron rubbed the back of his head with a sheepish smile, "Sorry, mate. I forgot about last year with the dementors."
Harry clapped the gangly redhead's shoulder. "It's alright. I'm just glad I didn't wind up like my old broom."
Ron shuddered, "I don't think even Madam Pomfrey could put you back together after something like that. But you got a new broom. Speaking of," Ron placed his hands together in prayer, pleading, "You reckon I could take it for a spin soon? I never did get to ride it at school last year."
Harry mentally winced; talking about his broom and last year reminded Harry of how poorly he treated Hermione the previous year over the said broom. Though the broom was ultimately harmless, Hermione was correct in assuming it was from Sirius Black. Harry glanced at the girl who had pulled his arse out of the fire several times over the past three years and nearly flinched at the hurt in her eyes. He never apologized. Harry resolved to get Hermione the best birthday gift this year and an apology. Because Harry knew, based on the past three years, he'd need Hermione's help to keep him from dying or, worse, being expelled.
"Yeah, Ron. You can fly my Firebolt when we get back from the Cup," Harry told him.
"Wicked," Ron grinned. "I can't wait for quidditch this year. The House Cup is as good as ours."
"You know there are more exciting things than quidditch, Ron," Charlie stated with a secretive smile.
"What?! What could be more exciting than quidditch?" Ron asked, sounding exasperated.
"Dragons," Charlie answered in a knowing tone.
"Of course, you'd say that," Ron rolled his eyes.
Charlie scratched the silver burn scar on his forearm, chuckling, "What can I say? Sparks fly when I see a dragon."
The twins, Hermione and Harry, groaned at Charlie's pun. "Can we get back to quidditch, please?" Harry begged.
Charlie let out an over-dramatic sigh, eliciting another round of groans when he said, "No one appreciates my burning wit."
"Please, talk about quidditch again," Hermione pleaded.
Charlie couldn't resist one more twist of the knife. "What, are my puns too hot to handle?"
The twins banged their heads on the table, causing their plates, cutlery, and glasses to rattle.
"Please, brother-" Fred said, his voice muffled by the white tablecloth.
"-in the name of love-" George lifted his head and glared at the bemused dragonologist.
"-Stop!" the Twins demanded together.
"Alright, alright, spoilsports," Charlie mock pouted. Charlie then addressed Ron, "Oh yeah, Uzumaki's unbeaten as well, and, seeing the catch he made in the semi-finals, I think Krum's gonna have a hard time."
"What catch? What did he do?" Harry was curious.
"I'll show you," Charlie reached into his vest pocket, pulled out a brown wand, and turned in his chair towards the Burrow. He pointed his wand towards the house, saying, "Accio yesterday's Daily Prophet."
For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then, when it reached the seven-second mark, a fluttering of paper could be heard as the most (in)famous paper in all of magical Britain came shooting out of the open kitchen window and into Charlie's outstretched hand. Charlie returned his wand to his pocket and handed Harry the paper.
Harry took the paper, and the first thing he saw was the headline: "Whirlpool Wham: Japan Upsets Peru!" This was followed by a picture of a young man with spiky blonde hair, blue eyes, lightly tanned skin, and whisker marks racing head-on towards a large beater, launching a bludger straight at the blonde's head. From the slowly moving photo, Harry judged that the pair were close to thirty feet away from each other and closing fast. Still, Harry's shock didn't stop there; behind the blond's flapping white robe was a man with dark brown skin and black hair wearing red robes who was reaching out to grab the blonde's broomstick, probably to hold him in place for the knockout blow, a surety at the range and speed they were going. But faster than a blink, the blonde painted himself to his broom, resting his chin on the foregrip as he ducked the bludger and whirled around the beater, snatching the snitch that was hovering behind the beater and leaving the opposing seeker to receive the bludger to his face.
"Wow," Harry gasped, watching the catch again. The speed, control, and strength needed to pull off a move like that were insane.
"I know," Charlie nodded. "If you read further, Uzumaki gives an interview explaining that he saw the snitch below Peru's beater and felt the opposing seeker on his tail. So, he decided to kill two birds with one stone." Charlie shook his head ruefully, "I've played many games on the pitch, but I'd rather try and steal an egg from a nesting mother than play chicken with a bludger loaded for bear."
Harry mentally agreed as he continued to read the article. He could achieve the speed needed for such a move with his Firebolt. Still, he would have to build more muscle to endure the force exerted on his body by such a maneuver, which was impossible given his current living situation with the Dursleys. He got to the bottom of the article and saw that it continued on page six. Turning to that page, he was greeted by the smiling, whiskered face of Naruto Uzumaki standing on the pitch in his quidditch robes with three other people;
The first person was a man in his late thirties to early forties, bearing the same blue eyes, tanned skin, and spiky blonde hair that Naruto had, though he had two bangs framing his face and his cheeks were more angular. He wore a long-sleeved blue shirt, blue pants, and black, toeless sandals. The man had his hand on Naruto's right shoulder, a proud smile on his face.
The second person was a woman in her late thirties to early forties with pale skin, a rounded face, violet eyes, with a slender but curvy figure, though what stood out the most about her was her bright, waist-length hair that she kept out of her eyes with a green clip. She wore a green ankle-length dress with a white undershirt and black toeless sandals. She hugged Naruto's left arm and held up a peace sign with her free hand as she threw a bright grin toward the camera.
The final person was a young girl who looked about eleven, bearing the same hair color and rounded face as the woman and the same eye color as the man and Naruto. The girl's hair was in two pigtails held up by orange ribbons. She wore Japan's National Team Quidditch jersey and blue toeless sandals. The girl stood in front of Naruto with his hands on her shoulders as she held her hands up in peace signs, a grin similar to the woman painting her face.
Harry looked at the caption underneath the photo; "The Uzumaki Family on the pitch after Japan's semi-final win: Minato Namikaze-Uzumaki (Left), Naruto Namikaze-Uzumaki (Center), Kushina Namikaze-Uzumaki (Right), Shio Namikaze-Uzumaki (Front-Center)."
"They all look happy," he thought, a sad smile on his face as he imagined for a moment that he was in Naruto's place, surrounded by his parents with siblings who looked up to him. He folded the paper and returned to dinner, knowing tonight that he would look at the photo album Hagrid had gifted him, wishing his parents were still with him. Unknowing that some twenty miles away, a woman would be sitting in a tent, doing the same thing.
(0v0)
"I miss them, Minato-koi," Kushina said as she gently stroked the moving picture of a redheaded woman and black-haired man holding their infant son in their arms. All of them were smiling and waving to the camera. However, the woman had to wave her son's hand for him, yet given the happy expression on the babe's face, Kushina didn't believe the child minded.
"I know, dear," Minato said as he sat on the couch and laid his left arm on his wife's shoulders, pulling her into the crook of his neck and kissing her head. "I know," he murmured into her hair.
Kushina relaxed into her husband's embrace as she silently stared at the photo, specifically the child in the couple's arms. "He's fourteen now."
Minato slowly exhaled through his nose. "Dear."
"And he's probably tall, like his parents-
"Dea-
"-And I bet he likes charms, like Lily-chan-
"-Kushi-
"And he's probably into quidditch, like James-
"-Kushin-
"-I bet he'd enjoy playing with Naru-chan and Shio-!"
"-Kushina," Minato said firmly as he gently cupped her chin with his right hand, cutting off his motormouth wife. He raised her face, looking directly into her shimmering violet eyes, pleading softly, "Please, stop."
"Bu-but," Kushina hiccuped as tears began streaming down her cheeks, "I'm his godmother!" She threw herself into his chest, screaming, "He should be here!"
Minato held his wife as he stroked her hair, whispering soothing words into her ear as his wife poured out her grief in his arms.
He didn't know how long it took for her wails to turn into sobs, her sobs into hiccups, her hiccups into ragged breaths, and for her ragged breaths to smooth over into calm, even breaths. Though he knew her tears were dry when he felt her tighten her grip on his shirt, growling out in a tone laced with venom more potent than a basilisk's, "I hate them."
Minato kissed her on the head. "I know."
"He should be here."
"He should."
"And he's not because that old goat fucker didn't want an 'English Hero' to leave 'English soil," Kushina spat.
Minato tightened his grip on his wife.
"I promised Lily I would take care of him; I'm his godmother!"
"Yes, you are."
"He'd be here if that bearded bastard didn't have the ICW twisted around his gnarled fingers."
Unseen by his wife, Minato's look soured as he remembered that particular meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. He and his wife had attended as guests of Hiruzen Sarutobi to plead before the august body and gain custody of Harry Potter, his wife's right as his Godmother. However, Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Grindelwald, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot, and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW, had other plans as he strolled into the meeting room with his twinkling eyes, silver beard, and garish robes:
"My dear friends, I will concede that Lady Uzumaki does indeed have a claim to Harry Potter, but that claim does not trump blood. Heir Potter resides with his only remaining blood relative, where he is being looked after until he can be reintroduced into our world. Furthermore, you and I know Grindelwald found much favor and support from prominent Japanese families. Families that are still in prominence today, and I, in good conscience, cannot risk allowing the savior of Magical Britain to fall into the hands of Grindelwald's followers."
It was a masterful move by the aged wizard. Because if there were two things most important to wizardkind, they were blood and grudges, and the old man had played both chords like a master violinist, the members of the Confederation dancing to his tune as they denied the Uzumaki's appeal for guardianship of Harry Potter.
Minato was broken out of his memories by his wife shaking his shoulder. "Yes?" He asked as he looked down into his wife's violet eyes.
"I asked, 'What are we going to do about Harry-chan,' dattebane?" Kushina asked as she narrowed her eyes at her husband.
Minato mentally winced as he noticed his wife's demeanor and verbal tic slipping out, meaning she knew the answer she wanted to hear, and she'd better hear it. Or else.
Minato glanced down at the couch they were sitting on; "Looks like it's me and you tonight, old friend," he thought as he prepared himself to give his wife the answer that she didn't want to hear, the same answer he has given her every time this topic has come up over the years; "Kushina, as much as I'd like for us to whisk Harry away, we can't. Dumbledore and the English Ministry have made it clear that Harry will remain in England for the foreseeable future. If we try to force the issue, they'll make Japan's life hell."
"So we do nothing, then?" Kushina asked as she pulled away from her husband, glaring at him as she crossed her arms across her chest.
Minato sighed as he held up his hands helplessly. "The only way we could claim Harry is if we had proof that his blood relatives were abusive, and because Dumbledore and the English Ministry have done a wonderful job of hiding his relatives, the only way we would get that proof is from Harry."
Kushina held her glare for a few seconds before letting out a weary sigh that spoke volumes to her years of worry about her best friend's son. "You're right, anata," she admitted, reaching for her husband's hand. "I just want to keep my promise."
"I know," Minato said as he flipped his hand, letting his wife thread her fingers through his own. He then began gently stroking the top of her hand with his thumb, easing the tension out of her body as they sat in comfortable silence. Until Kushina unclasped their hands, crawled onto his lap, looped her arms around his neck, and laid a long, languid kiss on his lips.
Minato was momentarily surprised before he lost himself in the feel of his wife's lips and her soft curves pressing against him, only to be disappointed when his wife broke the kiss after a few seconds.
"I love you," she whispered, resting her forehead on his as she stared deep into his bright blue eyes.
"I love you too," he replied, gently squeezing her hips with his hands.
Kushina gave him a loving smile as she leaned back, one that became more salacious as she felt something poking against her womanhood. "Oh? Since when did you start storing your wand here?" She asked with a roll of her hips, eliciting a pleasurable groan from her husband.
"Kushi-" Minato began to say, only to be cut off by a loud and familiar voice gleefully shouting;
"Kaa-chan! Tou-chan! Nii-chan's got more girlfriends!"
"He's got what, dattebane?!" Kushina shouted, shooting off her husband's lap and rushing towards the opening flap of their tent and their daughter, Shio Uzumaki-Namikaze. "When did this happen?!" Kushina demanded as she rested her hands on her daughter's shoulders and began comically shaking her, asking rapid-fire questions, "Who are they? When did it happen? Where did it happen? How did it happen? Tell me! Tell me! Tell me!"
"Kaa-ch-chan! Diz-zy," Shio stuttered, her eyes swirling as she felt like she was on a tilt-a-whirl going ninety kilometers.
"Dear, Shio-chan can't answer if you scramble her brain," Minato announced as he got off the couch to rescue his daughter from her mother's clutches, making sure to cast a silent charm on the front of his pants to hide his arousal from his daughter, not wanting to scar her and embarrass himself.
"Huh?" Kushina blinked as she glanced over her shoulder towards her husband, only to see his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his left hand. At the same time, Minato pointed towards her with his right. The redhead followed the path of his finger, her violet eyes widening in shock as she saw her daughter in arms, paler than a ghost, eyes swirling, mouth agape, with drool leaking down her chin.
"Ahh!" the mother screamed as she hugged the girl, pressing her daughter's face into her chest, unknowingly suffocating the girl. "I'm sorry," she began rapidly repeating.
"Can't. Breathe," Shio said, her voice muffled by her mother's mammaries as she frantically waved her arms up and down.
Minato frowned, trying to think of the best way to save his daughter, when he heard the tent flap open. He looked towards the sound and saw the solution to his problem, walking into their magical tent with a tired greeting of "Tadaima!"
Minato slyly smirked. "Oh, hello, son. Since when did you get more girlfriends?"
Naruto's eyes bulged out. "How did you-" the young man tried to ask, only to be cut off by his mother tackling him to the ground and asking him the same rapid-fire questions she asked her daughter.
Minato chuckled as he helped Shio off the ground with a fond smile. "I'll save Naruto in a bit," he thought, watching his son try and fail to answer his motor-mouthed mother's questions. "Can't have Japan's star seeker killed by his mother, can we?"
(0v0)
Elsewhere, four men sat in a smoking room, sharing drinks and cigars as a fire crackled happily in the hearth, heating the room and bathing the men in its warm glow.
"How many of the 'old crowd' are up for our libation?" One of the men asked as he twirled his glass of brandy, the glass's crystal twinkling in the fire's light.
Another man took a drag of his cigar, letting the smoke float in his mouth for a few seconds before slowly exhaling. "Twenty." The man tapped the end of his cigar into an ashtray, dumping the loose ashes.
The third man downed his drink in a single gulp, slamming it onto a side table. "Twenty? Bah!" he spat, glaring at the second man. "And where's the rest?"
"Hiding behind their wives' skirts, I imagine," the second man drolly responded.
The third and first man chuckled as the fourth man rose from his seat and walked towards the fireplace, a silver object in his hand. "They've forgotten," the fourth man said, his silky voice smooth as he stared at the fire, watching the flames lick and feast on the logs. "They, and the world, have forgotten." A sudden snap came from the fireplace as one of the logs suddenly splintered. "Tomorrow night, we'll remind them," the fourth man stated as he placed the object on his face, turning away from the fire and towards the other men. "And gentlemen, don't forget to put on your best faces," he reminded them, his voice coming from behind a skull-like mask.