Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was a silent, warm evening. In the midst of July, the sun was setting quietly, the orange hue illuminating the empty streets. In a tall building, reaching high up, was the port mafia’s residence. All the way up, on the top floor, a slender, black-haired man in a black outfit and red scarf was currently writing at his desk at the end of the room. The setting sun was practically drowning him with its rays, and yet he sat writing.

Tick. Tok. Tick. Tok. The clock on the wall moved slowly, its sound only disrupted by the sound of a pen on paper. It was a serene atmosphere.
Then all of a sudden, the black telephone sitting at the end of his desk rang. The man paused, setting down his pen and reaching for the receiver. He held it to his ear.
“Hello, what is it?” He said calmly, raising his head slightly. His purple eyes glistened in the light of the sun slowly dipping below the horizon.
“Oh, I see.”
He paused. “I'd like to meet this man. Have someone send him up here, Hirotsu. Alright, thank you.” He set down the phone and looked out the window which acted as a wall for part of the office, gazing down at the houses.
—
“As he was unable to use a vehicle due to the characteristics of his mission, Kashimura was heading to a rendezvous point in Yokohama when a man suddenly ran up to him ecstatically and began speaking very fast in English. After the man realized Kashimura could not understand him, he said in broken Japanese, “I know you! You were hard to find.” Kashimura understood this as a threat and quickly attacked the man, who did not dodge and was knocked unconscious.”

To say, “you were hard to find,” is a threat in and of itself, but by stating that you, an outsider, recognize a person as an ability user, you are actively implying that you are from an enemy organization, albeit from the underworld or not. As ability users are coveted, to know about their existence, or even the identity of one proves that you are of some standing in an organization.
Hirotsu, a middle aged man with graying, sleek hair and a monocle reported this to Mori Ougai, the boss.
“Kashimura brought the man, Mr. Finley, to headquarters and requested that someone make sure he is investigated. Although interviews are not my specialty, I felt it necessary to support Kashimura and take responsibility for my subordinates.” Hirotsu cleared his throat. “When we searched Mr. Finley's person, we found this, in addition to a form of identification and European currency.” He placed a thin piece of wood on Mori's desk. The wood was thicker near the base and thinner near the end, with swirling patterns molded into the wood all throughout. Mori looked at it and then raised his head again, looking at Hirotsu for him to continue. Hirotsu spoke again.
“One of the specialists in investigation made a theory that the wood was Mr. Finley's condition for being able to use his ability, so without it he would be comparable to a regular person. When he woke up, we learned the specialist was correct. After a bit of intimidation, we also learned that he could use his ability as teleportation, but as he was unable to move and disoriented, he was incapable of using it.” He spoke clearly, holding a report in his hand but not using it. After he finished speaking, he lowered his head in a polite manner.

“That's a strong ability, indeed. Okay, I believe you've given me enough exposition, so bring him in.”
Hirotsu nodded and walked over to the door to let the man in.

He was a plump, balding person, about middle aged, wearing a black cloak that sank down to the floor. He looked exceptionally nervous, his whitened face glistening with sweat as though he was about to have a heart attack. Naturally, he had already been stripped of his clothes and then returned them after all items had been removed. In addition, an ability user followed closely behind him, close enough to reach out his hand and touch him in a split second.
Oliver had already been warned that if he tried to attack the boss or escape, the ability user would send him back to confinement, where he would be tied up and made unable to move (again). Oliver didn't know how the young man behind him would do that without a wand, but he wasn't eager to find out, either.
“Hello, Mr. Finley! I do apologize for the harsh welcome. So, I hear you have a peculiar ability, ” he said in English.
Oliver turned even whiter as the man spoke to him, clearly very scared. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “I-I’m not sure how it is over here in Asia, but, a-ah, yes, I am a wizard.”
Mori smiled slightly, amused. Hirotsu spoke through the silence that followed. “He stated that he can do a number of things already discovered by other witches or wizards.”
“Other witches or wizards? There are more ability users with the same nature as you?” Mori spoke directly to the man, who looked ready to pass out.
“Y-yes, there are. I was u-um, under the impression you all were wizards, too, so I really don't see why I'm being held captive like this!”
….
The boss looked calm still, as though he was thinking about something.
“Mr. Finley, tell me, why did you come to Japan?” Mori knew that Hirotsu likely had answers to every question Mori could ask, but he still wanted to hear it from the man himself. Hirotsu understood this and stayed silent.

The wizard looked at Hirotsu nervously, as though asking permission, before speaking. “W-well, seeing as you lot don’t seem to be familiar with wizards, I take it you don’t know about you-know-who either…”

“You-know-who?” Mori inquired.
“You-know-who, he-who-must-not-be-named, he- he goes by many names!”

“Does he have a true name?”

Oliver hesitated for a horribly long minute.

“Boss, if I may…” Hirotsu interjected quietly in Japanese. Mori looked at him.
“The person Mr. Finley is talking about is called, “Voldemort.” He was coerced into saying this name earlier, which is how we learned it.” He continued. Though Hirotsu was still speaking in Japanese, Oliver heard “Voldemort” and flinched horribly, causing both Mori and Hirotsu to turn towards him.
“Yes, he did that during the interrogation too.” Hirotsu said.
Mori spoke in English this time. “So “you-know-who” is the reason you moved to Japan?”
Oliver nodded intensely. “A horrible wizard, committed all sorts of crimes in his rise to power..!”
They were silent, waiting for him to continue.

He regained his composure. “U-u wehm, I believe it was thirteen, no, almost f-fourteen years ago that he was killed by Harry Potter…”
{The man goes into a long tirade about who Harry Potter is, how Lord Voldemort died, and the recent happenings ever since Harry Potter has started going to school, like how a teacher died, the chamber of secrets reopened, ect. If you have not read Harry Potter or do not know very much about it, I strongly recommend looking up a few Wikipedia articles before continuing. As the phrase goes, “I ain't writing allat.” Mori listens quietly while Hirotsu stands silently.}

Despite his long rant, the wizard still seemed as uncomfortable as ever, shakily drawing in breath as he finished speaking.
“So, to answer your question, sir, I moved to Japan because of the recent controversy about how Harry Potter claimed that you-know-who has returned. I-I didn't know what to believe, so, y-you know, I decided it would be best to get away from all the drama!”
He finally exhaled, his now beet-red face fading into a pink color as the seconds passed.
“Mr. Finley, how did you find my subordinate?” Mori finally spoke.

He paused, looking slightly less wary.
“... It was a spell.”

Chapter Text

The boy was sitting by a window, reading a book. The sun had already set, the only light coming from a dim lamp just by the boy. His ginger hair looked brown in the setting. It was silent.

All of a sudden, his phone went off.

Without taking his eyes off of his book, he slowly reached into his jacket pocket, took out his phone, and pressed a button to answer it.

“Hey, Chuuya!”

“What is it, Piano Man.”

“He wants to see you.”

“He say why?”

“Why don’t you find out?”

Chuuya sighed, hung up the phone, and set down his book, getting to his feet and smoothing out his jacket. After typing something into his phone, he left his apartment and walked outside to see a sleek black limousine waiting for him. He slid into the backseat.

“To headquarters,” he told the man in front, before leaning against the chair, looking out the window.

I don't hear a word from the boss for four straight months, now all of a sudden he's calling me straight into his office? How important could this be?

After Chuuya joined the port mafia, the most that Mori did was assign him his job, check in on him after a week, and tell him to accept the flag’s invitation, (as he had refused initially.) After that, he basically ignored him.

The car pulled up to the front of the building. Chuuya got out and walked, his hands in his pockets, through the doorway and up to the elevator at the end of the entrance, pressing a button.

The doors slid open, and Chuuya’s face immediately enveloped a scowl.

A taller, skinner boy with a bandage covering his right eye met his look of disgust.

“What are you doing here, Dazai? Every time you come into my line of sight it's so you can ruin things.” Chuuya spat out.

“I could ask you the same thing, Chuuya.”

“I told you to stop using my first name like you know me, fish-head!” Chuuya stepped into the elevator before it closed and tried to push Dazai against the wall, who easily ducked from under him, hitting the top floor button as he weaved between Chuuya's attacks.

Chuuya finally stopped after a moment, glaring at the now smiling-giddily Dazai.

“So he called you up too, huh?” Chuuya said, looking at the floor panel.

“Yes, well, that's not unusual for me, seeing as I get direct orders from him and you have to get them from, who, Piano Man?”

“Oh, so you can spy on me, but you can't make sure we're not in the elevator at the same time?”

They continued bickering and fighting each other (Chuuya attacked while Dazai dodged) for the entire elevator ride, which was absurdly long due to the egregious height — and depth — of the Port Mafia's home base.

As the elevator doors opened, both of them immediately wordlessly made a truce and walked calmly through the halls into the boss’s office.

Dazai knocked on the door before opening it. Chuuya grabbed the door as it started to close behind Dazai, holding it open so he himself could walk through the doorway.

“Welcome! Ah, Chuuya, you look well, have you gotten taller? It's been awhile! Come closer, please, both of you.”

They both walked about two feet away from the desk.

“Here, Chuuya, please read this report.”

Mori slid a file across to the end of the desk. Chuuya stepped forward and picked it up, flipping to the first page and glancing at Dazai, who had a glum expression on his face.

“Dazai has already read the report.”

Chuuya resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“An ability user called “Lord Voldemort?” You want me to investigate this? Isn't this Europe’s responsibility?”

“The organizations in Europe have already declared themselves neutral in the matter.” Mori replied.

In other words, they really must be worried that “Voldemort” will win, so they're remaining neutral so they can join his side if they need to.

“The main concern is that a large group of ability users with the same power have been running rampant for, if Mr. Oliver Finley speaks true, thousands of years completely undetected. Lord Voldemort wishes to take over the world, so in the name of our beloved city it's our responsibility to protect Yokohama before this even becomes a threat.”

Chuuya spoke up. “Shouldn't this be the responsibility of someone more experienced, boss?”

“Oh– well, yes, a lot of people have already spoken up about a couple of sixteen year olds taking on such an important mission… before I answer you, flip to page seven, if you please.”

Chuuya skeptically turned the pages.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry– you're sending me to a school !?”

“I'm sending both of you to school.” Mori corrected. He then spoke over Chuuya's immediate and loud objections. 

“I know you're both extremely inexperienced and the only one of you who's job is even slightly similar to this is Dazai’s, but you're the only people the right age and capability.”

“Boss, then I don't understand why you're assigning me this mission. Like you just said, this isn't my responsibility… wouldn't it be better to just send Dazai?”

Mori responded simply. “Go to page two.”

He went through the file again.

“Magic? So it's not an ability?”

“Yes and no. It counts as an ability, but it's also something different. You can use it in addition to your ability, and you need an ability to be able to use it.”

Mori didn't need to explain more.

If abilities and magic are separate but can affect one another, that might mean that Dazai's ability could nullify magic. No, it would mean that.

“So…” Chuuya said slowly. “I'm that emo’s muscle?”

“In the likely scenario that Dazai is incapable of using magic, we need someone to gather information and enact plans.”

“Then get someone else! Get an old man like Hirotsu to act as a teacher or something! Don't drag me into this!” He shouted without reason.

“Chuuya.”

He fell silent at Mori's cold words.

“This was the best option. I believe you are capable enough. Both of you are going to be there to keep each other in check. Take this opportunity and consider this your big break.”

During Chuuya and Mori’s entire exchange, Dazai still kept his glum expression, staring blankly at a wall.

“You're both going on a year-long mission to this boarding school to gather information. I'll make sure you get more details later, so I'll see you both soon.”

Both of them mechanically turned towards the door, Chuuya clearly at a loss for words at his shock of having to work with him again.

“Oh, and Chuuya, make sure you read that report in full!”

The door had slammed behind them before Chuuya came to his senses. This was a good opportunity. No, a great opportunity. A miracle even.

He turned and slammed Dazai into the wall, pushing his forearm into Dazai's neck. Dazai's expression remained bored. Amused, even.

“I swear if you sabotage this for me I will kill you myself.”

“What are you talking about? I've never done anything like that to you, Chuu-ya~ ”

Chuuya pressed him harder into the wall with his arm. Dazai smiled, his grin never reaching his eyes.

“Remember that my handicap is the reason you even have this opportunity. You should be pleased. My little Chuuya is moving up the ranks so fast!”

Chuuya’s eyes flashed with anger. Dazai smiled wider.

Finally, after a long moment of Chuuya basically choking Dazai while he looked ready to pass out from happiness, Chuuya let him go and took a step back, before turning around and going to the stairs. Dazai rubbed his neck, his expression monotone again.

“See you later, asshole!” Chuuya shouted.

He slid down the railing and out of sight.

Chapter Text

Oliver Finley stated that he was overwhelmed by the lack of his kind in Japan, which is why he cast a “spell” to find a magic user. He claims that the magic wizards and witches use is powered by “magic particles,” similar to atoms. Magic particles are attracted to magic users like a magnet, so Mr. Finley states that he found Kashimura by following the first person he saw with an excess of magic particles surrounding them after casting the spell.

Kashimura is not a wizard, but he is an ability user, so the fact that Finley recognized him as a “wizard” implies that ability users are also able to utilize magic particles just as well as wizards and witches.

Chuuya was silently annoyed, already having summarized and read the report five times to be sure he understood it, as it was written in code and he was just getting used to the language after four months of effort, despite being a fast learner. To make matters worse, the file was labelled in a manner that meant it was specifically reserved for investigators, meaning that nothing was concrete and everything included would have to be verified by the people getting more information, which was him.

Before they can even start their real mission, they have to make sure their source is actually accurate, and who knows how long it could take to check all that? Vague information on the school, several different people, magic and its incantations, etc. 

Chuuya was sitting at his desk in the early morning after a night of restless sleep. He didn’t know what was worse, having to work with that bandage-waster or how badly it annoyed him. After sighing, he checked the time, realized he should be leaving about now, and walked out of his apartment. 

Fifteen minutes later, he walked into a red brick building adorned with the faded letters “Old World” and pushed open the door.

A young man with blonde hair and tinted glasses cheered his name when he walked in, standing up from the seat where he and an older boy with white hair were sitting.

“Hey, Chuuya! Aren’t you lucky!” the blonde one said.

“Hey, Albatross. Where are the others today?”

“They’re busy,” Piano Man said vaguely, standing up along with Albatross. “But congratulations on being assigned an out-of-country mission, Chuuya! I think you made a new record. What has it been, five months? I don’t know anyone who got something like that under three years.”

“It was a fluke.” Chuuya responded coolly.

“It still counts. You have the opportunity to prove yourself.” Piano Man and Albatross walked up to him, where Chuuya was still standing at the entrance.

“Did you come to say goodbye? Aw, you’re too kind, Chuuya, we were sure you hated us after that fiasco two weeks ago, and then you skipped for a week and only started showing up again a little while ago because you couldn’t get intel-” Albatross spewed.

“Don’t start.” Chuuya interrupted, flushing. He had indeed come to say goodbye, as it felt impolite to disappear and leave them to find out where he was from other people. They were also very welcoming, and even though Chuuya knew they were babying him because of the bosses orders, he still felt indebted.

“Good luck, Chuuya. Also you should probably know that Kouyou wants to see you.” Albatross put a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder.

“Thanks.”

…

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, she told me to relay the message about an hour ago.”

“What? You asshole, you know she dislikes it when I’m late-!”

Chuuya turned on his heel and ran outside again and out of view.

“Wow, that’s pretty evil.”

Piano Man smiled at Albatross, who was grinning happily.

Luckily for Chuuya, like Piano Man, all Kouyou wanted was to congratulate Chuuya on getting so lucky, and wish him well on the mission. She then told him to divide his work to his henchmen for the next year that he was planning on being gone, and that he was leaving two days after Dazai at the very end of July. 

The only thing Chuuya was happy about was not having to be in the same space as that freak for several hours straight. He thanked Kouyou and then went to his apartment to prepare. Even if he did have free time in Europe, handling work remotely would be exceptionally dangerous for the security of the port mafia, so he temporarily dissolved all of his power to the first two subordinates he took in and entrusted the others, mainly Mori and Kouyou, to take care of the rest and make sure the job was being done.

Five days later, after an uncomfortable two-hour car ride of which he spent working and a ten-hour flight, he landed in Great Britain.

—

It was 9 p.m. in Japan. Oliver Finley had already spent several days being asked questions, luckily not being harmed as he was so weak-willed he did and told them everything they asked hastily.

Finally, he was sitting in the Bosses office, nervously twiddling his thumbs as Mori shuffled through all the files he collected. Oliver had already used his “I’ve told you everything I know, so please just let me go! I didn’t mean any harm!” card, so he could only be silent.

The boss smiled, looking up at Oliver and setting down the stack of papers.

“Alright, this should be sufficient. I’ll send these over to those two so they can read it while they’re getting over their jet lag.”

Oliver had no idea who he was talking about. But, wait, jet lag?

“...You sent people to Britain?" he spluttered.

The man looked surprised. “Well, yes,” he said simply. “You’ll be let go soon.”

“You’re letting me go?” Oliver was shocked, frankly. “A-aren’t you worried I’ll rat you out?”

…he wasn’t exactly the type to be able to keep things to himself.

“What would you tell the authorities, pray tell?”

Oliver opened his mouth to speak, before falling silent. Authorities? Like those muggle police? Why would he go to them? Do the muggles here know about their magic?

Mori’s mobile phone suddenly went off.

“Oh, excuse me.” He finished in English, before speaking in Japanese. “Chuuya! Did you arrive fine?”

“Ah… yes, boss, I did,” he was young, his voice shaking through the phone, clearly fighting anger and loyalty towards Mori. “But… don’t you think you’re being unreasonable?” There was a sudden shuffle over the phone.

“Give me that.” Another voice spoke, also that of someone young.

“Mori! Mori, how could you!? Why would you do this to meeeee~ I’m so upset I could die!” he whined directly into the receiver.

More shuffling. “You’re so spoiled! Quit calling the boss by his name!”

More shouting. The boss looked, to put it simply, wearily amused. He looked sharp suddenly. 

“I have my reasons,” he said. They fell silent. “you know the consequences of getting in the way of the mission. I’ll have more files sent over to you two soon.”

“...Thank you, boss.” The first boy hung up.

He spoke in English. “My apologies. My boys can be a little rowdy,” he laughed, slightly nervous.

His boys? His children? He’s doing this to kids?

“Well, as I was saying, you’ll be let go soon enough as we have everything we need. Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Finley. I hope you have better luck in Yokohama.” He looked at the guard behind Oliver, who moved towards him. Oliver quickly stood up and followed behind the guard. 

He glanced back at Mori once, who smiled cheerfully. When the door shut behind him, his smile faded and he picked up a pen, before starting to write something on a piece of paper.

—

“I hate you.”

“I hate you more, mackerel.”

They were standing in the entryway. It was 1 p.m. in Britain, and just a few minutes ago Chuuya had been calmly getting out of the taxi driving him to the appointed house for the mission. It was a quaint place, two floors and painted in a nice blue with white borders. 

The moment he unlocked the door with the key provided to him before he left, the first thing he saw was Dazai standing gloomily at the top of the stairs. Immediate shouting ensued, and the wordless agreement was to call Mori.

“If I have to be in the same room as you for more than ten minutes I’m gonna kill something.”

“If you’re going to do that, the least you could do is kill me. ”

“Don’t talk to me.”

“I won’t need to stop talking if you keep getting shorter. The sound will take a few years to reach you.”

“Shut up!”

Chuuya started strangling Dazai, who smiled cheerfully.

A few moments later, another voice rang out.

“Ah- hello. I’m the person staying here and keeping the house.”

They both looked to the source of the voice. A man with brown hair was standing carefully near a wall in the kitchen. He was clearly a subordinate of Mori’s.

“I’m here to be a guide if you need anything. While you’re at the school, I’ll take messages and send them to the boss if need be. Just- let me know if you have any concerns. That’s all.” He was very obviously intimidated that two teenagers, who were just fighting, were of higher standing than he was. He quickly left them.

Chuuya released Dazai. “I’m gonna go look around. Why don’t you buzz off?” Dazai smiled wide and took a step back, letting Chuuya put his stuff down and go up the stairs. 

It really was a nice house, spacious despite having just two bedrooms and one bathroom. Chuuya opened one of the bedroom doors. It was dark, with papers strewn everywhere and several books laying on the floor, including one that Dazai was clearly writing in just a moment ago. He closed the door hastily for his own sanity.

The second room was much better, the afternoon sun shining in through the windows. It was just a plain rectangle of a room, with a flat wardrobe and desk facing against the wall he had just entered from, as well as a bed on the opposite side. He went downstairs and got his things before putting them in the room.

His phone buzzed. He took it out. It was a message from Mori that read, “Oh! I forgot to mention. Only English for the next month. No Japanese. You don’t have nearly enough practice and they only speak it at Hogwarts. My subordinate should also be giving you some additional files to read. More info later.”

He sighed heavily, before putting his phone back in his pocket and going downstairs to see Dazai laying on the couch in the living room.

“This is going to be the worst year of my life,” Chuuya said in a very heavy English accent.

Dazai smiled a horrible grin, before leaning his head back and pretend-snoring loudly.

Chapter Text

“Hey.”

…

“Hey!” Chuuya kicked Dazai, who was laying on the wood floor of the dark room pitifully, his bandages slipping loose. (tell me why it took me four chapters to remember the literally most prominent part of his character design)

Dazai sat up, pushing Chuuya’s foot away from Dazai's stomach where he was kicking him.

He looked at Chuuya with a melancholy expression that almost demanded, “what is it?”

“We’re going to get supplies for school, remember? You've been playing video games for the past three days, surely you must've seen the information the boss sent us." The words came out strangely from his mouth, as he had basically never said the word “school” and as a result found it uncomfortable, in addition to the fact he was saying it all in English.

During the past three days of which Dazai had literally not left his room during the day, Chuuya had been reading files, rereading files, and getting as much sleep as he could before the real work started. His favorite pastime was watching his pile of work steadily grow higher.

Naturally, working in an organization that mainly operates during the night, Chuuya had basically already been acclimated to the change in time zones, but he still wanted to be as well rested as possible.

On the morning of the third day, Chuuya had been sitting in the living room reading the extra files Mori's subordinate had provided when something started rapping against the window roughly. He stood up quickly and then calmed down after understanding. He went to the window and opened it.

A brown owl flew inside the house, landing on the arm of the couch and sticking out its leg gracefully. There were two envelopes pressed together tied to its leg.

Chuuya walked over and untied the letters from the owl. 

“Thanks,” he said to the animal. It hooted something in return and flew back out of the window. The letters were addressed in emerald ink, each one including either Chuuya's or Dazai's names as well as the address of the house.

He opened the one addressed to him. It was written on a cream-colored piece of parchment, in black ink this time.

—

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Nakahara, 

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  Term begins on September 1. We thank you for reaching out to us so we may offer you a position at our school.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

—

Chuuya squinted at the paper while he struggled over the words. He was still intermediate in English, after all.

Well, the main idea is that we received our letters from “Hogwarts.”

And that’s when he went upstairs to break into Dazai's room and drag him out the door.

“Here, put these on,” Chuuya said, thrusting clothing at Dazai’s sleepy face. He had just sat up, and they were still in the dark room.

Dazai had a sour expression on his face. Before he could protest, Chuuya interrupted him. “Teenagers don’t wear fancy clothes, do they?” Dazai smiled in return, standing up.

Twenty minutes later, they were getting into a car Mori had arranged and on their way to the stores.

They were both in baggy clothes. Chuuya was wearing shorts that went just above his knees, a t-shirt, and a letterman jacket. Dazai, begrudgingly, wore loose pants and a t-shirt over a white long-sleeve undershirt. 

Chuuya pushed the letter for Dazai across the seat without looking at him. They were both in the backseat, on directly opposite sides. In fact, you would think there were two other invisible people squished in the middle between them with how far apart they were. “Read this,” he said shortly. Dazai pulled it towards him and opened the letter.

“Mori told me he’d do that.” He said after a moment. He then spoke in Japanese, mimicking Mori. “Please let my children into your school! Oh, great mythical beings, we could not possibly dream of being as powerful as you, but please make an exception and allow them to attend your school of magic! We humbly bow at your feet.” (He is referencing the end of the first page of the letter, which states, “We thank you for reaching out to us so we may offer you a position at our school,” because they moved to Great Britain rather than being born there and would naturally not be on the Hogwarts registry, meaning they would have to ask for special permission)

Chuuya looked disgusted. They did not say a word to each other for the rest of the ride.

—

They got out of the car and started walking through the streets, each of them glancing at shops as they went. Finally, Dazai stopped in front of a bar and Chuuya had to glance back to stop himself from walking right by it. Reading the title more closely, he realized it was indeed what they were looking for. Some pub titled, “The Leaky Cauldron.” 

Chuuya entered before Dazai. There were a good amount of people there, some in strange hats and some in wigs, but all wearing robes in a variety of colors. The man behind the counter was bald and missing several teeth. As they walked up to the counter, he looked up and smiled.

“Students, eh? You foreign?” Dazai nodded in response, smiling politely. “Don’t see that every day.” Chuuya suddenly felt insecure about his clothing choice, in that they looked so different from actual wizards to be so easily recognized as foreign. Damn it, Dazai probably knew when Chuuya was making him get dressed and chose not to try very hard to inform him. Well, he supposed the only person he could blame was himself. It’s not that emo’s fault he got ahead of himself.

“If you don’t mind, could you tell us how to get to Diagon Alley?” Dazai asked.

“Sure, I have a minute. Follow me,” The barman said, swinging the rag he was using to wipe the counter over his shoulder. He led them to a courtyard with red brick walls on all sides and took out a thin, long piece of wood, which must be a wand. He tapped the bricks in a specific order, telling them to remember it. When he took the wand away from the wall, the bricks pulled apart to reveal a grand scene. The street was bustling with people, bartering over items or walking out of stores.

Tom turned to them. “This is as far as I go. See you two later,” he said, before turning back into the courtyard. Dazai looked bored, while Chuuya was still in awe.

Dazai started walking forward, and Chuuya quickly caught up to him after a moment. He was amazed at the people, buying dragon scales or walking out of potion stores. He watched a lady with bright pink hair and a pointy hat suddenly disappear in the middle of the street. He blinked.

Chuuya didn’t need to ask where they were going. In fact, he would wager that he knew the reports better than Dazai. He knew he had read them at least ten times more than Dazai had, anyways.

Soon they arrived and stood outside of a snowy, grand building, white columns framing the corners and marble steps leading up to the doors. Though both of them had the same neutral expressions, Chuuya was glad at least one of them was appreciating the architecture.

Chuuya opened the bronze doors and held it open behind him for Dazai as he walked through it. The second set of doors were silver, some poem about not stealing and consequences if you do engraved in them.

The hall was like an average bank. A long marble counter stretched around the room, with short creatures in scarlet and gold robes, wrinkled faces, and long fingers sitting on stools behind the counters as they weighed things or talked to wizards. The only difference was that there were doors behind every one of the goblin’s seats.

Chuuya was glad that Dazai knew better than to actively compare him to those short creatures.

He was slightly behind Chuuya, but about five seconds before they reached an open desk they shifted slightly so it wouldn’t be unusual when Dazai talked first.

They walked up to the counter.

“Hello,” Dazai said. “I’d like to make a withdrawal.” Without skipping a beat, Chuuya reached into his letterman jacket and took out a small golden key.

Chuuya put the key on the desk. 

The small goblin with a gold monocle looked at them disdainfully and took the key, examining it closely. Finally, he spoke. “Alright. We'll have someone take you down to your vault.” He shouted a name which was outside of Chuuya’s vocabulary, and a moment later a more shriveled goblin with silver glasses and a goatee ran up and opened the door behind the original goblin. The banker flipped up a hatch in the counter and Dazai and Chuuya walked through it, following the second goblin.

They walked through a dimly lit stone passageway for a few moments, before a cart came hurtling from a drop in the path and slid up to them. After they had gotten in, it started moving very quickly through the tunnels on its own accord, turning left and right and then making a sharp turn, on and on. 

Every few seconds, they could see an attraction, a flame from a creature or a waterfall that stopped in the moment it took for them to pass by it. 

Though Chuuya and Dazai looked just as relaxed as before (as moving at such a high speed was almost an everyday task at a point in Chuuya’s life, so naturally it didn’t faze him,) Chuuya glanced at Dazai once while they were both looking at a glimpse of some spikes wedged in a wall and didn’t need a second look to see the sparkle in his eyes. 

Well, at least one of them was still enjoying the architecture more than the other. Not to say that Chuuya didn’t find it interesting as well.

After a few minutes of moving at the same high speed, the wind whipping their hair while they both sat calmly, they arrived at a small wood door. The goblin got out, took the key, and opened the door for them.

Sitting in the vault beyond the door were a few piles of different kinds of metal. A few substantial heaps of gold, and smaller portions of silver and bronze coins.

Both of them blinked.

“He sure is generous,” Dazai said, breaking the silence. Of course, both of them understood the message differently from how the goblin interpreted it.

The goblin knew that an older man had opened the account, and as a result of rarely, if ever, hearing of Japanese wizards, he assumed the man must have been Dazai’s father. “He sure is generous” meant to the goblin that the boy’s father was generous in giving them lots of money to spend.

However, for Dazai and Chuuya, having money was something they were used to having (as Chuuya had immediately been bathed in a large salary the moment he joined the Mafia,) so if they had a need to buy something it would be as easy as breathing. For them, “he sure is generous” simply meant that he was generous in setting up an account for them rather than making them do more work and have to set it up themselves.

Chuuya didn’t even bother to justify such a lazy statement with a response. Instead, he took a small brown sack from his pocket and tossed it to Dazai, who caught it with one hand, before starting to take pieces of metal.

A few minutes later, they both put full pouches in their pockets and headed back aboveground.

—

“Okay, let’s go.” Chuuya spoke outside of the grand white building, holding a piece of parchment in his hands that he had been squinting at the entire journey back. The parchment held the shopping list for school.

“Book…store first.” He said the words out loud tentatively. 

They started walking, both of them glancing at shops as they went.

“I signed us up for the classes, “Divination” and “Care of Magical Creatures,” Chuuya said shortly.

Dazai sighed exaggeratedly. Though Chuuya, annoyed by this point, had half a mind to remind him that their goal was to gather as much information as possible about the wizarding world, he did not speak to avoid a barrage of his whining.

Ten minutes later, they walked out of a bookstore, Chuuya carrying both of their bags while Dazai looked somehow more glum. In addition, Chuuya was holding a third, substantially heavier bag, which contained extra books about the history of Hogwarts and wizards and whatnot.

Extra homework.

Next was gear. Cauldrons, phials, telescopes, brass scale sets.

Then robes, hats, gloves, cloaks, different types of clothes for all the seasons the children would begrudgingly go through. Dazai looked woeful through the entirety of the escapade. 

Finally, horribly, was wands. Dazai at least needed a wand, even if he probably couldn’t use it, but the wandmaker would most likely insist on choosing one for Dazai himself. Apparently, it was a very “particular endeavor.” 

It was a quaint old bookstore-like building. Not particularly wide, but tall. Faded gold letters on the wood door spelled out, “Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands Since 382 B.C.” with one of the wands laying on a pillow in the window beside the entrance.

The door rang when they went in. Though there was a chair, both of them stood. Dazai seemed to be looking at nothing at all. It was a very dusty place. 

“Hello,” a voice said softly from behind a back room. An old man walked out from a doorway, smiling lightly and with shining eyes.

“Oh, are you Japanese folk? It’s been awhile since foreigners came to me instead of the other way around. So, which of you is first?”

Chuuya set down the bags on the floor and stepped forward a bit. The man looked at him.

“Well then. Which is your wand arm?”

Chuuya paused. “...My right arm is strongest.” The man understood him. A measuring tape appeared and started to measure Chuuya, from his arms to his legs to the length of his feet and calves, while he stood there awkwardly.

(Before you say anything about the next dialogue, please agree that Ollivander would probably repeat the same speech for every new person that came into his shop, unless asked otherwise. Also, I’m lazy.)

The old man spoke to lift the silence in the air. “Every Ollivandar wand has a core of powerful magical substance,” he said while measuring Chuuya’s armpit. After a second, he moved away from Chuuya and started fiddling with the small, narrow boxes that filled the shelves, leaving the measuring tape to do the work on its own. 

“The three types used at this establishment are unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivandar wands are quite the same, similar to how unicorns, phoenixes, or dragons are different within their own rights. Another wizard’s wand will never fit you quite right, so don’t lose this one!” He chuckled slightly at his own comment.

“That’s enough,” he said suddenly, which caused the measuring tape to stop checking the space between Chuuya’s gloved fingers and fall to the floor.

He put (almost shoved) a wand into Chuuya’s hands. “Here we are. Nine inches, maple and unicorn hair. Stiff. Give it a wave, don’t be shy!”

Chuuya had barely raised the piece of wood awkwardly when it was snatched out of his hands by the old man, who had surprising speed. Another wand was shoved into his hands. Then another. And another.

Chuuya was getting more flustered by the minute, as the small pile of boxes by the desk seemed to be growing exponentially larger by the second. After a few wands, Ollivander had stopped telling Chuuya the wand’s descriptions entirely.

Finally, Chuuya had been given a wand and it wasn’t immediately snatched out of his hand. Almost hesitantly, he raised it and waved it a bit. Immediately, his hand felt warm, as if it was coming from the wand itself. It was a comforting and nostalgic feeling.

Ollivandar clicked his tongue in delight. “Cherry and dragon heartstring. Twelve inches. Pliable. A remarkable choice, as cherry wood and dragon heartstring is an extremely rare and powerful combination. The wand must have made a good decision in picking you.”

Chuuya rolled the wood between his fingers. It was a nice thing, sturdy and high-quality. Though, right now it was basically useless to him.

Ollivandar turned to Dazai now, who was still looking at nothing without moving his head. In fact, Chuuya didn’t think he’d even moved an inch. Dazai looked at the old man. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He smiled so genuinely that it almost surprised Chuuya. Almost.

The pair of them switched places after Chuuya had put the wand back into its box so he could buy it later. A second later, Dazai was being measured the same as Chuuya had been, Ollivandar busily shuffling through the boxes rather than doing the measuring himself. 

If Chuuya thought his pile of wands was impressive, he could have never imagined Dazai’s. 

Of course, they all expected it, but it was still depressing. All of the wands put into Dazai’s hands were still and cold until being snatched away right after. 

Chuuya didn’t even know why Dazai was bothering to drag this out — he should just ask Ollivandar for any old wand so they could get out of here. Maybe it was a cruel idea of a joke, harassing the poor man like this for nearly forty minutes straight.

And then.

Dazai lit up slightly. He held the wand in his hand a little firmer, and Ollivandar stopped short of snatching it out of his hands. Clearly, after about two or three hundred wands, he noticed the slight change in Dazai’s demeanor and was slightly curious to see what it was about.

Dazai lifted the wand and gave it a slight wave. After a small pause, it was like the darkness in the room had finally lifted and was suddenly warmer. Ollivandar smiled, his delight greater than it had been for Chuuya’s.

“There we go! I was beginning to get worried, my boy! A joke, of course. I believe you may have set a new record. The wand is cypress with phoenix feather, fourteen inches and reasonably springy. A fine choice for a young man like yourself.” Dazai smiled.

“Whaaat?”  

Chuuya was, to put it simply, shocked. He had fully expected them to be there all day unless Dazai gave up.

Six minutes later, after they had spent a hefty price on both of their wands and were far out of sight from the shop, Chuuya was still just as bewildered.

“Hey.”

…

“Tell me how you did it.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

“You ass, tell me!”

Dazai ducked under another one of Chuuya’s kicks.

“You’re causing a scene, Chuuya~”

“Tell me!”

“Peel me an apple from that stall and maybe I’ll do it.” Dazai pointed at a stand with fruits on display.

“What the hell- peel your own apples!”

They were arguing as they walked along the stone path, Chuuya easily carrying their bags with one arm. They passed Gringotts on their way back to the brick entrance when both of them saw a dark and narrow alleyway. It was clearly suspicious, almost daunting. The people made a point of going around it so they didn’t get too close.

“No way a sneaky bastard like you only wants an apple. You’ll probably make me sit underwater for ten minutes or something.” Chuuya snapped casually, keeping up the argument.

“No, I would never! I’d make you do pushups too, to make it funner.” 

They both slipped into the darkness of the alleyway and both fell silent as they walked through the winding path.

Finally, they encountered shops on the sides of the narrow alley, magic users of all sorts sprinkled throughout the path, all in dark robes this time. Chuuya almost wanted to smack himself for how much they stood out with their clothes.

Dazai walked up to an old lady walking out of a store carrying a black case in her hands. Chuuya stood back and tried to blend into the background as best as possible.

Two minutes later, Dazai walked back to Chuuya. “It’s called “Knockturn Alley.””

“Thanks.” They divided casually and started walking in opposite directions.

Look around, gather information, assess.

Chuuya saw a dusty looking pawn shop labelled “Borgin And Burkes” and started to walk towards it. A grimy, short middle aged man stepped in front of him, blocking his path with a bright, fake grin.

“Hey, boy. Are you lost?” One of his front teeth was missing.

“No, my apologies.” Chuuya stepped around him quickly and walked into the shop.

It was a strange room, tables laid throughout the table with artifacts set on them.

A greasy man stepped out of the back room, and immediately frowned, before hiding his disgust.

“Hello,” he drawled. “Have you lost your way? This is no place for a young…” He paused, before speaking as if he was tasting something nasty, “wizard like yourself.”

“I’m not lost. I’m looking around.” He was further and further regretting his clothing choice. “Dark wizards” or evil people are apparently very patriotic, so by dressing as a “muggle,” whom they hate very, very, much, he was digging an extremely deep hole for himself.

“If you can’t buy, which I assume you can’t,” his mask of nice-customer-service-attendee was slipping easily, further revealing a revolting expression, “you’ll have to leave.”

Chuuya looked slightly annoyed, before smiling lightly. “I am sorry. I was just admiring your displays. I’ll leave immediately.”

The man, though pleased at Chuuya’s praise, still kept his “ugh-dirty-muggleborns” expression half on as he shooed Chuuya out of the door.

Well, that was a bust.

Chuuya didn’t see a point in sticking around. He’d seen everything he needed to at a glance.

By the time he made it back to Diagon alley, Dazai was already waiting, leaning against a wall in the sea of the crowd.

Chuuya shrugged, which meant nothing of interest happened. They'd talk more at home.

“They had a simply delightful store that sold poisons, but none were painless. They have an eye for hours of suffering, it would appear.” Dazai sounded disappointed as he spoke, looking at nothing in particular in the crowd. He was also intentionally making his words slightly more advanced so Chuuya would take longer to understand them.

“You disgust me.”

They started walking back to Diagon Alley's entrance again.

All of a sudden, Dazai stopped when they passed a pet store.

Oh. Yeah.

The last phase of their shopping trip was to get an owl.

“...do they have dogs?”

“Maybe, but they'd live for fifty years or talk or something, and you wouldn't keep it.”

“I get the point.” No point in getting attached to an animal that would only be kept for a year, at most. Kouyou had a way of instilling coldness in her trainees, so no way she would let him keep a weak link so early in his “development.” Plus, he didn't like the idea of expressing happiness towards something in front of Dazai.

Chuuya took out the piece of parchment. “Oh. It's a cat, toad, or owl, so I couldn't get a dog, anyways. You want a cat, Dazai?”

Dazai dismissed him. “Get the owl. I want to leave, I'm bored already.”

—

Five minutes later, a brown owl in a cage accompanied them as they left the alley.

“Since when do you like dogs?”

“I saw a movie last month about a lost dog. It really spoke to me.”

“...you're so childish.”

“How about I kick your ass?”

“Aaaah, I want udon so bad I could die!”

“Who's the child here?”

The brown owl hooted. Chuuya sighed.

Chapter Text

The rest of the month passed painfully. Aside from the occasional outing or harassment from Dazai, the only thing he had done was research. Along with memorizing the files, (because he couldn't have them at the school,) after they returned from Diagon Alley he now had a massive pile of books to go through, consisting of school books and extra information. In addition, he had signed them up for The Daily Mail, their official newspaper, and had to read (skim) it in its entirety every day. 

The only interesting thing he noticed in the tabloid-like articles was that they made a point of including several passive-aggressive passes to Harry Potter, the boy who was the center of all of this. This was most likely because last school year he and Albus Dumbledore, the headmaster, claimed that “Voldemort” was back from the dead. (That part is from the files) 

The community refused to accept this and instead painted him as an insane boy who happened to get lucky once, which may very well be true.

One week after Chuuya and Dazai went to Diagon Alley, they toured the Ministry of magic to gather even more information. This, like their exploration in Knockturn Alley, was almost utterly useless. The only thing they learned was that the Ministry has a poor configuration and is extremely unstable, which was not a very pleasant thing to discover, considering the entire point of the mission was to conclude whether they were competent enough to handle this on their own or if they needed the Port Mafia's help to make sure Voldemort didn't try (and get strong enough) to conquer the world and Yokohama with it.

The entire place was one big trunk that stemmed into multiple smaller branches, but rather than the branches having more than one safety net, they all depended on the main line. This meant that if the singular safety line snapped, or was infected, it would bring everything else down with it.

All day, every day, Chuuya worked. Study for school, read books for the report back to headquarters, busy, busy, busy, busy! It was a miracle that the only two people in the port mafia suitable for the job were extremely, extremely talented for their age and fast learners. Learning four years worth of material in a few weeks wasn't exactly an easy task. Of course, the only thing they (meaning Chuuya) couldn't study was magic, the thing he was itching to use. Unfortunately, apparently the ministry tracks any underage witch or wizard as soon as they enter the country, so there was no “flying under the radar” this time like with being on the Hogwarts registry, and they would have to wait to practice. The only thing everyone could hope for right now was that they were fast learners with this too.

Finally, dreadfully, after a month of preparation, the day had finally come. September first.

Chuuya kicked open the door.

“Get up.”

Dazai was lying on the floor on his stomach, piles of paper and clothes strewn around him in the damp and dark room, reading a book.

“Wait, I'm at a good part.”

“How can you even read in here? It’s pitch black. Have you been reading all night? It's nine.”

“At night? That's awfully early.”

“I'll make sure your funeral is in the middle of the day unless you get up.”

“But whhhyyyyyyyyy…”

Chuuya grabbed the back of Dazai's shirt and yanked him up from behind, dragging him out of the door.

Dazai slumped into the chair by the dining table, a bowl of something steamy in front of him.

…

“It's oatmeal.”

…

“Because you look starved enough as it is. The kids will get suspicious if you're half-dead (like usual.)”

…

“Quit complaining!

…

“What if I peel you an apple?”

…

“Okay, fine. We have to leave in an hour so start eating.”

Dazai scooped a bit of the oatmeal up and ate it tentatively. Two minutes later, Chuuya placed a bowl of sliced, peeled apples next to the oatmeal.

Dazai looked at him from his chair. “Gee, Chuuya!” He said, flashing a bright smile. “You're so kind to me, I don't know what I'd do without you! Thanks a bunch for the apples!”

Chuuya flushed slightly from embarrassment and turned away, looking angry. He knew better than to trust the words of a demon, but praise is (unfortunately) praise.

“Just eat it,” he said, before walking away to get his bags and the owl.

Forty minutes later, after organizing his and Dazai's trunk (of which he had forced Dazai to pack a few days ago,) as well as shoving food down Dazai's throat, they were settled in a car and on their way to the station.

“Did you read this one? The one that talks about the wands and their owners? It's really interesting.”

“Well, aren't you excited. You’ve barely stopped fidgeting since we got in the car. It’s unlike you.”

“Don't start.”

Dazai was leaning on the door with his arm propped up against his chin, looking out of the window but staring at nothing. He held out his other hand, and Chuuya handed him the book.

Dazai flipped through the pages. “Apparently cherry and dragon-heartstring owners are renowned in Japan. Unfortunate that we’re in Great Britain. Lethal power, blahblahblah,” — Chuuya scowled — “It’s also only good for people with great self-control. I’m not too sure this is the right fit for you, Chuuya!” 

“I wonder if your head would be the right fit floating down the river.”

“Aww, stop flirting.”

Dazai flipped through the pages again. “At least one of us has a well-fitting wand. Mine’s a sign of nobility, and the owner would gladly lay down their life. That’s soooo me.”

(Just for the reader’s sake, I’ll include the parts Dazai disregarded (intentionally omitted) about the possessor's characteristics. Derived straight from the official website, “Wands of cypress find their soul mates among the brave, the bold and the self-sacrificing: those who are unafraid to confront the shadows in their own and others’ natures.” Interpret that how you will. In addition, the description says that kind of wand user would lay down their life for the sake of something, not just for no reason…)

Chuuya almost looked annoyed at Dazai’s exaggerated, faux emotions.

Another some forty minutes later, Chuuya was pushing a trolley cart holding all of their things and the brown owl as they walked along the sides of the tracks.

“Platform eight…” Chuuya was muttering under his breath, “platform nine…”

“You're taking so long. We're going to miss the train at this rate! It's already almost eleven!” Dazai was whining in his ear.

“We have plenty of time, so quit your blabbering. Here we are.”

They were standing around ten feet away from a large, rectangular pillar, much like the other twenty-ish they had just passed

“It's so… lame.”

Chuuya ignored him.

“Come over here.”

Dazai lamely stepped towards Chuuya and stood by the cart in front of him glumly. Chuuya gestured to the handle of the cart, and Dazai begrudgingly gripped it with one hand. Chuuya put one hand on the rail in turn.

Dazai sighed loudly. “Do I have to?”

“Your latest “act like a child” phase is getting annoying, you wimp.”

“Pipsqueak.”

“Weak piece of crap!”

“Simpleton!”

“Shut the hell up!”

Chuuya grabbed Dazai's wrist so he wouldn't let go of the cart and started pushing it towards the pillar. Dazai, shockingly, silently matched Chuuya's pace as they broke into a run.

A moment later, they came through the pillar and Chuuya looked around, taking his hands off the cart and Dazai's skinny wrist. It had felt the same as walking across a room, only that didn't teleport you to a whole different place.

It was another platform, and the train sitting on the tracks wasn't a plain gray color, but a deep scarlet. Smoke was billowing out of the top of the locomotive, and people were bustling next to the tracks quickly, hugging their children or handing them luggage or whatnot, all of them similar to the people from Diagon Alley.

Chuuya only spared a moment’s glance in awe before he was pulling their luggage off the cart. A moment later, both of them glanced at each other and immediately walked in separate directions with their trunks.

Chuuya picked a random compartment after walking for thirty seconds. Luckily, he wasn’t in any rush to get on the train, with more than thirty minutes to spare. Although most of the compartments were entirely full, a good amount were still completely empty. It was disappointing.

Finally, after about ten minutes he came across a compartment that was almost full and didn't immediately fill up as he got close. Chuuya knocked on the door before opening it enough to poke the upper half of his body through.

A pale boy with blonde hair was lounging against the seat, looking slightly annoyed but calm. Across from him were two larger boys, one of them chattering while the other listened. When the door opened, the pale boy looked towards the door and scowled when he saw Chuuya.

“What do you think you're doing? What are you, a third year? Run along.”

Chuuya spoke quietly. “I'm a fifth year.”

The boy laughed. The other two, in turn, snorted.

“I don't recognize you. Hufflepuff?” the boy mocked. Chuuya didn't even blink. “... I'm a transfer student. I can leave if you want me to.”

“Go on, then.”

Chuuya went to close the door, before pausing for a moment.

“What's your name?” He asked curiously.

“It's Malfoy. Don't forget it, transfer student.” All three of them burst into snickers.

Chuuya, after a moment of checking the files he had burned into his memory, nodded and closed the door, before dragging his trunk into an empty compartment nearby and sinking into the seat.

There's only one family with the Malfoy name. A rather pretentious (and incestuous) group. He was certainly lucky to run into the number one asshole at Hogwarts.

Man, that really pisses me off.

Frustrated, he took a book out from the suitcase he left on the floor and started reading it.

—

Chuuya was jolted out of his trance as his book fell on his face. After realizing the train had started moving, he sat up quickly and rubbed his eyes.

When he looked up, a bandaged face was staring directly at him on the other side of the seat, maybe a foot away from Chuuya's face. It didn't seem human to him for a moment, until it blinked and Chuuya came to his senses.

Dazai moved smoothly to the side, narrowly dodging Chuuya’s swift kick to the top of his head.

“Aaaargh, what the hell! Can you stay out of my line of sight for more than ten minutes!?” 

“I got bored, so I went and found you.”

Chuuya pulled his arm back to punch Dazai, and was surprised to find resistance after trying to jump up. He looked over and found a red string tied to his wrist, connecting his hand to the seat. He glared at Dazai before pulling his hand forward and snapping the string easily, before standing up.

“Care to tell me why you tied my hand up?”

“Well, I had an extra string after untying this letter and wanted to use it.” Dazai held the paper up with two fingers in front of him. Chuuya could see an address labelled Kouyou in code at the bottom of the page.

Chuuya shot forward, trying to snatch the paper out of his hands.

“She contacted me and you didn't tell me!?”

“You didn't ask.”

They started hurling obscenities at each other and fighting in the compartment.

—

Ron, a lanky boy with bright red hair and freckles, hurriedly stored the teacup-sized brown owl, Pidwidegon, next to the normal-sized, snowy owl, Hedwig, and took a chocolate frog from the black-haired boy with glasses and green eyes, Harry, before slumping into the seat.

“I’m starving,” he said, before taking a huge bite of the frog and leaning back, exasperated.

Hermione, a girl with bushy, brown hair, took her seat as well, looking just as disgruntled. They had just returned from their patrol around the train as prefects, a role assigned in their fifth year that allowed them responsibilities. 

“Well, there are two fifth-year prefects from each house. Boy and girl from each.”

“And guess who’s a Slytherin prefect?”

Harry answered instantly, “Malfoy.”

“‘Course,” Ron spat.

The Gryffindors continued dunking on the Slytherins and talking about the other houses’ prefects. Pansy Parkinson for Slytherin’s girl, Ernie MacMillan and Hannah Abbot for Hufflepuff, and Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil for Ravenclaw. (Let’s skip ahead a bit…also, again, I would strongly recommend reading the actual book if you haven’t or at least getting a summary as there’s a fair chance my lazy ass is going to exclude relevant information that’s not necessary for the fanfiction’s plot)

The compartment door opened. Draco Malfoy was smirking at Harry from just behind the doorway, his goons, Crabbe and Goyle, behind him. Before Malfoy had a chance to speak, Harry aggressively demanded, “What?”

Malfoy’s smirk seemed to spread. “Manners, Potter, or I’ll have to give you a detention,” he said. “You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect, which means I, unlike you, have the power to hand out punishments.”

“Yeah,” retorted Harry, “but you, unlike me, are a git, so get out and leave us alone.” Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Neville laughed. Malfoy’s smirk turned into a scowl, before he responded mockingly, “Tell me, how does it feel being second-best to Weasley, Potter?"

“Shut up, Malfoy,” Hermione snapped.

“I seem to have touched a nerve. Well, just watch yourself, Potter, because I’ll be dogging your footsteps in case you step out of line.”

Hermione stood up. “Get out!”

After snickering a bit, the trio left and Hermione slammed the door behind them before dropping into her seat again, exasperated.

“That’s the fourth time the compartment door’s opened,” Luna said calmly, her voice a little icy and her eyes still keenly focused on her copy of the magazine The Quibbler. Just before the compartment door had opened, Hermione had insulted The Quibbler, only to promptly discover Luna’s dad was the editor, thus offending her. She was still hurt, apparently.

Hermione glanced at Luna. “Four times?”

Luna looked up and glanced back at Hermione coldly, before looking back at her magazine and continuing.

“First Cho Chang, then that transfer student, then you two, then Draco Malfoy,” she said airily.

Hermione perked up a bit. “Transfer student?” she looked at Harry for an answer, as Luna had finished talking and retreated behind her magazine again.

Ginny, Ron’s only younger sister who shared his trait for bright red hair and freckles, answered Hermione. “A tall boy with bandages covering his right eye came in and talked to us for a bit, before saying he had to go around ten minutes before you two came in,” she said. “He said he was a transfer student from our year.”

Harry recalled the lanky boy who had come in shortly after they had gotten settled. He seemed nice enough. Harry read him as the sort of shy but outgoing person, not really very confident but sure of himself nonetheless. However, his mind was a bit distracted, as he was thinking about how Malfoy had put emphasis on the word dogging… did he know Sirius, Harry's godfather and the wrongfully wanted murderer, was with them at the drop off, transformed into a dog?

“I don’t think there’s ever been a transfer student during our time here, right Harry?” Hermione looked interested all of a sudden. Harry looked surprised at being asked. “I dunno, I don't think so…”

Ron looked up. “Aren’t you going to ask me?” he demanded with a mouth full of chocolate. Hermione ignored him.

“Where did he say he was from?” Hermione asked Ginny. “Oh, I don’t know, Japan I think.” Hermione’s excited expression only grew bigger.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, a transfer student, I don’t ever recall seeing any record of one at Hogwarts, do you know where his compartment is? I’d like to talk to him and ask him a few things.” Ron looked disconcerted.

“...Well, I guess I can show you,” Ginny said, standing up. Hermione shot up with her.

Harry, having watched their exchange and eager for a chance to talk to Hermione about Malfoy’s latest visit, stood up as well. “I think I’ll go too,” he said.

“Hold on, if you’re all going, I’ll come with!” Ron interjected. He wiped his chocolate-covered mouth off and stood up quickly.

Neville opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off, not wanting their party to grow too big. “Neville, you’ll be alright watching our stuff with Loony, won’t you?” He nodded and leaned back sadly. (Luna’s nickname is “Loony” because everyone thinks she's strange and uses it to make fun of her.)

And suddenly, a nearly full house was coming to the mystery transfer student.

—

“He said he was on the next train car farther up, over here,” Ginny said, gesturing down the narrow hallway.

Harry hoped they would be done soon, so that Harry could talk to the three of them about Sirius. But then, where would they talk? In this hallway? In plain sight?

Ginny tapped him on the shoulder. “Over here. A kid said they saw him.” The group trudged along the hallway to a compartment at the end of the car. Ginny knocked, before opening the door. “Sorry, my friend was just-” she stopped in her tracks. All of them squeezed their heads into the doorframe to see what Ginny was gawking at.

Her description was accurate, at least. A lanky boy with bandages over his right eye was in the room. In addition, he had messy, dark brown hair, pale skin, and was wearing a school uniform without the robes, his jacket unbuttoned. Despite his disheveled appearance, he gave off an air of grace. What Ginny had failed to mention to Hermione was that there would be a second boy, one with hair the color of a dull ginger and brown eyes, about half a head shorter than the tall one, and with tanner skin. He was damp with sweat, in a school uniform without the tie or jacket, and he was standing in front of the seat on the left with his right foot pressed against the bandaged boy’s left shoulder, who was leaning backwards into the seat with a sheepish expression on his face.

All of them paused, the sweaty boy’s expression growing more daunted by the second. The tall one spoke first.

“Uh, hi, Ginny! Are those your friends…?”

“Yeah… Hermione wanted to meet you. Is that your friend?” She asked tentatively. He nodded.

Hermione stepped more into the doorway. “It’s very nice to meet you! I don’t recognize you,” she said, addressing the ginger, “so are you also a transfer student?” He nodded carefully, pressing his foot into the bandaged boy’s shoulder more, who winced. The ginger one turned his head to the tall one, suddenly annoyed.

“...Sorry, Chuuya, can you take your foot off of me?” He asked politely. Chuuya obliged, a faint scowl still on his face. The tall boy stood up, brushed off his shoulder, and smiled at them. “I’m not sure if Ginny told you my name, but I’m Osamu Dazai. And that’s Chuuya Nakahara,” he said, gesturing to the ginger beside him. “You can call me Dazai.”

Two minutes later, they were sitting awkwardly in the compartment while Hermione and Dazai exchanged animated conversation from opposite sides. Harry and Ron exchanged slightly annoyed glances. (Seat one is Chuuya, Dazai, and Ron, in that order starting from the window, and seat two is Ginny, Hermione, and Harry, in that order, also starting from the window.)

“Do you know what house you’re in?”

Dazai laughed nervously. “No, so we both have the default uniforms. I’m hoping for Gryffindor, though… to be brave and strong? Who doesn’t want that?”

“What about you, Chuuya?” Hermione asked.

Chuuya was looking out the window, his arms crossed. “I guess I don’t care either way.”

“I heard that at Mahoutokoro, they-” Harry didn’t bother listening to her, instead proverbially twiddling his thumbs. (Mahoutokoro is the Japanese wizarding school.) There was one question nagging on all of his friend’s minds, but not one of them dared to ask. (This, of course, is why was Chuuya kicking Dazai)

It wasn’t until it started to get dark outside that Hermione finally stood up. “I’m sorry to keep you for so long, but we must be going now.” Dazai smiled brightly and bid her goodbye, before closing the door behind them cheerily after they had all trudged out of the room after Hermione. Without even turning to look back at Chuuya, who was looking at Dazai’s back with his arm propped up on the windowsill and an unimpressed expression on his face, Dazai opened the door again and followed after them silently once ten seconds had passed.

The group was walking in silence back to their compartment. Harry moved closer to Hermione, asking quietly, “Wha’d’you think of Malfoy saying that?”

“Don’t talk about it here,” Hermione snapped in a whisper. “But yes, it was extremely suspicious. I mean, Sirius was being so obvious, it was nearly impossible for someone to not notice.”

“Whatre’ you talking about?” Ron said in a normal voice, to which both Hermione and Harry shushed him. “We’ll talk about it later.” Hermione said hurriedly. They were too visible in the middle of the train.

Dazai was like a fly on the wall. So far behind it was nearly impossible for them to recognize him, as he had intentionally strayed behind.

He took off his headphones after they had returned to their compartment. He was about fifty feet away from their door. He looked displeased, almost. While walking back towards Chuuya, he turned off the headphones and slipped his wand into his school jacket.

When he came back to Chuuya’s compartment, he found him reading the letter he had forged.

“I fell for this crap? It doesn’t even look like her handwriting. The only thing you got right is the way she speaks.” Chuuya threw the letter back at Dazai, who caught it.

“You believed it enough to listen to it. I’m surprised you didn’t realize when I burst out laughing while watching you do push-ups!”

“I’ll kill you someday, Dazai. I swear I will.”

Dazai didn’t answer.

There was some truth behind their banter, perhaps one only they could see.

It wasn’t long before the train started slowing down, but by then both Dazai and Chuuya looked freshly polished in their crisp uniforms and robes. After the train had fully halted, they followed the crowd and spilled out of the entrances with the rest of the people. It was extremely dark out, Chuuya could hardly see anything except the mass of bodies crowding around the carriages by the lake and the boats in the lake.

“First years line up over here, please! All first years to me!” A brisk female voice called above the murmuring of the students.

Do we join the first years for the sorting? Or go with our own grade? We're not supposed to go with the first years, but if we're going to be sorted with them then they have to give us a pass, right?

Chuuya started heading towards the boats, towards the voice calling the eleven year olds towards her.

Then, without warning, he whipped around as if someone had called out to him. No, someone had called out to him. Just not verbally. There had been a discomfort in his chest, as if someone was pressing their fist into his stomach slowly. Consider it a sixth sense, but he had only felt it when Dazai was messing with him, which could only mean one thing.

Dazai was there, alright. Looking at him from the other side of the crowd with a smile on his face. It was like he sucked up all the light around him. It only took a moment for Chuuya to make it back to the carriages, where he was standing with that group from earlier with Harry Potter.

“Hey!” Chuuya called out. All of them turned towards him, slightly surprised, as they were about to get into the vacant carriage in front of them.

“Hey,” he repeated, “mind if I join you?”

They all looked at each other. Harry spoke up. “I think it should be alright.” After a mildly begrudging agreement from the rest of them (mainly Ron), they quickly proceeded towards the carriage in which the girls from the group were sitting.

“What were you saying, Harry?” They had been talking amongst themselves while Chuuya silently strangled Dazai behind them for intentionally almost leaving him in the dust.

“I was saying, what are those horse things?” Harry responded. Chuuya perked up a little behind them and stopped beating up Dazai. 

“What horse things?”

“The horse things pulling the carriages!” Harry said impatiently. Chuuya glanced at the skeletal creatures harnessed to the carts. They looked like if the skeleton of a horse had black scales for skin, a dragon’s head, and the wings of a bat. It was mildly unsettling, but Chuuya had just brushed it off as one of the other wonders of magic.

“What are you talking about?” Asked Ron, perplexed.

“I’m talking about- look!” Harry grabbed Ron and whipped him face to face with the horse. Ron, however, seemed to be looking straight ahead through the creature. He grew even more worried.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

Harry was spluttering now, convinced he was going crazy. The three of them, Dazai, Chuuya, and the blonde girl, were looking at them with varying expressions of worry. Finally, Harry came to the realization that he was the only one who could see the horses.

“Are you feeling alright, Harry?” Ron asked.

“I… yeah…” Harry was in a daze by this point. He stood there a moment longer.

“Shall we get in, then?” Ron was still worried.

Just as Ron was disappearing into the dark interior of the carriage, the blonde girl spoke dreamily. “It’s alright, you’re not going mad or anything. I can see them too.”

Harry addressed her with desperation. “Can you?”

“Oh yes, I’ve been able to see them ever since my first day here. They’ve always pulled the carriages. Don’t worry, you’re just as sane as I am.” She smiled faintly before disappearing after Ron into the carriage. Harry didn’t look convinced at all, but followed after her.

Chuuya got in before Dazai. Both of them had been silent, watching their exchange calmly and straying behind so as not to get roped in. Chuuya didn’t know what to make of it. What could seeing those creatures mean? Either way, best not to act yet.

—

“Wow, Chuuya, look at how pretty the castle is!” Dazai turned to Chuuya as they were walking through the crowd up the stone steps with Harry Potter’s group. Chuuya responded casually, “Yeah, it’s nice.”

Dazai turned to Hermione next. “The places at home don’t look this grand. Oh, I read in Hogwarts: A History that-”

Chuuya tuned them out. Then he noticed the girls staring at Dazai and giggling to themselves while they talked ecstatically.

I guess the students have caught on, Chuuya grumbled to himself. It was just after they passed through the entrance that Dazai stopped. “I think we’d better get off here to join the first years,” Dazai told the group. They all waved goodbye, leaving the pair standing while the crowd weaved around them. Finally, the crowd dispersed behind those doors and they were alone in the stone entrance.

“Are you ever going to tell me how you used magic?”

“Maybe I don’t know.”

“Oh, ha-ha. You can’t fool me this time.”

Dazai turned towards Chuuya. “I really don’t know, Chuuya! It scares me, I was just expecting to nullify it!”

Chuuya looked at him with a disgusted expression. Dazai’s face relaxed into a malicious smile. “It was worth a shot,” he said, before turning back to the entrance, dead-eyed.

Finally, a tall, black-haired woman in black robes entered the hall and made her way to the castle doors. She paused in front of them. “Are you the transfer students?” Both of them nodded.

“Alright then, boys, when the first years come in just join the crowd. I’ll explain everything to you all.” She then waved her wand and the massive doors swung open.

“Here are the first years, Professor McGonagall.” Said an elderly woman, also in black robes. A crowd of short kids were behind her, just shorter than Chuuya himself. It made him feel self-conscious, especially next to the lanky Dazai who had just had a growth spurt.

“Thank you, Professor Grubby-Plank.” She pulled the doors open wider, allowing the children to spill out onto the floor. Dazai and Chuuya joined the small army and marched behind McGonagall through the endless hallway, illuminated by torches. Finally, she stopped them just before a doorway on their right, where the place they would be sorted probably was, and led them to a room leading away from there off the hall. 

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” McGonagall began, “the start-of-term banquet will begin shortly, but before you take your seats, you will be sorted into your houses.” She went on for a bit about the importance and use of houses. “The four kinds are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. While you are at Hogwarts, any triumphs will earn you house points, while any rule-breaking will cost them. At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the House Cup, a great honor. The sorting ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school.” She then left them.

So they use a social-humiliation system to keep the students in check. It was clever, a thing to replace the place of the fear of death that normally keeps people compliant.

Chuuya stood awkwardly among the crowd of children, who were now starting to notice the obviously older people with them. He ignored them, wishing he had a hoodie to pull over his head.

“Why do you have bandages on?” Asked a high-pitched voice on Chuuya’s left. He looked over and saw Dazai looking at a small kid with short brown hair.

“I have an injury,” Dazai said, smiling politely.

“Oh,” the boy responded, before turning away from Dazai again.

Finally, McGonagall entered again and told them to line up, before leading them out of the small room and into the hallway again. Soon, the big doors the chatter was coming from opened and made way to a grand hall with long tables passing through it. There were four tables, each adorned with gold plates and goblets and, of course, people. At the end of the room there was another, smaller table, stretching across the back wall. The students gazed upon the line of kids, whispering amongst themselves as they examined the children. Unfortunately for Chuuya and Dazai (who were standing at opposite ends of the line), they stood out like a sore thumb. If word hadn’t fully spread of them yet, it sure had now.

McGonagall walked up and placed the stool she had been carrying on the floor at the end of the room, as well as a weathered, pointed hat. The hat trembled on the stool for a moment, before the fabric split in half and a mouth emerged. It burst into song.

In times of old, when I was new,

And Hogwarts barely started,

The founders of our noble school

Thought never to be parted.

United by a common goal,

They had the selfsame yearning

To make the world's best magic school

And pass along their learning.

"Together we will build and teach"

The four good friends decided.

And never did they dream that they

Might some day be divided.

For were there such friends anywhere

As Slytherin and Gryffindor?

Unless it was the second pair

Of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw,

So how could it have gone so wrong?

How could such friendships fail?

Why, I was there, so I can tell

The whole sad, sorry tale.

Said Slytherin, "We'll teach just those

Whose ancestry's purest."

Said Ravenclaw, "We'll teach those whose

Intelligence is surest."

Said Gryffindor, "We'll teach all those

With brave deeds to their name."

Said Hufflepuff, "I'll teach the lot

And treat them just the same."

These differences caused little strife

When first they came to light.

For each of the four founders had

A house in which they might

Take only those they wanted, so,

For instance, Slytherin

Took only pure-blood wizards

Of great cunning just like him.

And only those of sharpest mind

Were taught by Ravenclaw

While the bravest and the boldest

Went to daring Gryffindor.

Good Hufflepuff, she took the rest

and taught them all she knew,

Thus, the houses and their founders

Maintained friendships firm and true.

So Hogwarts worked in harmony

For several happy years,

But then discord crept among us

Feeding on our faults and fears.

The Houses that, like pillars four

Had once held up our school

Now turned upon each other and

Divided, sought to rule.

And for a while it seemed the school

Must meet an early end.

What with duelling and with fighting

And the clash of friend on friend.

And at last there came a morning

When old Slytherin departed

And though the fighting then died out

He left us quite downhearted.

And never since the founders four

Were whittled down to three

Have the Houses been united

As they once were meant to be.

And now the Sorting Hat is here

And you all know the score:

I sort you into Houses

Because that is what I'm for.

But this year I'll go further,

Listen closely to my song:

Though condemned I am to split you

Still I worry that it's wrong,

Though I must fulfil my duty

And must quarter every year

Still I wonder whether sorting

May not bring the end I fear.

Oh, know the perils, read the signs,

The warning history shows,

For our Hogwarts is in danger

From external, deadly foes.

And we must unite inside her

Or we'll crumble from within

I have told you, I have warned you…

Let the Sorting now begin.

Applause broke out and Chuuya blinked. What did any of that mean? The place is going to cave in? He didn’t even have time to think before the lady unrolled a long scroll and started calling names forward. “Abercrombie, Euan.”

A scared-looking boy stumbled toward the chair and picked up the hat tentatively. He sat down and put it on, his face disappearing behind the fabric. There was a slight pause before the hat shouted, “GRYFFINDOR!” and the table with a scarlet and gold table runner erupted in cheers.

Oh, so that’s how it works.

The line slowly thinned as children were removed from the line. It wasn't long before Dazai started sticking out like a sore thumb as a result of his height. Much to Chuuya's contempt, he could not relate…

Finally, they were the last two left. Chuuya was quite sure by this point they had been hastily added to the list, and it annoyed him greatly. Then again, he was annoyed by everything that had to do with Dazai…

“Dazai, Osamu.” Oh yeah, one of them had to be going up in the middle of his thoughts. It makes sense for it to be Dazai, since he was quite sure the persona he'd developed was the boss's beloved and spoiled son and would naturally be mentioned first in Mori's letter. Hey, maybe he'd get another chance to see how Dazai was using magic!

The slender creature that had been ignoring Chuuya stepped forward and whispers promptly ensued.

“That one looks a little old to be a first year…” said one whisper.

“Yeah, but he sure is cute!” said a slightly louder whisper right after. Words could not describe the disgust that overwhelmed Chuuya.

Dazai stood in front of the sad-looking hat, gazing down at it with an unreadable expression. He reached out to grip the hat gently in his hand as if it were a precious jewel, before sitting down gracefully in the stool. You could see his face through his messy hair, which was quickly covered by the fabric of that raggedy old hat as he placed it on his head.

There was a long silence.

It felt like Chuuya was standing in the middle of an open plain, waiting for the hat to call out, to give some sign of life. Still, it stayed as silent as a ghost. He was also waiting for the crowd to get progressively more concerned, but they looked as gleeful as ever.

He was standing there for ages between the tables while Dazai got progressively more visibly nervous. And then, after a stifling silence had broken out through the hall and started drowning its occupants, the hat twitched slightly and cried out,

“Slytherin!”

Everyone broke out in applause while the Slytherin table cheered for their new member. “That must be a new record!” Some Gryffindor called out. Even most of the teachers looked mildly impressed. Chuuya had looked the exact same throughout — annoyed yet unsurprised. Anyone with half a brain could figure out Dazai would be in Salazar Slytherin’s house. Now all he had to do was follow him. 

Dazai approached the table with a nervous (and slightly fearful) smile and sat down after they had made space. Chuuya couldn’t see Harry Potter’s group, but he imagined they would be disappointed, as Dazai had wanted to be Gryffindor. Or told them he did, at least.

Once the clapping and cheering had calmed down, McGonagall raised the list for the last time and called, “Nakahara, Chuuya.”

He stepped forward, blushing slightly at everyone staring at him, his face calm and composed. The hat wasn’t so bad up close, it just looked extremely worn. It easily sank down over his head.

“In all my years, I’ve never met a more corrupted pair.” The first thing he heard was a withered voice talking directly to him.

“By nature, or by force?” Now it was asking him.

What? Chuuya thought.

“Ah, that is what sets you apart from him. Plenty of bravery and cleverness… hunger, too…”

I’m not here to listen to this hat’s incessant talking… just send me to Slytherin already!

“Slytherin, ay? No, it doesn’t fit as well as its counterpart… I think it’d better be… Gryffindor!” It shouted, this time out loud. Chuuya quickly took the hat off, looking at the Gryffindor table, shocked.

The table was cheering loudly, as they had for every other new student to join them.

That can't be right. Slytherin is the “evil” house, Gryffindor is the “righteous” house. Somebody as evil as Chuuya didn't deserve to be in Gryffindor. But he was already walking towards the table. And sitting down next to Harry Potter.

Wait. Harry Potter.

Chuuya turned to Harry and smiled nervously. “I guess I'm in your house now.” Harry matched his expression, before they both turned to the headmaster as he stood up to give a speech, presumably. He was a gray old man, with a wispy beard and small glasses resting on his nose like he wasn't even using them. He stretched his arms out wide and smiled brightly.

“To our newcomers,” his voice rang out, “welcome! To our old hands — welcome back! There is a time for speech making, but this is not it. Tuck in!” And that was all he said. This place was certainly strange. Everyone laughed a little and clapped loudly, and suddenly the space between their golden plates and goblets was filled with food. They had appeared, somehow, and contained all sorts of meat and vegetables and soups and sauces and baskets of bread and- he'd better stop there.

Chuuya had never seen such a thing before. The sight was eye-watering, in fact. The first thing he reached for was a small loaf of bread, tearing a piece off with his mouth.

“What were you saying before the sorting?” Hermione spoke up, addressing the pale, translucent figure that had appeared over the table. He was clearly from a much earlier period, with a ruffled shirt and tights. Probably a ghost, as he’d read in Hogwarts: A History. “About the hat giving warnings?” Chuuya looked up, distracted from the feast in front of him. “Oh, yes,” he responded. “Yes, I have heard the hat give several warnings before, always at times when it detects periods of great danger from the school. And always, of course, its advice is the same: Stand together, be strong from within. And on that note of companionship, are you a new student?”

Chuuya looked up again in surprise. “...Yeah.”

“Oh, I meant to ask you, Nearly-headless Nick, has there ever been a transfer student before at Hogwarts?” Hermione asked.

“No, I don’t believe so. I suppose you’re one, then! How delightful!” He said, turning to Chuuya again.

Chuuya got slightly flustered, turning his attention back to the food quickly. It felt like his ears were full with sound, whether from the chatter of the students or the blood rushing in his ears from social anxiety, who could say? Rumors were already deeply circulating of the new transfer student (Dazai), so it wouldn’t take long for them to get to him too.

He wasn’t really sure what to try, as he didn’t make a habit of eating western food, so all of it seemed nowhere close to his palette. In the end, he chose a simple broth containing chicken, noodles, and an assortment of vegetables to pair with the bread.

I have to admit, it’s not looking good for this place so far, Chuuya acknowledged while sipping his soup. From everything he’d researched, this place was certainly crumbling from the inside as the hat prophesied. Another year or two and it’d be over for them. Hopefully this mission wouldn’t take too long, and he could go back home and claim victory on a successful overseas mission.

Chuuya was also entertaining the idea of ignoring Dazai, depending on how things went. He certainly had enough reason to, considering Gryffindors detest Slytherins.

Chuuya glanced over at the green table, where Dazai sat. It only took him a moment to find him in the crowd, considering he had a certain posture that made him recognizable. Elegant and refined, yet slouched over slightly. It was hard to explain. He was engaged in chatter with a group of children, the boys looking begrudging and the girls swooning. It was repulsing, to say the least. He also couldn’t see his expression, as Dazai’s back was turned. Then, suddenly, he paused, looked over his shoulder, and stared directly at Chuuya, who quickly dove his face into his soup.

Damn it, how does he always know!? He stared at the bowl in silence for the rest of the meal. Luckily, nobody asked him anything or even spoke. Something must have happened earlier while he was pushing his noodles around in the broth. In fact, all of them looked somber and uncomfortable. It stayed the same throughout the entirety of the meal, even after the food miraculously changed into desserts (which Chuuya made a point of ignoring.) Finally, after everyone had wiped their mouths of sweets and drink, the old man rose from his seat again to actually give a speech. 

“Well, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast,” he began. “I beg a few moments of your attention for the usual start-of-term notices.” Chuuya noticed that everyone always immediately fell silent the moment Dumbledore began talking. He supposed that they must really respect the guy, even though all that information was being spread about him in the news about how he’s a liar and a fraud. Or maybe they just respect whoever the headmaster is. 

That’s tricky, because then he either has to re-establish respect for Dumbledore or secure his position as headmaster.

“First years ought to know that the forest in the grounds is out of bounds to students—and a few of our older students ought to know by now too.” Harry Potter and his group exchanged smiles.

“Mr. Filch, the caretaker, has asked me, for what he tells me is the four-hundred and sixty-second time, to remind you that all magic is not permitted in the corridors between classes, nor are a number of other things, all of which can be checked on the extensive list now fastened to Mr. Filch’s office door.” He paused, “We have had two changes in staffing this year. We are very pleased to welcome back Professor Grubby-Plank, who will be taking Care of Magical Creatures lessons; we are also delighted to introduce Professor Umbridge, our new Defense Against the Arts teacher.” Everyone clapped politely.

He continued. “Tryouts for the House Quidditch Teams will take place on the-” Dumbledore fell quiet suddenly, much to everyone’s mild surprise. It wasn’t until he looked over at a short woman in pink sitting- no, standing at the table, who said “Hem, hem” soon after, that everyone realized she had interrupted him earlier and was trying to make a speech.

Did she really just do that? Not just Chuuya, everyone seemed to be in disbelief. Ignoring everyone, the short, stout lady in pink began to speak. She had a shrill voice, the kind that would scold you in the middle of the street for bumping into her.

“Thank you, Headmaster, for those kind words of welcome.” She simpered, standing up a little straighter. She coughed again, before continuing— “Well, it is lovely to be back at Hogwarts, I must say! And to see such happy little faces looking back at me!” Chuuya looked around, confused, as literally everyone paying attention seemed sad or some form of bored.

“I am very much looking forward to getting to know you all, and I’m sure we’ll be very good friends!” It felt unnatural to hear someone address a crowd (with him in it)  as if they were small children; everyone always treated Chuuya as an adult.

After coughing again, she began to speak in a more formal fashion.

“The Ministry of Magic has always considered the education of young witches and wizards to be of vital importance. The rare gifts with which you were born may come to nothing if not nurtured and honed by careful instruction. The ancient skills unique to the wizarding community must be passed down the generations lest we lose them forever. The treasure trove of magical knowledge amassed by our ancestors must be guarded, replenished and polished by those who have been called to the noble profession of teaching.” 

Chuuya could feel his head start spinning slightly. He wasn’t particularly dense, but listening to someone drone on for this long always made his eyes blur. Action was definitely more his thing. But he’d sat for longer in meetings with big-sister (Kouyou), so he could sit for this. Besides, this was even more important for the success of the mission! This woman was clearly someone sent by the Ministry, and as he could tell, her goal was to help the school in learning. That was good, right? But he couldn’t shake that bad feeling.

“Every headmaster and headmistress of Hogwarts has brought something new to the weighty task of governing this historic school, and that is as it should be, for without progress there will be stagnation and decay. There again, progress for progress's sake must be discouraged, for our tried and tested traditions often require no tinkering. A balance, then, between old and new, between permanence and change, between tradition and innovation…”

Alright, now she wasn’t saying anything important. He took the opportunity to look around at the crowd, at the kids who were talking amongst themselves at this point and all but ignoring her. What even was her name? I think she’s one of the new teachers… Umbridge, then?

“... because some changes will be for the better, while others will come, in the fullness of time, to be recognised as errors of judgement. Meanwhile, some old habits will be retained, and rightly so, whereas others, outmoded and outworn, must be abandoned. Let us move forward, then, into a new era of openness, effectiveness and accountability, intent on preserving what ought to be preserved, perfecting what needs to be perfected, and pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited.” Pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited. Chuuya wanted to groan now.

The Umbridge(?) lady seemed to be satisfied and sat down again. It was only when Dumbledore started clapping that the staff followed his lead, and then the students.

A few seconds later, Dumbledore stood up from his seat in the middle of the table again and resumed his speech. “Thank you very much, Professor Umbridge, that was most illuminating. Now, as I was saying, Quidditch tryouts will be held…” Chuuya tried his best to listen, but honestly, he had no idea what “Quidditch” was and couldn’t help but overhear the conversation going on right next to him.

“Yes, it certainly was illuminating…” he heard that girl from earlier (Her-mine-e?) mutter to Harry and his friend with the fire-hair.

“You’re not telling me you enjoyed it?” Said the freckled boy. “That was about the dullest speech I’ve ever heard, and I grew up with Percy.”

“I said illuminating, not enjoyable.” She snapped, slightly louder, before quieting slightly as she continued. “It explained a lot.” 

“Did it?” Asked Harry Potter. “Sounded like a load of waffle to me.” Chuuya was barely continuing now, as he had little knowledge of the common idioms of English.

“There was some important stuff hidden in the waffle.”

“Was there?” Came from the boy with the red-hair again, rather grimly.

“How about ‘progress for progress’s sake must be discouraged?’ How about ‘Pruning wherever we find practices that ought to be prohibited?”

“Well, what does that mean?”

“I’ll tell you what it means,” she continued ominously. “It means the Ministry’s interfering at Hogwarts.”

Chuuya was woken out of his trace of staring at the Headmaster while listening to them when loud noises started coming from around them; people were getting up out of their seats and proceeding towards the big doors out of the hall.

“Ron, we’re supposed to show the first years where to go!”

“Oh, yeah,” Said the redhead (Ron, now). “Hey — hey, you lot! Midgets!”

“Ron!”

“Well, they are… they’re titchy…”

“Do you mind if I join you?” asked Chuuya suddenly, standing up with them. Hermione(?) looked at him in mild surprise.

“Oh, of course! Just follow us… First years! First years over here, please!” She started calling to a group of nervous-looking children annoyingly the same height as Chuuya.

“See you later,” Harry told them, before moving ahead of the group.

Looks like I’ve got my work cut out for me. As Chuuya trudged along with the group of kids, he couldn’t help but feel more targets on his back. He looked around for the source of that unsettling sensation, and met the eye of that creature from the other side of the table. Dazai. He smiled cheerfully, before sinking back into the crowd and disappearing from view.

Chuuya couldn’t help the apprehension sinking into his bones.