Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Megumi would like to state, for the record, that none of this was his fault.

Sure, he might have technically performed a summoning ritual in the middle of their cramped living room. But he’d been able to summon dogs since he was five, so this should have been no problem. Never mind that he’d never gotten an explanation from his deadbeat dad about how or why—not even when he begged. All he knew was that his shadow dogs could protect him and Tsumiki from the ugly creatures that kept trying to eat him.

So yes, what he was doing might have been reckless. But Megumi was seven, tired of fending off monsters, and even more tired of watching adults pretend not to see him.

And now, school was starting to notice. That he and Tsumiki were never picked up. That they were growing thinner each week. Megumi was beginning to worry they’d call social services and separate them.

He couldn’t let that happen.

And yes, he probably should have waited until Tsumiki was at school and not sitting cross-legged on the couch eating cereal. But in his defense, tired of waiting for a father who clearly wasn’t coming back and had just discovered he could summon things—living things—out of his shadows.

So really, what else was he supposed to do?

The shadows rippled like water—cold, dark, and humming with power.

When he first got his powers, summoning his dogs came naturally. This time, though, no instinct told him what to do.

So, he reached into the void of shadows he’d known since birth, fingers trembling slightly, and thought very hard about what he wanted:
Someone kind.
Someone strong.
Someone who wouldn’t leave.

The birds outside their window grew quiet, the only sound was of his and Tsumiki’s breaths.

The shadows at his feet answered his prayers.

They seemed to stretch out endlessly, creating an opening to an unknown dimension. And out of the darkness tumbled a man out.

With a thud and a startled yelp, the man landed flat on their threadbare rug. He was short, dressed in black robes, and blinking up at the ceiling like he’d just been dropped from orbit.

Tsumiki dropped her spoon. “Megumi,” she whispered, “you summoned a man.”

The man groaned and sat up, blinking around the room. His eyes landed on Megumi, then on the swirling shadows curling around the boy’s feet.

“Well,” he said, brushing dust off his sleeves, “this is new.”

Megumi stared. “Who are you?”

The man smiled charmingly—dimples and all, looking way too amused. “Harry. Potter. Harry. Master of Death. And you are?”

Hari?” Megumi blinked. “My name is Megumi.”

Hari's grin widened. “Alright, Megumi. And you, little miss?”

“Tsumiki,” she squeaked, blushing furiously.

“A lovely name for a lovely lady,” he said, clearly enjoying himself.

Megumi frowned. “I wanted someone who could take care of us. Not some—hobo.”

“Hey! I am not a hobo!” Harry gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “And I’ll have you know, I am an excellent housekeeper.”

Tsumiki clapped her hands, eyes bright. “Can you cook?”

Harry looked genuinely offended. “Of course I can cook! What kind of plebeian do you take me for?”

“Uhh... no offense, Mister Death-Man,” she said sheepishly, sweat-dropping at the puppy-dog eyes now being aimed at her.

“Mister Death-Man?” Hari muttered, bemused, scratching the back of his head.

Megumi sighed. This was going to be a thing, wasn’t it?

Hari suddenly went quiet, thinking. Then his eyes lit up like a lamp had gone off inside his head.

He beamed. “Well then. I’ve decided. From now on, I’m your new caretaker!”

Tsumiki shifted awkwardly on the couch, her cereal long forgotten.

Megumi stared. “...What?”

“I know, I know. It’s a great idea. No need to thank me,” Harry declared, looking far too proud of himself.

“I wasn’t planning to,” Megumi deadpanned.

“Ouch. So, mean, M-e-g-u-m-i,” Hari sing-songed, a sharp grin cutting across his face.

And despite the theatrics, Megumi felt a shudder creep down his spine. Harry might be humoring them now, but there was something immense behind his casual aura. Like he was only pretending to be normal.

That power didn’t feel like it came from Megumi’s shadows.

It felt older.

Still, long story short, Hari made himself at home. Declared himself their official guardian. Took over all the housework. Insisted they focus on school.

He swaggered around their apartment all day—cleaning, organizing, making lists of things that needed replacing. He helped Tsumiki braid her hair for school, staring at her with a softness that made Megumi uncomfortable in a way he didn’t understand.

Megumi regretted everything.

...Until they came home that night to find a warm, homemade dinner waiting for them. A real dinner. Something that smelled like love and childhood and full stomachs.

Megumi couldn’t help it.

He smiled.

Harry hummed as he wandered the streets of Saitama, Japan.

He didn’t really know where he was going. But that was alright—he rarely did. Letting magic guide the way made things more interesting. He liked interesting things.

He hadn’t expected to be summoned into the modern world (seriously, why was it always time periods with questionable hygiene standards?), but he wasn’t complaining. The afterlife had been dreadfully dull lately, and frankly, no one wanted a bored Master of Death drifting around looking for something to poke.

Besides, little Megumi and his sister were cute.

He didn’t mind being summoned this time. Playing caretaker was leagues more fun than the usual whining.

It was always:

“Save me, I don’t want to die!”

Or:

“Kill all my enemies!”

Honestly.

How boring.

Have a little pride, he thought. A little flair. If you’re going to summon a god, at least make it theatrical.

Instead, it was always desperate mortals grasping for power they didn’t understand. Pathetic little things trying to shackle a force older than time with candle wax and shaky hands.

Harry sighed, long-suffering and dramatic. This time, though? He’d gotten lucky.

Not that he had to grant a summoner’s wish—he was a god, not a genie—but the paperwork that came with a mortal dying from accidental immortal exposure was annoying. Bureaucracy in the afterlife was somehow worse than in the Ministry.

So this little vacation?

Almost perfect.

Almost.

The only problem: the pests.

Little maggots, crawling over the earth in cursed bodies, sensing his presence like ants sniffing sugar. Weak, twitchy things. They stared at him with a mix of hunger and dread—like their instincts were screaming this thing is not prey, this thing is not food, this thing will erase you.

The smarter ones ran.

The dumber ones?

Crushed. Without hesitation. Without effort. Without mercy.

Honestly. What a bother.

Harry tilted his head toward the setting sun, checking the time the old-fashioned way.

“Tch,” he muttered. “Better get home in time for supper.”

He vanished with a flicker of shadow and sunlight, leaving only silence—and a slowly crumbling curse that hadn’t run fast enough.

Harry stirred the soup, watching the broth swirl like a memory in a Pensieve—warm, savory, a little chaotic.

The apartment was small and drafty, with furniture that looked like it had lost a few fights. The carpet was ancient, and everything smelled faintly of dust and old regrets.

But it was quiet.

Peaceful, even.

He glanced over his shoulder.

Tsumiki was humming at the table, swinging her legs as she colored. Megumi sat across from her, arms crossed and chin resting on his hand like he was trying to decide whether Harry was a threat or just deeply incompetent.

Probably hoping for the latter.

Harry hid a smirk. That look—sharp, suspicious, and far too tired for a kid that small—was familiar. Too familiar. Like looking into a warped mirror of a boy he used to be. A child wound too tight, ready to bolt or bite, mistrusting every adult like it was a survival instinct.

Which, to be fair, it kind of was.

Megumi was like a tiny alley kitten trying to puff himself up to lion size. All claws and narrowed eyes and bravado.

Harry found it weirdly endearing.

He wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to do, exactly, but feeding them seemed like a good start. There were worse ways to spend eternity than being a househusband (or was he a mother, now? He’d have to ask Molly’s ghost for tips). Honestly, it sounds great.

And Megumi? Megumi could use someone who stayed.

Harry smiled to himself and gave the soup a final stir.

He could do this.

He would do this.

Even if Megumi kept watching him like he was one weird comment about vegetables away from being banished with extreme prejudice.

The apartment was quiet, the kind of quiet that only came after dinner and dishes and the soft shuffle of socks on the old carpet. Megumi had retreated to the bedroom with a book far too advanced for his age, and Harry was finishing up wiping down the kitchen counter, humming something old and wordless under his breath.

Tsumiki lingered at the table, her coloring book forgotten, crayon still in hand. She was watching him—not with suspicion like Megumi, but with something gentler. Something sad.

“Harry?” she asked softly.

He glanced over his shoulder, drying his hands on a towel. “Yeah, sweetheart?”

She hesitated, then looked down at her lap. “Are you going to leave too?”

The question hit harder than he expected.

Harry stilled, the towel hanging limp in his hands. He looked at her—really looked. Small shoulders. Big eyes. That quiet, careful hope that only came from someone who’d been disappointed too many times.

He walked over and crouched beside her chair, resting his arms on the table.

“I don’t leave unless I’m asked to,” he said gently. “And even then, I’m very bad at listening.”

Tsumiki blinked at him, then giggled—just a little. It was a soft sound, like a bell wrapped in cotton.

“Megumi says you’re weird.”

Harry grinned. “He’s not wrong.”

She leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

Harry’s smile softened. “Me too, love.”

He reached out and gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Now, off to bed with you, little Missy. I’ll be here in the morning. Promise.”

Tsumiki nodded, slid off her chair, and padded toward the bedroom. Just before she disappeared down the hall, she turned back.

“You better not burn breakfast.”

Harry chuckled. “No promises.”

It had been a week.

Seven days since Megumi had accidentally summoned a godlike-being from his shadows. Seven days since their moldy couch and threadbare rug had mysteriously vanished overnight, replaced by furniture that didn’t smell like despair. Seven days of warm meals, clean clothes, and Hari humming obnoxiously off-key while folding laundry like it was a sacred ritual.

Megumi didn’t dare to trust the warm feeling growing in his chest.

He especially didn’t trust the fact that Harry had declared Saturday to be “Shopping Day.”

“Soon you two will start growing like weeds,” Harry had declared that morning, hands on his hips and wearing an oversized red knitted sweatshirt patterned with a large golden H and tiny winged balls. “We’re going shopping.”

And now here they were, standing in the middle of a brightly lit department store in Saitama. Tsumiki was already clutching a modest stack of sensible clothes—T-shirts in soft colors, socks with tiny bunnies, a hoodie that said Sorry. I laughed. I thought you were the joke—and Megumi was serving as the unwilling center of attention while Harry tried to “help” him find his style.

Megumi stood rigid, arms crossed, while Harry held up a neon green hoodie with sparkly pink frogs on it.

“No,” Megumi said flatly.

Harry pouted. “But it would be very cute on you.”

“No.”

“Fine,” Harry sighed, dramatically tossing the hoodie back onto the rack like it had personally betrayed him. “Clearly, you haven’t learnt to appreciate and understand fashion yet.

“But what about—” he turned, eyes sparkling mischievously as he snatched something from a nearby rack, “—these!”

Megumi’s stomach dropped.

Harry held up a pair of fuzzy black cat ears.

“No,” Megumi said again, louder this time.

“Oh, come on, kitten,” Harry grinned, wiggling the ears. “They’d match your whole aesthetic. Brooding, cute, and slightly feral—”

“I will set them on fire.”

Harry gasped, clutching the ears to his chest like a scandalized maiden. “You wouldn’t.”

Megumi’s eyes narrowed. “Try me.”

Behind them, Tsumiki chuckled, nearly dropping her cardigans as she tried not to laugh too loudly. She ducked behind a rack of leggings, peeking out only to exchange a gleeful thumbs-up with Harry.

Harry sighed with exaggerated defeat, delicately placing the ears back on the shelf. “Fine. No fun allowed. But one day, kitten, you’ll say yes to the ears.”

Megumi grumbled something unintelligible, though it definitely sounded like a curse.

Still, when Harry reached over to ruffle his hair on the way to the checkout, Megumi didn’t swat his hand away. Not this time.

After checkout, Harry insisted they stop at the food court for “victory donuts,” which somehow turned into a full meal.

Megumi sat across from Tsumiki at a slightly sticky table while Harry returned with a tray loaded with an assortment of treats: melonpan, yakisoba, takoyaki, and three oversized milk teas.

“Why is this all sugar?” Megumi muttered, staring at the ridiculous rainbow donut on his plate.

“Because—” Harry said serenely, sipping his milk tea through a bubble straw. “Sugar is great for the soul.”

Tsumiki, her cheeks puffed with fried noodles, nodded in solemn agreement.

Megumi rolled his eyes. But then Harry slid a taiyaki across the table toward him—still warm, filled with sweet red bean paste.

“For you, kitten,” Harry said, voice softer now. “You looked like you needed something warm.”

Megumi stared at it for a moment. Then took a bite.

“…It’s not bad,” he mumbled, eyes pointedly not meeting Harry’s.

Harry just beamed.

They spent longer in the department store than planned.

At one point, Tsumiki dragged Harry to the accessories aisle and convinced him to wear matching star-shaped hair clips with her. He didn’t even hesitate, sticking them into his long messy black hair with exaggerated flair and striking a dramatic pose in front of the mirror.

Megumi pretended not to watch. Pretending that he wasn’t slightly jealous of how easily Harry could make Tsumiki laugh.

Later, when no one was looking, Megumi quietly pocketed a plain black hairclip. It wasn’t flashy. But it eased something inside him—just a little.

As the sun dipped low behind the buildings, casting gold light through the glass storefronts, Harry linked his arms with both children and led them out.

“You survived Clothing Day,” he said proudly. “There will be a commemorative plaque installed on the fridge.”

Megumi snorted.

Tsumiki beamed.

Harry ruffled Megumi’s hair again on the way to the train station. And this time, Megumi leaned into it. Just a little.

He still didn’t trust Harry. Not entirely.

But… he was starting to hope.

And that was something.

Later that night, once the dishes were done, Megumi had finally fallen a sleep, and Tsumiki was asleep clutching a stuffed cat that Harry may or may not have won at a claw machine using subtle reality-warping magic, Harry stepped out onto the rickety balcony with a cup of steaming tea and the most playful grin on his face.

With a snap of his fingers and an over-the-top flourish, two spectral forms shimmered into existence beside him.

“Hello, my dearly departed drama critics,” Harry said brightly, saluting them with his mug. “Miss me?”

Ron’s ghost blinked at him, mildly unimpressed. “Hello, mate.”

Hermione’s ghost gave a fond sigh. “Harry, it’s the middle of the night. What could possibly be so important that you felt the need to conjure our ghosts like a lunatic?”

Harry put a hand to his heart, beaming, in a tone that could only be described as gushing. “I had to tell someone. They’re perfect.”

Ron squinted. “Who? The kids?”

“Yes!” Harry plopped down on a plastic lawn chair that groaned under the weight of a god who refused to sit like a normal person. “They’re just—so small. And weird. And stubborn. And I love them so much I think my heart might explode.”

Hermione looked mildly concerned. “Harry, you cannot die.”

“I might! Who knows how death works anymore?” Harry flailed a little, sloshing tea onto his pajama pants. “You should’ve seen Megumi at the store today. He almost murdered me with his glare because I tried to buy him cat ears.”

Ron snorted. “You always did have a thing for chaos.”

“Megumi is super cute, a lot like Crookshanks but if he was taught sarcasm instead of catching rats.” Harry clutched his chest. “I love him.”

Hermione arched a brow. “And Tsumiki?”

Harry made a high-pitched noise and immediately melted further into the chair like a teenage girl with a crush. “She called me ‘weird’ today, Hermione. With the fond voice. Do you understand how important that is? She also told me not to burn breakfast. I’ve never felt more seen.”

Ron looked vaguely horrified. “Are you... nesting?”

“I am thriving,” Harry corrected. “I have found my calling. I am the neighborhood super nanny. I fold laundry and destroy curses before dinner.”

Hermione gave him a familiar look that was both amused and exasperated. “I’m glad you’re happy.”

Harry beamed into the steam of his tea. “I am. I really am.”

The ghosts started to fade, their edges softening into light, but Harry raised his mug in a dramatic toast to the sky.

“To Megumi and Tsumiki,” he said grandly. “The two best things to ever happen to a half-feral immortal god with abandonment issues.”

There was no reply, just the quiet hum of the city below and the warmth of magic curling at his fingertips.

Harry grinned at the stars.

“I am going to be the best immortal parent ever. Just you watch.”

Chapter Text

Gojo Satoru had seen a lot of strange things in his life.

Cursed spirits the size of buildings. Sorcerers who could swallow curses. A panda who punched like a freight train.

But nothing quite prepared him for the moment a small, scowling first-grader (omg shit he looks like his father-) looked him dead in the eye and said:

“I’ll have to ask Hari.”

Satoru blinked. “Who?”

The spies he had hired to investigate the Fushigoro children hadn’t noticed anyone else living with them.

“Hari,” Megumi repeated, like it was obvious. “He takes care of me and Tsumiki.”

Gojo tilted his head. “You mean like a guardian?”

Megumi shrugged. “Sort of. He’s just… Hari.”

That was not helpful.

Still, curiosity piqued and mildly amused, Satoru followed the boy through the streets of Saitama to a modest apartment building. The place didn’t look like much—rickety stairs, a few potted plants, a wind chime shaped like a cat mask—but the moment they stepped inside, the air changed.

It was warm. Not just temperature-wise, but warm. Like the walls themselves were filled with love.

And then he saw him.

Standing in the kitchen, barefoot and humming off-key to a kettle, was a man.

Short. Slender. Dressed in loose pajama pants and a hoodie that said World’s Gayest Immortal. His long black hair was tied up in a messy bun, a few strands falling into his face. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the afternoon light, and his eyes—

(Dear God, those eyes.)

Satoru froze.

His eyes were green. Not just green—jewel-toned, like polished emeralds, glowing faintly with something ancient and unknowable. His face was androgynous, delicate even, like a painting that couldn’t decide if it wanted to be beautiful or dangerous.

Hair like crow feathers. Eyes whispering about secrets. Skin of pure moonlight.

The man turned, blinking at Satoru with mild curiosity. “Oh. Hello there stranger."

Satoru opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

Megumi sighed. “Hari, this is Gojo Satoru.”

Hari waved with the hand, not holding a mug shaped like a cat. “Hi.”

Satoru stared.

He had fought countless battles. He had been called a god.

But this? This was something else entirely.

“…You’re Hari,” Satoru finally said.

Hari gave a slow nod, before making a deliberate turn as if to welcome him properly into the apartment. His hoodie rode up just enough to reveal the curve of his hips and—unfortunately for Satoru—the subtle outline of his well-toned backside.

His eyes immediately flickered down, and for a moment, his usual confident smirk turned into a full-on stare.

Megumi’s scowl deepened, arms crossed. “Stop it, weirdo.”

Satoru blushed just a bit, then smirked again. “Hey, I’m just appreciating the view. Can you blame me?”

Megumi rolled his eyes but said nothing more.

Hari just chuckled, sipping his tea. “Well, I hope you’re comfortable here. Make yourself at home.”

Satoru gave a mock bow. “Consider me welcomed.”

The apartment was bathed in the soft amber light of early evening, the kind that made everything feel a little softer, a little slower. Outside, the city buzzed with the low hum of traffic and distant chatter, but inside, it was calm.

Too calm, Satoru thought.

He stood near the doorway, sipping the tea Hari had handed him, still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

Hari—this strange, barefoot man in pajama pants and an oversized hoodie—hummed softly as he wiped down the kitchen counter. His movements were casual, unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. Like he belonged here.

And maybe he did.

Satoru’s eyes flicked to the hallway where Megumi had disappeared a few minutes ago, muttering something about “not needing supervision.” Tsumiki had curled up on the couch with a book, her stuffed cat tucked under her arm, completely at ease.

That was the part that got to him.

They were comfortable. Safe. Not just physically, but emotionally. The kind of safety that couldn’t be faked.

He cleared his throat. “So… Harry.”

Hari glanced over his shoulder, still smiling. “Yes, tall, mysterious stranger?”

Satoru ignored the flutter in his chest. “You’re not a sorcerer.”

“Nope.”

“You don’t have cursed energy.”

Hari titled his head confused. “Still not sure what that is.”

“You’re not in any registry. You’re not in any records. You’re not even pinging on my senses.” Satoru frowned.

Hari tilted his head. “Is that a bad thing?”

“It’s a weird thing.”

Hari shrugged. “I’m a strange guy.”

Satoru stared at him. “You’re not. You’re… something else.”

Hari’s smile didn’t falter, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes. Not fear. Not pride. Something… ancient.

“I’m just someone who showed up when I was needed,” he said softly. “That’s all.”

Satoru didn’t believe that for a second. But he also didn’t push.

Because in that moment, as Hari walked over to Tsumiki and gently adjusted the blanket around her shoulders, Satoru saw something he hadn’t expected.

Love.

Not the loud, dramatic kind. The quiet, steady kind. The kind that made kids feel safe enough to sleep with both eyes closed.

And for the first time in a long time, Satoru felt… unsure.

He had come here to assess a threat. To take responsibility. To protect.

But maybe—just maybe—someone already was.

Hari turned back to him, still smiling. “You’re welcome to stay for dinner, by the way. I made too much curry.”

“You can cook?” Satoru asked, stomach grumbling.

Hari looked offended. “Of course I cook. What kind of guardian would I be if I couldn’t feed my kids?”

Satoru’s heart did something weird and traitorous in his chest at the words, my kids.

“I… sure,” he said, a little too quickly. “I’ll stay.”

Hari beamed. “Great! You can help set the table.”

Satoru blinked. “I’m a guest.”

Hari handed him a stack of plates. “You’re tall and have two working hands. Congratulations, you’ve been promoted to assistant.”

Satoru stared at the plates. Then at Hari.

Then, with a quiet huff of laughter, he moved to the table.

The soft clink of dishes filled the small apartment as Satoru carefully placed plates on the worn wooden table. The rich aroma of curry curled in the air, inviting and familiar.

He slung a quick look over his shoulder, before sliding over to Hari, peering over his shoulder while pressing his body against Hari’s back.

Megumi reappeared from the hallway, folding his arms and shooting him a glare that clearly said, 'don’t get too comfortable.'

Satoru smirked and gave a mock salute. “Yes, sensei.”

Megumi rolled his eyes but said nothing, sliding into a chair next to Tsumiki, who was already hugging her stuffed cat with a content smile.

Hari ladled curry generously onto each plate, humming a little tune that made Satoru feel almost… relaxed.

Satoru leaned back in his chair, watching the three of them with a strange, quiet fondness. “So, Hari. You just… showed up one day and decided to be a parent?”

Hari shrugged, sipping his water. “I was summoned. It was very dramatic. Shadows, magic, a small child glaring at me like I’d ruined his whole week.”

Megumi, without looking up from his bowl, muttered, “You did.”

“I brought you snacks,” Hari said mildly.

“You decided to stay and declared yourself our guardian.”

Tsumiki giggled behind her hand.

He blinked. “Wait—summoned?”

Hari gestured vaguely with his spoon. “Not on purpose. I was very suprised that a child could project their soul into the void. So, I simply answered the cry for help.”

Satoru stared. “You’re serious.”

Hari raised an eyebrow. “Would I joke about magically showing up in Japan with no shoes or clothes?”

He opened his mouth. Closed it again. “...Fair.”

Megumi cleared his throat, looking mildly annoyed. “He stayed. That’s what matters.”

Hari gave Megumi a soft smile, one that was full of something older than affection—something steady. “Yeah. I did.”

For a second, no one spoke.

Then Satoru said, with a teasing grin, “So you’re basically a magical fairy.”

Hari, deadpan, “Only on Thursdays.”

Tsumiki snorted into her rice.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “This has got to be the weirdest self-assignment I’ve ever taken.”

Hari tilted his head. “Oh, so this is an obligation?”

Satoru hesitated—just for a breath. “Was.”

Hari’s gaze didn’t waver. “And now?”

Satoru looked around again. At Megumi quietly eating. At Tsumiki smiling face. At Hari, heart-achingly gentle and beyond beautiful in the golden light, watching him with ancient eyes that somehow still looked tired.

And he said, softly, “Now I think I’ll... stay.”

Hari nodded once. “Good.” A smile spread across his face.

Satoru stilled, staring at the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen.

Yeah, he would absolutely have to come back and visit again.

Beside Megumi would need training in curse energy (it was not because of this unbelivibly gorgeous man with legs for days.)

The kids had gone to bed—Tsumiki curled up with her stuffed cat, Megumi pretending he wasn’t yawning as he retreated to his room. The apartment settled into that rare kind of quiet Satoru had never really known. Not the stillness before a fight, or the silence of an empty battlefield, but something warmer. More fragile. Honest.

Satoru leaned against the kitchen counter, arms crossed as he watched Hari rinse the last of the dishes. The guy was wearing pajama pants covered in little stars, still wearing that ridiculous hoodie. Somehow, it suited him. Everything about this place suited him.

"You don't have to do that," Satoru said.

Hari glanced over his shoulder, smiling softly. "I like doing it. It's grounding."

"You're weird."

"You’ve mentioned."

Satoru hesitated, watching the way Hari dried the dishes with practiced ease, like he'd been doing this forever. Like he planned to keep doing it.

"I need to tell you something. About Megumi. About his father."

That got Hari’s attention. He turned fully, drying his hands on a towel, giving Satoru his full focus. No judgment. Just patience.

"His name was Toji Fushiguro, but was called the sorcerer killer.” Satoru took a deep breath, “I killed him. He had a heavenly restriction that gave him an unbelievable physical ability in exchange for having no cursed energy. Before he left, he was part of the Zenin clan, one of the major three clans-and apparently, he made some kind of deal with Zenin clan before he died. About Megumi"

Hari’s expression didn’t change much, but the air shifted. Just a little colder.

Satoru continued, voice low. "The Zenin clan wants Megumi because he inherited the Ten Shadows Technique. It’s rare. Powerful. He won’t be safe if they get their hands on him. They’ll use whatever means to get him, uncaring about who they hurt. He won’t be happy. Neither of them will."

Hari was silent for a long moment. "Can you stop them?"

"Yes," Satoru said without hesitation. "I can protect him. I can train him. But I wanted you to know the truth."

Hari studied him for a moment, eyes soft but unyielding. "And raise them? Being there?"

Satoru blinked. "I—what?"

“Megumi is a child,” Harry said, stepping closer. "If you want to train Megumi, fine. But only if you stay. Not just as a teacher. Be part of their lives."

Satoru exhaled slowly. "Like a family?"

Hari smiled, warm, and unwavering. "Yes."

There was a beat of stunned silence. Then Satoru laughed, the sound sharp but genuine. "You're serious."

"I usually am."

Satoru ran a hand through his hair. "Alright. Deal."

The Next Morning, Satoru woke up on the couch, blinking against the soft morning light. Somehow, the night before he had fallen asleep, forgetting to warp home.

He stretched and found a small weight pressing against his side. Tsumiki. Still asleep, drooling on his arm.

In the kitchen, Hari was making pancakes, humming something off-key. Megumi sat at the table, scowling at a workbook but not actively resisting. When he spotted Satoru standing in the doorway, he stood up and walked into the kitchen where Tsumiki could be heard grumbling sleepily.

"Morning, sunshine," Hari called. "No pancakes for you until you brush your hair."

"Wow. You can cook and clean, plus are fantastic with the kids… you’re practically a housewife.” Satoru grinned, wide and lazy

Hari stared at him from under his eyelashes, with a very fetching blush rising on his cheeks. "Would that make you my hardworking husband?"

"I... I guess." Satoru stammered, blushing brightly as he sat down.

A high-pitched yelp came from the hallway.

Startled Satoru turned just in time to see Megumi stumble out, face scrunched and bright red on the right cheek, hair sticking out in all directions. “Hari, Tsumiki stole my brush again,” he whined, holding up the offending item like it was cursed with girl cooties.

Tsumiki peeked up from behind the couch, smug. “You left it out in the open. And besides finders’ keepers.”

“That’s not how it works!” Megumi growled, his bedhead flaring like a porcupine under stress.

Hari gave a hard stare. “Don’t fight now, it's too early in the morning. You can manage to share for now, right kids? I will buy you, your own brush on Monday, Fair Tsumiki?”

“Fine.” Megumi muttered under his breath, grumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "Whatever grandpa", but he sat down anyway, rubbing his face like an exhausted salaryman.

“Yes!” Tsumiki chippered, eyes bright as she slunk into the kitchen, sitting down beside Megumi.

Satoru snorted into his tea. “You’re scarily, I hope you know that.”

“I run on tea and spite,” Hari said, flipping a pancake one-handed. “Also, trauma. But mostly spite.”

Tsumiki burst out laughing.

And Satoru just… stared. He didn’t even realize he was smiling until he caught his reflection in the tea kettle. It was a soft smile. One he had never seen before on his face.

Megumi took a cautious bite of his pancake, chewed, and looked up just in time to witness what could only be described as a war crime against breakfast food.

Satoru was pouring syrup.

Not just pouring—Drowning them.

A thick, unholy waterfall of syrup cascaded down a towering stack of pancakes, glistening in the morning light like molten sugar. And as if that wasn’t enough, he followed it with a frankly offensive amount of powdered sugar. A blizzard of sweet snow.

Megumi dropped his fork in silent horror.

“...Are you okay?” Hari asked, hiding a smile behind his teacup.

“What’s wrong with you,” Megumi said flatly, eyes wide, voice hollow.

Satoru didn’t even pause. “I am elevating them, Megumi. This is gourmet art.”

“You have made an abomination.”

Satoru stabbed into the squishy mountain of sugar-soaked dough with all the reverence of a man tasting fine cuisine. “This,” he said around a mouthful, “is how gods eat.”

“It’s how gods get killed,” Megumi muttered.

Tsumiki giggled, half-buried behind her plate, whispering, “He is right.”

“No, he is not, he is a weirdo,” Megumi whispered back.

Tsumiki grinned widely, face sticky with syrup and pancakes bits.

Satoru grinned, unrepentant. “You’ll thank me for my genius in the future, young padawan.”

Hari raised an eyebrow. “Is that a fact, Gojo?”

“Sure is, sweetheart” Satoru said, mouth full. “And please call me Satoru.”

Megumi could only stare in horror as Satoru flirted with his guardian.

Later, as the kids cleared the table—Tsumiki dragging Megumi into the living room despite for his quiet protesting—Satoru leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, still smiling.

Hari came over and tapped the back of his head lightly. “That was an interesting breakfast. You sure know how to push Megumi’s buttons.”

“Hey! I was just preparing for my role as Megumi’s incredibly hot mentor.”

Hari gave him a look. “You’re impossible.”

“You mean irresistible.” Satoru said, tilting his head dramatically.

Hari rolled his eyes. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

But he leaned in anyway, a gentle hand sliding through Satoru’s hair, stilling at his temple as Hari bent forward, pushing his lips against Satoru’s cheek. Before moving away, back to the dishes, as if nothing had happened.

And Satoru just sat there for a second longer, frozen watching him.

He had faced curses. Death.

Fought without faltering against tradition and the elders.

But this? This weird little family they were building?

This scared him more than any of that.

And he’d never been surer he wanted to protect something so much with his life.

Chapter Text

Endless darkness,

farther than the naked eye could see.

The realm that harbored the crawling chaos.

The dweller of shadows.

The faceless God.

Death.

A plane of existence devoid of sound.

Its depths stretched in all directions, infinite and unknowable.

Yet, a strange, inexplicable peace lingered there.

In their own way, Death took great care in comforting the souls who entered their domain—those ready to rest.

Some souls, seeking another chance, would travel along the ever-reaching tentacles of the Great God, to be reborn into a new universe.

Others, who chose to remain cradled in Death’s gentle embrace, were carried away on the wings of Death who wove the night sky of all worlds.

And those rare souls—who had shaped fate, altered destiny or left an immense impact upon their worlds—immortalized as constellations among the stars, so that lesser beings may gaze up and remember that even their greatest champions would fall before Death.

Death is the one constant.

It welcomed all, unbothered by mortal constraints.

Death is life’s great equalizer.

All stand equal before it.

As once said. “Every man's life ends the same way. It is only the details of how he lived and how he died that distinguish one man from another.”

Time had long since been deemed unnecessary.

Souls came and went.

Some stayed for a while, cradled against Death’s chest, healing from life’s cruelty and sorrows.

But eventually, even they chose to move on.

They forgot everything but the darkness they had dwelled in.

At the beginning—when they first became Death—they had loved every soul that came to greet him.

Finding delight in the gentle warmth of elder souls, the playfulness of younger ones.

But now, after eons of repeating every motion endlessly, they could not muster even the slightest flicker of interest.

The most he felt was when he sent a sliver of consciousness into the afterlife shared by his parents and friends. (It was technically the afterlife of Harry Potter’s world, but they chose to ignore that.)

Many times, their friends and family fussed over them, ignoring the fact that they was older than most universes.
They could all see how apathetic Death (—HarryJustHarry) had become, and they had expressed their worry many times.

But there was nothing to be done.

So, time continued on, without any change-

Until something did.

A ripple swept through the fabric of the void—subtle, persistently tugging at their tentacle attached to one of the younger worlds.

A living soul crying dripping in loneliness and destined for tragedy.

Screaming into the void, for anyone who would heed their call for love.

And for the first time in eons, Death paused.

A split second before they shifted parts of themselves to where the world the call came from.

This wasn’t the first time they had been called upon.

Many times, it had been a mortal greedy for immortality that dared summoned an avatar of Death, but Death itself had long since lost their patience for the arrogance of mankind.

They fully expected to crush the insignificant soul upon arrival, but what they saw made them pause.

Among the constellations, ten greater souls were anchored to the young soul summoning them.

Many of the bonds were fragile, but one stood brighter and clearer among them.

The constellation depicted two dogs endlessly chasing each other.

‘How unusual’ Death mused.

When they pressed against the bond it sang of love and devotion to their master.

That was what stayed Death’s hand from shredding the mortal the initial second after arriving to the world.

Turning their attention away from the greater souls, they reached further into the truth of the soul’s call.

‘Why won’t he stay with us’

‘Why does everyone leave’

‘It hurts’

‘I’m so hungry’

‘Please, don’t leave me’

‘Am I unlovable?’

An immense stream of agonizing emotions crashed into them.

The voice was young, a child, yearning for love.

A hurt child is hurt by life, meeting challenges from every direction.

And still their life was destined to be short and painful.

Yet, the soul was pure without a single stain from the darkness that would touch its life.

Death contemplated before coming to a decision.

They split the core of themselves, that had been Harry Potter, from their divine body.

Long ago when they first started to notice that their memory of their time started to fade. They had chosen to preserve them in a core, removing them from their direct memory.’

It was this core; Death softly shifted from themself into their new body.

The body would be able to walk in the mortal realm without destroying the whole universe at its first step. While amongst mortals their memories would be much sharper than in their own divine realm.

He blinked open his eyes from his new position.

Sitting at in the hand of Death, he took his first breath in eons.

Finally, everything was ready.

He stood up slowly, unused to being physically able to touch stuff.

Harry wobbled slightly, before regaining his balance as he turned around too fast.

In one hand he gripped the bond from the constellation to the soul, while the other hand rose and tore through space.

A single thought rang through his mind as he stepped through the rift. ‘I have witnessed you, Megumi Fushiguro.’

The apartment was quiet.

Harry stood alone in the kitchen, the kids had long since gone to school. Before him stood a cooling cup of tea.

His eyes were half-lidded as he gazed beyond the physical world.

Upon his arrival in this world, he immediately noticed the soul split into twenty pieces, reminiscent of Voldemort’s horcruxes.

Such people who choose to split their soul always gain worse punishment in the afterlife.

It was simply an afront to nature,

And to himself.

He reached out—in a metaphorical sense, prepared to eliminate the jagged soul pieces, each humming violently. Pulsing like a dirt stain to his senses.

Harry’s lips curled down and into a frown-

He truly despised those souls.

The shadows around his feet flickered; the sky darkened for a brief moment.

But then he paused.

Glowing woven around each piece where a golden and delicate thread. The threads of fate that made up the tapestry of this world.

A story waiting to unfold.

Would he dare to encroach on Fate’s domain.

No.

Nothing good ever happened when you angered Fate.

Harry exhaled slowly, the fury bleeding from his shoulders.

“Not yet,” he murmured. “Not my place. Not this time.”

Still irritated, Harry turned his gaze elsewhere—and froze.

Another soul. One that had passed through his realm.

One that had died.

And returned.

That alone was enough to draw his attention. Not many being were strong enough to leave the peacefulness of Death.

These kinds of souls had always fascinated him. Because they were the ones most like him in his first life.

They who defied death while also greeting it as a friend.

Thats why he never punished those who managed to resurrect themselves with pure willpower and their own power.

So, it wasn’t the resurrection that held him still—it was the light.

The soul burned. A brilliance that rivaled and surpassed many of the stars he had woven into the night sky.

This soul was sure to become immortalized among the greatest, when it finally was ready to depart from its mortal shell.

Harry blinked curiosity growing, so from one breath to the next, he was teleported.

He appeared just outside what seemed to be the school grounds.

He walked between the layers of existence.

Cloaked in a veil of invisibility and silence.

The barrier around the campus was strong— ancient wards and reinforced by generations of sorcerers walking in its halls.

But to Harry, it was paper-thin.

He stepped through it like mist, unnoticed by the suit clad men and woman bustling between buildings, others murmuring behind closed doors.

And then he saw him.

White hair tousled and bright in the sunlight. Tall, lean, still growing into his limbs. A boy, not yet a man. Laughing too loudly. Smiling too easily.

But his soul—

Harry staggered.

It was radiant. Not just powerful—beautiful. A soul that had been broken and reforged, not by death, but by sheer force of will. It shimmered with potential, with pain, with something almost divine.

Most importantly, Harry could not see its fate. The soul shifted constantly, never freezing upon one possible path.

It had infinity possibilities. A soul that exists to defy Fate.

And then—

The boy turned.

Blue eyes (InfinityBeautifulMortal?), sharp and searching, swept the courtyard. They passed over Harry’s hidden form—and paused.

Harry’s breath was caught.

For a moment, he thought, ’Can he see me?’

Acting quickly, Harry slipped back into the shadows before the boy could fasten his divine gaze upon him.

‘What an interesting human you are, Satoru Gojo’

He returned. Again, and again.

Always cloaked. Always silent.

He watched the boy—Satoru—move through the world like a sun trying to dim itself.

Watched how people flinched from his presence, how he laughed too loudly to cover the hurt that followed him.

He saw the way Satoru’s shoulders tensed when someone brushed too close. The way his eyes flicked to the side when no one answered his jokes. The way his soul shrank, when he thought no one was watching.

Harry watched. And he ached.

He had seen countless souls. But never one so bright, so fragile, so alone.

And then—he saw it begin to break.

A black-haired boy. A friend. A bond.

Gone.

The boy stood in the courtyard, surrounded by people, and yet utterly alone. His soul—once radiant—fractured. Not shattered. But cracked. Like glass under pressure.

Devastatingly human.

Magnificent in its misery.

Harry wanted to steal that beautiful soul away from this earth. He wanted to hoard that brilliance. To lock it away in his eternal body around it and keep it all for himself. Away from the filth of the mortal world. Not out of cruelty—but of longing. A longing Death had no right to feel.

He looked upon it with the greed of a god.

But no. He could not. Not yet.

So instead, Harry stayed in the shadows, unseen.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt something sharp and human twist in his chest.

Grief.

Affection.

Anger.

He understood.

While Megumi soul had been the spark that began to wane, the ice surrounding his emotions.

Satoru Gojo was the sun that freely gave away love and light to the people around him, even Death itself.

A soul that embodied all the limitless possibilities of life, truly the opposite of Death.

Deciding to leave for now, Harry turned into shadows and sharp teeth as he flashed away.

So, when Satoru Gojo turned up at the apartment a few weeks later to introduce jujutsu society to Megumi – Harry knew that he had to hold on to this chance to stay close to the man.

He had quickly managed to convince Gojo to stay for dinner, and also for him to become a more permanent member of their family.

Gojo became Satoru.

The part of Harry that held on to his former humanity loved giving the children easy affection, which translated over to gentle touches and kisses on the cheek for Satoru.

Satoru seemed to stare and blush a lot at him, which Harry found odd, but he chose to write it off as just something humans did.

(He hadn’t interacted with living humans in multiple millennia, except for his family and friends.)

The weeks passed, and Satoru became an integral part of their lives.

It happened subtly, without declaration or demand. He brought light with him wherever he went — loud, bright, unbearably alive — and the apartment grew warmer in his presence. The children smiled more. Megumi began opening up. Tsumiki laughed more freely.

Now, in the soft golden glow of late afternoon, Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, a brush in one hand and an asphodel flower in the other. He was braiding Tsumiki’s hair with careful fingers, weaving the pale blossoms between the dark strands.

Tsumiki sat still, humming softly under her breath, content.

Across the room, on the open tatami mat, Satoru knelt beside Megumi, guiding him through the motions of manipulating his cursed energy. The boy had for the past week summoned his Divine Dogs many times again, the motions steadily growing surer, less clumsy with youth.

Satoru was patient — which Harry found endlessly strange — gentle even as he teased; his instructions wrapped in lazy drawls and exaggerated gestures.

Harry’s eyes lingered on them, unblinking.

He remembered the first time Megumi had summoned those spirits.

The dogs had appeared sleek and silent from the shadows, padding forward toward their summoner. At first, they had been playful — nuzzling against Megumi and Tsumiki, licking their hands with wet, eager tongues.

But then, their gaze turned to Harry.

And they were stilled.

Every hair along their backs rose. They lowered their heads, ears pinned back, and muscles taut with instinctive fear. A guttural growl began to build in their throats, fangs bared, their bodies slowly edging in front of the children.

Protective.

Foolishly so.

Harry’s human form had flickered.

Just for a moment.

A glimpse of what lay beneath: an impossible amalgamation of tentacles and feathery wings, of eyes that blinked in unnatural rhythms, of teeth too sharp and too many. Something that did not belong to this world.

The Divine Dog had whimpered, dropped to the ground, and rolled onto its back—submissive, terrified, exposing its belly.

Harry had only watched; head tilted in detached amusement.

Then he crouched, his fingers extending too long before folding into something passably human again. Then, slowly, he smiled—just a little too sharp—and rubbed the creature’s stomach with gentleness that made them shiver.

Now, in the present, he threaded another flower into Tsumiki’s braid and smiled again softer this time. Almost human.

Like one might soothe a trembling animal. Like one might care for a thing they did not, and could not, ever truly understand.

“Look,” she whispered, pointing. “Megumi did it.”

Harry’s eyes flicked back to the courtyard. The Divine Dog stood beside Megumi, proud and calm. Satoru ruffled the boy’s hair, grinning proudly even as Megumi swatted away his hand.

Harry watched them both.

Smiling at Megumi’s success, before turning his attention back to Satoru.

A weird warmth grew in his chest, as he did.

Satoru looked up.

It was instinct more than anything—some flicker at the edge of his perception, like the shadows had shifted, or the light had bent wrong. His eyes found the place where Harry sat with Tsumiki nestled against him, her braid now crowned with pale flowers.

Hari was watching him.

Not in the way people usually watched Satoru—not with awe, or fear, or envy. Only with pure curiosity.

It was something else.

The gaze glided over his body, intense and devouring.

Satoru’s breath caught in his throat.

Harry’s eyes were sharp and unreadable. Not cold, and not exactly warm either. But there was a subtle softness that often appeared when he watched Megumi and Tsumiki.

And then—Harry blinked slowly before smiling.

Softening the sharpness of his features. He reached up and tucked a final flower into Tsumiki’s braid, then patted her head again and kissed her forehead.

His eyes were still attached to Satoru.

Satoru looked away first.

His heart was beating too fast.

He didn’t know why, but for a moment, he’d felt like a deity watching his most devoted priestess pray. Harry continued watching him with reverence, never looking away from him for the rest of the lesson.

But Satoru shook it off. Turned back to Megumi, ruffling the boy’s hair again, maybe a little too hard this time.

“Nice job, kid,” he said, voice forcefully light. “You’ll be summoning all of the ten shadows in no time.”