Title: Nightshade

Fandom: HP/DBZ (for one character base)/inspiration and elements of The Sixth Sense

Genre: Angst

Rating: PG-13

Type: One-shot

COMMENTS: If anyone can tell me the quote from Fruits Basket that I used in this story, you get 20 points! By the way, this story is kind of...off, I suppose. Please let me know what you guys think.

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DISCLAIMER: I own nothing, I swear it.

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Oct. 12, 2003

Patient #437 is brought in at 2 a.m. by parent. At barely nine years old, shows signs of trauma, many signs of old injuries and breaks in his frame upon doing a physical examination, and possible mental disorder, will keep for observation. Have placed #437 in the intensive ward at mother's request for constant surveillance and isolation.

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Nov. 18, 2003

#437 allowed to roam hallway with supervision, appears a normal, if exceptionally skittish child, and dislikes physical contact, but will allow light touch to the head. Upon exiting his room in the new sector and reaching the older one, #437 immediately went pale and dropped to his knees, sobbing, and cried for us to make them go away. Upon placing #437 back in his room, he seemed perfectly fine again, and displayed none of the previous signs. Not sure what medication to give him, will get back to that later.

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JAN. 15, 2004

#437 appears to be recovering, and though he refuses to speak most of the time, is able to interact semi-normally with others. We suspect a mild to medium case of schizophrenia, and possible depression. #437 refused to react when his nurse told him that his mother had given up on him and didn't want him back, but later cried, showing, at least, a continued ability to feel.

We refuse to allow #437 to be shipped off to an asylum as his mother advised; seeing as she was the one who abandoned him, and we think it not a good idea, both for his own health and because many of the nurses and doctors have gotten rather attached to him.

Medication not a good idea.

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Feb. 3, 2004

A new doctor, fresh out of grad school arrived today, I have decided to assign him to #437, and see how things go.

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Doctor Harry Potter supposed that things could have gone much worse than they had. After all, not everyone was able to be a wizard, defeat a dark lord at one and seventeen as well, and not every wizard could blend into the muggle world, go to medical school, and get a masters degree in child psychology and medicine. So, he supposed that it wasn't too terrible that upon graduating he was offered a job in the USA, and he supposed that it wasn't too terrible to get out of Britain, and he also supposed that the job wasn't awful, and that he liked doing what he did.

However, getting new patients was nerve-wracking for anyone, never mind a new doctor who had only been there for several weeks and was still getting used to the place, but everyone seemed to know the patient in question, and seemed a mixture of envious and pitying whenever Harry asked questions about him.

All anyone would tell him was that the boy was a sweetheart, but would tell him nothing else, and for his own sake, not to physically touch him. That was a warning from the head doctor, who had been in the business of medicine for over thirty years, and for all purposes knew exactly what he was doing.

"Are you listening, doctor?"

"Of course," Harry responded.

"Good." the head replied, "Now, keep in mind, #437's been told of your arrival as well, and just speak to him as you would a normal child, just don't touch him. If he wants to go for a walk, that's fine, but it's more likely that he won't. I'd say that that's all, so I'll let you two get acquainted."

"O….kay, then." Harry trailed off as he was left alone with the door and the white hallway, "Here goes, then." Quietly, he slid open the door, and was surprised by the look of the room. From what he had been told, the child didn't speak, and he had been expecting something along the lines of a blank room, sort of like a prison or something, kind of like what he had seen in his college textbooks. That was not what he got. Instead, the room was filled with color, the carpet was a bright, grassy green, the bed in the corner was covered in a cheerful blue bedspread, and bookshelves lined the walls and were filled with books. In another corner, there were two large armchairs sitting on a red rug, and in one sat a small child, who was holding a book in one hand and apparently had been watching him since he had come in.

The boy had long, black hair even darker than Harry's, tied up in a ponytail, and his eyes were the strangest color, a mixture of sapphire blue and silver. Instead of what, once more, Harry had learned from his books, the child was clothed in normal attire, a simple sleeveless black shirt and a pair of blue jeans.

"Um…hi there, 437." Harry spoke up, nervous, "Can I please come in?" He received a nod, and a hand gesture to sit down in the other chair. "Thank you." He padded across the room, but stopped when he saw the boy's shoes sitting by the wall and a shake of the child's head. "Take off my shoes?" A nod. "Certainly, your place, your rules." Nothing else stopped him, and Harry sat down, meeting those odd eyes.

"I suppose I should introduce myself, correct?"

A shrug.

"Well, my name is Harry Potter, and I'm your new doctor, as I'm sure you are aware." Another nod, and a gesture to continue, "I'm twenty-four, and I just recently graduated from grad school about a month ago. I'm from Britain, and I went to a boarding school from when I was eleven to seventeen. I was raised with my relatives, and I used to get into a lot of fights as a child. I'm really looking forward to getting to know you, and I hope I can help in some way. You're my first patient I've ever had, so I hope we'll be friends." Harry was surprised at how easy this was, he had met other patients here, and while some were obviously quite conscious and only had a slight problem, some would wring their hands, babble, or run around the room, not paying single bit of attention. This wasn't by any means their fault, Harry knew, but it certainly didn't help to ease his nerves.

"You feel like telling me anything about yourself?" he asked, and received a shake of the head, "Well, that's fine, you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. I'm here to help, not stress you out, okay, 437?" he stopped suddenly, quirking a brow, and the child started, blinking at him in confusion. "You know what?"

A head shake.

"Calling you #437 is really quite impersonal, and they never refer to anyone by their real names here, for confidentiality, I was wondering, is there anything else that you would rather I call you?"

The child blinked, and nodded slightly.

"Really? Want to tell me?"

A head shake.

"Okay then, how about I start off by listing names, and you tell me if you like them or not, deal?" A nod, and Harry smiled, "You look Asian, are you Japanese?" Another nod, "Would you like something native to your country?" Blue-silver eyes turned to the floor, and the boy nodded. Harry placed two fingers on his chin and thought of all the names he knew of, and began to rattle them off, watching closely for reaction.

"Um, lets see….Akira, Aki, Yuki, Haruka, Shigeru, Sousuke, Hajime, Hikaru, Satoru, Ashura-" the child stopped him suddenly, holding up a finger. "You like the name Ashura?" Harry inquired, and received a nod and a tiny, almost nonexistent smile from his new patient. "Good. Then I'll call you Ashura, and on the papers I'll put #437. It's nice, it fits you." He leaned back in the chair, "Is there anything you want to do? After all, I'll be coming to see you every day, I'd like to have some idea of what you like to do. Obviously, you like to read. Your room is very colorful, do you like to draw?" A tentative nod, "Me too, it was one of the few things I was good at when I was a kid, you know." With a tilt of his head, Ashura blinked. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"Anyway," Harry continued, lacing his fingers together, "What would you like to do now? We can do anything you want."

After several seconds of mental debate, Ashura got up and went over to one of the shelves and picked something out, before returning and pressing it into Harry's hands while settling himself back down into his chair and opening his own book. Harry glanced at the title and blinked, startled. The Phantom Tollbooth. Shaking his head, Harry opened it to page one, and began to read.

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"So, how'd it go with #437, tiger?" One of the nurses asked him that evening, long after the session was over. Harry, who was currently staring blankly into a cup of coffee, blinked.

"Huh? Please repeat that?"

"I asked you how it went with #437." The nurse, a pretty, middle-aged woman with shoulder length blonde hair once more asked him, pouring herself a cup of coffee, "I was his nurse for a few days, but then I got transferred. How was he? I mean, what did you two do?"

"We just read, not much more, after I introduced myself." Harry responded mildly, conveniently leaving out the fact that he refused to refer to Ashura as #437 anymore, except in his observations and reports. "Why, Connie?" The woman shrugged.

"Just curious. He might not talk and he's a bit jumpy, but it's obvious that he's a really smart kid, isn't it? He doesn't like to leave his room at all, for some reason, and that's why it so big and why there's so much stuff. He's friendly, though, and listens to you, which is more than I can say for my own children." Connie sighed, "Oh, sometimes I think I should just ship them off to reform school, along with my useless husband…." Harry reeled back, eyes wide. He still hadn't gotten used to the fact that while nearly everyone was very kind here, because to work here one had to be, one also had to be rather eccentric to handle the hours.

Connie had been the first person Harry had met, though, on his first day, and he liked her quite a bit, despite the oddness, and it was also obvious that she loved all children, both her patients and her own. She had been teaching him American, and wasted no time in telling him that his attempts at slang were very amusing, so Harry had promptly given up.

"What did he have you read?" Connie inquired, genuinely curious, sitting herself down across from Harry, "My first day, he handed me a copy of The Mayor of Casterbridge.

"Well, hegave me The Phantom Tollbooth. Great book, by the way."

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Apr. 2, 2004

#437 finally spoke, for what I suspect was the first time in several years.

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"So, 'Shura, what would you like to do today?" Harry asked, as usual, one beautiful morning in early April. Ashura was sitting on his bed, drawing calmly in a pad, but looked up when his doctor spoke, listening intently. It had been about a month since Harry had been assigned to him, and the man could honestly say that he looked forward to their meetings, even though their conversations were, vocally, completely one-sided. However, Harry liked to think that Ashura enjoyed his company somewhat, since he always greeted him with a tiny smile, and acted fairly relaxed around him.

Something, however, was different today. The boy was tense and he hadn't immediately looked up when Harry entered, which was something new entirely, and his eyes were different….somehow.

"Ashura?" Harry inquired, concerned, "Are you alright? Something's up, what's wrong?"

A shake of the head.

Worried, Harry sat down next to him on the bed, giving the boy space nevertheless, and tilted his head, green eyes meeting those strange blue-silver.

"I….."

Eyes wide, Harry stared. That had been the first sound he had ever heard his patient make in an entire month, and while most would completely freak out, he stayed calm and gestured Ashura gently to continue.

"Yes?"

"I…I want…to talk." Ashura's voice was raspy, raw, and rather hoarse; understandable, since he hadn't spoken in what Harry knew was the space of several years.

"That's good." Harry told him, refusing to startle the boy into silence once more, "Would you like me to get you some water? I'm sure that your throat hurts."

"….please."

"Of course." In seconds, Harry had handed the boy a glass of cool water. "Here you go."

"….thank you." Ashura said, taking a sip.

"Now, you wanted to talk?" Harry asked gently, moving to sit in what he considered his chair, as they always sat in the same places, and Ashura followed him meekly, his small frame suddenly looking even smaller in the giant chair.

"Yes. I want to talk."

"Anything in particular?"

"Yes."

"What? I'm listening." Harry said quietly, and Ashura's eyes drifted to the clipboard and pencil he held in his hands, and Harry immediately set them down several feet away. "You know that there aren't any cameras in here, and I swear, that what you tell me now and anytime will be kept secret if you wish it." Ashura laced his fingers nervously, something he had picked up from his doctor.

"I want to tell you my secret."

"Okay. What is your secret?"

"Could you come closer?"

"Of course." Harry obeyed the request, and was now only about a foot away. "Yes?" The child leaned forward do that his lips were almost touching Harry's ear, and whispered, staggeringly, something that hit the man in the head like a ton of bricks.

"I…..I see things."

"Things like what?"

"Terrible things, like people. Whenever I leave this room, I see them. They're hurt, and disturbed, and they don't know that they're dead. They walk around, and for some reason, they only see me. They try to hurt me. I keep telling them to leave me alone. They don't go away, they want to hurt me, to hurt like they do." Ashura's voice dropped down another notch, and Harry could barely hear it, even as close as he was, "They tell me to come with them."

"Have you ever gone?" Harry asked, refusing to allow his voice to shake, now was not the time for nerves, "Have you ever tried to go with them?"

"Never." the child insisted, "They scare me. I'll look like them. I know it. This room is new, I am the first person in it. That is why I don't want to leave. Can you help me? You're the only one who can--help me, please, just help me-! No one else would believe me!"

"Of course I believe you, and I'll try." Harry soothed, "Now that I know what's wrong, I'll try my hardest to help you. Can you hang on until I can?"

A small nod.

"I'll try."

"Good. Do you want me to leave now?"

"No."

"So, what do you want to do?'

"Can we just read?"

"Sure."

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Apr. 10, 2004

Not much to say about #437, except that many possible breakthroughs were made. Confidentiality is a must.

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"Is it just me, doctor, or are your entries getting shorter and shorter?" Dr. Barnes, the head, inquired, brandishing a think sheaf of papers at Harry, who shrugged.

"I'm sorry, but there are many things that he asked me to keep to myself, and after working so hard to gain his trust, there is no way I am betraying it now. I write about what I can, and I consider myself lucky that he allows me to write anything at all. But doctor, I can honestly say that we are making progress. Please trust me, I know I'm new, but please, I ask you to trust me-"

"Calm yourself." Dr. Barnes ordered, "I trust you for that reason that you treasure his trust. There is a reason he goes through so many doctors. As soon as he gets close to breaking, they do something stupid and tell me about it, and he closes up like a clam. If it means sacrificing progress, then just tell me what you can, because I will not jeopardize his recovery if it is possible.

"Thank you so much, Dr. Barnes."

"Yeah, yeah. Now go on, I believe that you are late for your meeting."

"Oh crap!"

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"What do you want to do today, Ashura?" Harry asked, and the boy looked up, and small smile curling at his features.

"Guess what, doctor?"

"What?" Harry responded, amused.

"Nurse Connie was the lunch nurse today, and she brought me a cupcake!" He chirped, and Harry smiled; the smallest things were able to excite his patient lately, and the feeling was contagious.

"Oh really? And what kind of cupcake was it?"

"Chocolate with blue icing!"

"Sounds fun."

"It was." Ashura replied, "She looked really happy when I drew her a picture."

"I can imagine." Harry said, sitting down, "What do you want to do today?" Ever since that day, Ashura's secret had been stubbornly avoided, he hadn't wanted to talked about it, preferring to speak about superficial things. One thing that had bothered Harry, though, was the fact that, though there were others who came into his room, Ashura spoke only with Harry, and then even when it was just the two of them. It wasn't surprising, though.

"I, um…"

"Yes?"

"You said you wanted to help me, right?"

"More than anything."

"Can we go for a walk?" The question was tentative, and Harry blinked.

"If you want to. Where do you want to go?"

"I don't care."

"Alright then." Harry got to his feet, "You'll need your shoes on, you know." he commented as he pulled his own on and watched Ashura lace up a pair of boots that he had never seen the boy wear. He hadn't needed to wear them, after all, they had never before left the room together.

"Will you make sure they don't get me?"

"Of course I will. My favorite patient is by no means going to be taken by creepy people on my watch." Harry supposed that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to joke about such a thing, but it seemed to relax the child enough to, at least, get his shoes on.

"I'm your only patient."

"I think that if I had more than one, you'd still be my favorite."

"Dr. Barnes will get you for that." Ashura told him, and Harry laughed.

"Not if he doesn't find out!"

"Meh."

"Shall we go?" Harry questioned, determined to keep this light for as long as possible. "You ready?"

"Yes." was the quiet response, and as Harry prepared to slide open the door, Ashura reached out and took his free hand, not looking at him. Harry blinked, but didn't say a word, merely closed his fingers around the smaller ones and giving the hand a comforting squeeze. Slowly, they walked out.

In seconds, Ashura had completely frozen, and his eyes went wide, and he pressed himself close, clinging to Harry's hand.

"Is something there?" Harry asked calmly, staying cool for his patient's sake. A numb, terrified nod.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"It's a girl. A lot older than me. She's blue, and she has all these cuts down her arms. Her eyes are cut out, and she's holding a picture of a boy. She says she hates me."

"Ask her why."

Silence.

"I know you're scared, but try and ask her why she hates you."

"…..why do you hate me?" the boy whispered, so quietly that Harry couldn't even hear him.

"What did she say?"

"She says that she hates me because I can see her and I'm alive and she hurts so much and I don't."

"I'd say you're hurting now. What do you think is wrong with her?"

"Are you lonely?" Ashura asked, leaning closer in an almost morbid fascination, "Is that why you're so angry? Because I'm the only one who can see you and I'm alive? You don't like being alone?" Ashura tilted his head up and speak to Harry, "She says yes. What do I do?" His voice shook, and Harry squeezed his hand again.

"What would you say to someone who is alive?"

"I'm sorry that you're scared, and sad, and mad. I'm sorry that you're in so much pain. Why do you hurt so badly? How did you die?" The child's eyes suddenly widened. "She says that she used to cut herself, and that her boyfriend raped and drowned her. I don't know how to help you, please don't follow me anymore. You scare me. I don't like it when you follow me, please don't do it anymore."

He suddenly flinched, but then his face smoothed out and he reached out a shaking hair to touch the air.

"It's okay. There are other people here, people who can understand you. I forgive you." He trailed over, and then leaned against Harry's legs. "She's gone, and she said that she was sorry for scaring me."

"Are you angry with her?"

Ashura shook his head, almost whispering.

"She couldn't help how she felt. She was so hurt, and she wanted someone else to know it, but she said that she didn't mean to scare me so badly, and so it's okay. I would be hurt and angry too." He gripped Harry's hand tighter. "Doctor Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think that she'll be okay?"

"I think, Ashura, that she should be just fine."

"Do you think that we can make them all go away, and be happy? They can't help being dead, they need to be happy too, or at least understood."

"I agree. I don't know if we can make them all go away, but I agree with you."

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Apr. 24, 2004

Recovery these days is very quick, and I believe that #437 is going to be just fine. However, there are still problems, and unfortunately, I still believe that he needs help and guidance for him to truly be alright. I do not believe these days, that being in the hospital is a good thing for him, and I request permission for him to be moved out. I do not believe that being here can help him, if anything, it will hinder progress. Will speak on this subject at the next meeting.

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"Doctor, are you out of your mind?"

"I know that you are attached to him, and you do know him best, but this is madness!"

"Do you have any idea of what it is that you're asking!"

"QUIET!" Dr. Barnes boomed, silencing the entire room. "Dr. Potter, please repeat your request." Harry nodded.

"I request permission to take patient #437 out of the hospital by way of adoption. He has no guardian at this point in time, and with the steps he's making, being here can only harm him now." Harry answered, voice calm and laced with an inlay of steel. "He trusts me, and, it may not have been the best idea, but I care for him quite a bit, probably more than I should, and I could not bear to see everything go down the drain."

"If I granted this, what would you do?" Dr. Barnes asked, raising a brow, "It's a very odd request, you know."

"I do know." Harry said, "I own a large home in Britain, I would take him to live there, and home-school him. There are many people I know, good friends of mine, who have children, and would love him as I do. What he needs now isn't isolation or hospitalization, or any of that, but stability and normalcy! He needs an actual home, with family, and pets, and friends too! I can give him that."

"I agree with Harry." Connie suddenly spoke up, standing. "I don't think that any of you have actually seen how those two interact, but I have. God, the child has actually spoken to me, and he acts like a child! This can only be good. If you stuffed shirt-hoity-toity textbook worshippers would loosen your ties a bit, you'd get what I'm saying."

Several old men in the front row scowled and their hands unconsciously traveled to their ties, as if to protect them from Connie's wrath. Dr. Barnes spoke up once more.

"And how does patient #437 feel about this, doctor?"

"I haven't spoken about it with him yet, until I get permission. However, I have dropped several hints and questions about family, so that I don't think he'd be too shocked, and he seemed eager and willing." Harry was calm, and knew better than to allow his Gryffindor nature take control of his actions, now was the time for logic, not emotion. Those men would not be swayed by raw emotion, that much he knew. "Think about it. A patient you've had here for almost two years fully recovers because of this facility's care and help. Just imagine what frantic parents will be thinking when they're searching web sites and booklets for a hospital."

"Well, when you put it that way…" One of the tie-men in the front row murmured, "This could be a good thing."

"Alright," Dr. Barnes said, loudly, "All in favor of allowing Dr. Potter adoption and guardian rights of patient #437, and allowing Dr. Potter to remove said patient from this facility, raise your hands." Almost immediately, a sea of hands rose, and only a few remained in their owner's laps. "Then it's decided, then. This meeting is over. Dr. Potter, please come with me to my office after you have informed #437, so I can give you his file."

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"Of course, of course, of course!" Ashura shouted gleefully, still slightly in shock, "Are you serious! Oh my god, yes! Yes!"

"That's great!" Harry responded, beaming like an idiot, "I'm so happy that you like the idea."

"Like the idea? I love the idea! I can finally get outta here!"

Harry gaped as Ashura suddenly flung his arms around him, pressing himself close.

"God, thank you so much. Thank you, thank you, thank you…." he murmured into Harry's chest, and the man held him close, burying his face in the child's hair.

"We'll go anywhere, you know." He said quietly, "And you'll breathe the air of higher places."

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PATIENT FILE (PAGE 1)

#: 437

Name: Gohan Son

Age as of admission: 9

Birthday: June 3, 1994

Hair: Black

Eyes: Blue and silver

Height: 4'11"

Weight: 90 lbs

Date admitted: Oct. 12, 2003

Date Released: April 30, 2004

Reason for admission: Request of parent, apparent seeing of things that are not there

Condition brought in: Decent, but with obvious trauma and upon examination many old wounds.

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"Don't worry, Ashura, Poppy knows what she's doing, I promise, this won't hurt."

"Your father's right."

"I know, dad. I trust you."

"This will make it so that you will never see those things again, alright?"

"I know, dad. Don't worry so much, I'm not a baby."

"I know you're not." A parental laugh. "Trust me, I know."

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RING! RING! RING! RING!

"Hello?" A woman with long, curly brown hair picked up the phone in her living room. Despite the normal appearance of her home, in the kitchen, dishes were washing themselves, and with a flick of her wand, the woman brought her chair over, "Weasley residence."

"Hermione?"

"Harry?" Color drained from the woman's face, and she stood, in some sort of attempt of getting closer, "Harry, is that you?"

"Yes, it's me." An older, more adult voice than she was used to filtered through the receiver, "I'm sorry, Hermione, I'm so sorry for not keeping contact. I'm so sorry."

"Where on Earth have you been!"

"I went to college in America, I had to get away from everything, I'm so sorry-"

"Enough apologizing, Harry, where the hell are you now?"

"I'm back in Britain, at the manor."

"I'll be right over."

"But, Hermione-"

CLICK.

On the other end, Harry scowled at the phone.

"Well, damn."

"Is everything okay, dad?" A small voice asked from the hallway, and Harry turned to smile at his son.

"Never better, just an old friend coming over. Feeling up to it, Shura?" he asked, and his smile widened when the child beamed and nodded, eagerly.

"I really want to meet your friends, Dad. Is it the one who likes to read a lot? Because if it is, I really want to show her my library, is that okay?"

Harry laughed, and ruffled Ashura's ebony hair.

"It's actually, probably going to be the whole gang. Oh, Hermione is going to adore you. That is, after she picks herself up off of the floor when she meets you."

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It was an unusual sight that afternoon at the self-dubbed Tyger Manor, owned and operated by one Harry Potter, savior of the wizarding world. Ha ha.

There was, quite obviously, Hermione Granger-Weasley, along with her lovely husband Ronald (snicker) and their four-year-twins, but also Ginny and her husband, Neville, and Luna, and the elder twins, along with their wives; an ecstatic Angelina with Fred, and an exuberant Katie delightedly hanging off of George's arm. Remus, looking none too worse for wear was there as well, and by his arm, Hermione held an almost-there-against-his-own-damn-pureblooded-will, Draco Malfoy.

"I do not understand all of your fascination with doorbells," Draco sighed, watching as Hermione rang it many more times than was necessary.

"That's because you're an idiot." Ron told him jokingly, at which, if Harry had seen that, he may have passed out.

Suddenly, seconds after Hermione had stepped back, the large door swung open without a sound, and they all peered down at a small boy who was staring shyly up at them.

"Hello," the child said, in a slightly accented voice that was by no means British, before he was suddenly cut off by a frenzied yell.

"OH, CRAP! SHURA, ARE THEY HERE!"

"Yeah!" the boy called back, his voice echoing through the house, "You decent?"

"NO! SHURA, JUST-OH MY GOD I DON'T KNOW-"

"Um, how about a well-placed charm over here, you're a bit loud." the boy, 'Shura' replied, tilting his head, "Unless you want me to do it, instead." He turned back to the large group standing in the door. "Um, he's still getting ready, come in?"

Quiet, Hermione suspected from shyness, the boy led them into the living room, and immediately exited, only to return with two large trays, one with cookies, one with tea.

"He should be down soon." And then, like a shadow, he was gone again.

-------------------

Indeed, Harry was down soon, and was immediately jumped upon and squished to death, and hugged, and kissed, and he swore that someone touched his bum, before everyone had enough evidence to assume that he was alive and well.

"Harry?" Ron asked, munching on a cookie, "Who was that cute little kid who opened the door?" Harry blinked, before staring at the ceiling.

"You know, I hadn't exactly gotten to that part, but-"

"Dad, you're crashing and burning over there."

Everyone turned to see 'Shura' standing in the doorway, they hadn't even heard the door open! Then, Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Did-did I just hear that correctly? Did he just call you 'dad'?"

"In one!" Harry beamed and gestured the boy over, "I adopted him about a month ago. His name is Ashura, and he's ten."

There was silence for a few seconds, before several loud squeals were heard, and every single female in the room pounced the small child, hugging him and snuggling him, and cooing at him, and generally making every single male in the room (including said child) squirm uncomfortably.

"My god, Harry, he's adorable! I want him!" Ginny demanded jokingly.

"Um, dad? Uh…help?" The blue and silver eyes were pleading, and Harry shook his head.

"You guys, seriously, let him go." Harry ordered sternly, and to his slight surprise, all four of them released the boy, who immediately backed away, "We're still working on some things. This may sound cold, but please don't touch him unless he starts it." Ashura went a light pink, and stared stubbornly at the floor, leaning up against his father's legs. Absently, Harry's hand traveled to the child's head, and he stroked his hair.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Hermione apologized, and Ashura nodded meekly. "So, sweetheart, what do you like to do?"

"I like to read, and play with animals, and I like drawing, and writing, and martial arts, but reading most of all!"

Hermione beamed at him.

"Oh my god, I love you!" she exclaimed, and Ron groaned.

"I feel for you, Harry. Truly, I do."

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FINITE

OWARI

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Well, there you have it. Nightshade, the wonder shot, was thought up and finished in one day. Dear God.

Anyway, if you have any questions, comments, criticisms, or even (gasp) compliments, please review and tell me anything you want. I post review responses on my LJ (listed as my home page on my bio) so if you're interested, check it out!