The pale light of the quarter moon weakly lit up the street of Private Drive, shadows hanging triumphantly in the pitiful light. Though, that didn't stop him from walking down the sidewalk, no it made him grin as he silently moved away from the ruin that used to be Number 4. There was no evidence that wouldn't burn that link him to the destruction of his 'relatives' house. He made a low grunting purr in the black of his throat before he vanished with a loud CRACK into the now growing ruckus of Private Drive.
Harry Potter, now Harold Saegusa BlackHeart of the House of BlackHeart, reappeared in one of the busy japanese streets in Tokyo. "You know, only being away from this place, if only for a while, makes you feel like you've been away for a lifetime." Harold's kaiju spirit, 'The Heart Eater', said in his mind, her feminine voice filling his head as he shifted from his humanoid kaiju to his human self. "Yes, but that's why it feels better when you return." Harold said as he moved to the Psychic school built and headed by Miki Saegusa, the only person that saw him as her son, literally as her son.
Miki Saegusa had adopted him when she saw him out on the doorstep of Number 4, she was a telepathic witch, one of the many telepathic magicals that could only be found in Japan. Then when he had reached the age of 6, his magic had decided to make him a kaijumagus and was the only one of his kind. Though his transformation took a week to fully complete, Harold would not ever say that he never wanted it to happen.
Harold noticed that there was a very noticeable increase in Kaiba Corp. dueling discs, meaning that there was another dueling tournament on the horizon. Well, he had missed the last two dueling competitions because of his job. But, he had to see his mother first before entering. Harold reached the two story school building, smiling when he saw the students through one of the windows working on drawing what they had seen in their dreams. Opening the door and heading to the classroom, he entered it and was welcomed with the cheers of his mother's class.
"Hey everyone." Harold smiled as he was dogpiled by the 15 some odd students, until they were told to let him up. His mother held out a hand, helping him up before pulling Harold into a hug. "So, you've seen the duelists on your way here?" Miki asked, Harold nodded before lifting his left arm. Tapping the watch on his wrist, it shifted and built itself into a black and green dueling disc. The semi-circle disc's front end had two blades, the one closest to his hand longer than the second and it screamed 'weapon'. "I'm ready to duel, but I want to spend sometime with my mother before heading out again."
-Hearts of painted Black-
"You ready to lose?"
Harold gave his opponent a piercing look, making the blond boy flinch. He just smiled before motioning for his opponent to finish his turn. Drawing his card, Harold smirked. "Well then it looks like this duel is over before it has even started. I play the spell card Creation of the Dorat." He heard murmurs of confusion and then shouts as three Dorat Tokens(Atk-1100/ Def-1100) appeared before they started glowing.
"Now, I summon the kaiju god of space-KING GHIDORAH(Atk-7500/ Def-7000) in attack mode!" The dorats vanished, the sky darkened as the bone chilling cry of the golden dragon was heard. The massive dragon landed, cackling and shrieking before going silent and stared at the blond kid. "King Ghidorah has a special effect that allows him to be summoned when the spell card, Creation of the Dorat, is played. He also has a effect that, when summoned successfully, allows me to destroy all your spell and trap cards! King Ghidorah, clear his field!"
King Ghidorah opened his three mouths and turned the blond boys only defence into digital code. Harold then grinned and then had King Ghidorah attack his opponent's Life Points directly. The screens showed Harold's LP as 8000 but the kids was 500, now was a good time for the kid to surrender and then kid did. That was only the beginning for Harold, he had no idea that he would meet a manipulative old coot the next day. The one that, if allowed, would make his life a living nightmare.