«So that's what you are, Tokyo...», Momonga whispered, admiring the sight before him.

Suzuki Satoru was born and raised in the relatively small town of Okigawa in Saitama Prefecture. He had never traveled beyond its borders, much less sought to relocate anywhere. Not because anyone hindered him, not at all. He, like all other residents of small towns, simply did not see the point in it. Even though the wages there were noticeably higher than in the provincial cities, but the increased pollution that forced him to walk the streets in full chemical protection, as well as the critical overpopulation, despite the problems with the demographics - completely negated such advantages.

For the same reason he never traveled anywhere. Where to? Apart from certain protected areas, which were off-limits to the general public, there were simply no beautiful or spectacular places left in the world.

That is why, by the way, people bought or even borrowed full immersion devices to spend all their free time in virtual reality. At least that is what those who had enough money to do. And for the lower class, there were cheaper forms of entertainment: hard synthetic alcohol, as well as full legalize on cheap psychotropic substances, which were often used to pay the salary of those who liked to brighten up their lives in this uncomplicated way.

"I never thought I'd ever see this city in person. Especially like this...", Momonga marveled.

At the entrance to Tokyo International Airport, where Momonga was now frozen, there was a view of the wonderful and ergonomic buildings, which were framed by a wide red arch that held up a long bridge leading to them.

"Haneda's Heavenly Arch..." - Sudzuki suddenly remembered its name. "It's supposed to be torn down sometime near the end of the twenty-first century, if I'm not mistaken."

After admiring the rather beautiful view for another minute, Momonga inhaled with full ephemeral lungs, adjusted the huge tube on his shoulder, and stared with his slightly reddish eyes at the distant, uncharted path.


"So Sirius was acquitted after all." - Albus exhaled in relief as he finished reading the Wizengamot opinion. - "With all this searching, I had completely forgotten that there was to be a rehearing of Black's case tonight."

Unfortunately, that Halloween night, Albus never had time to learn Sirius's motives with the help of legiliments, for immediately after discovering Harry was missing, several groups of aurors suddenly arrived at the house.

What followed was a brief explanation of the part of the truth he had prepared for the public. Namely, a brief story about the Boy-Who-Lived, as well as a report that this very boy was missing somewhere.

"Of course, I wish the first part of the story had gone to the masses as a rumor from an unknown eyewitness, but there's nothing to be done about that..." - He thought at the time.

After the sudden news that the Dark Lord had disappeared, and that a certain one year old infant had defeated him - most of the Aurors apparated to their barracks to report back to their immediate superiors, while the rest had to listen to a crumpled explanation of exactly how the boy could have survived the killing curse, and why Dumbledore thought he might still be alive:

«Magic has always been a mysterious force, and no one has yet fully grasped its will. It has always responded to the bright desires of wizards, and especially of small children. Perhaps the boy's will was able to overpower the desire to kill Voldemort, and the mother's ardent desire to protect her child can keep little Harry alive for many years to come.»

Fortunately, the reputation of the strongest wizard since Merlin and the winner of the previous Dark Lord helped this time as well. Well, the earlier news of the death of Voldemort, who had managed to do a lot of grief throughout his existence, helped to prepare fertile ground for such abstract explanations, which would then be believed even by the most educated wizards.

Behind all this was the sudden trial of Sirius Black, for whose sake they had decided to move the hearing of many inveterate Death Eaters, whose guilt had already been proven ex post facto, and who only had to wait for their verdict, since the alleged traitor to the Potters, in the eyes of the entire top of Magical Britain, had a much higher priority.

At first, Albus, as one of the jurors, had wanted to suggest the use of Veritaserum to give Sirius at least a chance at some kind of reprieve. But after he had been given his word by means of the removal of the sleep spell, he woke up and began to suddenly confess his guilt loudly, with tears in his eyes. And since all the cases of the alleged Eater were handled by a judge named Barty Crouch, who was famous for his decisiveness in pronouncing sentences, Dumbledore had no time to even open his mouth when he said, unquestioningly:


And so Sirius would have spent his remaining days in a cramped, damp cell in the company of Dementors and other Eaters, had the next day not come word from the pathology department of St. Mungo's Hospital.

While Peter Peddigrew's body was being prepared for burial, during the stage where the man's corpse was to be fully exposed, the Dark Mark was found on his forearm, the last thing one would expect of a supposed war hero: the Dark Mark.

This unexpected discovery caused an incredible stir at the top of the Ministry, as the suddenly exposed Death Eater, along with the tragically dead Potters, wanted to be awarded the Order of Merlin of the first degree. A lot of people started talking about reviewing Sirius Black's case because he didn't even have the Dark Mark on him at the time of the search. If Albus hadn't managed to grab hold of that very moment at the time, it would have remained at the level of talk. Since everyone knows for a fact that the Ministry of Magic doesn't like to admit its mistakes.

Since Albus was busy at that moment actively searching for suitable spells for blood magic, he could not attend the meeting, though he really wanted to. So he had only to rely on the discretion of the new judge in this very delicate matter, and with the tenacity of a rhinoceros stormed the forbidden section of Hogwarts. From that secret section, which was accessible only to the teachers.

But a newspaper that suddenly appeared out of the air abruptly snapped Dumbledore out of his thoughts.

«Thank you, Trixie.», Albus remembered the name of the elfes who always delivered his daily correspondence to his office.

Ignoring the elfes embarrassed squeak, Dumbledore unfolded the new issue of the Daily Prophet, but instead of the expected news of Sirius pardon, he found on the front page a very unpleasant headline for his eyes:

"Aurors, Led by Albus Dumbledore, Missed the Kidnapper of the Boy Who Lived!" - Said the front-page caption, which made Albus cringe unhappily, as if he had once again mistaken a lemon sherbet for a real lemon.


«So you're saying you've lived in the society of monks all your life, and you've only now decided to get your papers?», gain asked the man in a policeman's uniform, who for an hour had been questioning a rather tall man with the appearance of an unremarkable Japanese. «And this child is your son?», He looked doubtfully at the infant in the hands of the man, whose appearance, except for the hair, was far from Japanese.

«Ready to take a DNA test.», The man confidently declared that he had been subjected to a thorough questioning by the Japanese guardian of law and order for the past hour.

The policeman, on the other hand, looked at him with a strange look, as if he was trying to figure out: should I call his superiors, or would it be easier to turn him in to a psychiatric hospital?

«And this staff?», The man asked again, trying his pen on a nearly empty report form.

«The relic my parents gave me.», He answered just as confidently.

«Plastic?», The policeman asked semi-confidently, looking even more strangely at the man across the street. And without waiting for an answer, he turned off the tape recorder, and smoothly stood up from his seat and headed for the exit of the interrogation room. «I have to take your words to my superiors. This sort of thing is out of my purview. I won't lock the door, but please don't leave this room. Since you've come to the station yourself», Sighs the already quite exhausted man in uniform, just as he promised - not locking the door.

"I'm not even glad I decided to do this anymore." Momonga sighed, squaring his shoulders wide and leaning back in his metal chair. "It's like reporting to my boss."

After a week of living in Japan, Momonga realized that even though there was no way to instantly verify the authenticity of documents because of the lack of Internet, living for a long time with fake documents was not a good idea. Even though he could constantly change his appearance.

That's when he decided to assume his usual appearance of his previous body, and having prepared not a big legend - to go, and voluntarily surrender to the police, hoping for the best. In an extreme case, if they, for example, try to take little Kichiro away from him, he can easily erase the memories of all the witnesses of his visit by applying amnesia control.

Finally, after ten minutes of waiting, a short conversation was heard on the other side of the door, which Momonga, thanks to his improved hearing, was able to understand perfectly:

«Is he here?», Asked someone's stern voice.

«Hai, Chief Inspector Takeshi-sama!» - Declares the policeman who was interrogating him earlier.

«You're free to go, Nakada-san», I'll take over from here.


After a cheerful "Hai" from the junior policeman, the iron-clad door opened slowly, and a slightly gray-haired man in his fifties walked into the interrogation room, who, after looking round the room, and particularly at Momonga, with a keen eye, began slowly locking the door.

«Chief Inspector Sugiyama Takeshi of the Tokyo Police», He introduced himself after closing the door and took a seat in a chair.

«Suzuki Satoru», Momonga briefly introduced himself. «Please take care of me.»

«I will,» he replied in response to the on-duty greeting. «Honestly, if Nakada-san hadn't mentioned your "family heirloom," I would have thought you were either a criminal who had plastic surgery and wanted to hide from the police; or a very strange jōhatsu who, in addition to his job and place of residence, wanted to change his identity.»

"Jōhatsu, jōhatsu... That's right," Suzuki remembered, "a man who, because of his disgrace, starts his life with a clean slate. Not surprisingly, this notion is very outdated. After all, these days it's incredibly difficult to change jobs or homes without ending up on the street..."

«It's not often that someone from Ommyoji goes out into the ordinary world. - Suddenly the inspector began, causing Momonga to be very surprised. - Yes, officially, by rank, I'm not supposed to know about the existence of magic yet. But since my father was also a policeman, or rather a commissioner by rank, he was informed of its existence. And there, in time, the information reached me. - He explained, misinterpreting his interlocutor's surprise.

«Ahem, I see what you mean», Shortly Momonga said, playing along with the policeman. "There goes my chance at legalization."

«I take it you were born into the clan, since you don't have any papers?», Asked the officer as he started to take the tape out of the recorder.

«Yes, that's right.», He answered. «Aren't you going to have a problem with that?», Momonga asked, deciding to change the subject somewhat so as not to reveal his ignorance.

«If I did, I wouldn't have to tell you about it.», He smiled miserably as he took out and crumpled a cassette tape. - But they decided to make an exception on me, since I wasn't far from the rank of commissioner anyway. So they signed me up as a close relative of those born outside the clan, and they've already officially given me a little briefing on the mystical world.

«I'm glad I didn't cause you any trouble by showing up.», Momonga said politely, inwardly trying to absorb whatever information the inspector was so carelessly throwing around. «So... Is there any way I can get documents?»

«Normally, this is all handled by a special department in the Ministry of Internal Affairs, which is approached directly by clan representatives.», He answered, hiding the carefully crumpled tape in the pocket of his blue pants. «I see you have a problem with that. Fortunately for you, my immediate supervisor must have the connections to them. Come into my office, I have a call to make.», Said the policeman, getting up from his chair and heading for the exit. «And don't forget your... relic.», He pointed to the massive staff, which was resting neatly on top of a cylindrical case.

Momonga, no longer worried about revealing his magical essence, pulled his hand toward his staff, which swiftly flew into his hand, carrying the sheath with the strap thrown over it.

The officer could only marvel at such a careless display of magic, inwardly marveling at the outward richness of the staff that appeared before him in all its glory.

"Didn't that man say you needed some kind of object to manifest magic?" - The chief inspector thought. But when he saw that the suddenly revealed omiyoji had already placed his staff in a black plastic tube, he quickly discarded his previous thought, saying:

«Follow me.»


«Albus! I don't know what the hell that was, but it must be up to you!», Loudly said the sudden burst from the fireplace, Alastor Moody, who was swiftly moving his cane staff, limping with his wooden leg.

«Hello to you too, Alastor», Dumbledore answered nonchalantly, as he continued sipping his evening tea. «Tea?», Asked Albus, waving his wand in the direction of the porcelain teapot so that it began to pour its contents into mugs.

«That bloody muggle doesn't know anything!», Alastor exclaimed, tactfully refusing the treat.

Tactfully, in his own way.

«Why doesn't he know?», Dumbledore asked, astonished, ordering the teapot to suck all the tea back from the mug. «Apparently, our kidnapper has spent some time in the company of this boy. And as far as I know, there was no trace of Confudus or Imperio on him. Didn't he even ask for his name?», Albus asked with a little chuckle, reaching his hand out for a vase of sweets. «A lemon sherbet?»

Alastor did not answer Dumbledore's suggestion, but thumped the staff sharply, which sent a stinging spark of a curse straight into the outstretched hand of the Headmaster.

Albus, who had not expected such a reaction to his hospitality, jerked his hand sharply away from the path of the spell, watching helplessly as his beloved sweetness flew swiftly to the floor.

He looked grudgingly in the direction of Moody, who smirked a little at the created disgrace, Albus sighed heavily, and pushing the mug away, tried to tune in a serious way, as he realized that he, once again, to drink tea at the traditional time for the British, as they say - not destined.

«He had only intimated that he worked for a Japanese manufacturing firm, and that his name was», Moody interrupted to pull a small, folded piece of parchment from his inside pocket. «Suzuki. And his last name is Satoru.»

«On the contrary,» Albus interjected as he began to explain to his friend. «In Japan you pronounce his last name before you pronounce his first name. So in our way, his name is Satoru Suzuki.»

«Great», Alastor interrupted him, «Because of you, the Inquest Department will now have to rewrite their reports. Including me», He finished with a frown, crumpling the scrap of parchment in his hand in a fury.

«Mm. What are you gonna do.», Albus shook his hands, tapping his fingers on the table in a whimsical tune. «So, Japan... It's no good.»

«Can't you find the boy again thanks to that spell you found in the Hogwarts library?», Alastor asked in amazement, pulling a wooden chair toward him, sitting down across from Albus. Naturally, before doing so, he checked it thoroughly with a whole cascade of spells from the staff.

«It, like any search spell, has a radius limit. And Japan is outside its search range. So no, I can't. Although it's not really a searching problem at all...»

«Then what is it?», Alastor asked, listening to every word.

«What do you know of Japanese wizards?»

Moody hesitated a little, and gathering his thoughts, answered:

- They are not members of the International Conference of Mages. And as far as I know, Japan doesn't have a Ministry of Magic. Instead, it's some kind of council of ancient clans. - He remembered everything he knew about this remote and isolated country.

«A council of clans, to be more specific», Albus clarified. «And yes, they really don't have a single governing authority. Instead, the entire Japanese magical community is made up of ancient clans that mostly live apart from each other, but still share their spheres of influence. And it's likely that one of those clans took the boy to them. Do you understand my point?» Asked Albus, moving closer to Alastor.

And it seemed that after half a minute of careful deliberation, it suddenly dawned on Alastor:

«Even if we find the boy, we can't make any claim on them without definite proof, unless we want to start another international war», He blurted it out in the same breath. «Then what should we do?»

«We wait», Albus sealed, shoving his mug of tea back to himself. «You got that right. Even if we find the Suzuki clan-though I doubt it's not a made-up name-we still can't ask them to give us Harry back. All we have to do is wait for the only irrefutable proof, which won't come until ten years from now.

«The letter?» He guessed at once, and glancing at the clock that was on one of the pedestals, which was filled with all sorts of whistling trinkets, stood up abruptly from the table. «I hear you, Albus. But we'll talk later. I have a meeting in five minutes, so I can't be here any longer», He blurted out, heading toward the fireplace.


But he was no longer listening to the Director's uncertain appeal, and only tossed a handful of green powder from his pocket, muttering:

«Atrium Ministry.»

Watching one of his best friends, swiftly jumping into the tall fireplace, Dumbledore thought:

"I hope he won't be too offended..."

The fact was that Albus had never been able to forgive that sudden prank of Moody's, so he decided to make a little, as he thought, joke.

And so, during the whole conversation, he was carefully, with imperceptible movements, as well as tapping his fingers, bypassing the protective charms he had put on Alastor's prosthesis one amusing spell, which was supposed to work five minutes after the first step he took.

What Albus didn't know was that his friend would be having an emergency meeting right about that time. And now that he realized this, he suddenly realized the gravity of the consequences that would inevitably follow this "harmless" - as he thought - joke.

"Just so he doesn't become even more paranoid than he was before." - Shuddered Dumbledore, munching on his anxiety with his favorite sweet.


«Hello, Alastor. You're just in time», Announced the long-haired man at the head of the table, turning his attention to the appearance of this century's most brilliant auror. «Have a seat», He pointed to the only empty seat at the wide conference table.

The named Alastor didn't answer anything, only headed silently toward an unoccupied chair.

After taking a few seconds and checking with his staff that there was no trap in the proposed seat, Alastor sat down confidently.

«And now...», The head of the aurorate began, but then he was interrupted by a long and ringing sound, which is characteristic of a sudden attack of flatulence, which began to emanate from the best, and, as bad luck - the most senior auror who was in this room.

After ten long seconds of unpleasant noise-the meeting fell into deep silence.

Red with shame or anger, Alastor, chewing furiously with his jawbone, tried in vain to drop his wooden prosthesis, from which the sound had come. But when, even after applying his strongest Finite, he realized that he could do nothing - he shouted loudly: