Chapter Text
“Transformation is a process, and as life happens there are tons of ups and downs. It's a journey of discovery - there are moments on mountaintops and moments in deep valleys of despair.” by Rick Warren
“I’m back.”
Uttering a soft sigh, Harry dropped his school bag next to the coat rack in the hall and shuffled towards the kitchen. He stopped in the doorway, eyed the steaming bowls of takeaway ramen on the table and stared at his sheepishly grinning godfather.
The brunet snorted and sank down on his usual chair, before breaking apart the supplied wooden chopsticks. By now Harry was pretty proficient at using them, though he was still reluctant to acknowledge them as primary cutlery.
“What were you trying to make this time?”
Usually Harry was the one to cook, but sometimes his godfather’s mind was set on preparing a meal all by himself. Unfortunately, Sirius had never developed any culinary skills, because in Azkaban you were glad to get something halfway edible and the rest of his previous life had been spent with a house elf on hand, be it in Grimmauld Place, Hogwarts or Potter Manor. Needless to say that Sirius’ cooking attempts almost always ended in disaster – one time Harry had even come back to a house fire in the making – and takeaway food.
“It was supposed to be treacle tart, but… well, the… the dough might have exploded,” the older brunet admitted with a crocked grin, while tucking into his meal. “Anyway, how was your day?”
Harry stilled in mid-chew, eyes dulling a tad more than usual. He quickly swallowed his mouthful and proceeded to eat as if nothing had happened.
“It was fine.”
Sirius hummed and raised an eyebrow at him. “And classes? I know your Japanese still needs some work and you’re missing a few years of muggle schooling. I bet it’s hard to keep up. I can look for a tutor, if you want me to.”
“I’ll manage. It’s not like it matters, anyway. I’ll just have to finish the next school year and then I’m done with the obligatory schooling,” the younger brunet muttered into his non-existent beard and pierced the soggy noodles in front of him with a glare.
“But don’t you want to-“
Harry threw his chopsticks next to the still half full bowl and jumped to his feet, thereby upsetting his chair, which crashed to the floor. Neither of them paid attention to it.
“What I want is to ride my Firebolt and look for the Snitch during Quidditch games. What I want is to be in Hogwarts with my best friends to learn spells and be annoyed at Snape, because he’s a prejudiced git again. What I want-“
He felt the tell-tale prickling behind his eyes, but resolutely refused to cry. Crying had never helped him and it wouldn’t now.
“I’ll never get what I want, Sirius. Not after what happened in that manor. Not after… not after what Voldemort did to me. I should have gone the other way… I shouldn’t have come ba-“
Strong, but still far too skinny, arms wrapped around him and pulled him into a tight embrace. The brunet flinched and tried to escape, but a couple of failed attempts later he finally gave up and dropped his head on the older man’s shoulder.
Sirius’ voice was scratchy, when he murmured into his godson’s raven locks, “I can’t even imagine how hard this must be for you, but please don’t ever think like that, Harry. I’m so, so glad that I haven’t lost you that day and I swear I’m somehow going to make it better.”
Harry knew nothing could possible make his situation better, but for now he’d let his godfather hope.
The next day started as usual.
Harry went to school, ignored the American football in his shoe locker and shuffled to his classroom, where he found yet another American football magazine on his desk – surprisingly enough, they were always in English. He briefly eyed the tall, well-built athletes – the complete opposite to his small, scrawny frame – with envy-fuelled disdain, before shoving the magazine into the storage place under the top of his desk.
The next few hours were spent with half-hearted attempts to translate his teachers’ lectures and the Japanese characters on the blackboard into something comprehensible. The only subject he had no problem understanding was, of course, English, but the butchering of his mother language – even by the teacher - was almost worse.
Not being particularly inclined to stay in the classroom during lunch break, Harry opted to go for a walk around school, which ended on the roof twenty minutes later. He regretted his choice at once, when he recognised his unmistakable tormentor of the last few days. The footballs and the magazines he could live with, but the blond – Hisuka or something – had adopted the annoying habit of tossing random stuff at him. At first Harry had evaded the items due to instinct, but by now the brunet just dodged everything on principle.
He also kind of wanted to throw a punch at the bloke’s shit-eating grin.
“Ah, if it isn’t the fucking foreigner. Finally decided to join the Devil Bats?”
Harry raised an eyebrow at being addressed in English, with an American accent to boot, but decided to shove that little titbit into the back of his mind. “No. I’m pondering the best way to push you over the railing. Any suggestions?”
Instead of taking the brunet’s words as an affront, the taller teen stepped closer and poked a long, slim finger into Harry’s chest.
“Kekeke, so you’re not a fucking wimp, after all. How about a deal, then? There’s going to be a practice match next week. You’ll participate and come to practice until then. If you’re still not interested in joining afterwards, I’ll leave you alone.”
The brunet snorted. “I somehow can’t imagine you giving up that easily. Why do you want me in your team anyway? I don’t even know the rules of American football!”
The elf-boy – seriously, there was no way that bloke was completely human – eyed Harry like he thought him a complete idiot, making the urge to punch the blond git return tenfold.
“Are you fucking kidding me, fucking foreigner? Your reflexes are top-notch and according to the fucking fatty you’re not half bad at catching. So, do you agree or not?”
Harry stared at the blond for a long moment, weighting the pros and cons. On one hand it felt like selling his soul to the devil, but on the other hand it was a chance to burst the bloke’s bubble. Someone like him would never be good at a sport seemingly based on height and strength. That would teach – Haruna? – to leave him alone far better than the brunet’s continued disregard.
“You’ve got yourself a deal, Tinkerbelle.”