Coil Allegory_for_Hatred - Read on MistNovel

Dazai had long since grown used to pain. A dog bite, a bruised cheek, a broken bone... the feeling was familiar enough to him that, often, he didn’t even register it. Father’s bloody punishments were too common to warrant response these days. And, compared to the burn of overusing No Longer Human, physical pain didn’t really stack up.

That was Dazai’s excuse, and he was sticking with it.

“Still,” Mori said. His gloved hands expertly wrapped a fresh bandage over Dazai’s arm. It was already stained red in places. “You had to have noticed that it was infected, Shuuji.”

Dazai’s lip curled, but not at the rancid stench of yellowing, pus-covered skin. “Don’t call me that.”

Mori gave the bandage a harsh tug before dropping the boy’s wounded arm. It fell into his lap lifelessly “By your name? Don’t be foolish. Regardless, didn’t you just ignore the infection hoping it would kill you?”

“I like

Dazai

better.”

“You can change it when your father finally dies,” Mori said, merely raising a brow at Dazai’s avoidance of the question. He turned to grab a bottle of disinfectant. Obedient, Dazai propped his right leg up onto the infirmary cot where a long, bleeding gash tore across his skin. “Until then, you’re only making more trouble for yourself by using that alias here.”

The mention of Father had Dazai stilling, but he easily played it off as readying himself for Mori to clean the cut. It stung, but no more than anything else. He shrugged.

It was always cold in Mori’s office. The air held a sort of artificial feeling to it - something sterile and chemical. Dazai thought there must have been windows in the room at one point, but now the office was four cement slabs and a tile floor. The only burst of color in the entire room was the blood-red of Elise’s dress where she sat at their feet. Her hand fisted around a red crayon.

Mori caught his eyes, a slim smile across his face. “How did this one happen,

Shuuji?”

He emphasized the name, brandishing it like a weapon. An intrigued glint in his eyes, Mori poked a gloved finger into the cut. Mori was always careful to wear gloves when handling this particular patient.

“I’ll kick you,” Dazai warned.

Mori withdrew his finger to continue his work, but didn’t look sheepish in the slightest.

From the floor, Elise giggled.

Dazai eyed the doctor in distaste for a long moment before responding, “I don’t know.”

Mori hummed. “You’ve always been a troublesome child. I’m sure you can think of

something

that you’ve done.”

“Not really. I’m perfectly well-behaved.”

A moment of silence passed between the two infirmary inhabitants - a pause to appreciate the sheer absurdity of such a statement.

“A well-behaved boy wouldn’t have let a small cut get infected as a method for suicide.”

Dazai rolled his eyes, then leaned back to give the doctor space to work. The sooner this was over with, the better. He rolled his neck stiffly. “Father is just angry these days. It’s hardly my fault.”

A needle poked into Dazai’s shin, threading a small band across the skin. The wound began to close shut under Mori’s careful ministrations. A bundle of cotton soaked up more blood.

Mori hummed.

Dazai’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be fixing him? You aren’t a very good doctor.”

Below them, Elise’s drawing suddenly paused.

Mori glanced up, briefly meeting Dazai’s eyes before turning back to the wound. He tied off the stitches with a particularly rough pull. “Your father’s illness is quite complicated.”

Illness

was, perhaps, not the right word his father’s situation. The man didn’t cough or wear wounds under his skin. Instead, he raged. It was an illness of the mind only. The boss ranted about nonsense and confused himself over trivial things. It seemed, more often than not, that the boss wasn’t entirely cognizant of his situation. His thoughts jumped from the past to the present so quickly that even Dazai couldn’t make sense of what the man was talking about.

Dazai knew the whole affair was causing a lot of strife within the Port Mafia. Seemingly nonsensical orders from Father - from the

boss

- led to sure-fire disasters. Declarations of war on local gangs came from nowhere, executives were fired and hired at random...

Dazai himself struggled to keep up with the demands of his father’s waning sanity. Violent punishments came and went in waves, seemingly triggered by nothing at all. Quite a few of the fresh wounds on his body were evidence enough of that.

It left him feeling oddly cold. Off-put. Dazai didn’t know what to do with that feeling, so he decided to feel nothing on the subject at all.

“He’s going to destroy the Port Mafia, at this rate,” Dazai sighed, listless.

“Oh well.”

“Ah,”

Mori chuckled as he tossed a bloody cloth into the trash. He gave Dazai’s wrist a light squeeze. A warning. “Please don’t sound so casual about that. You owe the Port Mafia a lot, Shuuji. Shouldn’t you at least be a little concerned about its continued existence?”

Dazai leveled him with a blank look.

Mori patted Dazai’s thigh, signaling to the boy that his check-up was finished. He unpeeled the gloves from his fingers with a

snap.

“If anyone is blasé about Father’s consequences on the Port Mafia’s future, it’s you.”

“Hm?”

Dazai crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re planning something,” he noted, clear disinterest in his voice. “Stop that. Slimy people like you shouldn’t be allowed to scheme.”

There was only the slightest pause in Mori’s breath before he said, “I’m only an underground doctor. I can assure you, I am planning nothing more than keeping the Port Mafia in good health.”

“As if I’d believe that.”

“Now, now, Shuuji.” A hand suddenly dropped onto Dazai’s head. He stilled underneath the touch, abruptly finding that both Mori’s tone and his own blood had run cold. “You’re talking nonsense again.”

Nearby, Elise vanished as No Longer Human flared.

Dazai held his tongue. They stood in tense silence for a moment before, finally, Mori laughed. He ruffled Dazai’s hair before taking his arm back. Immediately, the young girl clad in red re-manifested. Dazai eyed her presence with distaste.

When Dazai didn’t otherwise react except to sit perfectly still, Mori spun in his chair and began organizing his tools. Gauze, needles, and various tinctures were pushed around the table under his hands.  A scalpel caught the light. Dazai tracked the movement, eyes narrowing over the medicines. He recognized them each by name, though not through any pleasant circumstance. Quite a few of them had made him sick over the years. And the others made his head feel so dizzyingly light he’d thought he might fly away.

Slowly, Dazai removed his leg from the cot. He let it dangle. Dazai watched Mori’s back for a moment. The doctor continued his work unperturbed. Quiet, Dazai’s hand unconsciously toyed with the edge of a bandage that wrapped around his wrist three times - evidence of his latest half-hearted suicide attempt.

A vial of anesthetics clinked against Mori’s metal tray.

“Speaking of my father...”

“Hm?”

Mori didn’t turn around.

Dazai’s fingers scratched into his wrist. “Has he given permission for me to return to Hogwarts this year?”

There was a slight pause in Mori’s ministrations, but he picked them up again just as quickly. “Is that fondness I hear, Shuuji? You know attachments like that have no place within the Port Mafia.”

You’re the one who told me to make friends,

Dazai thought bitterly. But he held back the remark. Even back then, Dazai had known that Mori’s overly-familiar requests held nothing but ill-intent. He had always been slimy and cooing about Dazai’s social life, after all. And it reeked of something awful.

Dazai was quick to shake his head, even though he knew Mori was not looking. “I have connections there. Followers, information... It’s a waste of your time to not let me pursue this to its end.”

“And yet,” Mori said, finally shifting around to face his charge again, “I’ve never seen you care about something before. If not a fondness for Hogwarts and its inhabitants, then what else could motivate the ever-apathetic Boss’ son?”

Dazai opened his mouth to argue - a swing of cunning words already on his tongue. Before he could, however, Mori raised a hand. Dazai’s mouth snapped shut immediately.

“Don’t misunderstand,” the doctor said, “I find your enthusiasm adorable.”

Dazai’s gaze fell to the floor before he could correct himself. When he looked back up, Mori was smiling.

“Your returning to Hogwarts... I’m afraid your father is still rather upset with the fact that I sent you off there last year. He won’t agree. You’re welcome to ask him yourself, of course.” Mori spoke slowly.

Dazai’s leg twinged with pain - a memory from his last interaction with his father. “You didn’t ask permission last time,” Dazai tried. “Just do the same again.”

Mori’s smile thinned, and warning bells started to ring in Dazai’s ears.

“Shuuji, you sound desperate.”

Dazai froze. He wanted to argue, but his tongue was suddenly leaden. Cold.

“You know what your father would do if he heard you talking like this.” Mori spoke slowly, carefully. He raised a hand. Dazai stiffened, expecting a blow, but Mori’s palm merely came to rest on his cheek. The doctor’s thumb rubbed nonsensical patterns into his face. Pinching whatever baby-fat remained and smoothing over invisible scars. “Emotions like this aren’t very becoming of a mafioso. I would punish you for it if I weren’t in such a generous mood.”

Dazai nodded jerkily.

He knew that. He knew that. But here he was, spilling out pleas to return to Hogwarts like some pathetic child, anyway. Dazai mentally berated himself for it.

Mori seemed to be able to read his thoughts. He sighed. “Those school children you associated yourself with have been a horrible influence on you. You were much better behaved when it was just the two of us. And your father,” he added, seemingly as an afterthought.

“They’re loyal to me,” Dazai said by way of explanation. “They took risks for me last year. And followed all my orders.”

Mori’s nail caught on Dazai’s lip, then stayed there, lovingly. “They are,” he admitted. There was something almost proud in the underground doctor’s tone. It had shivers running up Dazai’s spine. “You’ve done good work with that little gang of yours.”

Dazai stared forward, his only movement to blink every few seconds. Mori held him still for a moment longer before finally drawing his hand away. Despite the absence, Dazai still found himself stuck in place.

“Hmm...”

Mori hummed. He looked Dazai up and down. “It

would

be a waste of our time to cut ties with the magical community, now that the groundwork has already been laid.”

“You have something planned for Hogwarts,” Dazai said. “It isn’t logical for you to pull out just because - ”

“Because you got sentimental? Too attached to those school children?” Mori’s voice was as cold as ice, but also somewhat cloying. “Certainly, I wouldn’t have to throw this plan away had the key player not gotten emotionally invested in his pawns.”

Dazai held the doctor’s gaze for as long as he dared. “I’m not attached,” he said, keeping any inflection out of his voice. It wasn’t a lie - not as far as Dazai was concerned. Still, the words felt like they were choking themselves in his throat.

Mori leaned back into his chair and laced his fingers together into a fold. He watched Dazai with an expression that seemed to read through everything. Dazai projected apathy onto his face. They stared one another down for a long, drawn-out moment. It wasn’t until after nearly a full minute had passed that Mori nodded, evidently having seen all that he could.

Whatever that may be.

“I suppose,” Mori said, “I could allow you to return to Hogwarts.”

Dazai forcefully held himself back from perking up. He bit his lip. “What’s the catch?”

Mori flashed his teeth in a too-sharp smile. “You would be acting as an extension of the Port Mafia. As such, I expect that you would behave in a manner more suited to our kind.”

Dazai felt himself frowning before he could control his face. “I already do that.”

“A mafioso doesn't make friends, they make subordinates,” Mori corrected.

“You’re the one who told me to make friends in the first place, stupid doctor.”

“I had expected you would have enough sense to know where to draw the line,” Mori sighed. “Although, admittedly, I did find the idea of you making friends quite adorable...”

Dazai curled his lip when Mori trailed off. He turned to Elise, who was kicking her legs while she drew. She had moved on to the brown crayon now. With a squinted gaze, Dazai recognized himself drawn there in her childish scribbles.

“They

are

my subordinates.” Dazai tore his gaze away from Elise the second she started to draw big, colorful hearts around him. Gross.

“Then you wouldn’t be bothered if one of them died?”

His fingers twitched.

Slowly, Dazai blinked at Mori. The doctor regarded him with a raised brow.

“They’re useful to me,” he said, the words tasting sour on his tongue. “That would be an inconvenience.”

Mori hummed, but he didn’t look convinced. Dazai clawed at his wrist in a way that he hoped was subtle. But judging by Mori’s nonplussed expression, the nervous tic had not escaped his notice. Very little ever did.

“It wouldn’t bother me,” Dazai said.

“Quit bullying him, Rintaro!”

Elise dropped her crayon on the floor - the noise catching both Mori and Dazai’s attention immediately. The clatter-clack sound echoed loudly against the otherwise sterile room. The young girl puffed out her cheeks. As always, she was the picture of stubborn youth. Though Mori’s ability always left Dazai with a deeply uncomfortable feeling, he couldn’t help but be somewhat relieved for her interruption now.

“Aww,

but Elise!” Mori cooed. “I’m doing work now, dear. My precious Shuuji is never going to learn how to behave if I don’t teach him now!”

Dazai took the momentary lapse in Mori’s focus to cross his arms, pressing his scratched-at wrists into his chest.

“Hmph!”

Elise postured her hands onto her hips. “Shuuji isn’t going to listen to you at all if you’re always bossing him around all the time!”

“Now, now, Elise! If you be quiet for just a little longer, then I’ll buy you all the cakes you want, okay?”

“Well - ”

“If you give me a mission,” Dazai cut in, putting an end to their syrup-sweet banter quickly. Every word he spoke was carefully without inflection. “Then I will complete it, no matter the cost. To me or my gang.”

Both Elise and Mori went silent. Dazai was privately grateful, having always found their dynamic disturbing to witness. Slowly, Mori rose back up into his seat from where he had stooped over Elise.

“Good, good!” Mori clapped, looking pleased with himself. When he stood, Dazai was quick to follow. Dazai didn’t let the pain lancing through his leg slow him. “With that settled: your plane leaves in four days.”

“Four days...”

Dazai mumbled.

Ahead of him, Mori made an amused sound.

Dazai felt cold annoyance drop over him as a wet blanket. “You were always planning for me to return to Hogwarts.”

Mori chuckled. “I wondered how long it would take you to ask about returning. I was starting to think I might have to breach the subject myself.” Another, pleased-sounding laugh. “Ah, but you looked so cute getting worked up over getting my permission just now.”

Dazai huffed.

“Classes don’t start for another couple of weeks,” he said, moving on before Mori started cooing at him, “what do you expect me to do until then?”

“I’m sure you can find lodging,” Mori said, brushing him off. “You’re a resourceful boy. In the meantime, don’t you have books you’ll need to be purchasing?”

“That isn’t going to take two weeks, Doc.”

Mori ignored him. “In seven days, I’ve arranged for you to meet with a soon-to-be partner of the Port Mafia. They’ll be waiting for you at Gringotts Bank at nine a.m. sharp. Be sure to make a good first impression.”

Dazai scrunched up his nose. In all the wizarding world, there was only one person Dazai suspected Mori had been in contact with. And that was...

“The Malfoy family.”

Mori nodded assent. “The Malfoy family is, notoriously, always on the side of the winners. And whenever the Malfoys believe in someone, the rest of the powerful magical society is quick to follow. Do you know what that means, Shuuji?”

“It means you want me to schmooze,” Dazai said with no small amount of distaste. He hated politics.

But if it got him back to Hogwarts...

Dazai shook off the indulgent thought.

“It means,” Mori corrected, “that we need to convince Lucius Malfoy that the Port Mafia is superior to Hogwarts and the Death Eaters. It

means

, you need to prove to him that the Port Mafia is a serious player in this silly little war of theirs.”

“This plan of yours, sending me to Hogwarts - ”

“The specific details are none of your concern, currently. Just do as you are told, please.” Mori sighed. He turned his gaze to Elise. Dazai followed, only to see the young girl had forsaken her drawing in favor of tearing the paper labels off her crayons. Red paper confetti bunched up around her dress. “Lucius Malfoy currently considers the Port Mafia a rising contender. Your display with Quirrell last year was impressive, but he requires more of a show before changing his loyalties completely.”

“A show,” Dazai deadpanned.

“During your second year at Hogwarts, I suspect he will attempt to test us - test

you

,” Mori explained. “Failure is not an option.”

Dazai stiffened, entire body going tense. “I won’t fail,” he promised.

“Now,” Mori’s arm swept across Dazai’s vision, and the doctor took a step towards the infirmary door, “why don’t you hurry back to your room? You know the boss doesn’t like you out of your room for so long.”

Dazai nodded. He knew Mori was right, even if doing so would only lead to Dazai more beaten and bruised.

“And remember,

Shuuji

,” Mori wielded Dazai’s first name like a knife, “only the Malfoys are to know of the Port Mafia’s involvement. Let’s keep Hogwarts in the dark for now, shall we? That includes those little friends of yours.”

-

The luggage in Dazai’s arms wasn’t heavy, per se, but the rambunctious owl was doing nothing to help him keep his footing. Featherbrain hooted and cooed and flapped around her cage. Dazai wished he could just smother her screams, but knew that Mori wouldn’t be pleased to find he had killed their only method of communication. While Dazai could admit that the owl had her uses, she came with some downfalls as well. For example, the numerous eyes currently staring at him.

Dazai hurried across the streets of London as quickly as he could, eager to get out of sight. The attention burned into his back. He only let out a breath of relief when, at long last, the Leaky Cauldron came into view. Dazai didn’t hesitate to push through the front door and take shelter within.

The Leaky Cauldron - it had been about a year since he had last stepped foot in this place. The first time, Professor Snape had been the one to guide him there. This time, Dazai was without escort. The bar served as a gateway to the magical Diagon Alley, where students could buy their school supplies for the following year at Hogwarts. It was also, Dazai remembered, where he had first encountered Quirrell.

A quick look around now found the bar empty of any mafia-types.

Good

, he thought,

I don’t need the trouble. Whatever Lucius has planned is bound to take up all my time as is.

Dazai considered himself lucky to have remembered that the pub doubled as an inn. Not only could the Leaky Cauldron act as his housing for the next two weeks, but it also served as entrance to Diagon Alley when the Malfoy family arrived for their meeting. But most importantly: no one here would give Featherbrain a second thought.

Taking a deep breath, Dazai pushed himself off the door and finally looked around the pub -

really looked

. His eyes automatically searched for exits and possible threats. However given the early time, the pub was mostly empty.

There was only one person in the room: a bald man with an exceptionally wrinkled face. He was cleaning a glass behind the bar. Dazai guessed he must be the Leaky Cauldron’s owner.

Dazai clocked two exits, aside from the door he had just walked through. One - the common room broke off into a hallway. Dazai assumed it lead to the inn’s lodgings. Two - the empty brick wall beside the bar counter. The second could only be opened with magic and wouldn’t provide easy escape in a pinch. Not for

Dazai

, at least.

Satisfied, Dazai pulled his luggage together and dragged himself to the bar.

The man didn’t look up at Dazai’s approach, continuing to fiddle with his drinks instead.

Dazai set Featherbrain’s cage down on the bar top with a raucous

clang!

The owl screeched loudly in protest.

The bartender jumped.

He nearly dropped the glass, but managed to catch it with a wordless levitation spell just in the nick of time. Dazai watched, interested, as the cup floated for a few seconds before slowly returning itself to the counter.

“Oh dear... I didn’t see you there, kid!” The man gasped, letting out a shuddering breath. His voice was cracked with age.

Almost immediately upon turning around, the bartender’s eyes went wide. He looked Dazai up-and-down, hovering over the bandages on Dazai’s wrists and face. Dazai knew he made an odd picture. The butterfly bandage hugging his nose, the patch of gauze that was taped to his cheek. .. His lip was colored red and split. The man’s mouth dropped open into a gape. Hurriedly, Dazai put a stop to his worried inquiries with an question of his own:

“How did you do that?”

The bartender blinked, stupefied by the sudden shift. It took a moment before realization lit up in his eyes. “Ah! You mean this,” in point, he gave a flick of his wrist. Again, the drink glass floated up into the air for a moment before setting down. “Nonverbal wandless magic,” he explained, seeming to be preening somewhat, “it’s a very advanced type of magic. You must be a muggleborn, then!”

Advanced, huh?

Dazai thought. He shook away the thought - there would be plenty of time to consider that later. “What makes you think so, Sir?”

“Please, just call me Tom,” Tom said. “And any kid in a wizarding family would be able to recognize wandless magic. It’s a respected practice, since it’s near impossible for most wizards to master. Moreover - ” he pointed to Dazai’s wounds. “Accidental magic gone wrong? I’ve seen plenty of that in my time! You must be a first year, kid.”

Dazai shook his head. “Second.”

Tom tilted his head. “You’re awful small for a second year.

Ah

- but never mind that! What can I do for you?”

“I need a room,” he said. Dazai gestured at the room-keys hanging behind Tom on the wall. Only three were missing. More than a dozen keys were still available.

Tom nodded, evidently mostly to himself. He turned his back to Dazai briefly to retrieve a key. “Sure, sure. I don’t see your parents - are they still outside?”

“It’s just me,” he said. “I’ll need the room for ten days.”

The clinking sound of keys stopped. Tom looked over his shoulder. There was a single, rusted brass key in his hand - a black '4' written across it. “All alone?”

“That’s right, Sir.” Dazai forced some extra politeness into his voice. Drawing suspicion from Tom would only cause him strife down the line - especially considering that they’d be housemates for the next two weeks. When Tom’s scrunched expression didn’t lessen, Dazai explained, “I actually live in Japan. Commuting back-and-forth between London for school supplies and class wasn’t logical. My father is paying for everything.”

“Oh!”

Tom smiled, the relief in his face palpable. He set the key down in front of Dazai. “Well, you tell your pops that I’ll keep good watch of you while you’re here.”

“...I’ll do that.”

Then, Tom drew a piece of paper out from under the bar and leaned over it to write. He started to fill in the form - date, duration of stay, cost... “I didn’t know Hogwarts accepted students from Japan. Don’t you all have your own magic school out there?”

“Sure," Dazai paused to consider, then cheerily told the innkeeper, "I got kicked out for trying to impale myself on a chandelier. Hogwarts is my second pick.”

Tom stared at him, wide-eyed. He let out a weary chuckle. "...interesting sense of humor you got there, kid." He cleared his throat, and when he next spoke he was back to the

accommodating innkeeper

persona. “

Uh

. Whatever the case, you lucked out. Hogwarts is a great school. I bet you'll have a great time there.”

Featherbrain strained through the bars of her cage, trying and failing to snatch the room key. Without looking, Dazai slid it away from the rowdy bird. She let out a morose hoot in response.

Tom watched the exchange with amusement in his eyes.

“We'll see,” Dazai answered. He looked around the room, disinterested. "Does Hogwarts have chandeliers?"

Tom made a strangled noise.

Dazai wondered if anyone could really consider his first year at Hogwarts

enjoyable

. Sure, he’d been able to establish a gang of people he sort of liked and pull a few fun pranks. His newfound freedom had been an interesting experience. But although Dazai took some pleasure in playing around, the fact that Mori orchestrated his every action really dampened the whole year. There was no real freedom with Mori’s strings wrapped around him.

Not that he

wanted

freedom, per say. But maybe he

would

, if he could just try it out for once. He didn’t know. There was a broken mirror, somewhere, that said Dazai couldn’t want anything at all.

Regardless, there was more blood on Dazai's hands now than there had been one year prior.

Tom hummed. His quill scratched over the paper for a moment longer before suddenly pausing. “Name?”

Dazai turned back to him.

“Hm?”

“I need your full name,” he repeated, giving the feathery quill a wave, “for the inn form. Besides that, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other for the next short while. I ought to know the name of the kid I’m watching over until school starts.”

Dazai resisted the urge to snap about needing a babysitter. Instead, all he said was, “Dazai Osamu,” then, “thank you for having me.”

It was like flipping a switch.

Dazai didn’t even register it at first, so distracted in his own thoughts.

But Tom had gone entirely stock-still. Recognition burst starkly across his face.

Tom choked.

He coughed on a rough throat with enough force that the feather quill fell from his hands. It clattered onto the bar-top.

Immediately, Dazai tensed.

That... wasn’t a normal reaction to a random student’s name.

Tom glanced back up at him, then almost frantically recovered his fallen quill.

“Er

- Dazai Osamu, you say?”

“...Do I know you from somewhere?”

There was a sour pit in Dazai’s stomach. He had a bad feeling about this.

Tom blinked. For a moment, his mouth gawped open and closed like a fish before he finally managed to work his next words out. “Not - no. Not... personally. But, well...”

Featherbrain shifted in her cage. Her feathers puffed out, making her appear large and defensive. Silently, Dazai mimicked her. His shoulders pressed back. Like a shutter dropping down, protective.

Tom went deathly pale. He muttered something under his breath that Dazai couldn’t make out.

The young mafioso raised a brow.

“That is to say,” Tom said, seeming to steel himself, “you’re sort of famous, aren’t you?”

Dazai blinked once, then twice.

Huh?

The tension melted out of his spine, replaced instead by a cautious curiosity. There were only so many reasons why the name “Dazai Osamu” would be famous in the wizarding world. He didn’t like any of them.

At Dazai’s expression, Tom hesitantly proceeded to finish penning out the inn form. He glanced up at Dazai once he was finished.

“You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”

“I’ve been out of touch with the magical community since February,” Dazai answered, succinct. Guess the ruse about a Japanese magical school was bust, now. “I had to leave Hogwarts early, so - ”

- so the story about who killed Quirrell didn’t lead back to me.

Dazai stared.

Oh.

Now, judging by Tom’s bewildered stare, that was precisely the case.

Dazai felt his eyes narrow instinctively.

That intrusive journalist, Rita Skeeter, must have been the one to do it! Even with Hogwarts fighting to keep his identity from the press, media pressure had won out. Dazai prickled at the thought of how much attention must be directed at him. Just minutes after coming back into the fray, and Dazai was already under the microscope.

Mori’s pleasant smile echoed in his head.

Dazai silently cursed the doctor out. That bastard

definitely

already knew, and hadn't told Dazai on purpose. Mori always

did

love to watch him squirm.

Balking, Tom took a step back. “You,

er -

haven't seen the articles, then?”

“Do you have any on hand?”

It took a second for Tom to recognize what he was asked. Once he did, the barkeep nodded frantically. Hurriedly, he shuffled out from behind the bar. Dazai fell into step behind him, albeit slowly so as to not startle the man. Because it now seemed as though Tom was

afraid

of him - absurd as it may be for a grown adult to balk at the sight of a twelve-year-old.

But certainly, it

was

fear. Dazai was familiar with it. The Port Mafia reeked of fear and superiority always. And with Father’s latest turn of health, fear was more-and-more common by the day.

Tom came to a stop beside a newsstand. He pulled off the top paper, skimmed it, then shoved it into Dazai’s hands.

Dazai frowned at the rough treatment. Once the paper fell into his hands, the biting tingle of No Longer Human sparked to life. It was gone a second later. Whatever magic the paper was using before was long gone now - probably one of those magical moving photos. Dazai’s attention didn’t linger on the residual magic long. He unfolded the newspaper.

Immediately, Dazai recognized the publication: The Daily Prophet.

WILL HOGWARTS’ MURDEROUS “DEMON STUDENT” CONTINUE HIS REIGN OF TERROR THIS YEAR?

“Demon Student...”

Dazai echoed under his breath.

“That’s me?”

The paper’s title screamed up at him in all caps. It was the cover story - that wasn’t promising for Dazai’s desire to stay out of the public’s eye. The only saving grace was that the paper didn’t seem to have his picture. Instead, the center-photo was of a vague, shadowy figure with a sharp smile and glaring eyes. Dazai squinted down at his supposed-likeness before speed-reading through the article.

“Written by Rita Skeeter...” Dazai huffed out lowly to himself. That figured. But this article had only just been published yesterday. Which meant... “How long has this story been circulating, Tom?”

“Oh,”

Tom said. At some point, he must have walked around Dazai to take shelter once again behind the bar. Dazai barely spared him a glance before turning back to the paper.

As you all well know,

Rita Skeeter had written,

the murderous Slytherin student, Dazai Osamu, holds no qualms about killing his professors in cold blood. What’s to stop him from killing again?

“For a while now, I guess,” Tom said. “With classes starting again soon, they’ve been more frequent.

Um...”

Blankly, Dazai turned his full focus back onto the bartender. “What?”

“Is it all true? That you killed Professor Quirrell over a bad grade?” The second the words left his mouth, Tom grimaced. He seemed to be deeply regretting the words once he said them.

“Hmm...”

“It is!”

Dazai puffed out a breath. “It’s not,” he said. “Do you have any more?”

Tom paused. “I... in that stack over there?”

Dazai glanced to the newsstand, then shook his head. “You said that this is only the latest story on me. I want to read the earlier ones, too.”

Tom drew in a long breath. He seemed to be readying himself - steeling up against the murderer standing a few feet shorter than him. “Look, I - I don’t have the old ones. Sold them. Threw them out. And I’ll th-throw you out, too! I won’t be having a killer stay with my other clients. It just isn’t safe!”

Are your students safe at Hogwarts this year? Not if Dazai Osamu has anything to say about it!

Rita signed off with a flourish.

Dazai glowered.

Stalking across the room, he came to a dead stop just on the other side of Tom’s bar. The older man paled, but held his ground. With a certain amount of calm finesse, Dazai gently re-folded the newspaper. He set it down on the bar top. “I’m sure your customers appreciate that,” Dazai said. “But,

this

,” he poked a bandaged finger into the newspaper, stabbing at the word

MURDEROUS

with a little too much force, “isn’t at all what happened, Tom. I’m no threat to anyone here.”

Except maybe myself,

Dazai amended, silent and self-indulgent.

Tom shifted in place, looking from Dazai, to the newspaper, then back again. Dazai thought he didn’t look especially convinced.

“You don’t have to believe me. Just give me a room.”

Tom swallowed, heavy. He glanced at Featherbrain - the owl giving a noisy hoot in response. Finally, he nodded. “...I won’t turn down a customer. Not since you're asking nice and paying up. But if I hear even one complaint - ”

“I’ll behave,” Dazai said, bringing his empty hands up beside his head in mime innocence. “Promise.” His fingers splayed. "If I act out, you have my express permission to kill me."

He didn’t look at all content, and stress creased a furrow in Tom’s brow. Though the expression seemed to have shifted away from open hostility or terror. Tom looked deep in thought, and more than a little harried.

Good

, Dazai thought. He much preferred Tom’s strained compliance to him sounding the alert bells. The last thing Dazai needed right now was the press swarming his current lodgings. At least, not until he had a little more information to work with.

Dazai snatched the key from the table. He beamed, big and toothy, at Tom. Then, with a grunt, Dazai gathered up all of his belongings. Featherbrain hissed at the rough treatment, but neither Dazai nor Tom made any efforts to soothe the owl.

“Just down here?” Dazai asked, clumsily lugging all his things towards the side-hall.

“Room four,” Tom agreed.

“Thanks,” he said. Searching down the corridor, Dazai was relieved to see a door marked with a golden '4' wasn’t very far. He hurried to it. There was a minor struggle wherein Dazai had to retrieve his room key without dropping Featherbrain, but he managed after a short, trying moment. He let out a breath when the lock finally clicked open.

Just as Dazai was about to drag himself in, Tom cleared his throat.

“It isn’t true?”

Dazai glanced up, blinking at Tom through the metal bars of his owl’s cage. He considered his words. “It was self-defense.” His voice echoed against the cage. “Quirrell wasn’t a good person...

Ah

. But I guess that doesn’t sell as well.”

“...Hmm.”

The fourth room of the Leaky Cauldron inn closed not a second after.

-

“Did you know?”

“Hm?”

“Did you know that the entire wizarding community thinks I’m some kind of serial killer in the making?” Dazai barked into the receiver, annoyance clear in his tone. He already knew the answer, but he wanted to hear Mori admit to it.

Mori’s tinny laugh only irked him further. “I might have had an inkling.”

Dazai glowered. With a huff, he fell back against the inn bed. It was stiff and musty, but still more comfortable than some of the other places Dazai had slept. The Port Mafia's kennel was all steel slabs and dog slobber. “You didn’t think to tell me?”

“You know it isn’t wise to discuss your mission in Hogwarts where word could so easily get back to your father.”

“He’s barely cognizant these days and you know it. I doubt he’s even noticed I’m gone.”

At Mori’s brief pause, Dazai knew he was right. He sighed. With a yawn, Dazai turned to press the side of his face into the mattress. When the red quilt poked into him, Dazai slowly closed his eyes.

Mori chuckled. “You may be right. Regardless, there’s nothing to worry about, Dazai. I’m sure this is something you can use to your advantage. The vast majority of the wizarding community is terrified of this

Demon Student

persona the Daily Prophet has created. Fear is a wonderful motivator, you know.”

“Of course I know that.” Dazai squeezed his eyes roughly shut. “Quit playing games with me,” he grumbled.

He could feel Mori’s smile through the phone. It set something roiling in Dazai’s stomach. “Your meeting with Lucius is scheduled for three days from now,” the doctor calmly reminded him, evidently unwilling to comment directly on Dazai’s upset.

“I know.”

“Good. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t thinking of doing anything stupid.”

Dazai blinked his eyes open. A grey wall stared back at him. “Did I sound like I was considering suicide?”

Mori hummed. “You aren’t allowed to die quite yet. Try to stay focused.” He took a breath. “Although I was more thinking - the last time I let you wander off on your own at Hogwarts, you came back awfully sentimental. I was hoping to remind you that business with the Malfoys comes before playing house with that Draco boy.”

Dazai’s fist clenched into the quilt before he could stop himself. He forced himself to relax. “I’ll stay focused.”

“Good, good. Now, this meeting is just a formality. Lucius Malfoy wants to meet you. He also probably wants to see if he can work you under his thumb.”

Dazai grunted. He figured as much. “He isn’t put off at all by the fact that I killed Quirrell,

huh?”

“Perhaps a little,” Mori said, “but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t already considered a possibility. It’s a good thing you killed that man, actually. Otherwise, Lucius wouldn’t be taking us quite so seriously now. By killing a player for our main competition - the Death Eaters - you’ve already put on a fairly good show.”

“What exactly do you want out of his loyalty, anyway?”

“That’s for me to worry about,” Mori responded. There was a sharp edge to his voice that had Dazai quickly falling silent. “All in due time. For now, I only need you to convince him that the Port Mafia is serious. You can do that, can’t you?”

“Obviously.”

Mori hummed. Then, with a hint of amusement, he said, “Historically, the Malfoy family has associated themselves with the Death Eaters, so you won’t have much groundwork to lay. Furthermore, Lucius’ loyalties lay with whatever organization will keep him and his wealth safe. If he believes that we will utterly destroy the Death Eaters, then he will have all the more reason to support the Port Mafia instead.”

Dazai paused. Slowly, he pushed himself upright. “There’s a history there,” he commented. Dazai forcefully kept the interest from his voice - but knowing Mori, the doctor likely had already picked up on it. Hence why he was always dangling little pieces of information just overhead like meat to a starving mutt.

When Mori merely laughed, Dazai knew his assumptions were correct. He sighed.

“Nothing exceptional,” he said, simply. “And nothing for you to bother yourself with. Your only job right now is to look pretty and to pass Lucius’ test.”

“Gross.” This whole situation reeked.

They talked for a few minutes more before Mori finally hung up, saying, “

ah

- if I don’t get back to my patient now, they’ll bleed out!”

The line clicked. Dead.

Dazai blew out a heavy breath. Unceremoniously, he threw his phone across the bed. It landed on the quilt, but didn’t slide far enough to

thunk

onto the floor. He almost wanted it to fall - to shatter apart before Mori could call him again.

So Mori had known about the Demon Student nonsense. Just thinking about it...

The newspaper flashed through Dazai’s mind. And the panicked image of Tom upon hearing his name - afraid out of his mind.

What had Mori said?

Fear is a wonderful motivator.

Dazai sniffed.

Seeming to read his spiraling thoughts, Featherbrain hooted from her cage. Dazai rolled over on the bed to face her, arms falling loosely at his sides.

“At least when you visit Mori, I don’t have to hear back for a week,” he told the bird. "Phones are the worst. Maybe wizards have it right, slowing down communication like this...”

Featherbrain made a sound that might have been humor. Whatever the owl version of laughing was, anyway. Dazai blinked, sedate.

“That’s right. You get it.”

Featherbrain cooed. Then, with a ruffle of her feathers, she bit at the iron bars of the cage. Dazai watched her fuss for a moment before pushing himself off the bed. With precise hands, Dazai undid the latch keeping her cage close. Once it swung open, the owl happily hopped out into the room. She gave a hoot and blinked up at Dazai with big eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Featherbrain chirped.

“And be quiet. Go hunt a mouse or something,” Dazai said with a huff.

Without affect, Dazai turned and collapsed back into the bed. He pressed his face into the mattress. He was just starting to close his eyes when Featherbrain let out another noise.

“What -

oh.”

Slowly, Dazai pushed himself upright, keeping all of his weight on one precarious elbow.

Something fell from Featherbrain’s mouth. It landed with a

fwhump

onto the mattress. Dazai blinked down at it, then back up to the owl.

A small pile of very familiar goods rested between them.

“...did you steal those from Mori?” Dazai asked, eyeing the hoard. A few cufflinks stared back at him. A tie clip, a fancy pen... He glanced back to Featherbrain, who seemed to be waiting for something. “

Huh

. Maybe you aren’t such a pest after all. Good bird.”

Featherbrain preened.

“That will teach him to keep us in the dark,” Dazai said for good measure. “At least you have my back, stupid bird.”