Suns and Moon
To most, Mitsuki stands as an enigma, the nail that sticks out but cannot possibly be hammered down.
And the sort of enigma one does not ignore. With eyes that eerily echo his father, he raises hairs and questions in equal measure.
That icy calm, that cryptic demeanor — it unsettles. It reminds everyone that an apple rarely falls far from the tree that bore it. And that Orochimaru also had precious friends once, too.
But Mitsuki is also unequivocally his own person.
One full of quirks, and strange obsessions. He's a bit of a wildcard, something unique, even among his synthetic siblings. A lab-born enigma with a soul that is jarringly, unmistakably real.
Is he a cautionary tale or a revelation? No one can quite tell.
His friends, however, never seemed to mind.
MITSUKI AND THE TOURNAMENT WITHIN THE TOURNAMENT
"You can't go to Diagon Alley now!" Hermione said, quite shrilly. "It's the middle of the night."
Mitsuki nodded. "Do not worry, I can see in the dark quite easily."
"That's not the problem!"
"What is, then?"
Sarada glared at Boruto, as though he had been the one to warn Hermione. …Actually, how did she even know in the first place?
Ah, right. They had asked Harry where to find old brooms to stea—… borrow. Bad idea, in retrospect.
"How did you find us?" Sarada asked.
"That's not the problem!"
"What is?"
"The problem…" Hermione began, shrilly. "Is that you can't go there."
Nacchan glanced at Mitsuki. Sarada looked at Boruto. 'Do something.'
'Like what…?'
'I don't know — Whatever works.'
Boruto hesitated. 'Well, my Uncles did teach me—'
'Whatever.' Sarada urged. 'Just do that.'
He hesitated again.
And then, in the dimly lit room, Boruto crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
His smirk was playful, his cerulean eyes twinkling with mischief under his blonde hair.
"Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…" He started, the grin never leaving his face. "You worry too much. We're just trying to have a little fun."
Hermione was taken aback. "Fun? You call breaking rules and sneaking out in the middle of the night fun?"
Mitsuki tilted his head. "Is this another trick question?"
Boruto shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, it sure beats sitting around here all day, doesn't it?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm serious, Boruto! We need sleep so that we can study properly tomorrow. You can't just…"
He interrupted her mid-sentence, moving closer. "Come with us, Hermione." He said, his tone suddenly soft and sincere. "You spent enough time with your nose in books today."
The sincerity in his voice took Hermione by surprise. She stared at him, her protest dying in her throat. Boruto flashed her his most charming smile.
"Just think of it as an… adventure. I promise, we'll be back before you know it." He said.
Hermione hesitated, her brows furrowed in conflict. She glanced back at her dorms, the mountain of books waiting for her on her nightstand.
"I want you to be here… Hermione." Boruto smiled.
"…Fine." She said, much to Boruto's delight — and her face was entirely red. "But only this once. And only because I want to ensure you don't get into trouble."
Boruto grinned widely. "That's the spirit, Hermione! You won't regret it!"
Nacchan gave Boruto a concerned look. He just winced in answer.
"Should I wake up Harry and Ron—" Hermione began.
"No need." Sarada declared.
…
"You didn't tell me you were going to steal brooms!"
Sarada wordlessly handed Hermione her broom. "Are you a wizard or not?"
"…Wizards don't steal, Sarada." Boruto stated.
Sarada paused. "…They don't?"
"No."
"Whatever." Sarada muttered.
"I don't fly." Hermione blurted out.
"That's what the broom is for." Mitsuki supplied.
"No — I mean I — I don't like flying." Hermione said.
"Oh." Sarada blinked. "I don't like swimming, myself. You don't have to come—"
"No." Hermione said, glancing at Boruto briefly. "I'm fine. I'm coming."
Sarada nearly rolled her eyes. "Okay."
Hermione looked very defensive. "Have you ever been there at all?" They shook their heads. "I thought so. Well, I better make sure that you are all safe."
She also muttered something about not having many girl friends, low enough that Sarada had to strain to hear — and she raised an eyebrow in surprise.
…
The world blurred past Nacchan as he soared up.
The cool night air slapped his face, and magic — the amulet, likely — shielded his eyes from the rushing wind. On Boruto's face, he could see the same exhilaration.
Nacchan had never flown before, and the brooms in Mahoutokoro had never seemed to answer him properly.
Now, he was soaring, high and free, into the night sky.
It was wonderful, it was freeing.
He laughed the way he soared, high and free.
…
Hermione gave Boruto a worried look.
"You see?!" She asked, gripping the broom-handle with all her strength.
"Yes!" Boruto gave her a thumbs up. "You're doing great!"
…
"What do you mean, four more hours left…?" Nacchan blinked.
They had flown down to take a break after what had seemed like a pretty long time already — although it had been enjoyable for most of them.
Boruto shrugged. "Well, this London city is like seven hundred kilometers away from here. I thought you knew."
Hermione, who did, kept her lips pinched at their lack of preparation — or communication, perhaps, Nacchan couldn't tell.
Nacchan sighed. "I really should have seen it coming."
Boruto tilted his head. "A seven-hour trip is a pretty short affair, and we're not even running."
"Not by regular human standards." Nacchan grunted.
"I'm human, too." Mitsuki said, smiling easily. "Father confirmed it."
There would be no useful discussion here. Nacchan just set out to making a small campfire — and made sure not to let it get out of control, as they were close to a forest, and there had been enough wildfires in the world he came from.
"Are we going to stay here for long?" Hermioned asked, as he set to doing that.
"No, but we're hungry." Boruto said.
"Hungry—"
Sarada threw them a small animal she had skinned and Hermione shrieked.
…
"Here." Boruto said, once he noticed Hermione was not eating. "I didn't know you were vegetarian — You can have some of my Cubes. I don't eat them as often as I should, really."
"I'm not vegetarian, but she just killed it — What?"
Mitsuki's head was tilted in this peculiar way that Boruto thought would make Hermione worry that he was going to try to eat her. He nudged him, even as Mitsuki spoke. "But that is where meat comes from. And those are Tyrant Cubes, and likely the reason why Naruto-chan's shoulders have seemingly doubled in volume recently."
Nacchan frowned, looking at himself self-consciously. "Stop saying that. I barely even gained weight."
"…Have you weighed yourself since the beginning of the year?" Hermione asked.
"…No." Nacchan admitted.
"Eat your meat before it gets cold." Sarada nudged Hermione. "I saved the best parts for you, because these two eat anything and Nacchan survives on my teacher's husband's gift."
Hermione repeated it. "Teacher's husband's—"
"My teacher…" Sarada began, fondly. "…married a man who's Boruto's uncle and the emperor."
"He's The Emperor." Mitsuki corrected.
"That's what I said." Sarada frowned.
"Oh…" Hermione said, blinking fast. "Like royalty, then?"
Mitsuki smiled and explained.
Hermione looked horrified.
"He really makes things seem to be worse than they are." Boruto tried.
He motioned for Mitsuki to shut up once he noticed he was about to speak again.
"…So your 'Uncle' does not have four wives and trusted generals he appointed in most cities?" Hermione asked slowly.
Boruto winced. "Yes, he does, but—"
"Is this the norm where you come from…?" She asked, a bit shrilly. "Do you know how terrible it all sounds? He's a dictator!"
"Well, no it's not exactly normal… and yes, I suppose that he is, but—"
…
Then, Hermione frowned.
"Wait a minute." She said. "There's no emperor in magical japan."
Mitsuki nodded — he was a master of adaptation. "That is entirely true." He said glibly. "Boruto's uncle is The Emperor of mundane japan."
Hermione was no fool. She squinted.
"What's his name, then?"
Boruto winced — internally.
"Tell me, Boruto. What's your uncle's name…?" She asked again. "You should be able to tell me easily, right…?"
Nacchan intervened. "…His name is Akihito."
"Akihito what?" Hermione pressed on.
"Emperors do not have surnames in Japan." Nacchan said. "They only have a reign name. But we only refer to them as The Emperor."
Mitsuki nodded. "It is exactly as Naruto-chan said."
Hermione gritted her teeth, because she knew this part to be true. "The Emperor of Japan does not have multiple wives."
"Or perhaps we simply know him better." Mitsuki said. "He does."
"What are their names, then?"
Sarada shrugged. "Easy. Sakura, Ino, Hanabi, Karin and Toru."
"There were only four wives before!" Hermione crowed, as though she had won.
"Throughout Heaven and Earth, The Emperor's speed is unmatched." Mitsuki explained. "By the time this conversation is over, he might even have a sixth one, actually."
"But he does have a sixth one." Hermione said.
Boruto blinked. "What, for real?"
"Her name is Shōda Mitsuru." Hermione said evenly.
"Ah." Mitsuki palmed his face, and the motion looked very unnatural on him. "How could we forget about Auntie Mitsuru?"
This time, Hermione smiled triumphantly. Nacchan realized they had been had — for a little while.
"There is no Shōda Mitsuru — only Shōda Michiko." She said. "Japan's Emperor's only wife. You were all lying through your teeth."
"There is no other way to lie orally." Mitsuki said. "Besides, I merely confounded their names—"
Boruto sighed. "Mitsuki, it's okay."
"I know it is." Mitsuki smiled. "Merely an error. Because I am a human teenager, very prone to them."
"…I meant it's okay." Boruto said, slumping. "I won't lie to a friend — except if it's specified in the mission contract, of course."
"You are a good ninja, Boruto." Mitsuki consoled him.
"We lied." Boruto admitted. "About a few things."
Hermione stared at them, and her worry spiked. "…Who are you all?"
Boruto looked at her, and gave her a small smile.
"My name is Uzumaki Boruto, son of Uzumaki Naruto, reigning Hokage of the Ninja Village of Konoha. My Uncle is Uzumaki Naruto, and the Emperor. Not of any nation, but of the entire world. Neither of them are Uzumaki… Namikaze Naruto, the one you know as Nacchan."
…
Hermione accepted the explanation right away.
"…What do you mean 'okay, I won't question it'…?" Boruto asked her.
Hermione just nodded. "I meant it. Even though you're all pretty useless at magic, you belong in this strange magical world where people wield sticks."
Boruto glanced around. "…Sarada?" He asked.
"…What?"
"Did you do something?"
"No."
He believed her.
Two of them understood what had happened right away.
"…Please turn the Eye off for Hermione, Mitsuki." Nacchan sighed. "You know how, don't you?"
Worst case, Sarada would just make Hermione forget about all this. She seemed pretty willing to do it.
The snake-child nodded. "Certainly."
…
"What?!" Hermione asked, nearing panic.
Her eyes widened as she listened to Boruto and Mitsuki unfold the theory of the multiverse, her mind racing at a thousand miles per minute.
She looked as if she was on the verge of hyperventilating and reveling in intellectual ecstasy all at once.
Sarada found it quite creepy, but she wasn't the one dating that weirdo, in any case.
"You're saying — oh Merlin's beard — you're saying there are an infinite number of realities? Universes stacked on top of each other like pages in a book?"
Boruto nodded. "Exactly. In some, you might be Empress of Magic. In others, Hogwarts might not even exist."
Hermione's hands trembled as she clasped them together.
"I thought magic was crazy enough — But that means — oh, that means — that everything we know, everything we don't, all our laws of magic and physics, they're just… just one version of the truth? Oh, this is extraordinary. But it's also horrifying!"
Sarada shrugged. "You can ask Sakura about it sometime."
Hermione looked at her. "…What do you mean?"
"Don't you want to come to meet her?" Sarada asked, tilting her head. To her, that girl was getting stranger by the minute.
Hermione turned her gaze towards Sarada, her eyes still slightly wide. "Come with you? You mean, into another universe?"
"Just to see what it's like." Sarada said. "Not for long, anyway. I think your headmaster's in on it, actually."
Hermione shook her head. "There's no way Professor Dumbledore would be part of this… coalition."
Boruto shrugged. "I mean… she doesn't know for sure. But my Uncle went to see him, and he usually gets what he wants."
Hermione's gaze turned distant for a moment, contemplating the endless possibilities and ramifications. The academic in her was screaming for her to seize this unprecedented opportunity.
If Dumbledore might be involved, too…
"…Alright." Hermione nodded. "I have to study this. I need to know how it works. Could you imagine the implications for spell theory, for our understanding of magical creatures, for — oh, for everything!"
Boruto grinned. "Great."
"But we must take precautions. Do you have any safety measures in place for this sort of travel?"
Sarada glanced at Boruto and Mitsuki, who both shrugged. "No idea."
Hermione's excitement was dampened. "…What?"
"Sakura didn't say." Sarada shrugged. "She's supposed to pick us up when the trouble is over."
Hermione's curiosity, which had started out as panic, became panic again. "The… trouble?"
Mitsuki nodded. "There are gods after Boruto's uncle and Sakura-san — and their wives."
Hermione froze, this time. Did they mean what they had just said…?
Mitsuki continued. "They are divine, but somewhat unpleasant, according to Father. Some may want to use The Emperor, others to destroy him, is what he said to me."
Her heart raced. This was entering territory that even the darkest tomes in the Restricted Section of the Hogwarts Library had only hinted at — she had read some, but unlike Nacchan, it was because she at least had to know what the Dark Arts actually were, definitely not because she was a hypocrite.
It was far beyond the Triwizard Tournament, Death Eaters like Peter Pettigrew… or even Voldemort himself.
"…Uh." Hermioned said.
Silence stretched, long and awkward.
Sarada tilted her head. "Do you not want to go anymore?"
Hermione looked around at the four of them, her gaze finally settling on Boruto. "…I'll have to think about it." For a long, long time.
Boruto nodded. "I get it."
Nacchan sighed. "Great, so can we finally go, then?"
"Why are you so impatient?" Boruto asked.
"…Because you forced me to come?"
Boruto looked surprised. "Of course not, you agreed to it!"
Nacchan raised an eyebrow. "You kept insisting until I relented."
"That's how Dad does it, and no one says anything about it!"
"Well, I guess that makes it okay, then." Nacchan grunted.
Boruto nodded, glad he could see it at last.
"Whatever." Nacchan sighed. "Let's just focus on getting there."
…
Nacchan had never been to London before.
Then again, Nacchan had never been to another dimension before either, and the same thing went for being in the past.
In any case, it looked pretty much like the pictures he could see on the Internet. The three shinobi were glancing around in fascination, at the book shops, the music stores, the restaurants and offices.
They followed Hermione dutifully, and she led them to a tiny bar — pub.
Hermione greeted the bartender, tapped some wall with her wands a few times, and an archway appeared out of nowhere.
She turned around. "Welcome to Diagon—"
"It looks awesome!" Boruto cheered.
"What was that spell?" Nacchan asked.
"It doesn't look diagonal at all." Mitsuki frowned.
"Couldn't we just have opened this portal in the castle, instead?" Sarada asked, scowling.
Hermione sighed and explained that it was nothing that she had done herself, but Boruto didn't fully believe her on that.
They walked down the cobblestone road, which was much narrower than modern streets.
"…Do you need to stop at Gringotts?" Hermione asked. Then, seeing their blank looks: "It's a wizarding bank—"
"I don't trust any wizard with my gold." Nacchan stated. They were a brutal sort.
"That's bigotry. Besides, it's not held by wizards but goblins—"
"I don't trust goblins." Sarada said.
Hermione frowned. "That's specism."
"I have heard about them in other worlds. Goblins have been known to betray alliances for personal gain. It's not just blind prejudice." Sarada explained. "Perhaps it is different here."
Hermione thought of what she had learned about some of goblins' most revered figures. Grik the Deceiver orchestrated a coup against his own chieftain; Snaga Ironfoot sold tunnel maps to enemies, resulting in a devastating invasion; Tork Sharpnose betrayed his mercenary band, revealing their ambush and leading to their slaughter; Niblick Shadowclaw stole a sacred artifact, igniting a tribal war; and Zog Skullsmasher poisoned the water supply of a neighboring human settlement the very night a peace treaty was signed.
Hermione nodded, a bit hesitant. "…Yes, things are likely different here."
Sarada crossed her arms. "If you truly need to go, I will go ahead and hypnotize one of these creatures so that we remain safe. Or to get to the money, whichever you all prefer."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Certainly not! Mind-controlling a goblin to gain access to the vaults?!" She asked, shaking her head in disbelief. "That's… that's… I would never do such a thing!"
Boruto put a hand on her shoulder. "I know you wouldn't." He said.
Mitsuki smiled. "Not in this world, at least. The multiverse is an impossibly wide tapestry — There has to be a world in which she would do it."
Boruto hissed. "Mitsuki, not now, please."
"Of course." Mitsuki nodded, full of understanding.
"So." Sarada began. "Are we or are we not going to the goblin hideout?"
"No!" Hermione cried out.
Nacchan decided to intervene. "I have enough wizard gold, anyway."
"Where did you even get it?" Boruto asked.
Nacchan thought of the Emperor. "…Does it really matter?"
…
The first few libraries proved to be disappointing to Nacchan.
Not when it came to more mundane books, fiction — and that was something he did want to read about, at some point, but not now. But he was looking for something else. Something that would allow him to survive this year for sure.
Perhaps it was no surprise that he ended up splitting from the others and finding himself in a nearly cartoonishly shady area.
He felt the weight of every gaze upon him as he meandered through this dark alley — again, this place felt like something out of a dark fairy tale.
Nothing like the bustling streets of modern-day Tokyo he had left behind.
There a few hags dressed in rags, eyeing him from the shadows and muttering to themselves, with jaundiced eyes.
He had read about this world — hogged many books from the Hogwarts library, in fact. And unlike what Hermione seemed to think, they were not all about dark magic.
The knowledge he had acquired felt entirely inadequate.
If anything, Nacchan felt like the hero of one of these innumerable isekai, thrown into a universe of twisted lore.
Drawn to a shop that seemed less disreputable than the others, but mostly because he thought one of the toothless whores had tried to grab his ass, Nacchan stepped inside.
The interior was dark, of course, save for the flickering glow of a lone candle.
Shelves were filled with mysterious objects—strange talismans, cursed rings, and illegible tomes. His eyes, however, were drawn to a glass case at the back of the shop.
Inside it was a scepter, its craftsmanship intricate and laced with serpent motifs.
A hunched over man appeared, out of nowhere, making Nacchan hiss.
"Ah, the Serpent's Gambit." The shopkeeper said, drawing back the curtain that hid him fully. "Rarely does anyone take notice of it."
Nacchan stilled his heart.
"What does it do?" Nacchan asked, looking for a way out.
The shopkeeper smiled.
"A better question would be… what are you willing to do?" He gestured to the scepter. "It's a dark artifact, known for its… proactive tendencies. It can grant your deepest desires, but it demands a price."
The concept of a price wasn't new to Nacchan.
Power never came free. He usually paid what little he did have in sweat and tears, or possibly with his life.
In spite of himself, he found himself asking. "…How does it work?"
The shopkeeper cracked a smile that sent shivers down Nacchan's spine.
"To activate the Serpent's Gambit, you must make a sacrifice, something meaningful to you. Your morals, a relationship, years of your life — you decide."
Nacchan's thoughts raced as he absorbed the shopkeeper's words; they echoed in his mind.
For a fleeting moment, Nacchan envisioned himself wielding untold power, becoming someone strong enough to face any challenge that the magical world or his old life could throw at him.
A man strong enough to take on any challenge, destroy any foe, make any man regret destroying his life.
He thought of his family back in Tokyo, his friends, and the new relationships he was slowly building at this damnable magical castle.
Could he trade any of those for personal gain? Was he ready to gamble his values for power, and was that power even guaranteed?
He thought of the kind of person he could become, the kind of person he would become, where that road would lead him.
"…I've changed my mind." Nacchan said, looking at the hooded figure. "Take your Serpent's Gambit and shove it. I'm not buying into your twisted games."
The shopkeeper's eyes narrowed as the corners of his mouth twitched into a cryptic thing.
He said something about regretting it, but Nacchan had already exited the little shop by then.
…
"No, no, but for real!" Boruto exclaimed. "These trunks seem amazing — You can live in them!"
Nacchan wondered what the hell this was about, now. Neither Mitsuki nor Sarada were listening to him, too engrossed in staring at magical animals. It only left Hermione, who seemed to be staring at his lips from time to time.
Boruto grinned at Nacchan. "Are you back from the toilet?"
Nacchan frowned. "The toilets? I was…" He thought about it. "Yeah, I'm back from the toilet."
"I was just telling Sarada that we need to get five of these trunks — they will come in handy. Dad keeps telling me about the rising cost of living, back home, so this is like the perfect solution."
Nacchan paused. "Trunks…? Like a suitcase you can live in?"
"That's exactly it!" Boruto beamed.
Hermione shook her head. "It is very unsafe."
"Unsafe?" Boruto asked. "How?"
Hermione sighed. "I know they seem incredibly convenient, but you're not the first one to think of it — I read this in Charmed, I'm Sure: The Hidden Dangers of Everyday Magic. According to the book, some students decided to use one as an impromptu common room. They equipped it with all sorts of amenities—sofas, a small library, even snacks."
She paused. "But they failed to consider the magical load on the trunk's inner enchantments. It was not made to sustain that much magic. One day, the trunk's enchantments failed. The people inside found themselves trapped in a shrinking space. Thankfully, professors managed to rescue them, but it was a very close call. Some students were traumatized, and the magical department had to reevaluate safety measures for magical luggage."
Boruto squinted. "Is that why it says 'Non-compliant with human occupancy safety standards'?"
Hermioned nodded slowly. "Yes, Boruto. I think that's the reason why."
Boruto sighed in disappointment. "I guess we won't get any, then."
He and Hermione joined the two others in staring at obscure animals.
When they weren't looking, Nacchan bought himself a trunk, and asked for it to be delivered later.
…
It turned out that there were plenty of things to see in Diagon Alley, in the end.
Particularly when one was not looking for the best way to acquire power.
Nacchan realized he could always return. Someone had mentioned the Floo Network, a system of connected fireplaces for quick travel. There was even one near the castle, located in the nearby village of Hogsmeade.
Apparently, Hermione had even known about it, but mumbled something about not breaking the rules so explicitly, which was fairly hypocritical of her.
…
"Whoa, look at that!" Boruto exclaimed, pointing to the newest broom on display.
Hermione sighed. "Yes… Another broom. Faster than ever and with better balance. Great."
Sarada glanced at her. "You sound sarcastic."
"Do I?"
"You're doing it again."
Boruto was undeterred. "Test flight, anyone?"
Hermione thought about it. "No."
…
"Dragonfruit Delight for me." Sarada decided at Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor.
Boruto glanced at her, skeptical. "Are you sure…?"
Sarada nodded. "I missed out on eating the dragon's eggs last time."
"…Right." Boruto nodded slowly. "One Butterbeer scoop for me, please — I am of age. Seventeen, like my friend Nacchan here. He has some ID, I forgot mine."
Ninja fourteen, technically, but who was counting?
The shopkeeper wasn't, apparently.
Boruto blinked. "Oh, there's no age restriction…? I thought this was how things were done, here."
…
Sitting at a table in the Leaky Cauldron, sipping Butterbeers, the group plotted out their next stop.
"So, where to next?" Nacchan asked.
"Anywhere as long as it's fun." Boruto declared. "You pick."
…
Obscurus Books held an array of titles that only Nacchan and Mitsuki would find interesting.
"Okay, that's not fun." Boruto decided. "Sarada, Hermione, do you like noir comics? I'm sure we can find some here."
Nacchan and Mitsuki weren't listening, anyway.
"Look at this: 'Eldritch Symbols and Their Meanings.'" Nacchan whispered to his strangest friend. "Think it's worth reading?"
"If you're planning to decipher some ancient runes or perform ritualistic magic, yes." Mitsuki nodded.
"I'll take it — Just in case, then."
…
At Spintwitches, Boruto stared at the cauldron, mesmerized, as it stirred itself.
"See? Perfect for potion-making. We could make our own and sell them." Sarada claimed. "There really never was a need for any of us to attend."
"More for being incredibly lazy." Hermione muttered. "There's much more to potion making than simply stirring—"
"Yes, yes, Professor Snape." Boruto was already sold. "I'll take one. Can I have some more wizard gold, Nacchan?"
…
A small crowd of people had gathered around a glass enclosure containing a Pygmy Puff at the Magical Menagerie.
"It changes color based on your emotions." Hermione explained.
None of the group seemed particularly interested—
"I want one." Mitsuki declared, pressing his face against the glass.
Hermione glanced at him, then at the Pygmy Puff. "…Why is it not changing colors for you?"
Mitsuki seemed almost offended. "I don't know."
…
A crowd was gathered at Gambol and Japes, where a wizard was demonstrating a card trick.
"Pick a card, any card." He said, fanning them out.
Sarada chose one and showed it to the group. "Four of wands."
The wizard flicked his wand, and the card transformed into an actual miniature wand.
"See, magic!" The wizard proclaimed.
"Yes. Truly. Magical." Mitsuki said, his voice flat.
"…Are you still mad about that little emotion animal?" Boruto asked him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders.
Mitsuki frowned minutely. "No."
…
At Gladrags Wizardwear, the group was surrounded by robes of varying colors and textures.
Sarada picked up a fine, crimson robe and admired its craftsmanship.
"These look so much better than your standard school robes." She commented.
Unfazed by the slight to Hogwarts attire, Hermione nodded. "Quality varies. The right robe can last for years."
Sarada glanced at them. "They still look flimsy. They would tear with a single knife strike."
"…Why would you expect to be stabbed?"
Sarada shook her head. "You never know."
While the two discussed fabric, Mitsuki had managed to find a hat that enveloped his entire face. He turned toward Boruto. "Is this the style here?"
Nacchan looked him up and down. "No, Mitsuki. Not really."
…
"So, we just throw the powder down and scream where we're going…?" Nacchan asked, eyeing the Floo Powder skeptically.
"…More like a clear enunciation, not a scream." Hermione corrected. She was still a bit peeved about doing something they were not supposed to do, Nacchan guessed. Or she was simply pedantic; it was hard to tell.
But she also wasn't willing to ride a broom again.
"I'll go first." She stepped into the fireplace, took a pinch of Floo Powder, and clearly said, "Hogsmeade!" Within seconds, green flames roared to life, and she was whisked away.
Sarada and Mitsuki looked at each other. "Humans first." Mitsuki said. "Since my emotions are apparently untrue." Sarada rolled her eyes but complied, disappearing smoothly into the flames.
Then, the rest of them went.
Ash and soot clung to Nacchan's robes as he stumbled out of the fireplace. Coughing to clear the residual smoke from his lungs, he glanced around to take stock of his surroundings.
They appeared in a room with worn wooden tables and dim lighting. Strange patrons frequented the place, too.
Behind the counter, a man with a striking resemblance to Dumbledore was locked in battle with a stained glass, using a cloth that seemed to add grime rather than remove it. As he polished, his eyes flicked up, narrowing at the fresh arrivals.
"We don't often see people coming through the Floo this time of day, especially not students. What brings you here?" His voice held a rasp, like aged whiskey.
Sarada glanced at the others, then decided something. "Sharing-on!"
Instantly, Boruto's hands shot up to cover her eyes. "Don't do it." He hissed under his breath.
"Take your hands off my eyes!" Sarada snapped, brushing him away.
The man behind the counter, a spitting image of Dumbledore but clearly not him, shot them a stern glare. "You've got your own squabbles, I see. This is a place for quiet… or discreet business. Keep it that way."
Nacchan, who had been observing the exchange, finally spoke. "We were just leaving."
"Good." The grumpy man said.
As they retreated toward the door, a goat bleated from an unseen alcove, punctuating their awkward exit like a sardonic commentary.
…
The group of five friends breathed a sigh of relief as they left the musty Hog's Head inn behind them.
Stepping into the dazzling orange glow of the setting sun, they were greeted by the cheerful bustle of Hogsmeade village on a Sunday evening.
"Thank the Sage we're out of there." Boruto said, stretching his arms over his head. "Who wants a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks instead?"
Hermioned piped up. "That's too much—"
"There's no alcohol in it." Boruto said. "That man said it today."
"—Sugar." Hermione finished. "It's terrible for you—"
"Sounds good to me." Nacchan replied.
"See? You're both addicted to it already!"
The Three Broomsticks was in full swing when they entered. Students chattered loudly over their drinks, catching up after a long week of classes. Madam Rosmerta — or so Hermione called her — waved from behind the bar, already pouring frothy mugs of butterbeer.
Even Sarada sighed contentedly after taking a sip, in the end. Boruto slid a mug in front of Hermione. "For you."
She rolled her eyes but took a tentative sip. A small smile crept onto her face as the sweet drink warmed her, in spite of herself.
"Not bad, right?" Boruto asked, with a wink.
Laughter and lively conversations from different groups filled the pub already, and soon, they blended seamlessly with them.
It had been a fun day, and they clinked mugs with a smile.
As the sun dipped below the trees, and night fell softly over the sleepy village, Nacchan thought that things were not so bad here, after all.
That hope didn't last more than the night.
Nacchan sat at the breakfast table, his plate full but untouched. Younger students sitting nearby threw him nervous glances, whispering his name in hushed tones. Mitsuki, sitting beside him, broke the silence.
"Are you sad because of that message written in blood calling you a dark wizard, Naruto-chan?" Mitsuki asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.
"I am not sad." Nacchan gritted out, his eyes narrowing.
"Oh." Mitsuki blinked. "Enraged, then?"
"And just why…" Nacchan grunted, stabbing his fork into his breakfast repeatedly — it was a fatty sausage. "Would I be angry about it? Especially when I'm not a dark wizard!"
There was only silence, and it surrounded them.
"…You're nearly screaming, Nacchan." Boruto said. Nacchan was breathing hard. "Look, I get that it's a bit tiring but…"
Nacchan's expression tightened. "What would you even know—"
A new voice called out for him.
"Excuse me, Naruto…"
Nacchan whirled around, on guard, and the girl who had addressed him nearly jumped. "What?"
She seemed very hesitant, now. And still, she pushed on. "I… I don't think you are a dark wizard."
Nacchan blinked. Her sincere words got right through him. "…Thanks." He muttered.
"I…" She hesitated some more. "I'm Cho. Cho Chang. Can I sit with you?"
…
At breakfast in the Great Hall, the conversation was loud, and cheerful, too.
The cacophony of chatter and laughter did little to lift Fleur Delacour's darkening mood.
Fleur steadfastly ignored the Mahoutokoro students, focusing intently on pushing the food around her plate.
She only spoke when directly addressed, giving clipped replies before turning away again.
Anyone watching would have noticed the barely contained fury in her eyes whenever Namikaze's name was mentioned in her presence, by then.
Though she prided herself on keeping abreast of the latest Hogwarts gossip, this morning she had no interest in giving him even a shred of her attention.
And with good reason. Her simmering anger, a stark contrast to her usual poised demeanor, stemmed from a singular, infuriating fact - Namikaze remained completely unaffected by her veela charm.
A charm that reduced even the strongest of willed men to mindless, infatuated fools held no sway over him.
It was a challenge to her power and pride that burned all the hotter for the sabotage he had inflicted prior.
Though retaliation was warranted, her normal methods proved useless. He was an enigma, one she couldn't crack no matter her efforts.
Worse still, he showed no indication he even noticed her at all. As if in his eyes, she possessed no magic worth acknowledging.
Just then, a flash of gold amid the crowd caught her eye.
Halfway through a disgustingly fat sausage, she glanced up, eyes going wide when she saw Namikaze talking with a female student she did not recognize. She could not hear what was being discussed, but she didn't miss the way he smiled with his eyes, whatever it was she had said to him.
Her already fiery temper flared, and with an angry hiss, her sausage burst into flames. Someone noticed.
…
Nacchan rose from the Ravenclaw table after a long discussion, giving Cho a nod of gratitude for her kind words. "We'll talk later, okay?"
"Of course." Cho replied, her eyes brightening. "I look forward to it."
He turned to Mitsuki, Boruto, and Sarada. "Ready to go?"
Sarada glanced toward some other table and then back at him. "Actually, let's take the long way around."
Nacchan raised an eyebrow but shrugged. He was in a great mood, now. "Sure, lead the way."
He generally trusted her, so he followed. She was a pretty nice girl — Cho, that was.
Nacchan and his three younger friends passed by the Beauxbatons table. He met the two other champions' eyes, and ignored Lavigne right away.
Fleur Delacour had a strange expression; something between despondent and resentful.
Sarada nudged him. He glanced back at her. "…What?"
"Don't you see her expression?" She muttered, quietly enough not to be overheard.
Nacchan frowned minutely. "Yes, I do."
"Aren't you going to do anything about it?"
Nacchan blinked. "…What? Coming from you? That's rich!" He then paused, and sighed. "Look, I don't know what it's about — if it's personal matters, it's really not something I should get myself involved with. Besides, she hates my guts, it might just make things worse."
Sarada nudged him again, more aggressively, this time. "C'mon. She's right there. Do it."
"I'm not so sure about this."
Boruto, who was annoyingly loyal, nudged him, too. "Don't fear, Nacchan, you're a shinobi."
"…I'm not."
Mitsuki nudged him, too, and it felt more like a sharp elbow strike to the ribs.
People were already taking notice. Nacchan decided to go before they turned this into a true commotion.
As Nacchan approached Fleur, her blank gaze was replaced by a tight, icy expression. He reconsidered.
"Is everything alright?" He asked anyway.
Fleur met his eyes, her icy expression unyielding. "Why do you ask, Namikaze? Concerned about your competition?"
He shook his head. "No, it's not about the tournament. You seemed… troubled."
Fleur's eyes narrowed. "And what business is it of yours?"
Nacchan paused. "None, perhaps. But if something's wrong, maybe talking about it could help—"
Fleur Delacour stood up abruptly from the table. She glanced at him, at the table they had been sitting at before, and her frosty "Congratulations" could hardly have come off any colder had Professor Snape, secret Master of the Dark Arts, said it himself.
Nacchan made a frustrated noise, then turned back to glance at Sarada, as though he were saying 'See?' with his eyes.
As they walked away, Sarada leaned in close to Boruto. "See?"
…
Harry Potter had been watching Nacchan chat with Cho Chang, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach.
He pushed his plate away, suddenly not hungry. Growing up with the Dursleys had taught him the value of not wasting food, although Dudley never seemed to care unless it was something he particularly liked.
Not that it mattered; Ron was devouring enough for both of them.
As Nacchan and his friends left the Great Hall, Harry couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.
Nacchan was older, good-looking, and athletic. But what really got to Harry was that he was also genuinely likable — except when he was in one of these moods.
Shaking his head, Harry tried to dismiss the feeling. Jealousy wouldn't get him anywhere, and he had enough problems to deal with as it was.
Besides, he did not even know Cho, she was just a girl he had wanted to invite to the Yule Ball.
…One that he might or might not have had a little crush on.
The training session was a true ordeal, meticulously crafted by a sadist with a perverse understanding of the human body and mind.
It began before sunrise, with a "light run to warm you up". At a pace that meant it had either been designed with shinobi in mind… or the man behind it had no particular concern for someone who couldn't get through that much.
Then hill sprints, which were described as "great fun."
And then it kicked off with a punishing pre-dawn weightlifting session.
Nacchan found himself hoisting adaptive lead weights, their sheer mass pushing his muscles to their very limit.
Sweat dripped into his eyes this morning too, and the salt in it made him scowl even harder. His muscles were quaking, but there was no room for surrender.
Next, he strapped himself to the weights. Tasked with dragging it up a steep, merciless incline, every fiber of his being was screaming in protest, his tendons throbbing under the strain.
The third phase had Nacchan climbing up trees, weighted. His hands blistered and bled. But the gauntlet was not over, and he had other muscle groups to train.
If Mitsuki or Boruto were around, they would do some reflexes training, after that.
And then… finally.
Spellcasting. He kept it for last, because he was afraid that he would simply not find the strength to go back to this torture otherwise.
Once he fell in a heap, it was time to eat the fucking Tyrant Cubes™, like the good dog he was.
He was so close to the edge that sometimes he was almost barking, followed by laughing to himself. But that would apparently be a bad sign. So he didn't.
They did help with the recovery, he could give the Bastard that much.
He was getting stronger day by day, too. About as fast as any human could. And whatever had been put inside these strange little cubes, Nacchan felt injuries, aches he did not even remember he had, fade away.
It felt as though he were growing, too. He wasn't certain of it, because he had broken the mirror in his room after the First Task, in all honesty. But he felt much better than back then.
Nacchan recovered some.
It was probably time to recharge the Eye.
Nacchan checked it and frowned. It was close to full, still. That was strange.
Whatever. He had to train with Mitsuki, too.
Days turned into weeks, and Nacchan fell into his new routine.
As the weeks passed, the whispers following Nacchan through Hogwarts' halls grew louder.
His supposedly mysterious nature only deepened the students' curiosity, sparking rumors throughout the school. And as intrigue in the Mahoutokoro champion mounted, so too did his fan club.
Yet Nacchan remained a solitary figure, keeping others at arm's length. Aside from the strangest power trio Hogwarts had seen in the last three years, that was.
No matter the growing attention, he remained an enigma. His classmates speculated endlessly but learned little.
With the end of spring, it became clear the school year was quickly fleeing.
…
"Is it me, or is Nacchan getting bigger?" Boruto asked, squinting. "Like, much bigger. I know he's training, but…"
Sarada glanced at him. "He is. People grow stronger because of trauma."
Boruto frowned, and he definitely didn't want to talk about Nacchan's sudden barks of laughter. "…But—"
Sarada shook her head, fondly — he was a naive fool at times, but he was her naive fool. Which was why she had to protect him and his girlfriend.
"I hope you never have to understand, Boruto."
…
The announcement came two days before the Third Task.
Final Call: Tri-School Wizarding Dueling Tournament Awaits You!
Dear Students of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Mahoutokoro,
The clock is ticking.
For the past seven days, we've been announcing the first-ever Tri-School Wizarding Dueling Tournament, a collaborative effort between students from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Mahoutokoro, that will take place two days before the Triwizard Tournament's Third Task.
Over 300 of the finest witches and wizards from Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Mahoutokoro have already answered!
Now you face a choice. Play it safe… or unleash your true potential against the world's elite?
Join us and gain a RARE MONTH of intensive training, plus 1,000 Galleons worth of spellbooks, artifacts and knowledge for the taking. Push your magic further than you ever imagined!
Or miss out. Your choice.
Warmest regards,
TSWDT Organizers
P.S.: This is your last chance to be part of the inaugural Tri-School Wizarding Dueling Tournament.
Hear why Malfoy Drako, Hogwarts student, declared:
"The level of competition and camaraderie in this tournament is unparalleled. It's a must for any serious young wizard."
And why Chevalier Margaux, Beauxbatons alumna, added:
"In all my years of magical education, we never had anything quite like this. I wish I was still a student — this event stands out as a unique opportunity to learn, grow, and excel."
Don't miss out. Secure your spot before midnight tonight right here.
P.P.S.: The Tri-School Wizarding Dueling Tournament is an independent event and is not officially affiliated, endorsed, or sponsored by the Triwizard Tournament or any of its governing bodies. Participation in the Tri-School Wizarding Dueling Tournament does not imply any association with the Triwizard Tournament. All rights to the name and elements of the Triwizard Tournament remain the property of their respective owners.
The news spread like wildfire.
On the last day the ads were put up (which was also the first day, in truth)… the number of registrants hit the previously exaggerated count of 300.
The buzz wasn't confined to students; it reached the faculty as well.
While most teachers initially protested the event, one seasoned instructor saw it as a valuable opportunity for hands-on practice. He committed to supervising the students, quelling most concerns.
Fleur Delacour examined her reflection in the ornate mirror of the Beauxbatons carriage, her fingers gliding a comb through her silvery blonde hair.
Tonight, precision was not merely a choice — it was a declaration. Everyone was going to be here.
…And she was going to win this tournament, too.
Beside her, her younger sister Gabrielle — Gabi to those who knew her, and Gabby for Englishmen — bounced on the balls of her feet, brimming with energy.
"Fleur, you will be amazing! They won't know what hit them!"
Fleur met her sister's eyes through the mirror. "…The Third Task only takes place in two days. Tonight is just dueling practice."
Gabrielle stifled her exuberance, folding her hands neatly in front of her. "Oui, Fleur."
After setting down the comb, Fleur applied a touch of perfume at her wrists, then snapped the crystal bottle shut.
She looked at her sister again, her eyes softening. "You'll be there anyway, won't you?"
Gabrielle nodded, and her excitement returned. "With mom and dad. They are so proud of you, you should have heard—"
Ah.
"…I know." Fleur turned, taking a moment to embrace her sister. "I draw strength from you all."
They pulled apart, and Fleur glanced once more at her reflection. With a deep breath, she seized her wand and tucked it securely into her robes.
"As I walk into this tournament…" She said, her voice unwavering. "As when I will walk into the Third Task… I carry the hopes of not just myself, but of our family and our school."
Gabrielle smiled, her eyes shiny. "Then they are all in very good hands, then!"
Smiling, Fleur stepped out of the carriage. The air outside was charged, electric. As she walked toward the stadium, her dueling boots clicking on the cobblestones, she felt not just the weight of expectation, but the thrill of destiny.
Thomas Lavigne, Beauxbatons champion, gazed at his reflection, adjusting his navy robes.
A subtle shimmer rippled over him as he muttered a protective charm under his breath. It wouldn't stop the killing curse — nothing could — but might deflect weaker spells.
A knock came, followed by the creak of the door swinging open. "Thomas, you ready?" Emilie said, striding into the cramped room.
He grasped his wand. "As ready as anyone facing unknown challenges." He replied wryly.
Emilie chuckled. "Come off it, you've trained your whole life. You'll be brilliant."
He did not answer. The Second Task was still on his mind.
Thomas pocketed his wand, offering a tight smile. "Confidence is a double-edged sword."
"Good thing you've been practicing that defensive spell, then."
Thomas raised an eyebrow. "Best keep that between us for now."
She winked. "My lips are sealed."
He took a steadying breath, eyes falling on the photo on his desk - him and his duelist parents smiling proudly.
There was no way he could lose, not tonight. Not dueling.
Noticing his gaze, Emilie smiled. "They are proud of you."
Thomas nodded. "Not yet, but they will be, someday. Perhaps even tonight."
A firm pat on his back prompted him toward the door. "Then let's see some fireworks."
As they exited into the buzzing crowd, Thomas felt energized. Whatever happened, he was ready to seize this moment with both hands.
Harry frowned at his reflection, tugging at his stiff collar.
The Third Task loomed and each ticking minute dragged on endlessly.
Perhaps Hermione was right, perhaps the dueling tournament really would be good practice, in the meantime.
From the couch, Ron chuckled. "No amount of pulling will make that thing duel for you, mate."
Harry turned with an eye roll. "I know, it's just—"
Hermione interrupted from the table, book in hand. "It's normal to feel nervous, Harry. But you've faced far worse."
And will face far worse. But that was left unsaid.
He sighed. "Dueling isn't the same."
"You'll do great." Hermione reassured him, bookmarking her page. "And we've been practicing defenses for months."
Ron added. "Plus, you're great at adapting on the fly. Wait 'til they see what you pull out."
Harry smiled. "Thanks, both of you."
Hermione got up, adjusting his crooked collar as she spoke. "Now you at least look the part."
Ron laughed. "Half the battle, that."
Hermione grinned at the boys. "Now, one thing remains."
Harry picked up his wand, feeling its comforting weight. "What? A luck charm, or something?"
Hermione met his eyes intently. "A duelist thinks as fast as he acts. Predict your opponent."
Ron nodded. "And do something mental to surprise them. Pull a Harry."
"That's not even a thing." Harry said, but he was smiling.
Hermione pulled him into a quick hug. Ron clapped his back warmly. "You've got this, mate."
Stepping into the hall, wand in hand, Harry strode forward with newfound courage.
"This man gives me the creeps." Sarada declared, as they finished making preparations.
Boruto followed her eyes. "…Because he didn't report your little illegal tournament to Dumbledore?"
Sarada shook her head. "No."
"Because he's paranoid, constantly looking into the shadows with his magical eyes?" Boruto asked.
Sarada paused. "Are you talking about him or me…?"
Boruto just grinned in answer. She punched his shoulder playfully, and Boruto had to put his arm back into its socket.
"Is it about his Dōjutsu, then?" Mitsuki asked.
"Not even." Sarada said. "I can't really explain it." She then shrugged. "Maybe I'm just being paranoid — extra paranoid."
"Maybe."
"Perhaps he suspects something."
"…Maybe." Boruto said, and he sounded more subdued.
Sarada glanced at him, making sure he was fine. "Is there something on your mind?"
"Are you sure all this is a good idea?" Boruto asked. "All this?"
She nodded. "I'm more than sure, Boruto, I'm Sarada."
Hogwarts' grounds had been transfigured into a stunning dueling arena, complete with an elevated platform and ornate banners.
The air was charged with excitement as students from all three schools gathered, their chatter filling the hall.
Nacchan and Cho Chang sat together in the audience. A few younger students were serving everyone refreshments.
"I still can't believe you chose not to participate, Naruto." Cho said, trying to locate her friends in the crowd.
Nacchan shrugged. "Something felt off when they announced this tournament. I can't put my finger on it."
"Everyone knows you're the strongest champion anyway." She said, smiling up at him.
Nacchan blinked. "Cho…"
His attention was caught elsewhere. One of Hogwarts' teachers — the creepy one with the artificial eye — was preventing Harry from getting into the arena. A bit forcefully, even.
Was this sort of thing normal here?
Nacchan squinted, observing the interaction between Harry and the man he thought was named Moody. "Something's really not right here." He muttered.
Cho followed his gaze. "Moody's always been strange. But why would he stop Harry?"
Nacchan watched with growing concern as Professor Moody kept a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. His mismatched eyes scanned the crowd intently, coming to rest on Nacchan.
A chill ran down Nacchan's spine. That professor had always unsettled him, but now his behavior seemed downright suspect. Why bar Harry from competing at the last moment?
His thoughts were disrupted by a flash of pink up on the raised plinth — a student Nacchan did not know stood atop it.
"Welcome to the first Triwizard — unofficial — Dueling Tournament!" She announced, causing a roar of cheers to erupt. "Today the champions of Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Mahoutokoro will face off in a thrilling test of magic, skill and bravery. But first, allow me to introduce our esteemed judges…"
Nacchan tuned out the formalities, eyes scanning the gathered champions, those he knew.
Fleur Delacour stood proudly, while Cho's Ravenclaw friend seemed poised to represent his own House. Oh, Lavigne was here, too. Nacchan's gaze fell upon Sarada, who seemed to be eyeing something, very patiently.
An unpleasant feeling gnawed at his gut. Something was amiss with this tournament, and Nacchan doubted it stemmed from Moody alone.
His instincts screamed that Sarada's involvement bode ill. And he thought he could guess at what sort of plan this might be, after all.
So he did something stupid.
…
Fleur patiently waited for the tournament to begin.
Something caught her attention. Someone was shouting… calling something. Was it her name…? She frowned minutely.
"Fleur!"
It definitely was her name. The crowd parted. Letting her see who it was exactly — as though she hadn't recognised his voice already.
Namikaze-Uzumaki Naruto's eyes met Fleur's from across the arena.
Around him, students continued to part as though an invisible force cleared the way. Whispers filled the air.
He had garnered quite the reputation at Hogwarts; many considered him a dark wizard, not because he had shown any particular inclination toward dark magic, but simply because his power, real or rumored, frightened them.
The whispers grew louder as he approached, but he seemed oblivious to it all.
The only thing that seemed to matter to him at that moment was reaching Fleur.
Why…?
"We need to talk." Namikaze spoke urgently the moment he was within earshot.
Before she could give him an angry retort, the murmurs from the crowd reached her ears.
"Why is he talking to Fleur? He's dangerous." One student said, a note of genuine fear in their voice.
Another added: "They say he has dark powers — What if he curses her?"
There was a mutter. "Better her than me."
Fleur's eyes narrowed, her lips tightening into a thin line.
She wasn't sure which pissed her the most, the whispers or that guy.
"What do you want?" She asked, her voice tinged with irritation.
Nacchan looked around briefly and then back at her. "Not here. Let's find somewhere more private. It's urgent."
"Why should I? You disrupt the Tournament, storm across the arena despite thinking you are too good for this amateur contest, and now you want… privacy?" Her voice was ice-cold. "I have no reason to indulge you."
His own irritation was rising. "Because something here is—" He paused, and seemed to decide something. He pulled his wand out, and she stiffened. "I swear on my life and magic that my intentions are to protect you, that I mean you no harm. My concern is your safety."
Fleur's eyes widened.
She couldn't believe the shit she was hearing. Was this a Vow…? This… who was this dumb?
"So mote it be." Namikaze Naruto said.
(As Nacchan had done so many times before. Except this time, it felt as though something wrapped around his heart.)
The Vow settled. Why did he look so surprised? Such a thing could not be made lightly.
Why?
"…What?" She muttered, heart thundering in her chest. "…You have two minutes. Make it quick, then."
Naruto led her to a secluded spot behind one of the large banners.
Once they were alone, he said: "This tournament isn't what it seems. I believe it's rigged and… someone is planning to use it for something darker. I can't explain why now, but you need to consider dropping out for your own safety."
Fleur stared at him, disbelief fighting with anger.
"You come here with a vague warning and expect me to abandon the tournament? On a mere suspicion…?!"
"I mean this one. Not the Triwizard tournament." Naruto shook his head.
Of course not. That one was a high visibility event, and as such would only be mortally dangerous in the regular wizard way.
"Even then!"
"…I can't give you solid evidence, not yet." Naruto admitted. "But my instincts rarely fail me. There's something weird going on with Moody — he's trying to keep Harry from getting up on the stage."
Fleur sighed. The oath he had sworn hung heavily in the air between them. "You have a terrible reputation, Namikaze. What if this is a scheme, some intricate plot of yours? What if that teacher simply wants to keep that little boy out of trouble before the real thing?"
Naruto shook his head, almost disbelievingly. "I… swore that oath. Magical oaths are binding. You know that." Then, closing his eyes. "…I know that, too."
A moment of silence passed. Fleur felt conflicted. Years of disciplined training told her not to bow out, to face whatever threat was looming.
"Fine." She said, finally breaking the silence. "I'll consider it. But if this turns out to be a ruse, or some strategy of yours—"
"It's not." He interrupted. "You have my word. My oath."
Fleur nodded, not sure what else there was to say.
"…Let's go back?" He offered.
"I haven't made my decision yet." She muttered.
He tensed… and then relented. "…Fine." He said. "Stay with me, for the time being. The tournament hasn't started, and I need to check up on Harry."
Fleur's eyes softened a bit, as she thought of her sister. "Are you two friends?"
He shrugged. "We're not particularly close, no. But he's a nice guy."
He sounded honest about it. "…Why did you warn me, then? — Assuming it's all true."
He blinked. "…I'm not really sure, even."
She frowned and forced herself not to think this was a trap. "If this is about what you did in the Second Task…"
"It's not." Naruto cut her off. "You caught my eye from the moment you arrived, that's it."
This… pissed her off. It was all too familiar.
"Because you think I'm pretty?" She spat the last word like a curse.
Naruto scowled. "No." He said. "You're too much of an asshole for me to care about that."
Fleur stiffened. "…What then?"
Naruto scratched the back of his head. "Even then… I don't want to see you hurt. That's all."
The words hung in the air for a moment, and she found herself searching his eyes, looking for a sign of deception. But what she found was a sincerity that, coupled with the oath he had taken, made her pause.
"…Alright." She said quietly.
"What, alright?"
"I mean that I believe you." She said. "About everything."
He blinked, as though this was the last thing he had expected. "…Okay."
As they made their way back toward the arena, they were offered goblets of what looked like pumpkin juice.
Like plenty of people had been offered.
And he understood it at once. Without a word, he reached out and plucked one of the goblets from the student's tray.
Fleur watched, puzzled, as he sniffed the liquid. Then, with a quick motion, he dumped the contents onto the ground.
"…It's a laxative." He said. "A non-magical one… mixed with something magical. I think."
"…Who would go to such lengths?" Fleur wondered aloud. "Is this what you were worried about?"
For him, it confirmed it — he knew exactly who had just shown some interest in self-brewing cauldrons. The ones that only worked for basic potions.
If that.
…
"Why…?" Nacchan hissed to Sarada.
Quietly enough not to be overhead. In spite of the fact she didn't seem to care about Fleur being here at all.
Sarada glanced at him. "Wait a moment, I think Moody's staring at us. Ah, he's done. Your paranoia is a good thing, it means you are growing. Keep it for another occasion, like the next Task. Enemies could be everywhere."
"Why did you do it?" Nacchan repeated.
"I thought this much was pretty clear." She shrugged. "I was thinning the competition."
"And you too, Boruto?" Nacchan asked.
Boruto simply shrugged. "…I don't like it, but it's a competition."
The way he said it made Nacchan realize that to him, it was a very different thing from regular life. And he couldn't help but remember these awful Chūnin Exams he had assisted to.
No wonder.
"What is wrong with you?" Fleur hissed.
Sarada tilted her head. "What is wrong with you?" She countered. "This is a deadly competition, and a way to prove our strength."
"That is exactly why—" Fleur began.
"Exactly the point of it." Sarada said. "If we weren't supposed to sabotage each other, why is there so much time in between events? Why are each and every champion so easily reachable?"
"Because we believe in fair-play!" Fleur nearly screeched. "You evil, little, girl."
Sarada shook her head. "Shows how little you know about how the world works. I don't understand what Nacchan sees in you, hormones aside, but that is his problem."
"What did you just say?" Fleur asked dangerously.
"Are you hearing-impaired?" Sarada frowned.
Nacchan decided to intervene. "…Do you really agree with her, Boruto?"
Boruto seemed surprised. "I don't know your new girlfriend that well, Nacchan, but I'm sure she's very nice."
"I meant about the tournament." Nacchan hissed.
Boruto shrugged, and he suddenly looked like the pretty jaded assassin-in-training that he really was. "Well, it's a non-lethal way. Better that they feel sick for two days than risk dying in the real Tournament."
"I can't believe the shit I'm hearing." Fleur hissed, glaring at Sarada in particular. "I have half a mind to just—"
"That's all you have, little girl." Sarada said.
Fleur pulled her wand out, and Nacchan put himself in between the two. Which turned out to be unneeded.
Sarada glanced back at her, with something cold in her eyes, and it nearly made Fleur shiver.
"I wouldn't suggest doing that." The younger girl simply said.
Glaring at her, Fleur was still reasonable enough to realize that attacking someone after mere words was a bad move. She put her wand away.
Nacchan was just shaking his head, and keeping an eye on Harry. "…I should have seen it coming." He muttered. "You say this sort of thing so often that I thought…"
"It wouldn't have done anything to you." Sarada frowned. "We're not stupid. The poisons were keyed to a few specific people only. The others would only have felt a slight stomach ache."
Boruto nodded. "We used the self-stirring cauldrons to mix up the targets' hair with a binding spell."
Fleur stared at him. "…You stole some of our hair…?" She asked, hissing. "Do you know just what—"
Mitsuki shrugged. "It turns out most humans leave hair everywhere in their wake. It was only a matter of waiting for the right opportunity."
"You little creep—"
Boruto frowned. "Please don't call Mitsuki a creep."
"How else would you call someone who steals hair?!"
"…A good friend?"
Mitsuki nodded pleasantly.
Nacchan let out a long sigh. "Ethics aside, I am kinda concerned." He said.
"Ethics aside?!" Fleur asked.
"…Yes." Nacchan said. "Boruto, Sarada… You two are terrible at anything magic-related."
"I take offense to that." Boruto frowned. "We mostly followed the binding curse spelled out in the book."
"…Mostly?" Nacchan asked. "Mostly?!"
"We had to adapt some parts."
Sarada shrugged. "There was no dangerous ingredient in it. What's the worst that could happen?"
The first people started shitting themselves, then.
Nacchan stared at them.
"…Okay, perhaps the binding agent wasn't perfectly brewed, then." Boruto winced. "Don't tell Hermione right away, or she's going to be very difficult about this — and about what she calls cheating."
The Dueling Tournament was canceled, soon enough.
If that creep Moody ever found the culprit, he definitely wasn't saying anything about it.
The matter grew serious when Thomas Lavigne, one of the two Triwizard (Hexwizard) Tournament champions from Beauxbatons, had to withdraw from the competition. He was too weakened from the mysterious illness to even hold his wand.
The other students recovered from being sick very quickly, on the other hand.
"Two days and some." Mitsuki said, watching the chaos with a detached eye. "That's how long the antidote needs to work fully. He will just miss the Tournament. Alas, poor Thomas."
"I feel partly responsible." Boruto said, watching some of the pale faces in the crowd. "Even if we didn't know the binding agent would backfire this badly."
"…Partly?" Nacchan hissed.
Sarada glanced at Nacchan. "We were three, so yes, partly."
The two days before the final Task felt quite strange.
Nacchan was slightly fed up with the three shinobi, but the fact they saw nothing wrong with it at all just made him wonder if he was doomed to be a stranger in both worlds.
Fleur, on the other hand, was really pissed at them. And still… she said nothing to the teachers.
Nacchan didn't get it. And he wasn't entirely sure why she occasionally threw him confused glances, either.
And worse… a Vow. He was bound by a fucking Vow, now. Somehow.
In any case, he decided the best approach was to focus his energy on preparing for the last challenge.
Then, he'd be free.
When the Third Task began, the champions walked into the stadium amid a very strange atmosphere.
What was supposed to be an electrifying event was weighed down by a general sense of fatigue — and suspicion. Which meant that the security was a bit tighter.
Moody, that creep, was doing rounds, along with other wizards. He looked particularly irritated.
The remaining champions stood at the entrance of the maze, wands at the ready. Sarada palmed something, too.
Ah, yes. The Third Task was a maze run, set in the field Hogwarts students normally played their sport.
Nacchan felt the same anxiety well within him, but he did not feel as nervous as he had before the First or Second Tasks. Or even during Sarada's trap.
Dumbledore raised his wand and the walls of the maze grew taller, becoming lost in the darkness of the fading evening sky.
There were four different entrances, one for each of them.
"Champions." He announced. "When the whistle blows, you may enter the maze. Your goal is to reach the Triwizard Cup located at the center. You can give up anytime, simply send sparks with your wand and you will be found and rescued. Best of luck to you all."
The cheers of the crowd rang in Nacchan's ears as he waited with the other champions for the start of the third task. He felt a sharp pang of hatred for them.
'Monkeys.'
This was it - the final challenge before the tournament would be over. He felt determined to give it his all.
The whistle blew.
Nacchan ran in first, and he plunged into the maze.
The sounds of the crowd dimmed.
The towering hedges cast long shadows in the dimming light. He brought his very much mundane torch out and began making his way through the twists and turns.
The whistle blew again.
Navigating the maze was like walking through a labyrinth of shadows and illusions.
Magical traps were set at various corners, deadly creatures lurked in between the hedges, and even the foliage seemed to come alive, reaching out to ensnare them.
The whistle blew again.
As he advanced, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he was not alone. Not just the champions or the magical creatures; someone or something else was watching.
The whistle blew again.
And more importantly, he was waiting, on the backfoot, for Sarada's next drastic move. Because it was clear she would do something.
He didn't have to wait for long.
Just as that thought crossed his mind, a burst of flames erupted at the far end of the maze. The fire spread slowly, consuming the walls and setting the whole labyrinth ablaze.
Nacchan instantly recognized the technique. It was Sarada's Fireball Jutsu, something she had shown him before.
It was a good time for him to escape, before he got burned — but forfeiting didn't feel like a real option. Not yet.
'…Oh. Maybe I'm just as bad as the rest of them.'
Nacchan kept looking behind him.
He heard skittering, and then there was a dark mass of large beetles.
Nacchan reacted on instinct, and a fireball escaped his wand, crashing into the insects.
The next instant, he realized that using fire in a maze that was already on fire had not been his best move in a while.
The flames continued to spread, and Nacchan hurried on, wincing.
He turned a corner.
His heart froze.
Before him stood the embodiment of his every fear, a monstrosity pulled from the darkest corners of his mind.
It was a creature of legend and nightmare, with scales that shimmered like liquid shadows and teeth as long as Nacchan's arm.
Its eyes — ringed, purple vortexes of electric malevolence — locked onto Nacchan's.
This creature was not just a threat; it was an abomination. An amalgamation of every trauma he'd ever experienced.
And it had a hunger. A hunger to swallow not just him, but the entire universe. How he knew it, Nacchan did not know.
"I am that which devours worlds." It seemed to say.
Then it shifted, until Nacchan thought he could see… himself in the shadows. Taller, stronger, with something cold behind the eyes. Or was it…?
Nacchan's heart throbbed painfully.
"It can't be real." He muttered, his voice wavering.
The creature's haunting growl filled the air, a sonic manifestation of dread that reverberated through the maze.
And as if to mock his disbelief, it took a step forward.
Reality shattered. The lines between what Nacchan thought possible and impossible blurred as the World-Eater closed the gap.
For the first time in a long while, he was paralyzed by fear. But—
"Wishes are rarely granted."
The words he remembered broke through his thoughts.
Nacchan roared, wand pointed forward.
Pulling from deep within.
A massive fireball ignited the air and the hedges as it connected.
There was a loud crack, and the creature exploded in a wisp of smoke.
Nacchan breathed hard. That… was not a World-Eater. Because these only existed in his nightmares.
He heard movement to his right, coming from the smoking hole his fireball had made, and held both his wand and torch in that direction.
Fleur Delacour screamed as its brilliant light met her eyes. Nacchan winced too. It was the strongest torch he had managed to find, something that was barely considered legal — if that — in most countries.
"…My eyes!" She hissed. "That gigantic fireball — Was this you?"
"Sorry, but I have no time to chat!"
Nacchan ran past her, past her curses. He went through a portal of enchanted mist.
The world reversed, and he was hanging from the ground, about to fall into the bottomless sky.
Screaming, Nacchan held on to the grass, which now was the ceiling. He was trying his best not to fall into the dark void of the stars.
He reached for the Eye—
The world righted itself on Nacchan stumbled on his knees. For a moment, he stood frozen in shock. Then he took a deep breath and began running again.
As he ran, he threw a quick look over his shoulder. Fleur would soon be here, likely.
And she'd face the same trap.
With no Eye. And the fires everywhere.
Nacchan paused. 'Fuck. No. Maybe it's not that bad…?'
He took a look.
It was that bad. The maze was engulfed in an inferno, flames howling as they consumed the tall hedges.
Nacchan knew he had no choice — leaving Fleur behind was not an option, not with the unbreakable vow binding them.
Cursing under his breath, he plunged back into the blaze.
Through the writhing smoke, he spotted her silhouette and called out, only to have her lithe form slam him against the burning hedge in a flash of blue eyes and white-gold hair. Her wand jabbed beneath his chin as she glared up at him in suspicion.
Nacchan closed his eyes in disbelief.
"…What are you doing?" She asked him tightly, still rubbing her eyes. "Were you planning to ambush me? Again?"
"I can't." He ground out through clenched teeth, the smoldering hedge searing against his back. "This whole thing is too dangerous — I wanted to help you."
"I don't need help." She hissed. "Did you think that this stupid trap would get me, maybe? I have been preparing for anything. Or did you forget—" Her eyes glinted dangerously. "—We can forfeit at any time."
…He did remember, now.
"…True." He growled, then sighed when he realized he wasn't even sure why he himself was still competing, pride aside. "Well, make it quick, then."
She kept her wand firmly pointed at him. "…I'm not going to stun you."
"Why?" He asked. Then, more dryly: "…Because I'd die in the flames? Want me to forfeit, then?"
"…No." She shook her head. "As dumb as it was, you tried to help. It would just feel very…"
"Low?" He asked.
As she lowered her wand, an almost-smile tugged at her dry lips. "Low, yes."
Something that could be called a smile reached his lips, too. He motioned to the maze. "Go on, then."
"You start." She countered. "You were ahead of me."
"Afraid to lose?" He asked, with just a hint of mirth.
"Hardly." She snickered, leaning in slightly. "I need someone to go through the traps for me first, don't I?"
He was laughing, too. "You're such an asshole."
She lifted her nose up in the air, with mock haughtiness. "I am french."
For once, he thought he could understand her.
…
For Harry, the whole world was burning.
He had gone in as the third, right after Fleur Delacour, and had met nothing for a half-hour, aside from roasted beasts.
His footsteps echoed in the charred labyrinth as he moved cautiously, his wand at the ready.
A haze of smoke and the scent of burnt wood hung heavy in the air.
Just as he was about to turn another corner, he came face to face with a creature unlike any he had seen before — a sphinx.
It had the body of a lion, great wings spread out from its sides, and a woman's face that was both stern and strangely majestic.
"Greetings, champion." The sphinx said, its voice tinged with an eerie calm, considering the fire was still raging. "To pass, you must answer my riddle."
Harry swallowed hard. This was it — a trial of wit rather than combat. "Go ahead." He said, steeling himself.
The sphinx cleared its throat and began.
"I speak without a mouth and hear without ears. I have no body, but I come alive with the wind. What am I?"
Harry pondered the riddle.
Speak without a mouth, hear without ears. No body, but alive with the wind.
His mind raced through various possibilities, discarding each as quickly as it came. Then it struck him.
"An echo—"
The sphinx's eyes glowed briefly, and it turned around suddenly.
Just in time to be slammed into a brutal grapple, courtesy of a missile that came through the flames with a growl.
Harry's heart nearly stopped.
That missile was Uchiha Sarada. How was she moving so fast…?
She landed with the agility and grace of a seasoned warrior, eyes focused intently on the sphinx, palms glowing briefly.
"I suggest you step aside." The youngest contestant said, voice unwavering. "I don't have time for riddles."
The sphinx snarled, its wings flaring defensively. "Sharing-on." Sarada said. Then the creature met her eyes and…
Harry blinked. What.
The sphinx departed. She muttered something, and turned to face him. A red glow faded from her eyes.
"Give up." She said. "Or I'll make you give up."
"Again?" Harry responded, incredulous. "You're intervening, again?!"
Sarada stood there, her demeanor as calm as the surface of a lake, even as the flames roared around them.
"Yes. The fires were mostly my doing. The point is to clear away the threats more quickly. The Tournament's too dangerous for you."
Harry shook his head, incredulous. "You set fires in an already dangerous maze to make it safer? That's your logic?!"
Sarada crossed her arms. "Sometimes you have to break a few eggs to make an omelet. Besides, it worked, didn't it? The fires forced the creatures out into the open, where I could deal with them more efficiently."
"But why go to such lengths?" Harry pressed, struggling to make sense of her actions.
"It just struck me that this entire tournament was pointless." She admitted easily. "It's child's play compared to what's at stake in more dangerous worlds… and still potentially lethal to you. I'm going to let Nacchan win."
Other worlds…? What? Voldemort, maybe…?
Struggling to make sense of it, Harry answered. "Because… because whatever it is you're talking about, Nacchan is equipped to handle it…?" He tried.
Sarada sighed. "No, mostly because he has self-esteem issues."
…
Nacchan and Fleur darted through the smoky labyrinth.
And then, suddenly, there was movement, coming from a dark corner. It looked like a human, standing nearly still and pointing at them.
Fleur reacted instantly, battle-honed instincts overriding hesitation.
"Expelliarmus!" Fleur shouted.
A scarlet burst struck true, sending a wand spinning through the air into her waiting palm.
It turned out to be a mere wooden stick.
One that Nacchan recognized. "…Sarada, is that you?"
"Oh, no." Sarada droned on. "You have defeated me, Delacour Fleur." She then let out a sigh. "I suppose the Tournament is over for me, then."
Nacchan eyed her skeptically. "What game are you playing at now?"
"I'm not playing at anything." Sarada retorted. "She bested me."
From her angry expression, Fleur didn't seem to believe it, either.
Sarada continued dispassionately. "The Cup lies to the right. Proceed if you wish."
Distrust flickered across Fleur's features. "You expect me to—"
"I think she's telling the truth." Nacchan interrupted her.
"Why would she do that?!"
"…I don't know about that." Nacchan admitted.
After a tense exchange of glances, Nacchan and Fleur opted to proceed.
"…The other way." Sarada corrected. "I meant you should go to the right, not the left."
"Your right or mine?" Nacchan asked.
"Mine."
They went in.
And finally, they found it. The Triwizard Cup shone brightly, in the center of the maze.
Sarada appeared behind them, seemingly out of nowhere. Nacchan nearly screamed.
"There's a spell carved in it." Sarada said.
Nacchan nodded. "Because the Cup is a Portkey."
"A what now?" Sarada looked puzzled.
"Think of it as teleportation, but magical." Nacchan explained.
Fleur gave him a strange look. "…Teleportation is always magical."
"Fair enough." Sarada shrugged. "Go on, then."
"Stop — giving — us — orders." Fleur hissed.
…
Both Fleur and Naruto stared at the cup, contemplating their next move.
"So how do we settle this?" Fleur inquired, feeling cautious. There was a mystique about him, a sort of power he exuded, that unnerved her.
She was pretty worried, actually.
Namikaze Naruto was a strong wizard, one that most students were wary of. One that had set this whole maze on fire. There was no telling what else he could do. Even though he supposedly could not harm her, now.
There was this light in his beautiful blue eyes, and to her, it meant that he thought he would win, too. How could he be so damn arrogant…?
"How about we don't duel?" He offered. "First one to grab it wins?"
Fleur weighed the option, then nodded in agreement. "Fine, a race it is."
And so they sprinted for victory. They reached at the same time.
Time seemed to stretch, every detail crystallizing as their hands extended. In a moment of perfect synchrony, their fingers closed around the identical handles.
Nacchan and Fleur grabbed the trophy.
lensdump
i/97RuGM : "Wizards"