A/N: Special thanks to Ish, my fabulous beta, for doing a lovely job
Thicker Than Water
Chapter 1
Harry Potter was an extraordinary boy in many ways. He hated the summer holidays, for one, and even thought it was barely two weeks into his vacation, he wished it was already time for school to start. He was also a wizard, and had spent the better part of the last four years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, learning to use his magic. He was also famous in the wizarding world, having mysteriously defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort when he was barely a year old. But most importantly, said Dark Lord had regained his body with the help of Harry's blood, and was now bent on destroying the young wizard.
Many people would die for the ability to do magic. Harry feared he was going to do just that.
Currently, Harry was sitting cross-legged just outside the living room, listening to the evening news. Normal boys would have been able to sit in front of the television, but Harry's relatives hated him, and would become quite irate if he spent more time in their presence than absolutely necessary. Of course, usually Harry didn't care enough about what was on the television to make it an issue, but now he was compelled to listen to the news for reports of mysterious deaths that may have been caused by Voldemort. There had been nothing so far, but Voldemort hadn't been back in power for all that long. In Harry's opinion, it was only a matter of time.
The fact that there was no news from the wizarding world wasn't helping to ease his troubled mind, either. He was now getting the Daily Prophet delivered, scanning the headlines for any mysterious deaths, or perhaps an admission by Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, that Voldemort had returned. Of course, the latter seemed a bit unlikely when just a few weeks ago Fudge had been confronted not only with the bodies of Cedric Diggory and Barty Crouch, Jr (the former murdered by Voldemort's servant Wormtail, the latter the Death Eater responsible for creating the Portkey which placed the two Hogwarts champions in Voldemort's clutches), but also the reactivation of the Dark Mark, as shown by Professor Severus Snape. Despite the evidence, the Minister had refused to accept the resurrection of the Dark Lord.
It also didn’t help that there had been no news from Dumbledore, either. Surely something must have happened since Harry had left Hogwarts… a mysterious death, the Dark Mark appearing in the sky, anything! But there was only silence from the Headmaster. His friends weren’t much help, either; Hermione was still at her Muggle parents’ house (but planned on joining Ron in a few weeks), and Ron…. Ron simply wasn’t saying. But apparently, he was now staying at the headquarters for Dumbledore’s anti-Voldemort group. All in all, it was a very frustrating situation. And so he faithfully followed the Muggle news, and waited.
It was in the middle of another boring report on the heat wave that the phone rang. Harry froze, hoping that Aunt Petunia wouldn't notice him as she passed by. No such luck, but she merely scowled down at him, saying nothing. He sighed with relief, daring to peer around the corner for a peek at the television screen, catching snatches of Aunt Petunia’s conversation.
"Hello? Yes, this is Petunia Dursley... Yes, I remember my father mentioning... Oh really? You don't say! .... Oh, yes, we'd be delighted to have you over for a few days. ...Yes... How is your mother? I don't think we've heard from your family since my father died. .... Oh yes, yes, that's lovely.... how delightful.... Well, we'll be thrilled to have you over, yes... Still married, with just one son, fifteen years old now.... Oh, no, my sister died.... er, yes, a tragedy—car accident, you know.... Oh, yes, they had a son; he's still alive and living with us.... Of course, of course.... When did you say you'd be arriving? ...Thursday? Two o'clock? ...Yes, yes, my husband can pick you up. How do you spell that? .....S-H-U-I-C-H-I. Yes, he'll be there. .... Yes, I can't wait to see you."
Ten minutes later, Harry was almost trampled as Aunt Petunia rushed back into the room. "Vernon, you won't believe who just called!" Uncle Vernon opened his large mouth, but Aunt Petunia went on. "My Japanese cousin Kaji’s son, Shuichi! He's going to be in England this week, and called to let me know he'd drop by. He'll be staying with us a few days, of course."
"Of course," grunted Uncle Vernon, looking a little nonplussed by his wife's enthusiasm. Harry was more than a bit startled, himself, as he'd never seen his horse-faced aunt so excited about anything.
Aunt Petunia clasped her hands together, beaming. "Oh, my Diddykins will be so excited to meet his second cousin. I bet he'll be charmed by Dudley. He sounded like such a nice young man. Completely normal," she added in a sharper, more normal voice, turning to give Harry a dirty look. "So there had better be no trace of your... abnormality... when he arrives on Thursday." Uncle Vernon nodded, his face going purple at the reminder of the existence of his least favorite person. "And you'd better stay out of his way, or I'm going to take a strap to you. Do you hear me, boy?"
"Yes," Harry muttered resentfully, getting to his feet and slouching off to his room. Stupid relatives. Stupid television with nothing important on. Although he had to admit that his stomach gave a lurch of excitement at the thought of meeting this unknown relative. He just hoped this "Shuki" wasn't as close-minded as the rest of his family.
~**~
"I didn't even know I had a second cousin in Japan," Dudley whined for about the fiftieth time that afternoon. It was Thursday; the pervious days had flown by in a flurry of activity. With second-cousin-Shuichi’s imminent arrival, everything had to be cleaned. The guest bedroom had to be vacuumed, dusted, and aired out, and the sheets needed to be washed. The rest of the house had to be scrubbed till it shone. The windows needed to be washed; the garden needed more pruning than usual. Aunt Petunia had discovered a speck of dust on her good china, so every piece needed to be washed. And naturally, neither Uncle Vernon nor Dudley lifted a hand to help, leaving the menial labor Harry whilst his aunt supervised and nitpicked.
"I wanted to go out with my friends, not meet some relative I’ve never even heard of!" Dudley glared malevolently around the living room, looking for something to take out his frustration on. Harry, seated on the couch next to him, scooted to the other end when Dudley's eyes rested on him. Dudley's diet hadn't affected his weight very much, but his general shape had improved. He was now a Junior Heavyweight Boxing champion. He didn't dare lay a finger on Harry, of course—he was still terrified of magic—but that didn't stop Harry from being cautious. He'd rather not end up on the wrong end of Dudley's fists, thank you very much.
"Don't be silly, Dudley. Of course you want to meet your cousin. He's come all the way from Japan to see you," said Aunt Petunia, beaming at them. “Daddy should be back any minute with Shuichi. And you—" She shot Harry a nasty look. "Do something about that hair. And don't you dare mention anything about that freak school of yours. Remember, you go to St. Brutus' Secure—"
"—Center for Incurably Criminal Boys," Harry finished resentfully. “I know, I know."
"Be sure that you do," she said, moving to stand behind the couch and smoothing down Dudley's hair as he scooted forward, trying to avoid her touch. “Come off it, Mum,” he whined as Uncle Vernon’s company car pulled into the driveway.
Aunt Petunia froze, long neck craning to peer out the window. “That’ll be them,” she murmured, now smoothing her own hair as she glided to the door. Harry and Dudley exchanged glances, for the first and only time in complete agreement: Aunt Petunia was clearly not in her right mind.
This theory was proven when less then a minute later Aunt Petunia let out a short, shrill screech from the front step. Dudley gave a frightened yelp, but Harry raced forward, pushing past his Aunt, hand wrapped around the wand hidden in his pocket. He was ready for combat… only the bad guys seemed to be unprepared. They were rather conspicuous in their absence. No Voldemort, no Death Eaters, no terrifying magical creatures, only…
“Mum?”
He’d taken a step forward without realizing it, and forced himself to halt. No, it couldn’t be his mother, It simply wasn’t possible. And yet there she was, standing by the passenger side of Uncle Vernon’s car, staring at him with his own eyes, wide and fixed on him with a kind of surprise and… recognition? Dark red hair spilled down past her shoulders….
…Her very broad, masculine shoulders. Wearing white slacks and a tan leather jacket, and not looking much older than Harry himself. And her hair. In all the pictures Harry had of Lily, her hair had always hung completely straight, with barely a wave. But this red hair was anything but; the few places it hung straight were obviously the result of gravity. Wild curls and flyaway strands made up the majority of it, as far as Harry could tell. But those eyes—if this wasn’t his mother, then it must obviously be—
“Shuichi,” Uncle Vernon said, coming to the front step with a light blue suitcase in hand. He looked pale, and was casting an uneasy look at Aunt Petunia, who stood frozen in shock, mouth hanging open. “This is Petunia, my wife, and, er, our… nephew, Harry Potter.”
Second-cousin-Shuichi’s eyes seemed to get even bigger, if it were possible. Then he was all smiles, coming forward with his hand extended to Aunt Petunia. “A pleasure to meet you at last,” he said.
Aunt Petunia swallowed hard—once, twice. Then she extended her hand… but not to take his hand, Rather, to touch his face, as if not believing what she was seeing. Harry couldn’t blame her—he hardly believed it himself, even as he stood there, gaping at second-cousin-Shuichi, who was an almost exact replica of Harry’s mother. “Amazing,” she whispered, color coming back to her cheeks. “You look so much like her…” Then she shook herself firmly, and shook Shuichi’s hand. “The pleasure is all ours,” she said briskly. Doppelgangers, however inexact, were nonsense, and Petunia Dursley simply didn’t hold with such things. The resemblance between this Japanese cousin and Petunia’s long-dead sister was coincidence, nothing more.
Harry had stopped gaping by the time Shuichi turned to him, looking somewhat puzzle. “Cousin Harry. I must admit, I’ve heard almost nothing about you and Dudley. I’m quite delighted to have this opportunity to get to know you.” Shuichi’s English was stiff and very correct in a way no native speaker’s would have been, but was otherwise very good.
“’S good to meet you, too,” he said politely, staring boldly into his second cousin’s eyes. If he focused only on the eyes, it was almost like looking in a mirror. Shuichi’s cheekbones were more pronounced, his skin peaches-and-cream to Harry’s slightly sun-tinted pallor, but their noses were the same, as well as the delicate, round curve of their jaws. The resemblance between them was strong, and Harry wondered for the first time if maybe he didn’t take after his father as much as people seemed to think.
Shuichi held his gaze perhaps a tad longer than was strictly necessary. Studying him intently. Harry was suddenly more aware than ever of the torn, stained and baggy hand-me-downs he wore, as well as the thrift shop sneakers that were currently in the process of falling apart. Heat rose to his cheeks, and he looked away.
“And you must be Dudley,” said Shuichi, releasing Harry’s hand and stepping around him. “My, you look just like your father! You must be terribly proud, Mr. Dursley.” Did Harry only imagine the hint of irony in his words?
“Call me Vernon, please—we’re family, after all.”
“Of course… Vernon.” Was his smile a little stiff? Had Shuichi’s eyes narrowed just a bit? His green-eyed cousin tossed another curious glance in his direction… and Harry wondered.
~**~
Dinner had been a strained affair. Despite herself, Aunt Petunia hadn’t been able to keep her eyes off Shuichi—who, in turn, had hardly turned his gaze from Harry. Dudley had been oblivious, but unfortunately Uncle Vernon hadn’t. And Vernon had begun watching both Harry and Shuichi like a vulture that had spotted something bleeding on the rocks below. Clearly, he thought there was something not quite right about cousin Shuichi—or he just despised Shuichi’s glorious red mane, which fell to the small of his back. Normal men didn’t have hair like that.
But Harry knew there was something not right about the Japanese boy. And the more time he spent around Shuichi, the more he felt it: an unfamiliar tingle running up and down his spine, which seemed to grow stronger the closer he was to his second cousin.
Frankly, it was making him just a teensy bit paranoid.
Conspiracy theories were running through his head. There wasn’t any actual proof that Shuichi was really who he claimed to be, after all. He could be an imposter; he certainly didn’t look Japanese. Hell, there might not even be a second cousin Shuichi on the family tree. The possibility that Shuichi could be a Death Eater chilled him to the bone.
Hedwig hooted softly at him from the windowsill, where she perched after returning from a three-day hunting trip. Deciding it was a sign, he resolutely gathered parchment, ink and quill and began scribbling a letter to Sirius. He didn’t want his godfather to think he was a complete coward, but Shuichi felt strange, and something inside Harry’s gut was telling him to trust his instinct.
But he was still uneasy. So uneasy, in fact, that when someone knocked lightly on his door he jumped, knocking over his ink jar in the process. The thick black liquid spilled over his almost-finished letter, all over the desk, on himself and on the carpet below. 'Oh no, the carpet! Aunt Petunia's gonna kill me.' He grabbed a dirty shirt and dropped to his knees, trying to sop up the mess before it stained.
A second knock came, and before he could respond the door opened. Shuichi—or whoever he was—stood on the threshold, looking uncertain. "Have I come at a bad time?" His green eyes took in the puddle of ink on the desk, the mess on the carpet and Harry's ink-soaked clothes.
"Ummm, actually..."
But Shuichi was already closing the door behind him. His chest tightening with fear, Harry released the shirt and slowly moved his hand to his pocket... and his wand. But Shuichi stopped at the desk, picking up Harry's eagle feather quill and examining it curiously. Harry froze as Shuichi set it back down, then fingered the parchment he'd been using to write his letter on. "Quite a mess," Shuichi remarked casually, eyes coming back to Harry.
The letter was unintelligible because of the spilled ink! "Calligraphy," he blurted as relief loosened his limbs. At least Shuichi wouldn't know he suspected anything.
"What?" Shuichi looked startled.
"I was, um, practicing calligraphy. The old fashioned way. It's, er, a hobby."
But Shuichi was no longer paying any attention to him, and Harry almost panicked when he realized that Shuichi had spotted Hedwig. "Er, th-that's... um..." Raising his arm, Shuichi hooted softly and Harry trailed off in amazement as Hedwig left the windowsill to perch on Shuichi's arm. "....Hedwig. My... pet," he finished lamely.
Shuichi held her at eye level as they studied one another. Whatever Hedwig saw seemed to satisfy her, for she proceeded to hop from Shuichi's arm to his shoulder and began nibbling on his hair. Shuichi gave a husky laugh, and Harry forced an uneasy grin.
"Nyctea scandiaca?"
"What? "
"Your... pet. She's a nyctea scandiaca, isn't she? A Snowy Owl?"
"Oh... Er, yeah. Yeah, she is." He slid his hand into his pocket and began to fiddle nervously with his wand.
"Curious. I didn't think Snowy Owls were native to these parts."
Sweat beaded his brow. "Oh, they are. Yeah. But, you know, there aren't... many..."
He faltered as Shuichi cocked a sardonic brow. "Indeed?"
"Yeah..." He grabbed the shirt and started going at the carpet again. His face was burning. If Shuichi really was a Death Eater, he'd already know why Harry had an owl. But if he wasn't... Harry didn't know whether owl raising was illegal or not, but maybe Shuichi would just assume Harry dabbled in some less-than-legal (albeit harmless) hobbies.
"That isn't going to work," Shuichi said suddenly after several minutes of silence.
"Huh?"
"The ink. You're just rubbing it in more."
"Oh." Harry dropped the shirt and sat back on his heels, staring up at his second cousin and groping for something to say. "So, you, er, know a lot about animals, do you?"
"I like them," said Shuichi, lifting Hedwig off his shoulder and setting her on top of her cage, which sat on his desk. "So, what is the problem?"
Harry tensed. "What do you mean?"
Shuichi regarded him evenly. "I think you know what I mean. Your entire family has been acting very oddly towards me. Have I offended you in some way?"
"Oh no," said Harry with relief. "Nothing like that. It's just... well, you look a great deal like... like my mother."
The redhead raised his eyebrows. "Do I?"
"Yes. A lot like her. Actually, it's kinda scary how much you look like her. And you, you know, being Japanese and everything."
Shuichi laughed softly. "Well, I am something of a genetic anomaly. My father—your mother and aunt's cousin—had red hair but looked mostly Japanese. I seem to have gotten all my looks from my grandmother." He absently tucked a hanging lock behind his ear. "But that still doesn't explain how, ah, violently Petunia reacted to my presence."
"Oh." Harry looked down. "There were, you know, hard feelings between my mum and Aunt Petunia."
"I see," Shuichi said softly. "I hope she doesn't take out those 'hard feelings' on you."
Harry lifted his chin, fixing his eyes on Shuichi's forehead. "What makes you think that she does?" He wasn't sure he liked where this conversation was going.
"I just noticed that no one in this house seems to like you very much, and for the life of me I can't figure why."
Harry got to his feet, scowling. "What do you know, anyway? You’ve been here, what, nine hours?"
Shuichi held up his hands in a placating gesture. "I didn't mean to make you angry. But one doesn't have to be a wizard to sense their hostility towards you."
Harry hope he didn’t look as horrified as he felt. ’Merlin, does he know?’ He took an involuntary step backwards. Shuichi’s expression was amused, but Harry thought he could detect some darker emotion underneath.
“What’s wrong, Harry?” Shuichi’s husky alto sounded sinister to Harry’s ears. “You’re looking at me like I’ve become a werewolf or something.”
“There’s nothing wrong with werewolves,” Harry said defensively. The best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher he’d ever had had been a werewolf.
“I never said there was,” said Shuichi, looking a little surprised and even more amused. “I have nothing against them.”
Harry's hand tightened convulsively around his wand. "Who are you?" he demanded harshly. "I mean, who are you really?"
Amusement faded into thoughtfulness as Shuichi regarded Harry silently. Harry fought to stay still as the tingling along his spine intensified to the point that he was shivering uncontrollably. Unable to stand it, and no longer feeling even remotely safe, he pulled his wand out of his pocket and pointed it at the redhead. "Stop whatever you're doing, or I'll hex you into next Tuesday."
"You can feel my energy," Shuichi said delightedly, looking not the least bit concerned by Harry's threat. "And your own energy is responding--how completely unexpected." Shuichi looked extremely pleased.
"I TOLD YOU TO KNOCK IT OFF!"
"Oh, do put your little toy away, Harry." When Harry made no move to do so, his "second cousin" locked his hands behind his neck, perhaps to prove to Harry that he meant no harm. Perhaps. "It's time you knew the truth about your ancestry, Harry. Come sit with me on the bed, and let me tell you a little story."
Harry slowly lowered his wand as Shuichi eased around him to sit on the bed. Harry pointedly seated himself at his desk chair, facing Shuichi, and laid his wand in his lap where it would be clearly visible. Shuichi pursed his lips in disapproval, but said nothing.
"First, I must tell you that I am more than I appear to be. Much, much more. But I have never lied to you. I am your second cousin Shuichi Minamino. But our relationship goes beyond that... as do I. So bear with me, because you may not immediately see the point of my tale. Now tell me, what do you know about demons?"
"Demons?" Harry asked blankly.
Shuichi's lips curled in contempt. "Nothing, I see. It shouldn't surprise me that the... institution you attend hasn't taught you anything about them."
"There's nothing wrong with Hogwarts!"
Shuichi shrugged. "I won't argue with you on that point... yet. How about kitsune? Have you ever heard of them?"
"Nope."
He sighed heavily. "Then I guess I must start from the very beginning. Well. Our story begins when man began to take his first steps on only two feet, when he harnessed fire, and began building crude tools with which to shape his environment. All creatures possess a measure of—well, we'll call it magical energy for now. Man possessed this magical energy as well, but to greater degrees than most creatures of the earth. When man found walking on four feet had become inconvenient, they willed it otherwise, and before too long were walking on two. Magical energy, even when unfocused, has the power to affect the physical world, including oneself."
Harry found himself nodding at this assessment, recalling the times when he'd magically re-grown his own hair by merely wishing it were back.
"Mankind's early magical endeavors did not go unnoticed, however. There were—Beings, shall we say?—Beings who possessed great power of their own, Beings who were power. They noticed. And no one can say exactly what such Beings were thinking—if their thought processes resembled ours at all—but soon news races of creatures graced the Earth. Creatures who could look like men at will, or looked like perfectly normal animals until they choose to look otherwise. These races were endowed with innate knowledge of manipulating their own magical energy, and often the energy of the things around them, as well. Kitsune are one such race.
"Kitsune are, for lack of a better term, fox-spirits. Native to Asia, the kitsune are shape shifters who generally look like foxes, or humans with various fox-like features. Only the higher-ranking kitsune can look completely human.
"Among the kitsune, rank is determined by how many tails one has. Kitsune with only one tail are the weakest, while those with nine are the most powerful. Nine is also the maximum amount of tails a kitsune can have."
"So, after they get nine tails, do they just... die?" Harry asked curiously. He was still suspicious, but the feeling was lessening with Shuichi's every word.
Shuichi laughed. "Oh goodness, no, nothing like that. But they do leave their corporeal forms behind, and ascend to a higher plane of existence."
"...Huh?"
"Er... never mind that now. Suffice it to say that they cease to exist in the physical world as you know it—but they don't die."
"I... see," Harry said uncertainly.
"Do you?"
"No."
"Right. Don't worry about it. Anyway, our real story begins some thousand-odd years ago. Men had grown in their abilities; they farmed, they invented, and they used pretty rocks and polished sticks to focus their energies. You see, they had discovered long ago that some men among them had the ability to manipulate matter on a cellular level, and they set themselves apart from other men. I speak, of course, of wizards. These men were unusual only in that they could affect all matter, unlike most other creatures. Kitsune, for example, have a great affinity for nature, and most are therefore able to manipulate most plant matter on some level. Most humans do not posses this ability in any great degree.
"You know, of course, that some wizards are more powerful than others." Harry nodded. "This is because some people posses a great magical—or spiritual—energy. Well, there is another type of what you might call "magic." Wizards use their energies to manipulate matter, but it is also possible to use your energies to manipulate your own spiritual energy.
"This method, however, takes a great deal more power than manipulating matter—wizardry—does. So, while all humans are theoretically capable of learning to manipulate their spiritual energy, only a few have enough energy to do so. Are you still with me?"
Harry's mind was reeling with all this new information. "I-I think so. What you're saying is—I think—that wizards use their wands to manipulate—to make stuff—matter change? And other people can use their own energy—is it anything like electricity?" This was all rather confusing.
"It is not an entirely inaccurate analogy." Shuichi smiled at him, looking pleased. "This will make much more sense, of course, when you can see for yourself the nature of spiritual energy and how it's used. But I digress. Back to some thousand-odd years ago. There was a nine-tailed kitsune. His name was not Kurama then, but we will call him that for the sake of convenience. He, along with a few others, was about to depart from the physical world forever. The only problem was this: he was more connected to nature than most kitsune, and loved the Earth dearly and didn't want to leave it. Also, he felt that there was a great deal more knowledge to be had, and he wanted it. So when the time came, instead of leaving the physical world behind, he gave up four of his tails and fled his brethren, taking shelter in Western human lands as well as the Demon World.
"The Demon World is exactly what it sounds like. A world of demons. It is a different plane of existence, but one more closely connected to this plane. And demons.... Well, I suppose we can get into that later. Suffice it to say that he hid among demons for a great many years, venturing rarely into the human world. But on one such occasion, not so long ago as his kind count years, he had returned to the Human World—to this very country, in fact. A modest little village, as such things were judged in the early nineteen hundreds. It was during a summer festival, and just outside the little village he met an extraordinary young human girl, whose spiritual energy shone bright and strong. She was beautiful, as well; her hair was dark red, and hung in wild, loose curls to her waist. Her eyes were like emeralds, and her smile was like sunshine." Shuichi smiled at Harry's sharp intake of breath.
"They became lovers that very evening, and the kitsune Kurama ended up staying a month in the quiet woods nearby. Every night she would sneak out to see him, and every night they would lay together under the stars.
"But one night, she stopped coming. Kurama waited, but when she didn't show up the next night, or the next, or the night after, he assumed (his ego greatly wounded) that she had become bored with him. And so he left, and did not return.
"What he did not know was that the girl had gotten with child, and when she confessed to her parents her love affair with the kitsune, they forbid her to ever him again. So ashamed were they that they kept her locked in the attic until she gave birth to two beautiful twin babies, a boy and a girl. And then they cast her out of their home."
Shuichi sighed, bowing his head. "Well, things ended up not going so well for Kurama, either. But it wasn't until many years later. Not even twenty years ago, in fact, in the Demon World, where he was hunted down and mortally wounded by his enemies. It is, perhaps, a kitsune’s greatest strength that he is able to give up one of his tails in order to cheat death. And Kurama did just that; he sacrificed one of his remaining tails, and was able to penetrate the veil between the demon and human worlds.
"He should have died anyway, or as good as, for without an anchor in the physical he would be little more than sentient energy. But luck was with him, for against all odds there was an anchor available to him. You see, his only daughter, whom he never knew he had, had eventually wed and had a child of her own—whose own new wife was, at that very moment, in the first stages of pregnancy. Kurama was able to anchor his spirit within his part-human great-grandson, and has dwelled therein for nineteen years."
Harry's throat was dry. He had to swallow several times before he could speak. "Are you—are you saying that..."
"Yes, Harry." Shuichi raised his head, and his green eyes seemed to glow—no, wait, they were glowing. "The woman Kurama mated with was none other than Eliza Evans—our mutual great-grandmother."
"So... you're not human."
"Yes."
"And I'm not human."
"That's correct."
Harry felt strangely dizzy, as if the entire world had been pulled out from underneath his feet. "That... it just can't be right."
Shuichi—Kurama? —stood with a small smile. "I didn't expect you to take me at face value, Harry, but I do think I can show you something that will convince you."
His green eyes glowed even brighter, and the room temperature dropped by several degrees. Crying out, Harry scrambled backwards, knocking over his chair. The sensation along his spine was almost violent, causing involuntary twitching. The transformation was both similar and completely different than an animagus', but when it was finished, where Shuichi once stood was now...
...Kurama.
More than a head taller, with pale skin and golden eyes; his hair fell in a shimmering silver fall to his waist, and fox ears the same color poked through the silky strands. He wore light, fluttery tunic and trousers of pale silver, made from no material Harry recognized. A silver tail peeked out at him from behind him.
Kurama smiled. "Say hello to your great-grandfather, Harry."
~**~
It wasn’t until several hours later that Kurama closed the guest room door behind him with a soft sigh. Once Harry had gotten over his initial wariness, he’d had a slew of questions. Kurama had answered as best he could, but some things he would simply have to show Harry, something he couldn’t do… yet.
“So, what do you think?”
Crimson eyes studied him thoughtfully from across the room. “He’ll do, I suppose. But he trusts way too easily. I’d probably have run you through ten minutes into the conversation, then asked questions of your corpse.”
Kurama smiled wryly as he moved further into the room and began to strip. “Not everyone can be as naturally paranoid as you, Hiei.” The short fire demon grunted, though whether in affirmation or disgust, Kurama couldn’t tell. “But he was cautious, you have to give him that. It certainly took me long enough to gain his trust.”
“Did he really try to use his wand on you?” Hiei’s tone spoke volumes of contempt. The half-Koorime had been seated in the open window when Kurama had left the room; luckily, the guest room being next to Harry’s made for easy eavesdropping.
“Well, I think he might have tried something if I’d provoked him.” Kurama firmly pushed aside his natural contempt. It wasn’t Harry’s fault he didn’t know any better. “But did you feel his energy?”
Hiei smirked, but Kurama could tell his great-grandson cum second cousin had raised Hiei’s interest. “His power responded to you, and flared when he felt threatened. He’s a lot like Yusuke was when we first met him—all raw energy and no control. But at least Yusuke was aware of his powers. This boy hasn’t got any idea of his real potential. He didn’t even know where his magic came from!”
“That’s my fault as much as anyone’s,” Kurama said reasonably. “I should have started tracking down my progeny as soon as this body was mature enough. Had I done so, I might have been able to get to Harry before his—induction—into the wizarding world.”
“It isn’t too late. We should just take him back to Japan—or even better, the Demon World—and leave this Voldemort clown to kill off as many wizards as he likes.”
“He’s a little green for the Demon World just yet, Hiei.” Kurama’s expression was thoughtful. “Although your other idea has merit—at least for a little while. I thought as much as soon as I first felt his power flaring. But—“
“But?”
“We’ll see.” Kurama smiled serenely. “I want to give it another day, and if it still seems like a good idea, I’ll ask him if he wants to spend the rest of the summer with me.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Green eyes hardened, and Hiei was gratified to see his favorite aspect of Kurama lurking just beneath the surface. “If that’s the case, I’m afraid he won’t have any choice. No more children of mine are going to be wizards… at least, not if I have anything to say about it.”
. .
