Beautiful Star - Or Why Studying is like Ramen Chapter 6

Disclaimer: No copyright infringement intended. I don't own anything you recognize.

Full Summary: After an unfortunate incident with a compromised Portkey and some revenge-obsessed Death Munchers, a barely eighteen years old GWL must learn quickly to navigate the Elemental Countries, as well as to raise her baby godson, the only one who tagged along on her next great adventure. Heavily injured, starving herself to feed the little six-month-old and deathly afraid of the very real threat of death, Harry is ready to give up when an unexpected hand helped her out. Jiraiya - who only a few years prior suffered the loss of his most prized student - can't help himself when he finds the tiny girl trying to survive without a real understanding of the world around her. For her child. Somehow the Hokage thinks she's a perfect care-taker for her new neighbor, a five-year-old boy hated by nearly the whole village. Now what the hell did she get herself into this time?

Still Unbetaed! (as of June 22nd, 2015)

Hi!

So, I realize that the last chapter was particularly long, especially Harry/Hoshimi's portion of dialogue. I just detailed what could have probably been summarized in a few sentences, but this way you actually know exactly what she told them. Note: it's long, detailed, but she doesn't give away everything. There are a lot of parts she has kept to herself.

Please also note that when reading something, especially a fictional work, you always have to question the trustworthiness of the narrator. There is a difference between author and narrator. (Check with your Literature teacher, it is one of the first things we learned in my German classes. At college/uni in my Lit classes, this is a huge deal. No matter what language you speak/learn.)
In this fic's case, it is mostly written from a Third Person Perspective from Hoshimi's POV. That means every single thing written in these chapters has to be interpreted with the understanding that all thoughts, feelings, ideas, etc. are seen from her personal point of view. So, when I write about sabotage in the Academy, particularly Naruto's education, then you have to realize that as a civilian, especially one educated in an entirely different environment and society, Hoshimi has different expectations and a different understanding of what a competent teacher should be. Also, she is biased in regards to Naruto, having seen and experienced his general treatment by the villagers, and thinks this overlaps with the treatment he receives from his teachers. Does Naruto tell her about every single prank or every single time he ditched classes or goofed off? Would you, as a child in his position? No. Of course not.
Does every single teacher have a lily-white vest in regards to their treatment of the Demon Brat? No, likely not.
Sadly, competence in teachers varies, everywhere. If you want an example, compare Binns and MacGonnagall. Does anyone, except for Hermione, ever pay attention in History? Probably not, unless they are particularly ambitious Ravenclaws. Now, in Transfiguration, no one really goofs off, but pays attention to what the Professor is telling them for the most part.

As for our friend Bakano, well that will come up later. Try to be patient, please. Right now, I am working on showing how Harry and Teddy arrived in the Elemental Countries a bit more, so...

Approximate ages of Hoshimi and others:
Hoshimi: 18 at the beginning of the fic, around 20 now
Kakashi: 19 at the beginning of the fic, around 21, 22 now
Naruto: 5 at the beginning, now around 7
Teddy: around 6 months at the time of the attack, about 2 1/2 years now

No, this story is not all about fluff and romance, but I tried to subtly introduce underlining plot. Keep your eyes peeled and you may notice the little differences beginning to show themselves. They will change a few major things later on. (Although, I haven't really planned on anything concrete yet...)

Alright, happy to have cleared this up!

Have a good evening,
W

PS: Check out my side-fic 'Toppings' if you want to know if Kakashi has anything to do with all those failed dates...

~6~

These entirely unexpected, nearly unbelievable revelations caused everyone to stare incredulously at her. Sighing inwardly, heavy with resignation, Hoshimi braced herself for their inevitable reactions. Their staggering disbelief, their undoubtedly heated accusations, their cold demands of proof. However, Hoshimi held up a hand pleadingly, stopping them from verbalizing their thoughts on her sob-story just yet.
She needed to get this off her chest - all of it. In one go. Like ripping off a particularly troublesome band-aid. She needed to finish her story. Otherwise, the witch probably wouldn't ever get to the finish line. (She knew herself well enough to freely admit this character flaw, at least in the privacy of her mind. Feelings and emotions - they are not something she ever relished to verbalize, no matter if it's to strangers or people she holds close to her heart.)

Sometime before Hoshimi regained awareness of her surroundings and herself, Anko had had organized a glass of water which sat neatly on the ground next to the futon, in ready reach of the exhausted witch. Hoshimi can feel their sharp gazes boring into her skin, seemingly digging beneath her epidermis to reach her innermost core. Her mind. No matter the (varying) previous degree of amity between them respectively, all three shinobi won't allow her out of their sight. They're not stupid or stupidly trusting, despite it having been years since their acquaintance had been established.

Hoshimi was aware that she was balancing on a tightrope, a very thin, wildly swinging thread of rope that might yet throw her off, possibly to her death. From here on out, they won't ever look at her the same way again; she also knew this. Perhaps Anko would cease to trust her; their friendship coming to an abrupt end. It was a risk Hoshimi would have to take.

Besides, she was a Gryffindor and they were supposed to be stupidly reckless and since when have obstacles ever truly hindered her from reaching a goal? Not even death stopped her from finally finishing what others had started long before her birth; before her birth had even been a possibility. The raven-haired tween suspected, she might be more closely acquainted with the silver-haired male than she realized at that moment - he was just too familiar in the way he was seemingly nonchalantly leaning against that wall - but for the life of her, the witch couldn't remember where she might have met him before. All the same, Hoshimi noticed that the irremovable weight on her shoulders, the one that's been practically smothering her by pressing down on her for years, even before she's stepped foot on Fire Country soil, had lightened a bit while she started confessing her past.
The truth behind her actions, her scars, her reactions. At least, as far as she was willing to confess and felt required to spill. If for nothing else, taking the weight, throwing it off her shoulders, one piece at a time, simply by talking it out, well - it made the whole ordeal worth it.

Hoshimi realized right then, in the middle of a rendition of her unpleasant past, that she had been simply deluding herself into thinking that she was getting over the many, many deaths of her family, her friends, and never having the chance to ever see them again. Never.
It was a hard pill to swallow; especially because she had thought - had desperately wished - to never end up bitter and jaded and trapped in her memories like Sirius, like Snape, and so many others she had known. It was her main goal after the Final Battle: to move on. To live without fear of the rumor-mongers and hits on her reputation for doing something she actually believed in.

Despite it only being three months since Voldemort's downfall, Hoshimi had had plans; things she wanted to do, things she wanted to change; a future. A future she would never get to see; a future she would never be able to share with her brother and sister who had voluntarily gone through so much horror and pain to remain at her side, to protect her back and front. And if there had been any other way, Hoshimi was almost certain Hermione and Ron would have bundled her up in fluffy blankets and the stuff you use to protect fragile things when sending them somewhere with a package and would have hidden her away somewhere no one would think to look. And they would have sat on her, no matter the consequences, to keep her safe.

So the raven-haired witch was deeply disappointed with herself. She had given her best, but clearly it has not been enough. Well, Hermione also repeatedly told her there was always room for improvement. But she was going off track now.

"All those years ago, Jiraiya-sama didn't exactly decide to help us out of the kindness hidden in the deepest corners of his heart or soul," she whispered hoarsely, throat still raw and painful. A wry grin appeared on her face as she thought back to their first meeting. "I - was not careful enough to avoid detection. In fact, had it been anyone else, I would very likely be dead, my body lying in some ditch somewhere. But I slipped, so he knew there was something - special about us."

The Hokage remained completely passive, no change in expression. Anko leaned forward just a tiny bit, while the strangely familiar silver-haired man still guarding the door sharpened his penetrating gaze even further. Hoshimi concentrated hard on the length of her hair, allowing it to grow passed her shoulders, down nearly to her hips, for a really noticeable change. Anko gasped silently enough - had Hoshimi not been a veteran warrior witch, she would not have caught the soft sound.

"I carry only a mild version of what could be considered our clan's bloodline limit. However Tadao-kun has received the full brunt of it. My blood is still too close to the main line, his was diluted by his grandfather and father," the witch explained drily. Then she gently took off his ever-present hat, exposing hair which cycled through all the colors of the rainbow in his peaceful sleep. This time she could almost feel the growing calculation and dawning realization in the room. It was nearly fit to be cut with her new kitchen knife. "That is just something extraordinary our clan was known for. We use our body's energy in a different way. No chakra, but mostly spiritual energy. We call it magic."

The Hokage was boring holes into her head without showing any particular change in expression. If this had been any other situation, Hoshimi might have actually been impressed by the old man's prowess.

"What can you do with this - talent?" Anko wondered curiously.

The witch smiled slightly. Magic was wonderful. Her Metamorphmagus-talent was tiny, at best, because Magic - unlike chakra - required one to believe oneself capable of producing or replicating whatever one wished to achieve and then practicing it. Hoshimi had not believed herself a carrier of the Black gift, so her ability had shrunk significantly with each passing year she hadn't made use of it. Sirius had once told her that she could do small things, very small things, as a baby thanks to her paternal grandmother who had been a born Black, an aunt to an aunt of her late godfather.

"As long as you can imagine it, there are almost no limits to what magic can achieve. I can't bring back the dead, or make real, nutritious food out of nothing. I can't turn average metal into gold or make someone truly immortal. There are laws of course, to limit the misuse of magic. Of all curses, there are three which were deemed Unforgivables: Avada Kedavra, Imperio, and Crucio. I've been hit with all three of them and they're not fun. The Dark Lord was so feared because he could and did use all three, liberally. Your nuke-nin Orochimaru comes close to what he was like, from what I heard around the marketplace. Riddle was fascinated by snakes, obsessed with immortality, and had absolutely no scruple. He killed without second thoughts, even his own father.
"He had discovered a dangerous, immoral technique which bound the soul to the living plane, even if the body was destroyed. Of course no one knew that important tidbit for a very long time. He believed in a prophecy made about a child born to parents who had fought him and escaped with their life intact for three times. This child was supposed to be born at the end of July, a girl. The prophecy continued by stating that the child would be marked as his equal. 'Neither can live while the other survives.'"

Hoshimi took a deep breath, brushing her hair aside, revealing her famous lightning bolt scar. Then she went on, loosely describing the war and direct skirmishes between the two sides in more detail. She spilled her regrets, her guilt, her fear, and anger at the previous generations.
How did it come down to a handful of teens trying to save their way of life, their world, while the adults had their heads firmly stuck in the sand? How could they have expected an inexperienced, untrained child to save them?
Therefore, it truly was a confession for Hoshimi.

"Three months after the battle, I was watching Tadao-kun for his grandmother when we were attacked..."

- Flashback -

Andromeda kissed Teddy goodbye, smiling at the little baby boy. Harry grinned at her mentor and aunt-figure. They were each other's support when it came to braving the aftermath of the war.

"I will take good care of Teddy," Harry promised solemnly, stroking Teddy's cheek gently. He beamed toothlessly up at the teen in response.

Andromeda chuckled wetly, gently petting her niece's cheek in a motherly gesture. "Of course you will. I do trust you, Harry. There's a reason they named you godmother, after all. And you've more than proven yourself capable in combat." The older woman hugged her younger counterpart warmly, but less restricting than Mrs. Weasley ever managed to on her best days. "You will make a formidable, admirable Lady Black one day, Harry. I'm quite proud of your achievements in our little lessons."

Harry smiled, blushing modestly. "Thank you, Aunt Andromeda. I had a very good teacher."

The older woman laughed quietly, a wonderful sound so rarely heard these days, squeezing her hand reassuringly. Then Andromeda Tonks left reluctantly. "Take good care of the both of you," she quietly bid the raven-haired teen, before she softly closed the newly paired and varnished door of the small cottage behind herself.

Harry had moved into the small house, which she had inherited from Sirius, immediately after the end of the war. No one knew about its exact location, except the goblins, Andromeda, and Harry herself.

Mainly because Hermione and Ron were still out of the country, non-magically traveling through Australia and (nominally at least) searching for the Grangers, while also simultaneously exploring their newly-awakened relationship. Harry had, rather tactfully, stayed behind, in Britain. She didn't want to be the useless third wheel on that particular trip, although the raven-haired teen still sent the two other thirds of the Golden Trio some money for financial support, as well as monthly reports of what had happened on the other side of the world while they were off "gallivanting across the Busch", in Mrs. Weasley's words.

Admittedly, Andromeda had had accepted her - admittedly meager - help with Teddy only after Harry agreed to take the culture tutoring sessions the older witch had offered to the younger. It sufficiently distracted both females from their grief, for a few hours at least, and gave them something to focus on.

In the meantime, back in the present, Harry gently carried her godson to the beautiful, surprisingly large garden in the backyard, where she had already left a small, fluffy blanket for him to lie on. It was an exceptionally wonderful day, very sunny, and a cloudless sky stretched for miles over their heads. For lunch, Harry had planned on a small, healthy picnic for the two of them, followed by a nap and some playtime.

Teddy loved cuddling in the sun, so Harry indulged him as often as possible. She took great care not to get her new summer dress dirty - it had been a thoughtful present from Andromeda to her eighteenth birthday - and settled Teddy carefully into her lap. For a while, Harry proceeded to conjure colorful butterflies and bubbles for him, keeping his attention focused on them. Teddy always imitated his favorite colors, so his hair cycled through all kinds of - interesting combinations.

Just when she had decided to finally start on the food, the wards pinged. Sharply. Immediately turning alert, Harry quickly drew her wand, snatching Teddy with her free hand. She would defend her precious godson to her dying breath. A sharper attack was launched against the wards of the property, clearly attempting to break through them. Someone was really putting strength behind their attacks.

Harry tried to Apparate out, but there suddenly were emergency anti-Apparation and anti-Portkey wards encasing the property, hindering her escape. Harry knew she shouldn't barricade herself into the house. The Death Eaters could just curse all windows and doors closed and set it on fire. Most likely even with Fiendfyre. It was their standard procedure in such cases. So she would attempt to make her way to the nearby forest, on the off-chance she could save Teddy and herself.

"Be quiet, just like a mouse, Teddy bear," his godmother implored the baby silently. That's when the attackers managed to forcefully burst through the damaged wards. Harry had been planning to have them updated sometime next week, but that was obviously too late now. Who would have expected these remnants of Death Munchers to find out about one of the Black residences though? She had honestly thought she was safe here, in her godfather's secret abode, hidden in the country.

The first tell-tale green flash of light nearly hit her head, but Harry luckily ducked out of the way in the absolutely last moment. Instincts honed throughout the last three years of an guerrilla war were solely responsible for keeping her alive right then. She tightened her hold on Teddy, forcefully focusing on the present, and swallowed a litany of curses. This was quite clearly not the time to reminisce about the recent past. She swiftly side-stepped another Avada, angrily firing back a quick, relatively merciless Reducto at the one almost ending her life.

That day, Alexandrina Henrietta Potter decided not to take prisoners. They wouldn't return any courtesy she hypothetically showed them, which would inevitably lead to harm for her godson. So, no prisoners. Then she counted her opponents, while conjuring shield after shield and also dodging Killing Curses and other spells to the best of her abilities. Three Death Eaters in full regalia came from the front. Six were slowly edging around her, attempting to cut off the only remaining escape-exit. Harry needed to get out of range of the Anti-Portkey Wards, which meant fleeing her own property, to escape from this attack with the life of her godson - and her own - intact. The raven-haired witch speculated almost absentmindedly that two other Death Munchers were stationed a ways off, to warn the rest of those bastards in case she either received unexpected visitors or the Aurors arrived by lucky coincidence. However, the imminent arrival of the Red Robes was highly unlikely, so Harry didn't even dare dream of a viable chance of an alarm reaching The Ministry in time for whatever help they could offer to be of much use.

In the meantime, the unfair battle had continued regardless of the witch's inner observations. Harry desperately tried to avoid being overrun and outnumbered, flinging Reductos around like candy at a child's birthday party. Her new dress was already partially singed in several places from barely-missed curses, one of her hands, the one holding Teddy, was bleeding from an almost completely dodged Cutting Curse, and she had lost a portion of hair thanks to a small fire-whip.
On the other hand, Harry had blasted off a chunk of one attacker's torso, leaving the guy with a massive, bleeding wound. If he wasn't treated soon, he'd be permanently out of commission. Dancing out of the way of yet another Avada Kedavra, Harry conjured birds to attack and distract her pursuers and ran as fast as possible to the boundaries of her property.

After sending a last look back, she finally managed to aim true and nailed one of the remaining bastards in the chest with another Reducto, killing him instantly. Predictably, the other Death Eaters weren't exactly happy about this turn of events, becoming even more aggressive. Harry ignored their angry, infuriated shouting and concentrated on getting away. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest; fear for her precious godson multiplying the already high concentration of adrenaline in her veins. She roughly yanked out the necklace with her emergency Portkey, which had been hidden under her dress's décolleté, having to use her only free, shaking hand to do so. It cost her dearly.
A moment of distraction in battle was a moment of distraction too many. Harry felt the Cutting Curse graze her hips, digging deeply enough into her flesh to leave a scar despite Madam Pomfrey's best efforts; thankfully the Curse was too poorly aimed to result in anything but adding another scar to her collection. But she didn't feel the Reducto, until it was nearly too late. The blasting curse only hit her hand - was stopped by her wand and exploded prematurely, taking her wand with it, core and all, reduced to nothing but quickly vanishing ash. Fortunately, she could still feel all of her fingers and move her hand, but her wand... What was a witch without her wand, especially locked in mortal combat against a foe which vastly outnumbered and outgunned her?

"Shit, shit, shit," she cursed lowly, panicking inwardly, but figuratively slapping herself back into reality. This was also not the moment to get lost in her head. Then Harry tried to dodge another unimaginative Avada aimed at Teddy from one of the speedier pursuers and didn't catch sight of the ominous murky-blue spell in time to evade. It hit her necklace right where the Portkey was strung up and for a moment everything seemed to slow down to a complete standstill. Eyes widened impossibly, Harry clutched desperately at her godson, flicking her useless, bloodied fingers in the ingrained movements for her now broken (again!) wand and let loose the first spell her mind conjured; a Patronus. Then the murky-blue and light-blue of the activated Portkey mingled, mixing, the brightness of the two spells increasing until they reached blindingly white on a scale.

A tug on her core, a half-aborted scream from Teddy, a last painful twinge from another Cutting Curse, a startled yell from one of the Death Eaters, the pops of several Apparations, followed by an explosion of light.

Then there was blessed, ringing, hollow silence.

Nothing.