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kuraryouexchange · 7 years ago

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Auribus Teneo Lupum

to: @roihuu from: @public-benches notes: I AM SO VERY EXCITED to share this haha after this past week of panicking as i ran out of time i can’t believe it’s actually done and you get to see it! i hope you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it! ^0^ please note, i’m quite rusty on my harry potter knowledge and i took some extensive magical liberties when writing this, but i have faith it will still be enjoyable!

relevant tags: kuraryou, harry potter au

potential content warnings: non-graphic torture mention

Auribus Teneo Lupum

Upon stepping into the forest, the refreshing clarity of night folds in on itself like velvet caving to its own weight. The ground is wrought with gnarled roots and the brittle skeletons of autumn leaves, grazed by the ghostly fog that hangs thin and low over the earth like a phantasmic whisper made tangible, the world silent except for the owls and their haunting midnight dirges. Further in, even the eager cricket accompanists taper off, and it becomes so dark that if she had had her wits about her, Takako would have needed her wand to see even a foot in front of her.

As she is now, the light is unnecessary, her bare feet smoothly and confidently picking their way around dangerous obstructions as if she’s walked this path a million times. In reality, she’s never been this deep into the forest, knows that it’s a restricted area and therefore has never let her curiosity travel beyond a passing thought whenever she sees it.

Her gown snags on a branch. Unfazed as it tears, she continues forward.

The spell of her inattention is spun like a fragile web of glass, gentle in its insistence but sharp should she think to shatter it. She’s urged forward without knowing, sleepwalking, her eyes half-lidded and unseeing through the trance. She has no thought, no awareness, just the unconscious incentive to Keep going, you’ll be there soon.

There’s a light up ahead, something green and pulsating, an empty heartbeat that resonates like a call through her bones. Takako moves ever forward, her own heart falling into step with the rhythm of the light as it dances alone between the trees. Her feet brush sharp rocks, uncaring. She stops in front of the light.

It’s humming with a low frequency, like a beehive. Takako reaches out to touch it, tentative but steady, slow in the way a person moves when under the influence of a dream. The light burns brighter as her hand gets closer, the humming sound growing louder and louder until the light is blinding, the sound deafening. Her fingers close on the light.

There’s a flash, like lightning burning out from a fixed central point, and then the light is gone. The forest falls silent. After several minutes pass, a cautious cricket calls out for company.

There’s no reply. The forest is empty.

–– ––

“—so you remember how I was talking about finding that hidden room everyone talks about?” Miyuki says, reaching across the table to pick out half of a soft-boiled egg from the dish in front of Youichi. He struggles for a minute, maneuvering his chopsticks for a grip on the eggs, and when he finally manages to snag one he shoves it straight into his mouth before it can slip out of his grasp again. His bright eyes flash up at Youichi and he gestures with his utensils. “I think I’ve narrowed it down. It’s gotta be on one of the upper floors, maybe the sixth or seventh.” He’s shoveling greens into his mouth alongside the egg that he’s already talking around, a second bowl balanced in his free hand held to the side as he leans over his plate. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “And there’s no secret code like we thought; it’s probably like the Hufflepuff commons, you have to do a rhythm or something.” His chopsticks clink against the ceramic of his plate as he sets them down and reaches across himself to take hold of his glass of water.

Youichi props his chin on his hand, eying Miyuki with a mixture of awe and disgust. “Okay, first, don’t talk with your mouth full. It’s gross.” Miyuki, who’s been eying him over the rim of his glass, ducks his head and raises his glass briefly in apology. “Second, why are you over here anyways? Go back to your own table.”

Miyuki waves his chopsticks in circles. “Didn’t you hear me? I was filling you in. Keep up, Kuramochi.”

Kuramochi frowns and flicks a grain of rice at him. Miyuki dodges sideways without looking up. Kuramochi growls. “Yeah, okay, that still doesn’t explain why you’re eating like you haven’t seen food in weeks.”

Miyuki just shrugs. “I was studying. I forgot to eat a couple times. ‘Sides, food’s always better at your table.” He shoots an exasperated look over his shoulder. “I don’t think the elves give Slytherin their best. They’ve been kind of weird around us ever since that one time second year.”

“That one time second year” referring to the afternoon some of the older Slytherins decided to find out where the food came from and thus raided the kitchens. Somehow, one thing had led to another, and by the end of it there had been three fires, two reanimated chicken breasts and at least one child in the infirmary because his arm had somehow transformed into a giant Oscar Mayer hot dog.

Youichi scoffs. “Can’t really blame ‘em. It’s not like they really need to look for a reason to hate you guys.”

Miyuki makes a noise like a whine in the back of his throat as he bites into a piece of toast. “I’m hurt, Kuramochi,” he replies, not looking hurt at all.

They’re interrupted as the table lurches between them, and the glass of water Miyuki’s stupidly left on the edge of the table spills over onto his lap. He makes a strangled sound of surprise, instinctively jumping back in his seat. Youichi and the other affected patrons of the Gryffindor table swivel their heads to glare over at the obvious cause.

Sawamura’s laugh is louder than usual, exaggeratedly sheepish, and he rubs a hand behind his head. Kanemaru’s yelling at him, something about Sawamura being too excitable and that he needs to get his energy out on the field. Sawamura responds with another laugh, cheerily ignoring his friend’s scolding.

Seeing that Sawamura’s already getting a sweet helping of the trademark Kanemaru Beatdown™, the rest of them slowly and disgruntledly turn back to what they were doing. Youichi grumbles something about teaching that kid a lesson, then looks back at Miyuki, who’s pulled out his wand and is now bitterly muttering some spell to dry his pants. That brightens Youichi’s mood a little bit.

“That’s what you get for stealing all our food,” Youichi jabs, snatching a piece of melon from Miyuki’s plate while he’s tucking his wand back into his robes.

Miyuki snorts a sound of faked amusement as he picks up his chopsticks again. “It’s magically replenished, I couldn’t steal all of it if I’d tried.”

In that moment, the doors to the Great Hall slam open with a force that, taking into account the size and weight of the doors, could only be achieved by some very aggressive magic, and the sound of it echoes down the length of the hall. Nearly every head in the room turns to watch as Isashiki Jun bends over to catch his breath, bracing his hands on his knees as he fights for coherency. At the faculty table, Headmaster Kataoka stands.

“It’s—another one,” Jun gasps. He lifts his head, and from where he’s standing, Youichi can see the conflicting panic and determination on his face. He swallows and stands a little taller, forcing the words out like they’re strangling him. “They found her by the lake!”

He hasn’t even finished the sentence before Kataoka’s moving, a snapping of crisp, black robes that’s out the door before anyone has the time to take a breath. Professor Takashima follows quickly, pulling Jun along with her to show them where to go. The doors swing shut behind them, and activity explodes in the dining hall.

“They found Takako-San?” One of the second year Ravenclaws wails loud enough to be heard over the rest of the commotion. A few of the fourth year girls are trying to comfort her, but they’re teary-eyed too. Youichi can see the fifth year Hufflepuff girl Yoshikawa sitting frozen in wide-eyed shock, a hand brought up to hover over her mouth as if she doesn’t have the presence of mind to fully cover it. Several of the sixth and seventh year Ravenclaw boys are exchanging nervous glances. Tetsu is rising to his feet, staring at the door like it’s taking all of his self-control not to run after them.

Someone clears his throat.

Quiet immediately settles over the crowded students, and they turn to face the staff table once more. Professor Ochiai has gotten to his feet, looking vaguely uncomfortable in the face of the emotional turmoil unfolding below him. He tugs at his goatee, scanning the students like he expects to find the right words to say written into their expressions. Youichi doesn’t even try to resist his scowl of distaste.

“Everyone calm down,” he says finally. His voice falls flat on blatant disinterest, and Youichi can’t help but agree with the incoherent, feral noise Sawamura makes behind him. “Headmaster Kataoka will take care of things. You all just go back to your meals.”

He sits back down, and eventually, the rest of them reluctantly find their seats. Miyuki tells Youichi to close his mouth.

“How can he expect anyone to eat at a time like this?” Youichi whispers angrily, because the rest of the dining hall isn’t able to pitch its volume over a murmur. The warm, breakfast-y atmosphere has completely evaporated.

Miyuki shrugs, but the motion clearly isn’t as casual as he intends. “Well, you know, it’s the third time this has happened. We can’t all rush out to the lake every time another person washes up.”

Youichi grits his teeth, tightening his vice grip on his chopsticks. “All the more reason to send people home!” He drags his hand up his face and through his greased-up hair in distress, shooting a mutinous glance Ochiai’s way. “And anyways, who put him in charge?”

Miyuki pokes at what’s left of his food, clearly not as interested in it as he’d been minutes before. “Who knows. You know he’s been after Deputy since he got here.”

Youichi scoffs. “Like that bastard could take it from Rei-chan. She’s been here almost as long as Kataoka, and I know for a fact she’s a way better witch.”

Miyuki jabs his chopsticks in Youichi’s direction. “Then what are you getting so worked up over?” He sets his chopsticks down on his plate and props his elbow on the table, leaning his chin into the palm of his hand. “Though I’ll agree that it might not be the best idea to keep the school open. Three disappearances in three months is a lot.”

Youichi’s mouth feels dry. He sips at his water and thinks, ‘Disappearance’ is wording things gently. That hardly covers the extent of what these people go through. The first one was Takigawa Chris Yuu, one of the Ravenclaw seventh years and Head Boy of the school. He’d been found two days after his disappearance, his entire right arm blackened and horribly disfigured, and he’d been rushed off to the Ministry for treatment. The only word they’ve had from him since is a letter in messy, unfamiliar scrawl promising that he’s okay, that he’ll come back soon, sorry for his handwriting, his dominant hand is still recovering. That had been two months ago.

The second time it happened, it was Tanba Koichiro from Hufflepuff. He’d been found on the Quidditch pitch early one morning by the Slytherins, who’d been out to practice. (There had been a lot of butting heads after that, accusations flying that the Slytherins had something to do with everything that was going on. Youichi remembers how Miyuki had stopped visiting the Gryffindor table at that time. Strangely, mealtime was almost less enjoyable without him, loathe as he is to admit it.) Tanba’s jaw had been grossly transfigured, barely-recognizable mandibles sprouting unevenly from either side of his face. He’d followed Chris to the Ministry, but is recovering at a much faster rate, and writes many of his friends daily promising his quick return.

The third time it happened was four days ago, when Fujiwara Takako had vanished into the night without warning. She’s Hogwarts’ renowned Head Girl, a well-liked, level-headed Ravenclaw that acts more like a big sister to everyone than she thinks she does. Her disappearance had been a blow none of them were expecting, and now that she’s back…

It’s no wonder everyone wants to go see how she is, Youichi thinks, stealing a glance towards the double doors. He looks back down at his food, swallowing a knot in his throat. Really. They should just close the school already. There’s no point in keeping it open if all the students are gone by the end of the year!

Caught in his thoughts as he is, Youichi hasn’t been paying enough attention to notice the person approaching their table, coming up on Miyuki from behind. Youichi doesn’t see him at all until he leans over Miyuki’s shoulder and says, “Practice is still on, by the way. Don’t be late,” in a voice that slips over the words like silk, but still manages to carry the sharp implication of a blade.

Youichi starts at the sound of it. He can tell it takes all of Miyuki’s willpower not to do the same. Kominato Ryousuke stands back upright again, looking terribly pleased with himself. Miyuki sweats. “Ah, Ryousuke-san, of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

Satisfied, Kominato tilts back his head and stares down at them, something he’s only able to physically accomplish while they’re sitting. As he’s turning away, he makes glancing eye contact with Youichi. (Or at least, Youichi thinks he does? It’s kind of hard to tell when his eyes are practically closed all the time.)

Something akin to an electric shock runs down Youichi’s spine, raising all the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck like a warning. His skin tingles, and he feels frozen in place for a moment. He jumps at the intensity of the sensation. Ryousuke doesn’t miss this, and his lips tug into a smirk as he moves back towards the Slytherin table.

Youichi glances wide-eyed at Miyuki. “The hell was that?!” He asks, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to shake the tingly feeling. Miyuki’s smile looks equal parts exasperated and sympathetic.

“Ryousuke’s pretty good at nonverbal magic, when it comes to small spells.” Miyuki explains, watching his captain’s retreating form over his shoulder. He turns back around and continues. “Probably stupefied you, or something.”

“Without a wand?” Youichi replies, disbelieving.

Miyuki shrugs. “Well, magic manifests itself without a wand all the time. We just don’t hone in on it.” He stabs at a piece of fruit on his plate with a wry smile. “Like when you’re a kid? I was a genius cook, but y’know, you leave an eight year old to cook for himself everyday, something’s gonna catch fire.” He laughs a little at the memory. “The whole kitchen was in flames! I thought I was gonna die, but then suddenly, it was all out. Nothing was even burned, so my dad never knew!” He laughs that nasal, triumphant sound he makes whenever he blocks a Quaffle from Slytherin’s goals.

Youichi’s not paying him enough attention to be irritated though. His eyes are locked on the back of Kominato’s head. He watches him sit down next to Kijima Rei, who looks like he wants to pick up conversation but inevitably keeps quiet. It’s not like Kijima to be bashful. Youichi wonders if Kominato’s got a spell on him, too.

In the back of his mind, Youichi’s instincts are screaming Dangerous! Keep away at all costs! And the rational part of him can’t help but agree. Yet still, there’s another part of him that’s intrigued, some masochistic piece of him that’s horribly curious about the person he only ever seems to encounter on the Quidditch pitch.

“Oi, Kuramochi, are you even listening?” The sound of his name brings Youichi back to the conversation at hand. He doesn��t feel so worked up anymore though, and the hush in the room is a heavyweight reminder of all the things that just happened.

“…I think we should visit Takako-san later,” he says after a second, mostly to keep his mind focused on what’s important. “Once things have settled down.”

Miyuki blinks. This clearly wasn’t the response he was expecting, and Youichi momentarily feels dumb for spacing out during whatever his friend was saying. Then, Miyuki’s stare darkens into something uncharacteristically serious, and he glances towards the doors. “Yeah,” he says.

They don’t joke much for the rest of the meal.

–– ––

A couple weeks later, Ryousuke’s in Ghoul Studies when the classroom’s fragile quiet is shattered by the blundering and screeching of his feather-brained barn owl, which comes plummeting through the high window and lands in a mangled heap right on top of Ryousuke’s notes. Several kids scream. The professor gasps a shrill, “Oh, my!” Ryousuke just frowns in irritation.

“Rin-chan,” he scolds, reaching out to help sort out the writhing mess on his desk. Rin, unharmed, screams happily at him, flapping his wings and blowing Ryousuke’s notes straight off his desk. Ryousuke sighs, carefully pinches Rin’s wings and arranges them neatly back at his sides. Rin hops insistently towards him, lifting his talon carrying the message he’s supposed to be delivering. Ryousuke takes it and quickly tucks it into his robes, then checks his bumbling owl for any unseen damages he might have sustained during his descent. “You really have the worst timing, you know that?” The owl shrieks in reply.

“Ryousuke,” his professor cuts in, and suddenly, Ryousuke remembers his audience. He leans around his owl to make eye-contact with the her, smiling apologetically.

“I’m sorry, Professor, he’s always been a little off.” He explains. On the desk, Rin starts making dramatic, choking noises. “I’ll send him off right away.”

Students begin to glance at each other in concern as Rin starts convulsing, his mouth stretched wide in a soundless gasp. “Is… he alright?” The girl sitting next to Ryousuke asks, leaning closer nervously.

“Well, no,” Ryousuke admits, petting Rin’s head encouragingly. Rin hunches over, but bobs his head welcomingly against Ryousuke’s touch. “He’s never really alright.” He lets his smile spread brightly over his face, frighteningly sunny as his owl appears to have a hernia right in front of the whole class. “He’s just a bit constipated now, though. Nothing to worry about.”

As if to punctuate Ryousuke’s assurances, Rin immediately vomits a wet pellet onto his parchment, then screams endearingly with pride. Several students cover their ears. His professor looks vaguely uncomfortable. Ryousuke sneaks Rin a treat.

“Good boy,” he whispers, then lets Rin latch onto his wrist. He raises him up to give the owl some added height (mentally deficient as he is, Rin can use all the help he can get), and Rin takes off gracelessly into the air, screeching as he leaves the room. Ryousuke’s pretty sure he trips on the windowsill, but isn’t terribly concerned.

Stunned as they are by Rin’s horrific performance, nobody questions Ryousuke about the note, which is just as well. Ryousuke suspects he knows who it’s from, and he’s not terribly interested in having the whole room asking him about its contents. His professor just clears her throat and excuses him to the hall to dispose of the owl pellet. He smiles appreciatively and ducks out of the room.

He heads to the prefect’s bathroom which, being on the same floor as the Ghoul Studies classroom, is thankfully nearby and empty. He disposes of the pellet there, washes his hands in one of the sinks, then looks up to the mirror and locks eyes with his reflection. Only then does he let his smile fall.

Ryousuke takes a shaky breath, glancing around to make sure there aren’t any ghosts lingering in the room to see him. With the stealth-sensoring spell he’d cast a few weeks ago still lingering, he’s confident that he’s alone, and he lets out the breath in a small sigh and reaches into his robes to pull out the letter.

His hands don’t shake, but they feel oddly weak as he unfolds the parchment, and he has to force himself to read the words written in brash scrawl and red ink over the yellowing page.

He feels ill almost immediately, and he’s glad the sink’s there for him to catch himself on because he’s near certain his knees would have given out otherwise. A quick glance into the mirror shows him how pale his face has become in the mere seconds it took him to read the letter. The locked out defiance of his arm against the sink is the only thing supporting him, but even that’s trembling traitorously now.

Stop it, he scolds himself, and he turns on the faucet to splash his face with cool water. The note is fisted tight in his other hand. You have priorities. Focus on that.

It takes another minute for him to force the color back into his face, but the tight knot of self-loathing rolls ceaselessly in his stomach. Unable to muster the energy for a wordless spell, he takes out his wand and presses it to the parchment, mumbles a tired “Incendio” and watches the note turn quietly to ash between his fingers. He washes what’s left of it down the sink when it burns up, then turns stiffly, setting his spine into something disciplined and walking out of the bathroom with a smile he doesn’t mean and his head held high. On his way back to class, he passes one of the Hogwarts ghosts, and he greets her warmly as he goes by. She replies shyly back, smiling.

He doesn’t need the note to remember the name scrawled carelessly into the page, blood-red ink like a thoughtless condemnation.

Nothing you can do about it. He reminds himself as he takes his seat again and picks up his quill. The professor keeps talking about werewolves. He notices his notes have been rearranged on his desk, and the Ravenclaw girl next to him smiles when he looks over at her. He smiles his appreciation.

–– ––

The roar of the stands surrounding the Quidditch pitch sounds distant from the locker room, but it’s still loud enough to light excitement fresh under Youichi’s skin. Every game it’s the same: the same thrill of adrenaline in his stomach, the same burn of the wind across his skin. The only thing that makes it any different this time is the fact that their opponent is Slytherin, and everyone knows the Gryffindor-Slytherin rivalry is a kerosene-coated match waving dangerously close to a dragon’s snout. All it takes is an outlet for the tensions, and the conflagration’s off.

Tetsu gathers them into a circle before they head out.

“Let’s give it our best,” he says, holding a fist over his heart with his face set into a determined smile of encouragement. It’s a good effort, and while he always tries his best, Tetsu’s just not cut out for motivational speeches. He doesn’t seem at all bothered by the mediocre enthusiasm he’s met with, at least.

So Jun steps up to the plate, his mouth set in a harsh sneer that’s probably more severe than he actually means, but it’s meant to intimidate and Youichi supposes, if he hadn’t harbored such similar exaggerated aggressions in the past, he might have fallen for it too.

“Alright kids, listen up!” He hollers, and immediately the mood picks up its pace. Sawamura straightens up on Youichi’s left, and Youichi can just see the way his hand twitches in a barely-suppressed urge to salute. “We’ve been whipping your sorry asses into shape all season, so we’d better not see any stupid mistakes!” Youichi can’t be sure, but he thinks Jun’s face is getting redder the longer he talks. “Slytherin’s no joke, but they’re also nowhere near good enough to handle us!” There’s a shout of approval from the surrounding players. “So let’s get out there and show those snakes what Quidditch is!” Another resounding shout, and the team heads off to gather under the stands. (Yeah, Jun’s face is definitely red. Youichi guesses all that bravado is just him forcing out the words as fast as he possibly can without looking ridiculous. He has to admit, it’s pretty effective.)

They gather under the stands before they walk out. The hum of the crowd is growing steadily louder as their impatience grows, and the weight of it reverberates in Youichi’s sternum and ignites a fiery determination within him. He doesn’t get those fourth-year jitters anymore like back when he first made the team, but the energy has to be channelled somehow and he really just needs to be on his broom right now.

A hand coming down heavy on his shoulder makes Youichi jump. He whirls around, already guessing who it is.

“Miyuki, you bastard!” He exclaims. The Slytherin keeper only laughs. “What’s your problem?!”

Miyuki snickers. “My problem? You’re the one who always gets too tense before games.” He shrugs. “I’m just trying to help lighten the mood.”

Youichi scowls. “I’m not tense, I’m waiting with anticipation. There’s a difference.”

Miyuki upturns his palms in a gesture of apathy. “Whatever you say, Kuramochi.”

Youichi snorts. Fucking–I’m not nervous anymore. God. Whatever indignant train of thought he’s entertaining switches lanes the moment he catches sight of Kominato-the-Older over Miyuki’s shoulder. He’s talking to Tetsu and Jun, that unreadable smile as present on his face as ever. Youichi knows the three of them are friends (somehow, despite house loyalties and differences), but it’s still weird to see his respected, epitome-of-leadership captain and his unofficial vice captain fraternizing with the infamous Slytherin beater and captain Kominato Ryousuke.

Infamous doesn’t really cut it when it comes to Kominato. Apparently, in his classes he’s a respectful, academic student whose charisma gets him pretty far in the ways of getting girls’ attention. (Not that he’s ever actually made a girlfriend out of any of them, though Youichi doesn’t really care about his personal life. He doesn’t.) He’s got a little brother that he used to be super over-protective of, until said-brother joined the Slytherin Quidditch team in his third year and, for some reason, that protective instinct seemed to flip on itself. Youichi doesn’t see it first hand, but he gets an earful of it from Sawamura, who’s always going on about how “Onii-san said the meanest thing to Harucchi, I don’t know how he stands it!”

But when it comes to Quidditch, Kominato becomes an animal. Not in the same way Jun lets loose and starts screaming any jeering profanity that comes to mind, but in an almost calculating way, a measured sort of precision that is made twenty times as dangerous by the fact that he’s got a bat in hand and an excuse to hit people with a ball as hard as he wants. He doesn’t look like he’d make a good beater, but he’s surprisingly strong despite his slender frame and short stature, and the last thing anyone wants is to take a hit from a Kominato bludger in the middle of a game.

Looking at Kominato now though, Youichi can see the likeable side to him in the way he just barely laughs at something Jun says. He makes a comment that sets Jun off, but Tetsu seems to approve (though that could admittedly be the result of misunderstanding—Tetsu’s a brilliant wizard, but when it comes to social cues he’s sometimes just a bit short on the uptake). He’s always smiling, always looks relaxed whenever Youichi sees him. Even now, he looks unbothered by anything. Except for the white-knuckled grip he’s keeping on his broom.

But before Youichi has time to wonder about that, there’s a loud voice announcing the players, and Youichi realizes it’s time to go.

“I’d say good luck, but I really don’t want you to win.” Miyuki jeers, bopping him on the shoulder with his broom. Youichi shooes him off with a grimace and steps into line with the rest of the Gryffindors.

–– ––

There’s nothing Youichi enjoys more than the way the wind stings his face while he’s on his broom, the sound of his robes snapping behind him only adding to his giddy determination to catch the snitch in front of him. It’s close now, just within his reach once again, and even as it twists and spins to avoid his reach, Youichi keeps it in his sights. The Slytherin seeker Okumura falls quickly behind, looking for new ways to cut them off, but Youichi’s agility allows him to come ever closer to the fleeting, glittering ball ahead of him.

He’s been told that, for a kid who could hardly levitate a feather by his second year, he’s got an impressive way with a broom. He thanks his Ma for it; she was a star Quidditch player back when she played in school, one of the best beaters Gryffindor has ever seen to this day. She didn’t play beyond Hogwarts–not professionally, at least. She taught Youichi from a young age how to keep his balance up in the air and that connecting to one’s broom was the most important part of playing.

So, despite the fact that his broom is the same rickety old model that he’s used since he upgraded from training brooms, Youichi’s one of the fastest fliers on the pitch. He suspects that it might be because he’s used the same broom so long that he’s so fast: it can take time to master a broom, and the little-known fact about flying is that brooms respond best to a strong spirit, something that runs deep in the Kuramochi family tree.

The snitch swerves sharply, catching Youichi off-guard, but it’s not enough to shake him. He veers hard after it, plummeting into a near-nosedive to follow it. He can hear the gasps in the crowd as he levels out just in time to prevent a fatal collision and, fueled by their obvious astonishment and relief, he presses himself faster. The snitch takes him back up to the general level of the rest of the players, and Okumura falls in next to him.

Youichi laughs brightly, a harsh, obnoxious sound that he knows can be heard by everyone in the stadium. “You’ll have to do better than that if you wanna catch it!” He taunts, and easily pulls ahead. Okumura scowls after him.

The snitch leads him into the thick of activity, and a couple of his own teammates swerve to avoid him. Jun shouts something about being careful, but Youichi’s too caught up in the thrill of the chase to watch where he’s going. He flies past Tetsu, who’s holding the quaffle and flying in the opposite direction.

And then, a few things happen at once.

Youichi catches a flash of pink in his peripheries, something his brain immediately interprets as a warning, because the only pink he ever sees on the Quidditch pitch is the hair of the Kominato brothers. As much as Youichi’s practiced against his Ma, he knows the last thing anyone wants is for the captain to set a target on your back.

Or to get in the way of his aim when he puts it on someone else.

He can hear Jun calling a warning to Tetsu, but his words turn into a jumbled mess by the end, pressed sharp with frantic panic. It takes Youichi a second to realize he’s accidentally combined “Tetsu” and “Kuramochi” into some gross hybrid of the two, but by then the warning’s too late to be usefully interpreted. The bludger hits him square in the side of the head, and he blacks out before he’s even off the broom.

–– ––

Ryousuke throws open the door to the Slytherin dungeon like it’s personally offended him and storms into the commons, barely able to keep his rage from overflowing into panic. He pulls out a chair at one of the tables and lowers Rin from his shoulder stiffly onto the hard surface. Oblivious, his owl shrieks delightedly, bobbing his head like he’s expecting Ryousuke to start a game. Ryousuke buries his face in his hands.

It was the perfect shot, the perfect opportunity. The door opens behind him. How could I have messed up this badly?

“Hey, Ryousuke-san,” Miyuki interjects cautiously, coming up behind him slowly. The room is empty except for the two of them, but Ryousuke expects the others will be arriving soon. He lifts his head and opens a drawer, picking carefully around for spare parchment and a quill he knows one of the first years left here a couple weeks ago. He wants to move faster, wants more than anything to throw open every drawer in this rickety old desk and overturn their contents, but he’s not alone now and he needs to keep face in front of someone perceptive as Miyuki.

Miyuki stops a meter or so away, keeping a comfortable distance for this uncomfortable encounter. “Uh, don’t beat yourself up over it,” he says awkwardly, any comfort the words might contain falling flat on the fact that Miyuki is interpersonally constipated and also doesn’t realize Kuramochi’s not what Ryousuke cares about. “Kuramochi’s got a hard head, he’ll recover. Nothing a little magic can’t fix.”

Ryousuke flattens a sheet of parchment onto the desk and dips the quill into the ink, forcing his movements into disciplined control in front of his audience. “Brain damage isn’t an easy fix,” he replies, his voice tight with the effort it takes not to sound frantic, more to sound like he is concerned about Kuramochi’s well-being than anything else. Even that sounds distracted, but he’s not nearly composed enough right now to manage anything better. If they find out, if they think I didn’t–that I can’t–

He doesn’t dare finish the thought. Ryousuke leans over the parchment to shield it from Miyuki’s view as he scribbles out his note in uncharacteristically messy scrawl.

“Even still, that’s only, like, a couple days in the infirmary. It’s just a mild concussion, he’ll be fine.” Miyuki argues, but he’s losing interest with the topic too. He steps forward to peer over Ryousuke’s shoulder. “What are you writing?”

Ryousuke tears off the segment of parchment and folds it up immediately, seals it with an easy little chant and hands it to Rin. Rin screams with joy and takes off, running into a desk lamp as he does.

“A love letter,” Ryousuke replies, and he has to reach deep, deep within himself to find the power for a convincingly wry smile. He’s lucky that Miyuki already thinks he’s an enigma. It makes it easier to respond to the look of exasperated disbelief on his face. When he recognizes the joke, he laughs.

“Honestly, Ryousuke-san.”

Whatever he might have said next is cut off by panicked shrieking across the room. Ryousuke and Miyuki immediately turn to see Rin screeching his head off, grappling midair with a Great Gray Owl in a violent flurry of feathers and talons. The Gray Owl manages to pin Rin to the floor in the time it takes for Ryousuke to rush over, but by then, it’s already lost interest in the fight. It flaps up to Ryousuke, silently offering a neatly rolled scroll.

Rin makes soulful wails of despair from where he lays on the floor, ultimately unharmed in any way except for his pride. Ryousuke unrolls the parchment with tense fingers, moving stiffly to suppress his mind’s frantic insistence for speed. Miyuki crouches over Rin and pokes at him curiously.

“This owl looks familiar,” Miyuki says suspiciously, glancing over at the Gray Owl, who stares down at Rin with the most disdain Ryousuke’s ever seen come from a bird. He definitely suits his owner, Ryousuke thinks.

“All owls look the same,” Ryousuke excuses quickly, and then the note’s opened, and he’s almost ashamed at the relief that floods him.

Seekers are influential. That’s all it says, but it’s enough. He stores away the remaining parchment and makes for the stairs up to the dorms.

“Where are you going?” Miyuki calls after him, stopping at the bottom of the stairs. Ryousuke ducks down, grapples around under his bed for something and, upon finding it, tucks it away into his sleeve. He passes Miyuki halfway down the stairs.

“To visit Kuramochi,” he says with a smile. “And… to apologize.”

The door to the common room falls shut behind him, leaving Miyuki alone and confused on the stairwell.

–– ––

When Youichi wakes up, he feels vaguely like someone’s taken their fingers and stabbed him straight through the eyes. It’s a pretty distinct feeling, leaving him with a dull throb in his eye sockets that blooms throughout the rest of his head. He groans in protest, squeezing his eyes shut, and then a voice loud enough to split his skill says, “I think he’s waking up!” and he wishes he hadn’t made any noise at all.

“Sawamura…” he grumbles, fighting to open at least one of his eyes. The light’s too harsh, but if he squints he can make out two figures at his bedside.

Sawamura leans in close, turning so his ear is right by Youichi’s face. “What is it, Kuramochi-senpai? What are your final words?”

Youichi finds it in himself to reach up and smack Sawamura over the head, which proves to be extremely counterproductive when Sawamura shouts loudly in protest. “Idiot,” he growls, wincing. “I’m not gonna fucking die!”

Sawamura leans back and turns to the other figure, who Youichi quickly recognizes as Masuko. “He’s gonna be okay!” Sawamura announces with histrionic relief, as if Masuko isn’t there to hear Youichi himself. Masuko just grunts in response.

Ignoring Sawamura’s damaging theatrics, Youichi pushes himself into a sitting position, wincing as his head spins. Suddenly, Sawamura looks much more concerned, reaching forward like he wants to help but is unsure if it’s appropriate. Youichi waves him off.

“No, I’ve got it. Don’t worry.” He sits up against the wall slowly and takes in his surroundings.

He’s in the infirmary, that much is immediately obvious. There’s a curtain drawn on one side, dividing him from the rest of the room. The only other person in the room is probably the second year Hufflepuff girl who added the wrong ingredients to her potion and, miraculously, made a drought powerful enough to knock herself out with the smell of it alone. They say she’ll wake up in a couple of days. (They say.)

Suddenly, he remembers the game.

“Did we win? Ouch—” He blurts, jolting forward and immediately regretting it. Sawamura jumps again, scandalized.

“Don’t move so much, Kuramochi-senpai! The nurse will be back with your medicine!”

Youichi groans. Great, he thinks. That’s exactly what I need right now. Shit’s disgusting. They’re pretty good at solving magical problems here; Youichi remembers a time his third year when he’d accidentally hexed himself into nonstop breakdancing. Cool as it may have been, he really wasn’t interested in knocking himself out by means of sick moves on the dance floor, so one of the nurses had gladly un-hexed him. As far as mortal ailments go however… well, Youichi figures he’d be better off in a muggle hospital, for as much as this nurse knows about concussions.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, brushing Sawamura off again. “But did we win?”

Sawamura and Masuko exchange a glance. “No,” Sawamura admits. His tone changes into something darker, tight with regret and anger. He looks down, unable to meet Youichi’s eyes. Youichi sighs. He loves Sawamura, really he does, but the kid’s prone to mood swings at the drop of a hat, and he’s way too invested in the game sometimes. “After you fell, they kept the game going and let us put in a substitute, but Okumura got the snitch pretty soon and Slytherin won.” He makes a fist in the antiseptic-white sheets of Youichi’s cot, and when he looks up again his eyes are alight with that characteristic flame. “I’ll never forgive them!”

Youichi can’t kick him from this position, so he settles for wrestling Sawamura into a headlock, taking advantage of the other’s reluctance to hurt him. Sawamura writhes halfheartedly in his grip, making helpless arguments in protest. Masuko looks vaguely concerned.

“God, you sound like some anime protagonist,” Youichi complains, aggressively ruffling Sawamura’s hair. Sawamura makes a squawking noise that sounds a lot like the Kuramochi family owl. Finally, he let’s go, and Sawamura’s posture springs back upright. “Anyways, we can always get ‘em next time.”

Just then, a bell rings, and Sawamura gasps. “It’s dinner!” He turns to Masuko with a determined look on his face, and they exchange some silent conversation punctuated with a simultaneous nod. They stand together. Youichi raises an eyebrow questioningly.

“We have to get there before Miyuki does,” Sawamura explains. “We’re banning Slytherins from the table until they apologize!”

Sawamura starts out of the room, followed more slowly by Masuko, who at least turns and waves sympathetically before he passes the curtain.

Youichi groans after them. “That’s really not necessary—”

“Oh! Onii-san!” He hears, and Youichi goes still. “Have you come to apologize? That’s great, now we can lift the Slytherin ban!”

Youichi doesn’t hear what Kominato has to say to that, but he doesn’t think Sawamura does either with the way he rushes out of the room. Youichi barely has time for a half-formed thought about what a fucking whirlwind that kid is before the curtain is pushed aside, admitting none other than Kominato Ryousuke.

They make eye contact, and Kominato shows the barest tell to hesitation, the smallest lapse in his step, before he’s smiling apologetically and coming to sit on the stool Sawamura had been occupying minutes before. “That kid,” he says, looking back over his shoulder, “he’s really a handful. I don’t know how you put up with him.”

Suddenly defensive, Youichi sits up a little straighter. “He means well,” he replies, unable to help the way his voice digs into a growl at the edges. Kominato barely raises an eyebrow, but his apologetic smile looks more condescending than anything now.

“Of course,” Kominato replies. He holds out a bottle then, dark blue in color so Youichi can’t see what’s inside. “Here,” he says. “The nurse gave this to me when I passed her in the hall, told me to give it to you.”

Youichi accepts it uncertainly. The bottle feels warm to the touch, which is odd. He can’t remember if general medicine potions usually felt warm, but then he remembers something the nurse said about needing to brew another one and he figures she made this one recently.

Kominato’s watching him expectantly, which is weird. Youichi wonders if maybe there’s some brotherly instinct leftover inside of him that makes him leer patiently like that, like Youichi might not drink it if he doesn’t watch closely. Eager for this encounter to be over as soon as possible, Youichi swallows the potion quickly.

The taste surprises him. It’s sweeter than he remembers, goes down too easy and stings a little like ginger in the back of his throat. He coughs a little bit and holds the bottle down.

“Are you okay?” Kominato asks, though his concern sounds strangely manufactured. He doesn’t move to help like Sawamura had, instead patiently waits out Youichi’s fit. By the time it subsides, Youichi’s beginning to think his constant attention is a little unnerving.

“Yeah,” Youichi says. He reaches over and sets the bottle on his stand. He doesn’t feel any better, though the potion does settle warm and soothing in his stomach. He clears his throat. “Guess she made it too thin,” he excuses. Kominato hums sympathy.

There’s an uncomfortable silence for a moment. Kominato’s still smiling, still staring, but the lines of his face seem sharper than usual and Youichi suspects that, despite his best efforts to hide it, he’s just as unsure of what to say as Youichi.

“I’m sorry,” he says suddenly. Youichi nearly starts.

“Oh,” he says, “don’t worry about it.” The words fumble awkwardly in his mouth and he curses himself. He smiles sheepishly (which is ridiculous because seriously? Get it together, man.) “I’ve had worse.”

Kominato doesn’t waver, but his smile softens into something less guarded, only for a second. “No,” he insists. “I really am, sorry.” He tacks the last word on like it hurts him. Youichi wonders how big of a blow to his pride this is.

As if his thoughts had drifted elsewhere during their brief exchange, Kominato seems to snap back to attention, straightening up. “Well,” he says, standing up. “I did what I came to do. I’ll see you around, Kuramochi.”

“Wait—”

Youichi cuts himself off, but Kominato’s already stopped, already looking back.

“Hm?” He says.

“…No, nevermind.”

Youichi doesn’t know why he did that. His head’s spinning with dizziness and Kominato’s odd behavior alike, so sorting his thoughts isn’t really on his list of realistic goals for the moment. But the curiosity from before is back, and he’s got a hundred and one impulses all telling him to trap Kominato into answering a few of his questions while he’s here. But they don’t know each other well, and after a second Youichi realizes the timing’s awkward too, so he changes his mind and keeps his mouth shut and hopes Kominato isn’t like Miyuki, hopes that he’ll just drop it and leave.

He does. He pauses for a moment though, the downturn of his lips more out of surprise than anything. Then he smiles again, like he knows something, and then he’s vanishing around the curtain without a word.

Youichi’s face feels warm. He wonders if that potion did something to him, because his chest feels oddly tight for absolutely no reason. He sighs heavily, releasing a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, and relaxes back against the wall.

There’s something off about that guy, he thinks, exasperated with himself. And it certainly doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that Youichi couldn’t help, despite all of Kominato’s leering, but think that he looks just a little too good in his robes to be considered unattractive.

A few minutes later, the nurse comes bustling in with her arms full.

“You’re awake! Good,” she says, setting her clipboard down on a nearby table and carefully unloading the various vials in her hands. “Let’s see… where did I put that one…”

Realizing she’s talking about a potion, Youichi speaks up. “Oh, you gave it to Kominato, didn’t you? I already took it.”

The nurse stops. She looks over at Youichi, blinks slowly. Once. Twice. Then, as if it’s dawning on her: “Oh! Of course, of course.” She goes back to pick up the vials, shaking her head at herself. “Of course,” she murmurs. “Kominato, Kominato.”

Then she leaves, and Youichi’s left alone to sleep.

— —

Kazuya wakes up wishing he’d gone to bed earlier. That’s not unusual though; there’s something about the weakened inhibitions of the nighttime that always make one think staying up is the most important thing in the world, but struggling to get up the next morning always makes him regret it.

By the time he’s managed to drag himself downstairs, breakfast is halfway through and he’s going to have to hurry if he wants to eat. He makes it over to the Gryffindor table and plops down in the open seat next to Sawamura.

“Oi, where’s—stop hissing, it’s me—where’s Kuramochi?” Sawamura’s bristling with indignation, turned all the way around in his chair to face Kazuya with his full wrath.

“You!” he shouts, so loud that Masuko flinches beside him. “Miyuki Kazuya, you’re banned from the Gryffindor table!”

Kazuya blinks. “Why?”

“Because the Slytherins hurt Kuramochi-senpai!” Sawamura declares. Masuko leans around curiously to listen in. “And you don’t get to sit here until he gets back.”

Kazuya raises an eyebrow. “I thought the condition was ‘until Ryousuke-san apologizes’?” he points out. “And he said he did.”

Sawamura crosses his arms and turns his nose up. “Onii-san can sit here if he wants, but you have to wait until Kuramochi-senpai comes back!”

Kazuya exchanges an exasperated look with Masuko over Sawamura’s shoulder. “Yeah, okay, anyways,” Kazuya changes topics, unperturbed by the scandalized look Sawamura gives him. “Is Kuramochi out yet? He should’ve been free to go this morning.”

Sawamura shakes his head insistently. “He hasn’t been here yet,” he reports haughtily, “which means you can’t be here either!”

Kazuya stands, raising his hands in the most placating gesture he can manage. “Yeah, yeah, I got it.” Sawamura’s defiant stare follows him until he’s back at the Slytherin table, and even then, Kazuya’s sure he shoots him mutinous glances throughout the rest of mealtime. He plops down tiredly in a seat next to Haruichi. On Haruichi’s other side, Furuya sits with his face buried deep in his rice, fast asleep, and Ryousuke’s poking at him from across the table with a chopstick and great amusement. Okumura watches on without emotion.

“Geez, you’d think I knocked him off that broom,” Kazuya complains as he takes his seat.

“Is Eijun-kun still imposing his Slytherin ban?” Haruichi asks. He looks over at his brother with well-masked disdain. “Aniki, please, don’t harrass him.”

Ryousuke doesn’t stop. “He’s a bit like a bear in hibernation, don’t you think?” he comments. Haruichi makes a visible effort to hold in his sigh.

“No, just on me,” Kazuya replies to Haruichi. He glances around the Great Hall, looking for any sign of the school’s resident yankii. It’s not exactly like he goes out of his way to make himself scarce, even when he’s upset, which is unlikely anyway. “He says I can’t sit at their table until Kuramochi gets back.”

Ryousuke pokes Furuya sharply in the forehead, and Furuya jolts awake, sitting up with rice on his face. Ryousuke sits back, retracting his hand with an amused smile.

Haruichi hums his sympathy for Kazuya as he pats Furuya lightly on the back. “Well, you know how he gets.” Furuya looks up, confused, trying to figure out who they’re talking about. Kazuya snickers and makes no effort to point out the mess he’s made of his face.

“Yeah,” Kazuya agrees. It doesn’t matter. Kuramochi’s probably still in the infirmary, using the excuse of a head injury to sleep late on a school day or something. (At least, it’s what Kazuya would do.)

He rushes to finish his eating and, with ten minutes left on the clock before the bell to end breakfast sounds, Kazuya excuses himself to visit Kuramochi in the infirmary. The halls are mostly empty except for the bustling presence of the portraits and the occasional passing of a ghost or a desperate, late-riser speeding towards the Great Hall for last call. As he moves on to the less decorated portions of the school, the halls fall silent, the walls no longer compelled to speak with every passing person.

Kazuya jogs up a shifting, winding staircase and, making sure to wait for the most opportune rotation, steps off when they take him to the hall adjacent to the clinic. He waves casually to a portrait of a woman across from the door and steps inside.

The Hufflepuff girl is waking up when he walks in. The nurse is dressed in crisp, antiseptic-white linen robes and has her hair pulled up into a tight, disciplined bun. Nonetheless, her voice is comforting and smooth as she coaxes the girl into wakefulness. It’s a process that comes in stages, Kazuya knows; the girl won’t be fully awake for another several hours at least, but as long as she’s not completely comatose he supposes it’s an improvement.

He makes his way over to Kuramochi’s bed.

“Oi, Kuramochi,” he says, pulling back the curtain. “It’s time to–”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, because at that point his words are falling on empty air.

Kazuya stops, still gripping the curtain. The bed’s unmade. He leans around the curtain to call to the nurse. “Hey, miss,” he says. She looks up. Kazuya points at the bed. “Where’d this one go?”

She brushes nonexistent dust off of her knees and stands up, walking over. Something transforms in her face as she approaches, though Kazuya can’t excuse it to her sudden smile. “Kuramochi Youichi?” She asks. “He went to the bathroom last night.” Kazuya’s brow furrows. Her voice is bright despite how odd the words sound floating in the air between them.

“Last night? How long ago?”

“Oh, early, early in the morning.”

Kazuya’s frowning now. The nurse smiles back. “You mean, your concussed patient went to the bathroom alone in the middle of the night and you haven’t seen him since?”

The nurse nods. “Oh yes,” she insists. “He’s in the bathroom.”

Kazuya feels discomfort, creeping in on him from the peripheries of his thoughts, and he doesn’t try to push it away. This is wrong, he realizes, his eyes widening. Her face is so empty of anything but that smile, so familiar and yet so confusing in its empty facade that he wonders if she’s present at all.

“Kuramochi Youichi?” he says again, slowly. Then, “He’s not in the bathroom,” like a command, and suddenly, she blinks.

She looks confused. Then, as if it’s dawning on her: “Oh! Of course, of course.” She pulls the curtain shut and shakes her head at herself. “Of course.” she murmurs. “Kuramochi, Kuramochi.”

She never clarifies. A sudden wave of dread settles over Kazuya as the realization sets in, cold and heavy like a rock in his stomach. He suddenly wishes he hadn’t eaten.

Shit, he thinks, and his feet move without conscious command. Even still, he knows where they’re taking him. Shit, shit, shit– He keeps running even as the bell rings, throwing himself around corners and up the stairs as fast as he can move. People flood the halls behind him, as if in his wake, but he manages to make it to the Headmaster’s office before they can swallow him in their masses.

Kataoka’s only just arriving himself when Kazuya throws open the door, fighting to catch his breath. Rei’s there too, deep in discussion with the Headmaster, but they both cut off their conversation look at him in alarm.

Kazuya tries to swallow around the dryness in his throat. “It’s Kuramochi,” is all he says, because it’s all he can form to words through the shocked numbing of his mind.

–– ––

A ghostly fog curls over the magically maintained lawn bordering the Forbidden Forest, clinging thin and low and silent to the ground. The dawn is cold. It’s a testament to the fast-approaching winter months that there’s frost glittering over every surface, stiff over Youichi’s skin.

His own shivering wakes him up, the chattering of his teeth in time with the pounding in his head and a sick, dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach working together to tell him You’re not where you’re supposed to be!

He opens his eyes slowly, afraid, for some reason, of what he might find. But it’s just grass, and forest, and distantly he sees the Hogwarts castle through the fog and he wonders, for a moment, how the hell he got all the way out here.

The world is eerily silent. There should be warblers out, or blackbirds or something by now, but the fragile press of dawn feels surreal and dreamlike, like he’s been shrunk down and stuck into a tiny snow globe dome where everything’s just a really convincing replica of reality. Most of all, through the spell of quiet, he feels hollowly alone, and it’s that feeling in the end, more than the cold, more than his gut-twisting hunger, that urges him forward in the direction of the school, almost entranced.

The further he goes, the hazier his reality gets. He excuses it to the migraine, has just enough coherency about him to remember a concussion and pink hair and all the conflicting emotions that come along with those things, but his vision ebbs at the edges and he really, really just wants to lie down. Through his confusion, he finds himself wandering off his path every now and then, so when he ends up near the greenhouses without remembering how he got there, he just kind of rolls with it.

He sort of winks out again and finds himself on the trail overlooking the docks by the lake. He’s high-key not feeling this hallucinogenic experience, but when he looks down near the water he can see a group of people moving along the circumference of the lake. He can’t really understand what they’re saying from this distance, but they’re definitely making a lot of noise. Not really eager to continue walking pointless circles around the school for the next several hours, Youichi starts to make his way down toward them.

He’s about to call out to them when someone cries out, beating him to it. Suddenly, the whole group is rushing up to meet him, loud and bumbling and not really doing much to help his headache. He frowns, but tries to focus on them. It looks like Tetsu and Jun are among them, and a few other seventh years including a bald head Youichi mistakes for Masuko before he realizes he’s way too tall and skinny to be Masuko, and he has just enough time to process When did Tanba get back? before they’re on him. He thinks he sees a flash of pink in there too, but he’s not sure.

“Kuramochi!” It’s Tetsu who says it, sounding more relieved and generally emotive than Youichi’s ever heard in his life. Yeah, this is probably a dream. Tetsu grips his shoulders and looks him up and down worriedly, turning him around like he’s scanning Youichi for injury. Youichi thoughtlessly complies, too distracted and tired to even think about resisting. The others crowd him nervously, and–oh, look, Rei’s here too–

“Kuramochi-kun, can you hear us?” That must be Rei’s voice, but the movement of her lips isn’t quite in time with the sound. Nevertheless, it’s commanding enough to offer traction for his attention, and he vaguely wonders how out of it he must look to warrant that kind of question.

“Yeah, I mean, I think so,” he replies, though his voice sounds muted in his ears. He’s impressed by how calm he sounds, because right now there’s a weird ball of panic expanding in the pit of his stomach that sets him shivering all over again. Tetsu’s hands burn on his shoulders even through his nightshirt (which is not something Youichi has the presence of mind to feel embarrassed about at the moment), and when Jun reaches out to touch the bare skin of his arm he retracts his hand just as quickly.

“Shit, you’re freezing!” he exclaims, his voice straining into a higher pitch that resonates painfully in Youichi’s temples. He reacts a few seconds too slow, turning his head away sharply way after the words are out of his mouth.

“Kuramochi-kun,” Rei says again, and her voice commands his attention. Her eyes burn insistently into his. “We’re going to take you back to the school,” she says firmly, so that Youichi’s only thought is that of agreement. “Are you going to pass out?”

Despite the fog in his mind, Youichi doesn’t feel terribly dizzy. He wonders if the blackouts he’d experienced on the way here count as passing out, but he decides it’s better for the moment not to mention it. “No,” he says a few seconds later. “I can make it.” His voice still sounds too detached, too calm, but Rei just nods and rests her hand steadily between his shoulders and guides him, numbly, back in the direction of the school.

Jun falls into step on his other side, offering his jacket. Youichi doesn’t remember agreeing, but he must have, because a few minutes later he realizes he’s wearing it. Jun looks concerned when he voices as much, exchanges a worried look with Tanba beside him.

Strangely, Youichi’s panic from earlier has subsided and, as they walk, he realizes he’s not really feeling anything except curiosity. What had everyone been doing by the docks so early? What had he been doing by the forest so early? And was that really Kominato he’d seen earlier, or just some hallucination or false memory?

He looks back over his shoulder. There are a few other people there, a Ravenclaw girl that Youichi can’t remember the name of and Tetsu, to name a couple. But Kominato’s there too, walking near the back of the group, and Youichi thinks then he must be hallucinating, because he can’t ever remember seeing something so much like fear on his face.

–– ––

Several days in the infirmary offer no further negative developments, though Kuramochi does come back to himself after a full day of sleeping. He has no recollection of the time after he vanished to the point he woke up outside the forest, and his memories immediately after prove spotty at best. Kataoka manages to call in someone from the Ministry to confirm what he’s already deduced: someone’s cast a pretty powerful obliviate spell to erase those couple days from Kuramochi’s mind. However, when they ask him if he’d like to go to the Ministry to try and recover them, Kuramochi refuses, much to everyone’s surprise.

When asked why, he explains that he doesn’t want his life to turn upside down because of this event. “I got out of it lucky, one way or another.” He explains to Miyuki, who later reports this to the Slytherin table, where Ryousuke hears about it over lunch. “Whatever it is, I probably don’t want to relive it.”

The Obliviator that Kataoka had called in tries to convince them that it would lead to more insight to the case, but Kataoka turns her away. He’s always had more of a soft spot for his students than is probably particularly legal, preferring to keep any of their accidental obstructions of the law out of the eyes of the Ministry, should such obstructions ever occur. (They do, frequently; rarely on purpose, but it’s to be expected in an environment of developing magical teenagers.) He can get away with it too, notoriously powerful a wizard as he is despite being so young. Somehow, Kataoka manages to sweep everything under the metaphorical rug and keep Kuramochi his peace, but not everyone’s happy about it.

“People are going to keep disappearing,” Haruichi says after Miyuki finishes filling them in. He looks distraught. “It used to just be prefects and important people, but now even Kuramochi-san…”

“Well,” Miyuki cuts in thoughtfully. “You could argue that a seeker is important. They’re pretty popular around the school.” He shoots Okumura a glance, but the fourth year isn’t near enough to hear them. “Well, most of them,” he adds jokingly.

“I still think it would be a good idea for Kuramochi-san to try and get his memories back,” Haruichi insists. “It might help us figure out who’s behind all this.”

Ryousuke’s fingers tense slightly where they’re braced against his knees. “Well, no one’s died yet,” he points out. He continues, ignoring Haruichi’s quiet gasp of “Aniki!” beside him. “And almost everyone else has recovered. The Ravenclaws even got a letter from Takako-san last week, and Chris should be back in time for Christmas.” He looks down, idly stirring his soup with his spoon. “Plus, they’ve got other people to un-obliviate for that kind of thing.” His stomach feels hollow. He doesn’t feel like eating. He sets his spoon down but doesn’t look up. “All I’m saying is, things aren’t critical right now. Everyone’s safe, so there’s no need to rush Kuramochi to remember.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Haruichi, disbelieving. “Aniki… how can you say that?”

His stomach twists, and he needs to leave, but Miyuki’s watching him, and Miyuki’s always been good at knowing more than he should. Ryousuke can’t show weakness here.

“It is what it is, Haruichi,” he says, resting his chin in his hand. His smile is weak when he offers it, and Haruichi’s expression shifts to confusion.

“What if it was me, then?” he asks, and Ryousuke wants to throw up.

I’d never let that happen, he insists. His leg starts to bounce uncontrollably, the tension drawn up the length of it from the ball of his foot to the pivot of his hip too much, so he has to force his heel to the floor to stop it. So long as I live, I’ll never let that happen. His mouth is full of cotton though, so all he manages to say is, “It won’t be,” and that’s not nearly enough to convey everything he’s feeling but he thinks even if he had the words to express it all, he wouldn’t let them out.

–– ––

He finds himself in the Slytherin commons that evening, writing out a letter with shaky hands while Rin courts him from the table, bobbing his head and only half-trying to flutter into that obnoxious, hovering flight pattern barn owls use to attract mates in the limited space their corner of the room offers. Ryousuke would probably find it pretty sexy, if he was, one, an owl, and two, not stressed out of his mind.

“I swear, you’re gayer than I am sometimes.” He mutters, absently reaching over with his free hand to pat Rin on the head and keep him from flapping about again. Rin croons happily, stepping onto Ryousuke’s parchment without hesitation. Ryousuke sighs and pushes him away. “I’ve half a mind to make a quill out of you, you know.” Rin just shrieks happily.

Ryousuke goes back to his letter, pinching the quill between trembling fingers. He feels about as lost as everyone else with the current situation. Kuramochi’s not supposed to be fine–Ryousuke knows better than anyone what happens to the kids who disappear into the forest–so why did he turn up okay?

If I did something wrong… he thinks, and his hands pick up their shaking again so that he has to put down his quill and fold them together, pull them close to his chest just to suppress it. “I didn’t,” he tells himself out loud, because thinking it isn’t enough.

He takes a breath. Lets it out slow. Picks up his quill. Keep it together, he tells himself. Part of him is grateful, at least, that Kuramochi’s okay.

Just then, thundering steps sound from the boys’ staircase, and Ryousuke looks up just as Haruichi and Furuya appear, looking frantic and not giving him a second glance until he calls out to them.

“What’s going on?” Ryousuke asks casually, tucking his unfinished letter into his pocket and turning towards them. Haruichi stops at the exit. Furuya runs into him from behind, but Haruichi manages to brace himself against the doorframe in order to stay upright as he looks back at his brother.

“It’s Kuramochi,” he says, voice strung high with panic. Immediately, Ryousuke’s out of his chair. Rin squawks disappointment. “He’s turned into a wolf!”

–– ––

They don’t have to go far to find him. They know they’re headed in the right direction when a group of screaming first years barrels past them. They turn the corner into the adjacent hallway and suddenly, there he is, Kuramochi Youichi in full-wolf form, standing hackles raised and maw dripping in front of two very terrified but equally determined Sawamura and Masuko. Neither of them have their wands in hand, which Ryousuke immediately decides is stupid. Kuramochi’s clearly unable to recognize them, and for some reason exhibits far more aggression than normal wolves ought to. Which means…

Ryousuke’s blood runs cold.

“It’s okay, Kuramochi-senpai! We’re all friends here!” Sawamura insists, opening his arms invitingly, which is probably the stupidest thing he could do. Kuramochi snaps his jaws and growls, eyes black and narrowed and feral, offering no glint of intelligence behind their beady film. Sawamura stands his ground.

“Look, I’m sorry Miyuki called you a yankii, but you really don’t have to get this upset about it!”

Ryousuke sees it happen before it actually does, which is the only reason he has his hand up in time to aim an open palm at Kuramochi and shout “Stupefy!” just as the wolf lunges for Sawamura’s exposed vital areas. The word resonates powerfully down the marble corridor, and despite his lack of a wand magic pools into his palm, channels itself into a blinding red flash and then, instantly, the wolf and Sawamura alike collapse, stunned, or more likely unconscious for all the force Ryousuke used.

Silence falls heavy around them. Ryousuke lowers his hand, tries to catch his breath. He’s never had to use wandless magic in a life-threatening situation before, and though Sawamura was caught in the crossfire Ryousuke knows he’s lucky it worked at all. It’s never been that powerful either, he reminds himself. I can’t rely on that in the future.

“Eijun-kun!” Haruichi says. He and Masuko converge on Sawamura and Kuramochi, still in his wolf form. Furuya pauses, though. He looks back at Ryousuke, expressionless, but his hesitation alone feels like concern.

“I’m fine,” Ryousuke insists. His left hand is tingling, as if it’s fallen asleep. He forces it into his pocket and gestures with his other. “Go get them to the infirmary,” he instructs. Furuya nods and, without comment, kneels beside Haruichi.

Ryousuke’s eyes fall on Kuramochi, and the cold feeling returns. Everyone else has recovered, he had said, barely hours before. In his pocket, he clenches his good hand around the letter.

People don’t recover from this.

–– ––

“You hear about these things happening, but…” Jun scowls down at his book, like it’s the one to blame for everything that’s happened. He swallows dryly. “You never think it’s gonna happen to someone you know.”

There’s a quiet murmur of assent between the three other people at the table. Tetsu’s face is stony, and worn, like he hasn’t slept in days. Ryousuke doesn’t think that’s unlikely; he was worried when the others disappeared, but he’d always managed to find comfort in the fact that they would get better. (Ryousuke knows the feeling.) Tanba looks frustrated, like he’s got something to do with what’s happened, like it’s somehow his fault that Kuramochi got fucked over and all he got was a temporarily disfigured face. Ryousuke keeps his face determinedly empty, safely bound in quiet introspection. He feels out of place here. It has nothing to do with his house.

The golden spill of Sunday morning light through the tall library windows over their secluded table has no effect on the mood of the room. A hush seems to have fallen over the entire school, and it doesn’t help that yesterday’s Quidditch match between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff was canceled “to allow Kuramochi time to recover.” Ryousuke knows that’s bullshit; Gryffindor’s got a replacement seeker, and they could have put him in just fine. The more likely reason is that Hufflepuff didn’t feel comfortable playing a team with a werewolf as its poster boy.

Kuramochi himself is much quieter now, much more volatile, as if his affliction has reverted him into a more fragile image of his younger self. He snaps faster and keeps close to himself. The only people he lets close are the ones he’s already closest to, like Sawamura and Masuko and, surprisingly, Miyuki. Not for comfort, as Ryousuke’s sure Miyuki’s the least capable in that emotional sector, but as a sort of buffer, someone to snap him out of it when he gets too defensive in the face of all the people who avoid him now. It’s a rough situation to be in, to say the very least. In the back of his mind, Ryousuke’s glad Kuramochi’s got people looking out for him.

Tanba’s clenched fist tightens on the table. Ryousuke keeps still as stone even as his voice cuts into the quiet of their corner. “It’s not fair,” Tanba grates out, glaring hard at the center of the table. Ryousuke manages a sideways glance up at him, then turns back to stare absently ahead. He doesn’t allow himself the barest show of the tumultuous confliction warring inside of him as Tanba goes on, practically shaking with the force of his outrage. “Kuramochi’s a good person, I don't—he shouldn’t be—” He has to cut himself off. Ryousuke can hear the strain building in his throat and swallows around the knot in his own.

“I just can’t believe Kataoka’s keeping the school open,” Jun says. “You’d think after four people, and this—” He shakes his head. “It’s too much.”

Knowing it would be suspicious to remain silent, Ryousuke forces himself to speak. His voice sounds oddly empty even to himself, but he manages some semblance of his old lilt in there for show. “It would be a show of weakness,” he says. “Kataoka doesn’t want… whoever this is… to think they’re winning.” His eyes itch. He rubs at them. He hasn’t slept much either, since the start of all this.

“Even so,” Jun retorts hotly, turning the burn of his glare on Ryousuke. (In the back of his mind, Ryousuke thinks he deserves it.) “That can’t take priority over the safety of the students. Kataoka knows that, how could he be—he wouldn’t purposely endanger his students.”

Ryousuke doesn’t reply, already having spent his arguments for this session. He keeps his face intentionally impassive and waits for Jun’s attention to shift elsewhere.

“Tch,” Jun clicks his tongue and looks away. It’s not aimed at him, by Ryousuke likes to think it is.

Tetsu clears his throat, immediately commanding the attention of the table. “It’s important to show strength in the face of hardship,” he starts slowly, watching his hands where they’re locked together stiffly on the table. “However,” he continues, looking up first at Ryousuke and then over at Jun. “I do agree there are instances that a tactical retreat is necessary, especially when regarding the safety of others.”

Ryousuke manages a half smile. “You say that like we’re on the front lines of a war, here.”

“Might as well be!” Jun snaps back, taking Ryousuke by surprise with his vehemence. “We’re losing people left and right. Soon enough, there won’t be enough of us left to pull from!”

Ryousuke doesn’t have anything to say to that. How can he, when it’s true? He doesn’t know when it’s going to stop—just that it can’t, not yet.

Tanba looks up suddenly, his eyes catching on something across the library. “Look,” he says, his face twisting with something grotesquely like pity. The others all turn to see Kuramochi slouching into the library, his shoulders caved in over himself and Miyuki at his side. He looks straight ahead, unwilling to look anyone in the eye. Around him, several kids shift uncomfortably, some going as far as standing up and moving as far away from him as they can get. Kuramochi’s expression darkens, but Miyuki’s iron gaze burns heavy on the back of his neck and keeps him from acting out. They make it to their own corner of the library and speak in hushed voices.

“It’s horrible,” Jun spits, shooting a venomous glare at a Ravenclaw third year who had run across the room to whisper to his friends as soon as Kuramochi had passed out of earshot. “They treat him like he’s got the plague. Like it’s his fault somehow.”

Ryousuke flips a page of his book, unseeing. He hasn’t read a single line since he opened it, and he knows the others have noticed, but it’s important to at least look like he’s trying to uphold an air of uncaring. “Lycanthropy does have a nasty history,” he reasons carefully. Before Jun can jump to his feet, Ryousuke holds up a hand to show he’s not finished. “Give it time. Once they see he hasn’t really changed, they’ll come around.”

He doesn’t believe that, not for a second, but it placates Jun for now. Ryousuke knows what discrimination looks like, what it can do to the weaker hearts. While he may not know much about Kuramochi Youichi, he knows one thing for sure: his spirit is far stronger than Ryousuke’s in many ways—he’ll find a way around this.

If he doesn’t, Ryousuke doesn’t know what he’ll do.

–– ––

When the room opens up for him, it’s dark inside. Ryousuke knows it’s in part because he doesn’t know what he wants, doesn’t know why he’s here. But he walks past three times hoping only for the room itself, and so the room complies, and welcomes him into its seclusion.

It’s not until the door closes behind him that Ryousuke sighs relief. Near-sentient as it is, the Room of Requirement has proved itself an unbiased comfort when he needs a place to escape to, first in his fourth year when the pressures of keeping ahead had driven him almost mad, and now as the weight of what he’s done comes pressing down on him that no self-righteous excuse can justify.

There’s a mirror in the room that Ryousuke hadn’t noticed before. He stops in front of it, examining the frame, then takes a look at himself. “You trying to tell me something?” he asks the room wryly.

There’s no response, not that he expected one. The only answer is the sight of his own reflection, haunting as it appears to him in the room’s lighting. Weeks of stress won’t leave even the most youthfully determined alone, and Ryousuke’s no exception. The shadows under his eyes are tense and dark, more visible than he remembers, his lashes dipping like spider legs over the sickly pallor of his skin. His hair looks greasy, even though he washed it earlier that day. It’s subtle, but noticeable, and Ryousuke’s sure the only reason his friends haven’t said anything is because they’re caught up in their own stress over this whole mess. He’s lucky, really; the last thing he needs is for all of his friends breathing down his neck, trying to figure out what’s wrong.

He doesn’t really have the right to wish for a way out.

He looks down and away, because he can’t really look himself in the face anymore. He reaches out to run his thumb carefully over the frame of the mirror. He traces it up over the intricacies in the wooden designs, following a swirl in to its point and branching back out again over mahogany leaves. It’s smooth to the touch, hypnotic like a maze, and Ryousuke finds his mind drifting numbly as he loses himself to the designs in the frame.

Why did you come here tonight? He asks himself, but he can’t find the answer. Maybe this is a mistake. Maybe he should be back in the Slytherin dorm with all the others, faking sleep and forcing his bones to support him by the time morning inevitably rolls around again. He shouldn’t be putting himself out there like this.

But he knows sleep’s a battle he won’t win, and is therefore a battle best not fought, and he knows that this room is the only place safe enough to think. His passing thoughts on sleep are met with flickering change throughout the room, first a dimming of the lights, then the appearance of multiple beds of varying style, and then just the mirror again, still in front of him like a reminder he didn’t ask for.

He smiles wanly. “I still don’t know what I want,” he insists softly, still entranced by the smooth feel of the frame under his touch.

And suddenly, the door slams open, shooting adrenaline so sharp through his fingers he feels it like an electrical current, and Ryousuke whips around with magic sparking to life between his fingers, his other hand immediately going for his wand.

On the floor in front of the open door, which slowly slides shut after the momentum from which it rebounded against the door, lying face down on a conveniently aligned pillow that Ryousuke’s sure hadn’t been there before, is none other than Kuramochi Youichi. Ryousuke immediately drops his hands and wills his magic to settle, slows his breathing into something manageable and smooths his face over into a mask, plastering on an amused smile for good measure. In no time at all, Kuramochi’s scrambling to his feet, looking wildly around, eyes blown wide on incredulity and awe. His eyes freeze on Ryousuke where he stands still in front of the mirror, considering Kuramochi with a look he knows more than passes for laughably aloof. Kuramochi’s mouth falls open, and he shoots a panicked look back over his shoulder.

“I, uh…” He closes his mouth to lick his lips. His fingers curl at his sides, tensing into worried claws. He looks back at Ryousuke. “Sorry, I was… Just looking for the bathroom.”

“Oh?” Ryousuke says, feeling his smile stretch wider on genuity. He has to hand it to the kid, he’s hard to stay mad at. He folds his hands carefully behind him and takes a step away from the mirror, like it might in some impossible way make his guilt visible to the other. “Is that so?” He asks. The door clicks shut behind Kuramochi, and he throws it a look over his shoulder.

Ryousuke doesn’t know why he has to provoke everyone that walks within hearing distance–he suspects it comes with the bone-deep need to prove himself that he still can’t seem to outgrow–but very rarely does it work so poorly in his favor. Instead of backing out of the room like he looks like he wants to, or squaring up like Ryousuke knows his type would otherwise, he stops moving altogether, suddenly caught up in some remote thought apparently triggered by Ryousuke’s weak mockery. His face changes, a line appearing in his forehead and disappearing just as quickly, and then he looks back up at Ryousuke.

“No,” he admits, and then his shoulders straighten, and he looks Ryousuke determinedly in the eye. “No, I actually wasn’t. I was…” He takes in a breath like he has to ready himself to speak. “I was looking for you, I guess.”

— —

Earlier that day, when Miyuki had pulled him into the library and told Youichi that he knew how to find the Room of Requirement, as it was apparently called, Youichi’d been skeptical. Walking back and forth in a hallway a few times with the thought of what you need in mind doesn’t exactly seem like the secret code they’d been looking for.

But now, standing in the middle of the room as he is, staring down Kominato Ryousuke of all people, he can’t really say he’s complaining.

Kominato’s face shifts subtly at Youichi’s words. “For me?” he says, disbelieving. Then he glances at the door, and understanding dawns on his face in the shape of tension at the corner of his lips and a sobered lowering of his brows.

It’s the only logical conclusion Youichi can come to. He’d been sort of a frantic mess, pacing up and down the hallway like he was. He couldn’t form his thoughts into a single, clear desire like Miyuki’d told him to. “This is the Room of Requirement, right?” he asks, his eyes glancing over to the mirror. Kominato sees this and seems to shift his weight ever so slightly away from it, like the mirror’s got dirt on him or something. “I wanted to find whoever’d done this to me, and I’d been looking for anything that would show me who it was.” Youichi meets his eyes again. “So I guess that’s you.”

Kominato’s face looks pale in the dim light, his smile sharp and unconvincing. He folds his hands behind himself and straightens, falling into the familiar character Youichi’s found so disagreeable for so long. “You’re mistaken,” he says in a clipped voice. “The room didn’t bring you to me because I can help you. I was just here at the same time, is all.”

Youichi frowns. “Then what were you doing here?” he asks, feeling a little agitated. Kominato hesitates, so Youichi presses on. “‘Cause if you were looking for privacy, the room wouldn’t’ve let me in, right? So either you weren’t looking for privacy, or the room decided us meeting here was more important, and now here we are.”

Kominato’s smile levels, and his head tilts ever so slightly up, so he gives off the air of looking down on Youichi. “So what, you think that just because I’m in the room at the same time as you, I’m the one who’s supposed to fix you?”

“Well there’s nothing else here, is there?” Youichi explodes, without warning, his eyes narrowing to threatening slits as the thin wire of his patience snaps. Kominato’s eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t look intimidated. Youichi’s breath catches, and he goes still, eyes widening on shock. He’s surprised at himself; he’s been quick to anger, since the incident, but that doesn’t make him any less aware of his actions. “I’m sorry,” he says immediately, running his hands through his hair and looking away. “I’m sorry, I–I didn’t mean to yell I just–” He stops. Takes a breath. Lowers his hands. He looks back up at Kominato, whose expression hasn’t changed, who hasn’t made any move to scorn or console him either way. Youichi lets go of the breath and pulls himself together, because now’s not the time to be running himself down.

“That mirror,” Youichi says. “It’s the only other thing here. And unless it’s some sort of–of window to show me who did… what those people did to me, then I don’t see any other reason to assume it isn’t you that I’m supposed to find.”

Kominato regards him coolly, his fingers linked behind his back in a false display of openness. Youichi knows he’s the kind of person who can build a wall out of words and glares alone, that he can shut Youichi down without any sympathy or guilt just as easily as he can blink, but something has him pausing to just look at him.

“And what do you expect me to do, Kuramochi?” he asks, voice like silk slipping between the creases of their silence. Kominato steps toward him, and it takes all of Youichi’s willpower not to instinctively step backward. “Even if I am what you’re looking for, what makes you think I can do anything at all?”

Youichi stares back at him determinedly, unwilling to back down. “I want to fix this,” he says. “I want things to go back to normal. I want the person who’s done this to get what’s coming to them.”

Kominato stops right in front of him. His face softens along with his voice at Youichi’s words. “There’s no cure for lycanthropy,” he reminds him, and at that Youichi does look away. He knows that, has been told that from the very moment he woke up again in the infirmary back in his own skin, unable to remember more than a foggy haze of aggression and intense outrage and a flash of red light. He’d been told that Kominato had been the one to stop him, in a brilliant display of quick acting and impressive, wandless magic, before he’d hurt two of the people he cared about most in the world. Youichi can’t accept that. He doesn’t want to be at the mercy of other people’s heroic gestures for the rest of his life.

“Well, you’re–you’re Kominato Ryousuke, aren’t you?” he says. “The kid who’s gonna aim for head of the Ministry’s Department of Magical Accidents or whatever? ‘Cause this seems like a damn good place to start, if you ask me.”

Kominato’s frowning now, not out of anger, but something more like conflict, maybe irritation, but Youichi doesn’t think it’s aimed at him. Youichi can tell he’s trying to keep his face neutral, but it’s not working so well, so what comes out of it is just some stony barely-excuse for a mask that tells more to his wavering will than it hides.

“Please,” Youichi tries again, softer, almost pleading. (Scratch that–he’s definitely pleading now, all pride be damned. In extreme circumstances such as these, petty house rivalries and personal grievances should be overlooked, right?) “You’re the only person I can think of that would be able to do this.”

Kominato looks down, his hair shifting to fall in a curtain over his eyes. The line of his shoulders looks tense, but his arms go slack and his hands fall loosely to his sides, and it’s the first sign to compliance Youichi gets through the silence. Then: “…Alright,” spoken hesitantly, and there’s still something in his voice that makes it sound like he doesn’t want to, but Youichi’d rather take the words at face value this time than dig for any deeper meaning.

“Alright?” Youichi says brightly, a smile creeping onto his face for the first time in a long time. He doesn’t want to question it, in case Kominato changes his mind, but he can’t help but look for validation. It feels too good to be true: one of the most prodigious, admired wizards at their school, the guy with a sharp tongue and a tendency towards reclusiveness and no real reason to help Youichi agreeing so easily–it almost feels unreal. There must be more to him than meets the eye, Youichi thinks happily. Guess he’s just nicer than I thought.

Kominato smiles back at him, sharp and pinched and looking a little too much like he’s reaching, but as long as he’s still agreeing Youichi doesn’t care. “Alright,” he insists, voice smooth, and then Youichi laughs and it feels suddenly like he’s going to be okay.

Things are going to be okay.

–– ––

Things are not going to be okay.

Ryousuke thinks this as soon as he’s up in the Slytherin commons again, pacing back and forth restlessly and grateful that no one else is around to see him. Now that the Room of Requirement has been compromised, he doesn’t have anywhere else to go, even if his feet carried him through the halls all night long. (Which is, of course, not going to happen; he’s a prefect after all, he needs to set a good example.)

Kuramochi showing up had been a twist of fate he hadn’t been expecting, and he silently curses the room for letting anyone in in the first place. He’d known it took liberties sometimes, placing what it sensed a person needed in front of what they wanted in terms of importance, but this is too much. The mirror had been like a cruel joke; this was bordering on outright dangerous.

Given, he hadn’t specified he wanted privacy—he truly hadn’t wanted anything specific, to be completely fair—but throwing Kuramochi right in his face after all that’s happened? It’s pretty much the last thing he needed.

What is it that Kuramochi’d said? He was looking for someone to help him, to find a cure and to find who did this to him. And the room had opened right on Ryousuke. If Ryousuke hadn’t gone to the room that night, would it have manifested something else to show Kuramochi the way? Or would he have found his way back to him eventually? Ryousuke likes to think people maintain some autonomy, when it comes to something as uncertain as destiny, but he did well enough in Divination to understand that some things will always come to pass.

This encounter, it seems, was inevitable.

But what to do about it, Ryousuke wonders, realigning his thoughts and getting back on track. Well, Kuramochi doesn’t appear to be what Ryousuke would consider the sharpest tool in the shed, so if he plays it safe, he should be able to keep Kuramochi at bay until this is all over.

When this is all over… Ryousuke frowns as stress strains against his temple. There will be repercussions, when this is all over, no matter how it ends. But, as long as they’re holding that over his head, he has no choice.

He runs his hands through his hair, looking for any tactile distraction he can find as his thoughts get carried away by the ifs and the whens all over again. He takes a deep breath to stifle the panic building tight in his chest, holds it, then exhales slowly. Forty-nine, forty-two, thirty-five, he thinks. Calm down, this is a good thing. Twenty-eight, twenty-one, fourteen. He takes another breath.

That’s right. This is a good thing. He wouldn’t have agreed to help Kuramochi otherwise. If Kuramochi’s looking for answers, he’s not going to stop at Ryousuke. Gryffindors are always annoyingly persistent like that–hero complexes, all of them. Ryousuke can’t let him run free if he’s looking to unearth the truth. It’s actually lucky, if anything, that Kuramochi found him, now that he thinks about it. It would’ve been alarmingly out-of-character for Ryousuke to confront him himself, if he’d ever realized this benefit later. It might have ended with a lot of over-cautious surveillance and making sure to always avoid being in the right place at the wrong time. This way, Ryousuke can keep close to Kuramochi, can listen to all of his thoughts and theories about what might be going on here and what he plans to do about it. This way, Ryousuke can keep him off his trail, without looking suspicious at all.

It’s enough to calm his anxiety, for the moment. Ryousuke sighs. Of course, what’s that saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. That’s right, that’s right. He just needs to keep looking forward. Some way or another, this is all going to end.

Keep your friends close… The only problem is, Ryousuke’s not really sure who’s his friend and who’s his enemy, anymore.

–– ––

A couple weeks pass, and Kazuya notices the change in Kuramochi. Like a switch has been flipped, he’s suddenly motivated, suddenly talkative again, and he no longer shuts himself away in the Gryffindor dorms where he can be depressed and not-bothered. He’s still on-edge and quick to respond to any hint of a taunt with aggression, but the air around him isn’t so stifling anymore, and Kazuya finds that he no longer has to act as the other’s impulse control. (At least, not as much. There are a couple incidents involving some kids from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw that Kazuya has to step in for, but for the most part he’s free of caretaker duties.)

Even if he’s getting better, he’s still not quite the same. It’s pretty clear for Kazuya to see, when he shows up to breakfast the next morning.

For one thing, Kuramochi’s sitting at the Slytherin table. Kuramochi never sits at the Slytherin table. Kazuya’s tried to drag him over multiple times to no avail, has tried to convince him that no, not every Slytherin is out to get him for that one time he accidentally knocked Okumura off his broom in pursuit of the snitch, but Kuramochi’s stubborn and had always refused. Seeing him sitting next to Ryousuke of all people is not something he’d expected to wake up to at all.

That’s another thing: he’s actually enthusiastically engaged in conversation with the Slytherin quidditch regulars. Aside from Okumura’s inherent disinterest (and perhaps, a little bit of bitterness), nobody seems to mind him, and Ryousuke doesn’t look the least bit irritated.

That’s how Kazuya comes to the conclusion that something’s up.

He takes a seat across from Kuramochi, glancing carefully between him and the others like he might set off a nuclear war without knowing if he’s not absolutely aware of his actions. Kuramochi barely shoots him a nod and a glance before he’s back to talking with the others.

The strangest part of it all, though, is that Kuramochi is smiling. Like, really smiling, and laughing, and enjoying himself, and basically doing things Kazuya hasn’t seen him do much at all since he turned wolf. Not that he’s upset about it–if Kuramochi’s back to normal, no matter how he got there, that’s less for Kazuya to worry about. Even so, he can’t help but wonder what happened…

“You’re pretty loud, today,” he says as soon as he finds a lull in conversation to squeeze into. Kuramochi looks over at him, and Kazuya grins. “So what’re you doing over here? Thought you hated the Slytherin table.”

Kuramochi frowns, shooting a glance at the others to gauge their reactions to Kazuya’s offhand comment. When they don’t appear to be listening, he leans in towards Kazuya. “Oi, are you looking to get me kicked?” Kazuya shrugs. Kuramochi rolls his eyes. “Whatever, I’m just here to talk to Kominato-san.”

Kazuya quirks an eyebrow, but Kuramochi’s called back into the others’ conversation, and he doesn’t even seem to notice his own addition of an honorific, something he never uses when it’s just them talking. Slowly, he moves to start his breakfast, but keeps an eye on them. Ryousuke doesn’t say much during the conversation, just makes his usual quips here and there, but Kuramochi carries on without trouble, like he’s been friends with the Slytherin team for as long as he’s gone to school here.

Eventually, Kazuya has to look back down at his plate, shaking his head at himself. It’s just too strange, he thinks, and pops a piece of fish into his mouth.

–– ––

Ryousuke thought he’d mind Kuramochi’s constant hovering a lot more.

At first, he had; he’d made it very clear that he’d be working to find a way to fight the lycanthropy as a side project, that his first and foremost focus was his studies, and next his Quidditch. Kuramochi had still been extremely grateful, but became a lot like a dog in the way he now follows Ryousuke’s every move with his eyes the moment he walks into a room. It’s enough to make him annoyed (never flustered, he doesn’t do flustered), but even that begins to wear away with time.

Kuramochi treats their partnership like a secret mission. He gets excited about it any time Ryousuke suggests they meet up to discuss findings, has actually managed to hack Ryousuke’s owl and send Ryousuke unnecessarily coded notes on more than one occasion. (It’s not Kuramochi’s fault that they always appear while Ryousuke’s in class; Rin’s never been too bright, and he’s managed to somehow find his way into the Transfiguration room, the Ghoul Studies room and even the Potions’ dungeon just to deliver his messages.) The first time it happens, Ryousuke’s afraid it’s going to be another name. He hasn’t gotten a letter from that guy in weeks, but he knows better than to be hopeful.

He worries about what might happen should they no longer need him.

But time passes without event, and no more students go missing. Suspicion hasn’t been erased–everyone knows better than to think things are going to go back to normal–but for now, the school can take its time to breathe. Ryousuke, on the other hand, remains hard at work on his own covert operation within a secret mission.

He manages to brew a successful Wolfsbane potion, which is much easier said than done. It takes him a few tries, but Professor Oota feigns ignorance when he nearly catches Ryousuke stealing from his store. It’s pretty clear what he’s going to make with the stolen ingredients, and the teachers, it seems, have no objections to allowing Ryousuke provide the means for Kuramochi’s sanity during the full moon.

Which comes faster than Ryousuke’d hoped. A full month, and all he’s got is a Wolfsbane potion and a half-formed idea about a spell that might work as a temporary reversal for Kuramochi’s transformation. He’s still not sure how far he can go, given the constant surveillance he knows that owl keeps on him, but if that guy has a problem, it’s nothing Rin and a carefully-written letter can’t explain. He hopes.

The plan for the night is to meet in the Room of Requirement, where they’ll review their efforts and discuss plans for the future. Kuramochi will take the potion, and Ryousuke will try out a few spells to see if anything works. If nothing works, Kuramochi will spend the night in the room, and they’ll regroup in the morning.

Ryousuke breaks for the room at the beginning of dinner, packing as many rolls and tarts as he can fit into a large napkin and slipping away out of the Main Hall. Haruichi asks him where he’s going, but he brushes him off quickly with an excuse about studying and doesn’t stick around to see if it works.

The moon’s not up yet. He guesses he’s got about twenty minutes before it appears, give or take. Still, he hurries through the halls and up the ever-shifting stairs, cutting a few jumps dangerously close in his haste. He steadies himself on the rails and continues upward, until he finally turns onto the seventh floor.

Kuramochi’s already there when the door opens for him, and he looks like shit. Ryousuke’s learned enough about werewolves in Ghoul Studies to know the status quo when it comes to lycanthropy: poor health leading up to and following transformation isn’t uncommon, but that doesn’t make it any more enjoyable, nor any easier on the deeply suppressed guilt that Ryousuke’s been doing his best to ignore this past month. Kuramochi looks like he’s trying not to look miserable, but with the unusually pale tint of his skin and the sweat beading at his forehead, it’s hard for him to hide it. When Ryousuke comes in, he smiles and gets to his feet quickly, managing to stay steady even as he blinks away stars.

“Kominato-san!” he says brightly. Ryousuke still hasn’t gotten used to Kuramochi’s shift in attitude towards him. It’s hard to, after years of vague mutual resentment and barely knowing each other’s names. Ryousuke’s pretty sure the only reason Kuramochi had known he existed at all was because of Quidditch. Not that he cares. Or ever thought Kuramochi was attractive. Or anything.

Ryousuke smiles and holds up a bottle. “I brought the Wolfsbane. Here–” He tosses him the bottle, and Kuramochi frantically fumbles the catch with a moderately terrified gasp. Unconcerned by his own reckless treatment of the crucial potion, Ryousuke wills a table into existence between them and pulls up a stool. “I’d take it now, if I were you. You should still have some time before the transformation, but you’re better safe than sorry.”

“Right,” Kuramochi says, and he uncorks the bottle as Ryousuke spreads the food he’d smuggled away over the table. There’s a pause, and when he’s finished laying out napkins and the like he looks up.

Kuramochi’s hesitating. There’s the barest tremble in his hand that’s holding the bottle, and he’s staring down into it with an unreadable look on his face. Ryousuke glances from his face to the potion and back again, then he sighs. “If you’re worried it might poison you, don’t bother; I wouldn’t make such a juvenile mistake in potions of all things.”

Kuramochi blinks like he’s coming out of a trance, then looks over at Ryousuke. “…Right,” he says, and after another moment’s pause finally brings the bottle to his lips. Ryousuke looks away. For some reason, watching feels disrespectful.

Kuramochi coughs a furious, disgusted noise when he finishes the bottle, and holds it at arm’s length. “Holy shit,” he chokes out, his face screwing up in repulsion. “That’s the most disgusting shit–oh my god, wow.” He puts the bottle down on the table and all but falls into the chair across from Ryousuke. He buries his face in his hands with a groan. “That hasn’t gotten easier all week. Now I really think I’m gonna be sick.”

Ryousuke snorts. “Well, it’ll let you keep your head when you transform, so I’d say it’s worth it.”

Kuramochi grumbles something like Easy for you to say, then raises his head as Ryousuke offers him a roll. He shakes his head. “No way man, not after that. Ugh.” He folds his arms on the table and scoots back in his chair so he can rest his head on them. Ryousuke feels something give in his smile, a strange sort of fondness overcoming him as he watches Kuramochi whine that he acts quickly to suppress. No no no, he tells himself. He pictures that part of his mind as a hand, then mentally smacks it. We’re not doing this here.

Ryousuke sighs and pretends to care that Kuramochi’s turning down the food he’d snuck in. “After all the trouble I go to,” he mocks, then pushes the rolls to the side.

Kuramochi looks up. His eyes follow the motion of Ryousuke’s hand, then he raises an eyebrow and looks up at his face. “I never said you couldn’t eat,” he points out. Ryousuke just shrugs.

“I can do that later. Right now, we should discuss what’s going to happen.” Ryousuke doesn’t plan on eating later. He’s not hungry, but it’s not really a problem. He’d rather be focused on the task at hand right now.

Kuramochi’s eyebrow falls as his expression loses its sarcastic tension and shifts into something that’s not exactly surprise, but maybe holds resemblance to it in the way that he looks like he’s about to sober up into something more like concern. Ryousuke cuts him off before he can say anything, pretending not to notice.

“In a few minutes, you’ll transform into a werewolf. Now that you’ve got the Wolfsbane potion, you’ll be able to keep your mind when you go, but we still can’t have you roaming the halls like that, so you’ll have to stay in here tonight if nothing works.” Kuramochi frowns at that, then shrugs. “Anyways,” Ryousuke goes on, folding his arms and leaning in against the table. “I’ll try some spells. We’ll see what happens.” There’s a pause, a moment in which Ryousuke wonders if he should say anything at all. Then, quietly: “I’m sorry I don’t have anything more substantial to offer.”

Kuramochi sits up a little in surprise. Ryousuke immediately wishes he’d kept his mouth shut. Idiot, you’d never apologize for something like that. He’s furious with himself for letting his guilt over the whole situation influence him. The apology was built out of so much more than not having a definitive answer, but Kuramochi can’t know that. Now, Ryousuke’s acting suspicious. Any moment, Kuramochi’s gonna call him on it, and then Ryousuke’s going to have to–

“You don’t have to apologize, Kominato-san.”

Ryousuke blinks. What.

Kuramochi’s surprise has settled into something… not-suspicious. If Ryousuke didn’t know any better, he’d say Kuramochi almost looks appreciative. Despite the nauseated pallor to his skin, his smile is genuine, and he’s still looking at Ryousuke like he’s something to be grateful for. Suddenly, he’s the one who feels sick.

Kuramochi looks down at his hands. “I know how impossible my request is,” he continues, not noticing the progression of Ryousuke’s guilt as it strangles him silently and rolls in his stomach. “I’m really just thankful you’re giving me any of your time at all. Ever since this happened, I’ve felt like the whole world’s against me, y’know? Having you here, just trying to help…” He looks up, then, and it’s all Ryousuke can do to look him in the eye. “It’s like I don’t have to give up, because I know you believe we can do something to change this.” He moves his hand like he means to reach out, then thinks better of it. His face is growing steadily redder as he talks, so by the end he’s looking away again. “So, thank you, Kominato-san.”

Ryousuke feels tense, wound up and in need of an outlet, but by the time he notices, he can’t relax. He just sits there, feeling his joints lock up and the line of his shoulders pull taut, and the first few heart-faltering falls of panic stutter in his chest like retribution for everything he knows he’s done. He clenches his jaw without meaning to, holds his breath because it’s better than listening to the way it picks up and betrays him, and with Kuramochi sitting right there he needs to keep face. He moves, stiffly, interlocking his fingers and hiding the tension in his mouth behind them, somehow managing to pass for thoughtful as he draws in a determined breath to respond. Before he can say anything though, Kuramochi looks up at him, goes absolutely green, and slams his own face right onto the table.

Shocked, Ryousuke releases the breath he’d been holding in something just short of a gasp, the tension leaving him as soon as he realizes what’s happening. He jumps to his feet as Kuramochi stumbles to his own, holding his head and clawing at his scalp like there’s something under the flesh trying to escape. There’s a sound tearing from his throat, some half-formed shout of agony that ends in a pained growl. Ryousuke has his wand in hand in an instant, clears the table and chairs from the area with a sweep of his arm. They tumble sideways, then vanish altogether as the room intervenes.

The transformation is horrifying, but strange. There’s no skin-splitting emergence of fur from beneath the flesh like Ryousuke’d learned there would be in Ghoul Studies. Instead, Kuramochi’s body contracts disjointedly and he shudders, his arms elongating and his spine contorting. His skin goes from pale to gray to dark black fur in a matter of seconds as his fingernails elongate into claws. It’s a matter of moments, but for all that Ryousuke sees happen it feels like it could be hours. By the end of it, Kuramochi’s clothes are in tatters on the floor, and all that’s left of Kuramochi is an enormous, beady-eyed wolf staring Ryousuke down with wild eyes.

A second passes as the wolf–as Kuramochi shakes his head and staggers sideways, finding his bearings in his new form. Ryousuke lets his breath go in a quiet sigh, lowers his wand and eases his stance, then readjusts his smile into something fake and self-assured. “That was something,” he jokes, placing a hand on his hip.

At the sound of his voice, Kuramochi’s head snaps up. He growls, and Ryousuke’s smile drops, unable to stop himself as he takes an instinctive step back. The movement seems to trigger something in Kuramochi, whose eyes narrow, and suddenly Ryousuke blinks and Kuramochi’s on top of him, jaws snapping dangerously close to his throat.

Alarmed, Ryousuke pushes back against the wolf’s throat, just barely remembering to pull back and keep his arm out of the way of Kuramochi’s teeth before the other’s maw snaps shut on air. Kuramochi’s claws tear flesh at his shoulders, and in his panic Ryousuke scrambles to kick Kuramochi off of him. His angle is off the first time and his foot slides harmlessly sideways, but his second attempt proves more successful and he manages to dislodge Kuramochi’s hold on him.

“What are you doing?!” Ryousuke shouts as soon as he has time for a breath. “Kuramochi, it’s me!”

With four legs and the advantage of having zero inhibitions, Kuramochi recovers before Ryousuke does and lunges for him before he’s fully back on his feet. Ryousuke stumbles backwards and raises his wand, but before he can even think of what he wants to say the wolf is on top of him again. This time, Ryousuke’s pinned sideways, his right arm trapped beneath him and his legs unable to angle themselves in any helpful way to push Kuramochi off of him. The wolf barks in his face and bears down on him, and before he can think of the repercussions Ryousuke reaches up blindly to try and push back against his nose. Kuramochi’s head snaps back, then he lurches forward, his jaws closing around Ryousuke’s wrist in a flash of searing pain. Ryousuke cries out and wrenches his arm sideways, finally forcing the wolf off of him. Kuramochi doesn’t let him go though, so through a burst of inspiration Ryousuke points his wand at him and shouts, “Expelliarmus!” and in a flash of electric yellow light, Ryousuke’s arm is freed. “Stupefy!” He follows up immediately, and Kuramochi lets out a sharp whine, but he’s not completely deterred. It’s enough for a moment’s reprieve, but Kuramochi’s finding his feet again, and Ryousuke thinks fast.

“Room!” he shouts. “I need a cage!”

As soon as he says it, a cage materializes around Kuramochi, stopping him just in time as he lunges for Ryousuke once again. Infuriated, Kuramochi whirls around and starts throwing himself against the constraints, always coming back to face Ryousuke and snap at him angrily. But the cage holds, and Ryousuke stumbles backward into a wall he hadn’t realized had come up behind him. He falls back against it, trying to catch his breath, then immediately turns his attention to the bite on his hand with horrified despair.

Werewolf bites, saliva and blood, that’s how… His mind feels muddled and he can’t finish the thought. Doesn’t want to finish the thought.

I know I made that potion correctly, he thinks instead, eyes drifting over to where Kuramochi’s still throwing himself against the side of the cage. Then there’s no way he can be… He shakes his head. None of this makes sense, but he can’t work it out right now. He has more immediate issues to attend to.

“Room,” he says, annoyed by the way his voice shakes. “I need a first aid kit.”

–– ––

Youichi wakes up slowly. The first thing he’s aware of is the massive headache pounding behind his eyes, some horrible, all-encompassing pain at the bridge of his nose that makes him want to smash his head into a brick wall, or at least find some other pain-alleviating alternative regardless of whether it involves knocking himself out. So he sits still for a long while without opening his eyes, focused only on the pain in his head and on the fact that he wants it to go away.

Eventually, after lots and lots of minutes, it does finally ease up into a dull throb at the base of his skull. Still unpleasant, but not nearly as unbearable, and it’s then that he decides to finally open his eyes.

He probably should have noticed he was naked. Either way, he notices now, just like he notices that he’s on the floor, and that there’s a cage around him, and that he must’ve had a really wild night for all of these things to be true at the same time.

He sits up slowly, holding his head and wondering who the hell let him get so wasted, when a figure in the corner of his vision catches his eye. He looks over and blinks away the fog to see Kominato Ryousuke curled up with his back to the wall, fully clothed and outside the cage but also on the floor, and Youichi has just enough time to think about the implications about all of this before the memories hit him like a train.

“Fuck–” He scrambles backwards, trying to distance himself from Kominato as much as possible. His bare shoulders fall hard against the metal bars, and he shivers at the feel of cold metal against his skin. Kominato shifts in his sleep, shooting a panic through his veins like adrenaline, and he looks for anything to cover himself with.

“Wait, duh,” he says, then looks up towards the ceiling. “Room, I seriously could use some clothes right now.” Immediately, wardrobes and clothes racks pop up around the room, none of which are actually within his reach. “Something in the cage,” he specifies impatiently, worriedly side-eying Kominato. He’s gone still, but that doesn’t make Youichi any less desperate for decency. The room gets the memo though, and all the clothes outside the cage disappear to be replaced with a single replica of Youichi’s school robes. He immediately gets dressed, then asks for the cage to be removed, seeing as it’s no longer needed. The room obliges, and then it’s just him and Kominato in the early morning, alone together in the Room of Requirement.

Youichi sighs and sits back on his hands. His memories are still a bit hazy, directly following his transformation, but he remembers enough to feel incredibly guilty. Somehow or another, Kominato’s potion hadn’t worked, and Youichi’d been left once again to the mercy of some animal impulse. He remembers someone shouting. He remembers light and pain and fury and then, being trapped, and vaguely in the background of his own outraged fervor he recalls Kominato, against the wall, talking to himself…

No, Youichi realizes. Not himself, the room. And he remembers what he did.

Youichi looks on in horror at the bandage on Kominato’s wrist, barely visible with the way his arm is tucked underneath him. Youichi’d bit him. Youichi, a werewolf, had bitten Kominato, the very person he’d been gushing to the night before about being his one beacon of hope or whatever dumb shit he’d said when he was ill. And Kominato… still hadn’t left him behind.

“Ohhhhh my god,” Youichi breaths, holding his head in his hands. The headache is the least of his worries by now. What’s he supposed to say when Kominato wakes up? Hey, sorry I turned you into a werewolf too, let’s redouble our efforts to find the bad guys and then run off into the forest to forever isolate ourselves from society, doesn’t exactly sound like the most sensitive way to go. Kominato’s sure as hell not going to want to help him now. Hell, Youichi wouldn’t blame him if he never wants to see him again.

But still, Youichi thinks. Kominato stayed. He hadn’t walked out on Youichi even after he’d gone berserk and probably almost killed him. He could’ve left Youichi in this room and gone to find himself better treatment in the infirmary wing, but still he’d stayed. Despite his guilt, something warm spills into Youichi’s chest at that, and for a fleeting moment he wonders how long he’s been misjudging Kominato just because of his house.

He hesitates for a second before finally mustering the courage to call out to him. “Kominato-san,” he says. “Are you up?”

The answer is an obvious no, but the sound of Youichi’s voice has Kominato shifting again. Within a minute, he’s blinking his narrow eyes open, furrowing his brow in confusion as he takes in his surroundings. “The hell,” he says, trying to push himself up. He winces as he puts pressure on his arm, then looks down at it. His eyes widen slightly at the sight of the bandage, and Youichi can see the moment the memories come rushing back to him by the look on his face. He leans back against the wall with a poorly suppressed groan and reaches up with his good hand to feel his shoulder. Youichi notices the distinct tears in the fabric and immediately feels worse.

They can’t sit in silence forever though, so eventually Youichi decides to rip the bandage off and break it. “Kominato-san…” he starts tentatively. Kominato looks over at him, his expression blank, giving nothing away. Youichi swallows. When he speaks again, his voice is weak, probably wouldn’t even be audible if not for the deafening silence of the room. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… I couldn’t control myself, I was just…”

Everything he says sounds like an excuse. But Kominato’s face doesn’t change. He keeps silent for a while, looks down at the bandage on his wrist and thinks–about what Youichi doesn’t know. Doesn’t want to know. It’s too quiet. He feels like he’s suffocating.

Finally, Kominato takes a breath. “It’s not your fault,” he says firmly, surprising Youichi with how put-together he sounds. Youichi wonders how much time he’s had to come to terms with his fate in the time Youichi’d been lost to the mindless chaos of his wolf state, if he’d gotten much sleep at all with Youichi undoubtedly raging in his cage all night. “You weren’t yourself, I know better than to blame you for any of that.”

It doesn’t bring Youichi as much relief as he expects. Still he feels guilty, and he has to look away as something starts to burn behind his eyes.

“But I don’t think you’re a werewolf, Kuramochi.”

Youichi blinks. Looks up. Kominato’s staring straight back at him now, his expression unchanged and completely serious. “What.” Youichi says. It doesn’t come out in the shape of a question, but still carries all the weight of his disbelief. “Kominato-san… did I give you a concussion last night?”

Kominato scoffs. “Like you could,” he says. Despite the fact that Youichi knows he absolutely could have, with the state he was in, he keeps his mouth smartly shut and waits for an explanation. Kominato shifts to sit up straighter against the wall. “Turning into a mindless, murder-wolf every full moon is a pretty convincing symptom, but it’s the only one you’ve got.”

Youichi frowns. “I don’t follow,” he admits, scratching at his head. “What more is there?”

“Well, for one thing, the Wolfsbane potion didn’t work.” Kominato points out.

Youichi shrugs uncomfortably. “Yeah, but, that could’a just been me taking too low a dose? Or maybe you made it wrong?”

Kominato’s eyes flash. “If I’d made that potion wrong, you would have died, Kuramochi. You’ve been taking it all week–you’d been dead by now if I’d messed up.”

“Then maybe I just didn’t–”

“Kuramochi.” Youichi’s mouth snaps shut at the warning. Kominato sighs. “Can’t you just accept that the Wolfsbane had no effect on you? I’d think you’d be looking for any reason to doubt you’re a werewolf.”

Youichi looks away. “Just don’t wanna get my hopes up, y’know?” he mumbles. It’s enough to make Kominato pause for just a second, but the sympathy doesn’t last long.

“Then think of it as getting my hopes up,” he says, waving his bandaged arm for Youichi to see. Youichi flinches like the sight of it’s hurt him. “That’s just reason one,” Kominato goes on. “Number two, this bite closed right up with some alcohol and first-aid gauze. Usually for werewolf wounds, you need to use a salve of herbs and powdered silver just to seal them up, and even then you’ll still have some nasty scars.”

He gives Youichi a pointed look that makes Youichi flush from head to toe. “Oh my god, did you see me naked?” He blurts without thinking, remembering just a few minutes ago how he’d woken up completely nude. The idea horrifies him: Kominato staying up all night until the moon finally set and pulled Youichi’s wolf form from him like a curtain, exposing his naked ass (and everything else) for the unsuspecting Slytherin prefect to see.

Kominato looks at him. “What? No, that’s not what I was getting at at all.”

Youichi lets his head fall back with relief. “Oh thank god,” he breathes.

“I was just suggesting you get naked now so that I could check you for scars.”

Youichi goes rigid. Of course, he thinks. He doesn’t actually have any objections; communal baths are a thing, first of all, so Youichi’s seen and been seen by plenty of his fellow dudes during his time here, and he knows from experience that the only thing that makes it awkward are the people who treat the situation like it should be.

Still, something about having his body inspected by Kominato feels leagues more intimate than intentionally avoiding eye contact with his peers in the bath. It’s just your fuckin’ gay ass being scared of boys again, lord. His conscience makes a guest appearance in the back of his mind, and Youichi aggressively suppresses it. Shut up, he thinks back, fully aware that he’s arguing with himself.

Kominato’s still waiting. Youichi sighs his frustration. “Alright, fine, here.” He shimmies out of his school robes and stands defiantly in his underwear before Kominato, staring back at him with a challenge in his eyes, hoping he looks more dignified than any man clad only in underwear has ever looked before. His confidence isn’t helped by Kominato’s snickering. “Would you just check already?!”

Kominato circles him slowly once. He steps in to pull at Youichi’s arms and turn them over, studying the skin with unparalleled scrutiny. There are a few nicks and burns from past fights and that one time he’d actually fought Miykui in a legit magical duel (and subsequently formed an uncontested friendship that withstood the strains of internal and external conflicts), but nothing big. Kominato nudges Youichi’s heel with his toes from behind, and Youichi widens his stance. His face burns a brilliant red when he feels Kominato’s hand on the back of his calf, and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to immediately leap away and cover himself with, like, thirty fur coats and a layer of cement.

It’s another minute before Kominato’s inspection is completely over and he steps back. Youichi tries not to look too frantic as he pulls his robes back on.

“Well, I certainly didn’t see anything remotely resembling claw or bite marks,” Kominato confesses, sounding unfairly composed. Youichi reminds himself that Kominato has no reason to be anything but composed, and neither does he. “I checked everywhere, except…”

It takes Youichi a second to realize what Kominato’s suggesting. When he does, he whirls around, the flush rising to his cheeks once again. “No way in hell am I taking off my pants for you!” He shouts.

Kominato laughs too easily. “I was kidding. Anyways–” Youichi can’t help but think he moves on too easily too. “–that proves my point. You don’t have any scars to suggest you were ever attacked by a werewolf. That’s three strikes, Kuramochi. You’re not a werewolf.”

Youichi frowns uncertainly. He’s reluctant to accept that so easily, after trying so hard to come to terms with his fate for this past month. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, but if what Kominato’s saying is true, then there really may be a way for him to get past all of this…

“Okay,” Youichi says slowly. “So if I’m not a werewolf, then why do I turn into a bloodthirsty murder machine every time the full moon hits?”

Kominato shakes his head. “I can’t answer that yet. But I think…” He trails off, lost to his thoughts. Youichi waits, but after a few seconds Kominato shows no signs of continuing.

“Think what?” Youichi prods.

Kominato blinks. “Sorry, what?”

“You said ‘I think’ then stopped talking.” Youichi says. “What do you think?”

Kominato shakes his head again. “Nothing. I forgot.” He brings a hand to his chin, considering. “I’ll have to think on this one. Meanwhile, we should get back to school.”

There’s a moment of panic in which Youichi desperately looks for some way to tell the time. Immediately, clocks of all sorts and sizes appear around the room, revealing that first call for breakfast hasn’t yet rung, and that the rest of the castle is most likely only just waking up as well. He sighs his relief.

“We can discuss things later. I want to get a head start on my Charms paper,” Kominato’s saying, checking over his bandage a final time before making for the door. “Don’t tell anyone about what happened,” he warns over his shoulder. “We don’t know who’s on our side. We don’t want the wrong person finding out what we’re doing.”

“Kominato-san!” Youichi calls out just as the other reaches for the door. He stops and looks back.

“What is it?” he says, his expression openly curious.

Youichi swallows back his embarrassment and goes for it. “I know you stayed with me all night,” he says, “even though you would’ve been safer in the infirmary, and probably would’ve slept better in your room.” Kominato’s hand seems to tense at that, but Youichi immediately excuses it to his own tendencies for psychoanalysis. “I really appreciate it,” he says sincerely. “Thank you.”

Kominato doesn’t respond immediately, and turns away before he does. Youichi can’t tell if the pink tint to his ears is embarrassment or just light reflecting off his hair. “Don’t misunderstand. It was just easier to stay put.” He turns the doorknob, then pauses to look over his shoulder one more time. “And Kuramochi,” he says.

Youichi perks up at the sound of his name. “Yeah?” he says.

Kominato smiles, that fixed, wry thing he wears like a mask every day Youichi sees him. “Just call me Ryousuke like everyone else.” And then he slips through the door, leaving Youichi standing alone in the Room of Requirement, unsure what he’s supposed to make of that invitation in light of all recent events.

–– ––

Ryousuke’s not sure how anyone can make a class as interesting as Defense Against the Dark Arts boring, but Professor Ochiai’s really outdone himself today. The whole period so far has been lecture with no actual practition which, normally, wouldn’t be so bad, if it hadn’t been exactly the same for the past week. Ochiai’s usually pretty hands-on when it comes to pushing his students, has even been known to go as far as exhibiting the Unforgivable Curses on organisms of lesser intelligence to show his class the dangers of abusing such powers, but for some reason, the topics of current discussion have no loopholes for him to slip through without potentially endangering his class.

“They’re called the Miracle Spells,” Ochiai drones on, addressing the papers projected as light images onto the wall. There’s a messy jumble of runes and side notes and casting diagrams that even Ryousuke has trouble making sense of through his hard-fought battle against exhaustion and boredom combined. It’s hard for him to pay attention after the chaos he’d been through last night, including the heart-stopping period of time during which he’d thought he too might become a werewolf. It’s not as difficult to give the appearance that nothing’s happened; his bandages are easily concealed by his robes’ long sleeves, and if anyone points out that he looks more tired than usual he can just excuse it to an all-night study session. Haruichi won’t be pleased, but it’s exponentially better than him discovering the alternative.

Ochiai says something about the spells being extremely lucky coincidences whenever they’re cast successfully. Ryousuke picks absently at the bandage. The next full moon sequence is during winter break, which means Kuramochi’s family will be getting a horrific surprise for the holidays if they can’t solve the problem in the next two nights, assuming whatever’s turning him into a wolf even follows the lunar calendar at all. It’s possible that these two instances are just coincidences, and that Kuramochi could spontaneously turn wolf at any given moment.

Ryousuke blinks slowly, considering all of the implications of this possibility. Then a thought occurs to him, and he nearly starts. Of course, he thinks. That makes so much sense, how could I not have realized?

It’s transfiguration. Somehow, someone’s managed to transfigure Kuramochi into a wolf every night of the full moon for two months in a row. If performed by someone else, Kuramochi would be transformed into a wolf and take on all the mental processes of a wolf, and have only a dreamlike recollection of the events that occur during the period of time in which he was transfigured.

It’s all so stupidly obvious, Ryousuke doesn’t know why he hadn’t thought of it before. The earlier disappearances weren’t just that guy’s idea of a cruel, practical joke–they were tests, tests for this sort of transfiguration that had somehow gone wrong and been rejected. And the reason why no further names had been sent to Ryousuke…

It’s because they’ve already learned what they need to, he realizes, something cold and dreadful yawning in the pit of his stomach. They got what they wanted out of Kuramochi. They’re planning something bigger than just tormenting the students. It’s all he can do to keep his face impassive. What have I done?

He takes an abrupt mental step back, internally shakes himself. Hold on a second. There are things that don’t add up. First of all, in every instance of transfiguration Ryousuke’s ever been witness to, the caster of the spell has always been within visual range of his target. Ryousuke and Kuramochi were the only people in the Room of Requirement last night, so unless either of them had accidentally performed something as complicated as human transfiguration without knowing, no one could have cast the spell.

For another thing, if it had been transfiguration, then Kuramochi would’ve maintained a similar mentality to a wolf. Contrary to popular belief, wolves aren’t especially bloodthirsty creatures, and most are inclined to leave humans alone. Werewolves enjoy an insatiable craving for human flesh, sure, but actual wolves don’t tend to fight a person alone unless they absolutely have to.

I’d argue that maybe Kuramochi felt endangered in both situations, Ryousuke thinks. But he kept after me all night, even after the cage was in place. It feels like a stretch, but one thing is certain: there’s more at play here than some faulty transfiguration.

“Kominato.” The sound of his name snaps Ryousuke out of his thoughts instantaneously, and he realizes he’s spaced out because he has no idea what the topic of conversation is. He doesn’t give any outward indication that he’s caught off guard, but he prays the question hasn’t been posed yet because there’s no way in hell he’s asking for Ochiai to repeat it.

“Yes,” Ryousuke says dutifully, taking the risk.

Ochiai’s ever-disinterested frown doesn’t waver. “Can you tell me why these spells are controversial?”

Ryousuke clears his throat. “Due to the… unreliable history of these types of spells, many historians doubt whether they work at all, or if they’re just extraneous magic that occurs in time with occasional serendipitous coincidence.”

There’s a beat of silence, a strained pause where Ochiai locks eyes with Ryousuke and weights his gaze with as much professional distaste as he can put into a look. Ryousuke’s smile doesn’t so much as twitch.

Ochiai doesn’t even try to mask his sigh and moves on. “Good enough, Kominato.” As if it wasn’t a near word-for-word recitation of the text they’d been expected to read (expected, maybe not actually, but at least told). “However, there’s more to it than that.” (Of course there is; Ochiai hates it when Ryousuke teaches his class for him. Ryousuke’s still not sure why Ochiai keeps calling on him; he hasn’t managed to catch him off guard once, and Ryousuke doubts he ever will.) “These spells were created in Italy, during the late 400s as the latin language started to evolve into other languages. A few traditionalist hippie witches who didn’t really like all the change decided to get together and create a bunch of spells to preserve their image of Rome. They ended up drinking too much wine and just sort of stuck idiomatic phrases with their intent and then ended up dying anyway, but then another wizard named Caudonis Brauts found their notes some hundred years later and mistook them for the writings of a locally famous witch named Adorjan Florrum. So he made a big deal about their history and the importance of preserving Florrum’s work and refined the spells himself, discovering that the implicatory nature of the spells left way too much to be determined and made them pretty much useless.”

Ochiai pauses for an unusually long amount of time, to the point that the class begins to shift uncomfortably. Eventually, some Hufflepuff near the front finally presses, “…So why are you teaching them to us?”

Ochiai looks him straight in the eyes and says, “Because I’m paid to.” Then, he moves around the lighttable and shuffles the order of the papers. Ryousuke exchanges a glance with Tanba on his right.

“The spells themselves have varying degrees of reliability,” Ochiai continues, as if he hadn’t just shattered the momentum of his own monologue to make a joke so poorly executed that nobody had laughed. “A few of them really are completely useless, but many of them also demonstrate historical evidence of having worked. A popular example would be something commonly known as the ‘Gambler’s Spell’, or ‘Auribus Teneo Lupum’.”

The meaning of the words takes a second to translate in Ryousuke’s head, but as soon as he recognizes it he sits forward in his chair, intrigued. “‘I hold the wolf by the ears?’” he asks, lacing his fingers.

Ochiai gives him the same sort of blandly disdained look he gives him every time he thinks about taking points away from Slytherin, like Ryousuke’s just asking for it. Ryousuke’s not sure what he did to make his head of house hate him enough to crave taking points away from his own house, but it certainly makes it all the more fun to test his limits when all the well-intentioned girls in his year leap to his defense. (It is, of course, both unneeded and futile, but it at least gives him something to hold over Jun’s head whenever he needs a direct way to put the Gryffindor in his place.) “Yes,” Ochiai says finally, after what must have been a painful five seconds of conflicted deliberation. “It’s a popular Ancient Roman proverb borrowed from the play Phormio that describes the particular circumstance of being in a situation in which both doing anything and doing nothing result in equally bad outcomes. The spell is intended to act as, in terms of the phrase, a metaphorical grace period to instantly separate you from the wolf without further repercussions.”

Murmuring picks up around the classroom, then falls to a hush when Ochiai calls on Tanba, who’s raised his hand.

Tanba straightens up a little, nervous at the way the room goes quiet. “Er, does that mean the spell can be used to get you out of a tough situation? Like, if you can’t find any way out, it gives you one?”

Ochiai nods and strokes his goatee. “Precisely. Five points to Hufflepuff.” One of the other Slytherins in the back of the room groans with unmasked frustration. Ryousuke doesn’t miss the glance Ochiai shoots him, but Ryousuke gives nothing away. “Auribus Teneo Lupum works like a sort of last-resort divine-intervention. It sounds really great, since it’s super pliable and works in pretty much any pinch you find yourself in, but it’s called the Gambler’s Spell for a reason.” He turns another one of the papers under the projector and points out a section of notes, originally in runes but partially translated halfway down. “For one thing, it takes an exceptional amount of magic to do right, more than any of you can probably reasonably generate at this age. For another, if you half-ass it, or don’t perform it right, it can backfire completely on you, and you’ll be worse off than you were before.”

Despite the clear meaning being “You’re better off forgetting this spell even exists and focusing on more practical applications of your merits,” Ryousuke’s mind is working double-time, caught up in the whole “works in pretty much any pinch you find yourself in” bit.

Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if this lesson itself is some form of divine intervention. The word wolf is even in the casting, he thinks with a private thrill, and it’s all he can do to remain externally impassive as Ochiai moves on with the lesson.

Finally, he’s got something to test with Kuramochi.

–– ––

“So let me get this straight,” Kuramochi says once Ryousuke’s done recounting his experience in Defense Against the Dark Arts earlier in the day. He’s got his head wedged between the bars of his prison, his arms hanging limp in front of him with his hands casually linked. Ryousuke’s not taking his chances this time; even if he’s almost completely certain now that Kuramochi isn’t a werewolf, it’s still really not fun to be nearly ripped apart by an enormous carnivorous predator. “You want to take a spell so notorious for never working it’s literally called the Gambler’s Spell, teach it to yourself from some half-translated runes you stole from your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor–who hates you, by the way–and try it on me knowing full well it’s almost one hundred percent likely to backfire on you and do something terrible?”

Ryousuke hums. “You forgot the part about it being invented by drunk Roman beatniks in the 400s, but essentially, yes.”

Kuramochi considers this and, after a moment, nods. “Honestly, I can’t say I’m not loving this whole dubious-ethics-and-quasi-illegal-magic side to you. Who knew that straight-O student Ryou-san had such a penchant for going against the grain.”

Ryousuke raises an eyebrow. “‘Ryou-san?’” he echoes curiously, hoping to get a rise out of the other. Kuramochi upturns his palms and shrugs.

“You had me bare-ass naked in a cage this morning, I think I’m allowed a nickname.”

“You tried to tear out my throat in a bloodthirsty rage the night before, I think I’m allowed a cage.”

Kuramochi huffs. “Well, if we’re gonna talk about accidents, you knocked me out with a bludger and gave me one of the biggest damn headaches of my life, and I’ve been playing with my Ma for like, years.” He presses as far as he can against the cage and points a finger at Ryousuke. “And let me tell you, she might be my Ma, but she doesn’t play easy.”

Ryousuke scoffs. “Yes, well, while I’m sure your childhood history of concussions has absolutely no bearing on your current status as barely keeping your grades high enough to be eligible for Quidditch, I’m afraid I’m going to have to redact your argument. You were the one who got in the way of the bludger. It was supposed to hit Tetsu.”

Youichi rolls over so his shoulder blades are pressed into the metal instead. “That’s right, I remember Jun-san yelling a warning to both of us at the same time. I thought it was funny, y’know, for the split-second I was awake to hear it.” He stretches his arms out in front of him, fingers still interlocked. “Why were you aiming for him anyway? He had the quaffle, I was after the snitch. Probably better strategy to go after me–not that I want to be hit by a bludger or anything,” he adds quickly.

Ryousuke’s hands still where they’re sifting through notes. The cold feeling’s closing in again, almost suffocating in the way it reminds him of everything he’s done and everything that’s probably going to happen because of what he’s done. There’s barely a hitch in his breath, and he manages to force movement into his hands once again, but he thinks Kuramochi’s caught on anyways, because there’s a shifting of fabric against metal somewhere behind him. “You came out of nowhere,” he forces out steadily. After months of this, he’s had good practice. “And it’s not always as easy, hitting someone moving so fast. I thought it’d be better strategy to go for Tetsu, that it’d be better chances.”

Kuramochi hums slowly. “And now here you are, setting up to gamble our lives away.”

Ryousuke puts what he’s holding down and turns around at that. Kuramochi looks unconvinced, which Ryousuke has to try not to wince at. It was a good lie, how did Kuramochi see through it? The best Ryousuke can do is stare intensely back, meeting the challenge in the other’s eyes with one of his own, daring Kuramochi to call him on it. But eventually, Kuramochi has to break first, pressing a hand to his forehead.

“I think I’m gonna go soon,” he says, squeezing his eyes shut. He looks pale, Ryousuke notices belatedly, and he turns back to the notes to read as much as he can with the peace he’s got left.

“I think I’ve almost got it,” Ryousuke assures him, waving his wand in a few eccentric circles to test the motion.

Kuramochi groans. “It’s really not fun, man. It feels like dying.”

Ryousuke frowns, but says nothing. Transfiguration can be uncomfortable, but it doesn’t usually feel like dying unless something’s going terribly wrong. Maybe it would be better to send him to the Ministry after all, now that we know it’s not lycanthropy. Ryousuke thinks, and immediately shoots the idea down. If they send Kuramochi to the Ministry, they might be able to track these incidents back to him, and Ryousuke’s worked too hard to let that happen now. He already can’t believe none of the others have incriminated him, especially now that both Tanba and Takako have recovered enough to return to school.

How could they, really? Some part of his unconscious presses. You’re good at covering your tracks. No one’s going to think to look for traces of a potion when the symptoms clearly point to juvenile transfiguration mishaps. Ryousuke shakes his head. No one’s invincible, especially not him. Sooner or later, this is going to catch up with him.

A sudden, violent rattling of the bars behind him saves Ryousuke from his spiraling thoughts, and he turns immediately to see Kuramochi bracing his back against the cage, clutching at his chest and trying to slow his breathing. His knees shake and bend, and slowly he sinks to the floor with another pained groan.

Something aches in Ryousuke’s chest at the sight, something sympathetic and annoying. He wants to push it away, to bury it deep with all the other guilt he’s keeping locked in the pit of his stomach, but it doesn’t quite fit the same. It’s sharper, somehow, and liquid hot, and so entirely unreasonable that Ryousuke can’t for the life of him put his finger on what it could be. As much as he wants to, he can’t look away as the transformation occurs again, as bones shift and elongate and skin gives way to dark fur and then those eyes, so brilliantly amber and definitively Kuramochi, cloud over with a film of undiluted hatred, and the wolf throws himself against the constraints of the cage in another useless effort to attack him.

Ryousuke swallows around the dryness in his throat and forces himself to ignore the vicious growling behind him as he finishes reading through the notes.

“Alright, Kuramochi,” he breathes with finality, picking up his wand. The wolf barks wildly, unrelenting and near-foaming at the mouth, clawing at him through the bars. Ryousuke sets his stance and readies his wand, focusing his intent to the forefront of his mind. “Let’s get this over with.”

–– ––

“I’m not exactly sure what you expected to happen,” Kuramochi sighs the next morning as he pulls on his clothes. Ryousuke has the decency to avert his eyes, difficult as the task is now that they’re located on either side of his head. He can only cluck indignantly in response and peck furiously at his wand for betraying him like this. He’s not sure what he was expecting either, but being transfigured into a rooster certainly wasn’t it.

Kuramochi finishes adjusting his robes and turns around. He crouches down to get closer to Ryousuke’s eye level. “Did this count as you transfiguring yourself? Is your mind still there, or am I just talking to a chicken?” Ryousuke screams in his face and batters Kuramochi with his wings. The gust created by this movement disrupts the mess of papers scattered along the floor. Kuramochi raises an arm to shield his face. “Alright, I got it, I got it!” Ryousuke crows again for good measure, then gives him the best rooster equivalent he can of the cold shoulder.

“Yeah, you’re Ryou-san alright,” Kuramochi mumbles. Without warning, Ryousuke finds himself lifted off the ground. He struggles against Kuramochi’s grip, writhing away insistently. Kuramochi holds on, one hand linked tightly around one of Ryousuke’s feet as he pushes him an arm’s length away. “Christ, calm down, Ryou-san!” Eventually, Ryousuke does stop fighting, but he gives Kuramochi the best one-eyed rooster glare he can manage. Kuramochi remains unfazed and unimpressed. He opens one of the folds of his school robes and holds Ryousuke up to his chest.

Realizing Kuramochi’s intent, Ryousuke leans back to stare up at him. You’re not serious.

Kuramochi growls in frustration, and not without some amusement does Ryousuke find it sounds strikingly like a dog. “Ryou-san, I need to take you to someone who can turn you back. Do you really want me to have to explain to someone in the halls why I’ve got a rooster this early in the morning?”

Ryousuke pecks once at Kuramochi’s chest. You make it sound like this would be more normal if it happened later in the day, he thinks.

Kuramochi, of course, can’t read his thoughts, and he sighs. “I can’t turn you back, I’m not that good at transfiguration. C’mon,” he urges, holding Ryousuke closer. “It’s not gonna kill you.”

Reluctantly, because he knows he reasonably doesn’t have any other choice, Ryousuke concedes and settles himself into Kuramochi’s robes. It must look hilarious, Kuramochi clutching a very obvious lump in his clothes as he hurries down the halls, but Ryousuke doesn’t have much time to laugh about it by the time he’s being smothered by fabric.

He chirps his protest but Kuramochi shushes him, bending down to pick up what Ryousuke can only assume is his wand. “You’ve gotta be quiet, man, or someone’s gonna catch us.”

It’s only his intense pride and sincere dislike of compromising said pride that keeps Ryousuke quiet during the blind journey to wherever Kuramochi’s taking him. It hadn’t occurred to him to ask who they were going to see–not that it would’ve mattered, him being a bird and all–and now he’s growing suspicious about Kuramochi’s withholding the information in the first place.

Using the spell had proven, obviously, a mistake. The first few times Ryousuke’d tried to cast it, nothing had even happened, and he’d grown quickly frustrated. Eventually, his wand had responded–by flipping the desk Ryousuke’s papers were set on. He’d persevered though, even when the spell vanished the cage containing Kuramochi and Ryousuke’d had to call the room frantically for another one. He’d been forced to stop hours later when finally, after multiple failed attempts and various spontaneous consequences, the spell had backfired with a sense of poetic justice, and transfigured Ryousuke into the flightless form he now finds himself in.

The trip progresses with multiple delays. Ryousuke can feel every sharp intake of breath Kuramochi takes when he sees a ghost or a teacher in a hallway and he has to duck down a few side paths, and wonders vaguely to himself why Kuramochi didn’t just ask the room for a door leading to wherever he needs it to go.

Finally, just as Ryousuke’s not sure he can take being stuck in Kuramochi’s armpit any longer, he’s blinded by the light of freedom and fills his chicken lungs with fresh air. Careful hands set him down on a hard surface while he blinks himself into focus.

“You’re kidding.”

Ryousuke crows in alarm at the sound of Miyuki’s voice. Of all the people he could have chosen. Any lingering vestige of sympathy for Kuramochi’s situation evaporates, and Ryousuke makes to walk off the table.

“I’m not,” Kuramochi assures him as he picks Ryousuke up and places him further back on the table without so much as glancing his way. “Please, Miyuki. If I go to anyone in Gryffindor with this, Sawamura’d find out, and you know why we can’t have that.”

Miyuki bends down eye-level with Ryousuke, who stands as tall as he can. Being this small doesn’t really help his already-sore-spot for height. “This is really Ryousuke-san?” he asks doubtfully. In response, Ryousuke bats him in the face with his wing, skewing his glasses. “Ow! Okay, message received.” He looks at Kuramochi suspiciously. “How’d this happen, anyway?”

Dread fills Ryousuke as he realizes he’s completely dependent on Kuramochi not to fuck this one up for them. He clucks pointlessly anyway, if only to convey the significance Kuramochi’s answer will hold on the progression of their sessions together. Fortunately, Kuramochi’s not as dumb as Ryousuke’d pegged him, or he somehow speaks rooster, because he jumps to find an excuse. “It was my fault,” he says immediately, surprising Ryousuke. “You know how I’m failing Transfiguration right now.” Miyuki nods. He does. “Okay so, I was practicing in one of the classrooms after dinner, because I didn’t think anyone would be there. Then Ryousuke showed up, or maybe he was already there? I don’t know, Miyuki, but you know I wouldn’t be asking you unless I absolutely needed to, so seriously just fix him, please.”

Miyuki holds up his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, alright, I got it.” Ryousuke’s impressed. Kuramochi just managed to lie his way past Miyuki, one of the most dangerously perceptual people Ryousuke’s ever met in his life. His acting wasn’t half bad, either. Maybe he’s really not as dumb as I pegged him, Ryousuke thinks. Maybe he’ll be able to rely on that in the future.

They set Ryousuke on the floor, because growing to his actual size might be an unnecessary stress on the already derelict coffee table in the Slytherin commons. Ryousuke’s not sure how Kuramochi got in here; Miyuki probably gave him the password at some point. Ryousuke’ll have to get on to him for that later.

Miyuki points his wand at Ryousuke and utters, “Reparifarge.” The tip of his wand glows faintly. Miyuki’s face twists into something frustrated, and the tip glows brighter. Finally, Ryousuke feels the effects of untransfiguration taking hold on him, and he holds his breath as he grows back into his normal body. He doesn’t let it go until he feels his form stabilize, and he looks down to see he’s been successfully changed back to normal.

He nods curtly at Miyuki. “Thanks,” he says in a voice clipped on formality. Miyuki shrugs and takes a step back. Ryousuke glances over at Kuramochi and, deciding it would be best to keep up appearances in this situations, chops him hard over the head.

Kuramochi flinches back and grabs his head. “Dude, the hell?!” he exclaims.

Ryousuke gives him his sharpest smile. “That’s for smuggling me in your armpit. Please shower as soon as you find it possible.” He then nods to Miyuki a final time and makes for the stairs. “If you’ll excuse me,” he says as he passes.

He’s got a lot to think about.

–– ––

The next night, unfortunately, doesn’t offer anything better. Ryousuke doesn’t transfigure himself again, but he does fill the room with smoke at some point and then catch the drapes on fire immediately after. It’s a Friday night, so he works straight through until morning to no avail.

“Not sure if I should be grateful or concerned that I’m getting used to waking up like this,” Kuramochi says as he tugs on his clothes. Ryousuke snorts, and Kuramochi gives him a wolfish sort of grin. They part ways with an agreement to meet up later and discuss. Ryousuke makes a beeline for the Slytherin dorms and is out before he even hits the mattress.

One doesn’t come out of an experience like this unchanged. For Ryousuke, he finds he’s strangely intrigued by Kuramochi Youichi, in the sense that he finds himself staring after him more often than not and remembers, oddly enough, the sound of Kuramochi’s heartbeat in his ears more vividly than he recalls the stench of his underarms. He must have some newfound respect for the other, borne from his unexpectedly quick thinking in clutch situations and even more surprising sensitivity to social cues. He’s dangerous, in that way; Ryousuke’d be better off avoiding him, especially with all the uncertainty surrounding his current situation.

Instead, he finds himself agreeing when Kuramochi asks him on a date to Hogsmeade.

It’s not worded quite like a date; rather, Kuramochi suggests they try looking for clues around town, and Ryousuke can’t possibly refuse and risk Kuramochi actually stumbling onto something. (He can use that excuse to save himself some pride, but not in front of people like Miyuki Kazuya who have no reason to suspect Ryousuke’s got ulterior motives. So, in that respect, he supposes he must resign himself to calling it a date.)

So that weekend’s trip to Hogsmeade finds them in each other’s company, drifting from shop to shop with less focus on snooping out criminals and more focus on, for some reason, trying to be not-awkward as they figure out where they’re going to go.

They eventually squeeze into one of the corner tables of a crowded inn and order some drinks. To Ryousuke’s great amusement, Kuramochi’s quick to shoot down the alcoholic menu offered by the waitress, declaring they’re underage loud enough for the next table over to hear. Ryousuke manages to hold off his laughter until she disappears into the sea of people, but that doesn’t make Kuramochi’s face turn any less red.

“What?!” he demands, crossing his arms. “It’s true!”

Ryousuke collects himself enough to respond. “You just look so much like the type to take advantage of an establishment that doesn’t card you,” he says.

Kuramochi growls and leans forward, bracing an elbow against the table and pointing his thumb back at himself. “Oi, my Ma didn’t raise me to be a liar, or to break the law.”

A cruel smile curls at Ryousuke’s lips. “Infractions of public etiquette notwithstanding?”

Kuramochi scowls. “If you’re talking about getting into fights, that was a phase. ‘Sides, those assholes transferred back to Japan anyways. That’s all behind me.”

Ryousuke shrugs. “Whatever you say, Kuramochi.”

The waitress stops by with their drinks and light bar food not much later. Kuramochi asks Ryousuke about his plans for winter break.

“Me?” he says thoughtfully. “Well… I’ll be going home with Haruichi, of course. Aside from that, I don’t have anything planned.”

Kuramochi hums. “You’re from Kanagawa, right? That’s right next to Chiba.” He grins and leans forward excitedly, eyes bright. “Maybe we can hang out or something!”

Ryousuke makes a thoughtful sound. “Maybe.” Probably not. Ryousuke has far more planned than a casual visit to home, and it doesn’t leave him much room for hanging out. He knows that guy’s going to try to contact him, and he’d rather not be with Kuramochi of all people when that happens.

Before they can delve further into plans for break, Ryousuke switches the topic. “What about you?” he says. “How are you going to explain ‘going wolf’ to your family?”

Kuramochi laughs sheepishly and scratches at the back of his head. Ryousuke knows he hasn’t told them yet; he hadn’t wanted them to pull him from school during that first month, when he’d thought he was a werewolf. He’s kept it a secret even now though, because there’s no other definitive reason for his transformations that Kuramochi can easily describe. The last thing they want is for the press to get involved; Kuramochi for the flurry of attention he’d receive, and Ryousuke for the retaliation he’d inevitably find himself on one end of, one way or the other.

“You still haven’t thought of anything?” Ryousuke accuses bluntly. Kuramochi winces.

“Hey, it’s not that easy getting away from my Ma, much less her old man. Gramps has the eyes of a hawk–literally. I think he’s an animagus, but I’ve never caught him in the transformation. Besides,” he adds. “It’s not like I can just run off into the woods and trust myself not to somehow end up killing someone.”

Ryousuke shrugs. “If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll end up at the pound.”

Kuramochi starts. “You don’t think that could actually happen, do you?!”

Ryousuke shrugs. “Anything’s possible, but as vicious as you get I doubt they’d try for detainment. Chances are you’d be shot by the police before you did any real damage.”

Kuramochi cocks his head. “The hell are police?”

Ryousuke’s shoulders go tense, and he immediately forces himself to relax. Calm down, he scolds himself. You’re not some first year anymore. Nobody’s out to get you.

“Muggle law enforcement,” Ryousuke explains. He sighs with false exasperation. “Honestly, some of you all-wizarding families really are just too isolated.”

Kuramochi harrumphs at that. “We’re not isolated, we live in an apartment building.” he defends. “It’s just an apartment building in an all-magical area. There’re spells ‘n shit up to make sure muggles don’t wander in.”

It takes him a second to notice the look Ryousuke’s giving him. His shoulders cave a little and he looks away. “Okay, so maybe we’re isolated, but in my defense it’s much safer for wizarding families to live in muggle-free pockets like that.”

Ryousuke rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Whatever you say.”

Kuramochi sits back in his seat. He traces the curve of the handle on his mug absently with his index finger, waiting for the hot chocolate to cool down. “So…” he says. “You’re muggle-born, then?” He grins to himself. “Kind of surprising that–”

“That what?” Ryousuke interjects immediately, startling both Kuramochi and himself. “That a muggle-born can be a Slytherin, or a straight-O student?”

There’s a beat of silence, in which Ryousuke scrutinizes Kuramochi and Kuramochi holds his breath. Internally, Ryousuke berates himself for getting so defensive. After seven years, he thought he was past this.

Kuramochi holds up his hands, not in defense, but in a placating gesture, like he’s talking down an aggravated animal. “That’s… not what I was going to say at all,” he says honestly. Ryousuke digs his thumb discretely into his knee and wishes he could go back in time as Kuramochi continues. “I was gonna say it’s surprising that both you and Haruichi turned out to be wizards, if both your parents’re muggles.”

Ryousuke caves slightly, pressing the tense line of his spin into the back of his chair. Kuramochi studies him quietly, as if deciding whether he should say anything. In the end, Ryousuke saves him the trouble.

“Sorry,” he grates out, because he is, but that doesn’t make it any easier to say. “In my first few years, the upperclassmen harassed me a lot, because I was the only Slytherin muggle-born.” he explains. He doesn’t meet Kuramochi’s eyes. “When Haruichi came too, I had to make sure nobody would call him that, and that he’d never see anyone call me that.”

Kuramochi makes a sound like understanding, as if he’s just now putting long-forgotten pieces of an old puzzle together. “That’s why you were such a prick back then,” Kuramochi says.

Ryousuke has to make a conscious effort not to let the vein throbbing at his temple overtake him. “Well, when you’re eleven and feel the need to prove yourself, you can get a little carried away.”

Kuramochi doesn’t laugh at that like Ryousuke expects him to. Instead, he leans forward and locks eyes with him, and says, “Ryou-san, you’ve never had anything you needed to prove,” in the most unabashed, earnest way Ryousuke’s ever heard a person speak.

He’s not sure how to respond to it at first, and he feels heat creeping up his neck like a warning to look away. But he can’t; his eyes are locked with Kuramochi’s in some silent exchange, like a conversation only they will ever be privy to communicated completely with one look. Ryousuke doesn’t know what to make of it.

Eventually, Kuramochi blinks and seems to come to his senses. His face goes beet red. “Well, uh, of course,” he stammers, looking anywhere but Ryousuke. Ryousuke sits back in his seat. When did I start to lean in? “I didn’t know you that well. Hell, I didn’t even know people were bothering you. I totally would’a punched em’ back then if I had!”

Ryousuke gathers himself to offer a smirk at that. “That’s right, you were quite the delinquent back then.”

Kuramochi becomes a stuttering mess after that, and Ryousuke doesn’t miss a single opportunity to stir up memories of his embarrassing days as an underclassman. Some time later, they pay, and Ryousuke covers the bill because “My parents are practically loaded, don’t worry about it.” Even if it’s not one hundred percent true, and even if Ryousuke only insists because there’s something warm still sitting curled in his chest, he doesn’t mind at all.

All in all, it’s a pretty successful not-first-date.

–– ––

A couple weeks later, Ryousuke wakes up on the couch in his living room at around two o’clock in the morning with a bad taste in his mouth. Realizing he must’ve fallen asleep in the late afternoon and been left behind by a mother too unwilling to wake him up to do anything about it, he sits up slowly, running a hand down his face like he can wipe his weariness away with that single motion. After a few seconds of looking around and wondering whether it’s worth it to head to his room, he stands and makes his way down the hall to the bathroom, deciding at the very least he should get rid of this awful taste.

He’s halfway through brushing his teeth when his reflection in the mirror ripples. He freezes. Blinks. Did that actually…? Or am I just…? Then it ripples again, and he quickly spits the toothpaste into the sink.

“Yo, Kominato!” Someone’s shouting at him, but the sound of it is tinny and far-off. Nevertheless, the voice sends a shiver down his spine–he’d recognize it anywhere.

“What do you want, Narumiya?” he demands quietly. The mirror’s image warps completely, and suddenly there are two figures reflected against its surface, neither of which is his own. Narumiya looks comically small next to Harada’s looming frame, but he still manages to come off as the more intimidating of the two. It’s something about his eyes, electric blue and flashing even in the dim light of the bathroom late at night. Ryousuke frowns. He hates those eyes.

Narumiya sneers. “Whatever, you could at least pretend you’re happy to see us.”

Ryousuke scoffs and folds his arms. “With everything you’ve done to me? You say that like it’s plausible.”

Narumiya waves his hand dismissively. “Yeah, okay, anyways.” His face splits into that awful smile, self-assured to the point of cocky and as condescending as he can make it. “We’re moving past that. All that stuff was child’s play next to what we’ve got coming, and Kunitomo says you’re gonna be the star of the show.”

Ryousuke finds it in himself to laugh. “What a thing to hear from you, of all people. You weren’t good enough for his master plan?”

Narumiya’s smile falls into a scowl so quickly, Ryousuke imagines he’s hit a physical switch. “Fuck you, I’ve got my own shit to do.” He looks up as Harada rests a hand on his shoulder. They share a glance, and with it plenty of unspoken words, and then Narumiya clears his throat. “Whatever. Masa-san’s better at explaining, he’ll tell you what you need.”

That suits Ryousuke just fine. Harada’s the more reasonable of the two by a mile. Ryousuke imagines, if Harada hadn’t been caught in Kunitomo’s web himself, they might’ve gotten along well. As it stands, however, Ryousuke wants nothing to do with either of them.

Harada clears his throat. “Kunitomo’s changing gears.” he starts. Narumiya huffs haughtily beside him, but goes ignored. “He’s not just interested in throwing Kataoka’s disfigured students back at him anymore. He’s got a bigger plan taking place, and he wants you to be part of it.”

“I refuse.”

The words are out of Ryousuke’s mouth before Harada’s even finished his sentence. Harada raises an eyebrow, but it’s Narumiya who goes off on him.

“You have no right!” he shouts, leaning in. Ryousuke imagines he’d reach right through the mirror to grab him by the collar of his shirt, if he could. “Remember what happens if you don’t obey; we’ve already got the hex on him, all Kunitomo has to do is activate it and he’s ours.” His eyes flash. “It’s that easy.”

Ryousuke stares him down, but it’s not easy. He tries to keep the tremor of his hands still by bracing them against the sink as he leans in, but he’s still tense. Narumiya smiles, because he knows Ryousuke would never actually go against them if he’s still in the crossfire. Frustration wells up in Ryousuke’s throat like acid; he’s never felt this trapped.

“What… exactly are you going to have me do?” he asks carefully through gritted teeth, unable to hold his ground any longer.

Narumiya folds his arms. “Can’t say, yet. Kunitomo doesn’t want it getting out, y’know, on the unlikely chance that you do decide to betray us.”

It’s only years of constant self-discipline that enable Ryousuke to resist the intense impulse to slam his fist into the pane of glass between them. “You tell me what he wants or I swear–”

“You swear what, Kominato?” Narumiya interjects, his voice dripping with venomous contempt. “Because if you so much as give him a reason to doubt you, you know what he’ll do. And you’ll be next in line, you and your little wolf boy.” Ryousuke’s eyes widen a fraction, but it’s enough to betray him. Narumiya laughs. “You thought we didn’t know? We’ve got tabs on you almost all the time! But don’t worry,” his voice lowers conspiratorially. “We know you’re just keeping an eye on him to make sure he doesn’t figure you out. Though I have to admit, your little date to Hogsmeade was pretty fun to watch!” His smile twists into a sneer. “Who knew the famous Kominato Ryousuke was a mudblood? Did you, Masa-san?” He twists his head up to look at his partner, who stares disinterestedly back. Narumiya shrugs. “Well, that’s what you get at Hogwarts, I guess. A melting pot for all the rejects. Bottom of the barrel, the lot of you.”

The smile Ryousuke fixes onto his face is unconvincing, he knows, but it’s all he can do to give himself some semblance of control over the situation. “You’re spending an awful lot of time planning your grand attack on this ‘reject melting pot’; it must kill you to know you’re wasting your time on the likes of us.”

Narumiya scoffs. “I just follow orders. Doesn’t matter who the target is–if it’s what Kunitomo wants, it’s what Inashiro gets.” He glances up at Harada. “Come on, Masa-san. We don’t need to waste oxygen on him.”

Narumiya leaves the frame, but Harada lingers, watching Ryousuke with an unreadable expression. After a few seconds of silence, he says, “Don’t defect, Ryousuke. Narumiya can be harsh, but he’s not kidding when he says Kunitomo would kill him.”

Ryousuke sighs tiredly and shakes his head. “I won’t. I couldn’t. You all know I could never let anything happen to Haruichi.” He hesitates, then shakes his head again and backs away from the mirror. “Whatever. I know you’re all just caught up in a bad situation too. I’ll do what I have to. Just let me have the holiday, at least.”

He doesn’t know when he sank to begging. Probably somewhere between the time he found Haruichi unconscious outside the Forbidden Forest nearly a year ago and the day Narumiya appeared to him in person to recite Kunitomo’s threat. Since then he’s been bound to a contract of tireless labor on Inashiro’s behalf, forced to work as their man on the inside while Kunitomo holds the threat of Haruichi’s well-being over his head like a human life has ever been something to be toyed with.

Harada doesn’t judge though; they’re all in the same boat, really, either born into the belief that what Inashiro does is right or tricked and blackmailed into doing its dirty work. The only reason they’re even after Hogwarts in the first place is because of Kataoka. Kataoka’s family is, according to what unreliable recollection Narumiya’s given him, head of a rival group called Seidou. They’re both Japan-based magic organizations with ties to the underworld that the Headmaster’s been trying to shake for years. There’s some stupid story about Kataoka ruining Kunitomo’s life somehow that’s never really made much sense to Ryousuke anyway, but he tries not to get into the politics of it. Just does what he’s asked and hopes that one day, it’ll be enough.

“…Alright,” Harada says finally, pulling Ryousuke from his thoughts. “We’ll contact you later.” And then the mirror ripples, and all that’s left on its surface is the haunting image of Ryousuke’s own reflection, staring back at him with empty eyes.

As soon as he finds a way out of this, he’s going to give them hell.

–– ––

When school picks up again in the second semester, Youichi expects a lot of things. He expects the whispering, he expects the Hufflepuffs’ reluctance to play Gryffindor in another Quidditch match; he even expects the way Professor Oota doesn’t seem to know how to handle having a ‘werewolf’ as a student, torn between his own fear and his duty as a teacher to make sure every student is treated equally. None of that’s different, none of it’s changed.

What Youichi doesn’t expect is for Ryousuke to start avoiding him like the plague.

It starts off with a few missed meetings and easy excuses about Ryousuke needing to make up a test or something. Youichi’s suspicious, but he decides it’s best not to pry. That is, until Ryousuke starts disappearing during mealtimes and ignoring Youichi’s owls and making himself so scarce that even Haruichi doesn’t know where he is half the time.

It’s hard for him not to take it personally–it’s not just Youichi that Ryousuke’s avoiding, after all–but after all the time they’ve spent together keeping Youichi’s secret and working to find who cursed him, it’s hard for him to imagine that Ryousuke can’t trust him with something.

When he tries talking to Miyuki about it, Miyuki just shrugs.

“Ryousuke’s a complicated guy,” he excuses lamely over lunch. “He doesn’t trust anyone really–not completely, anyway. Give him time, he’ll get over himself and come find you eventually.”

It’s not enough for Youichi. He’s learned enough about Ryousuke by now to tell that he’s not the type to come crawling back asking for forgiveness. Luckily for him, Youichi’s not someone who’ll hold a grudge without knowing the full story, so he sets to work on his new quest to Catch Ryousuke and Make Him Talk.

He’s not allowed in the Slytherin commons anymore (the whole rooster fiasco really didn’t help sway Ryousuke’s decision to officially ban him), so he tries waiting outside the entrance. When people start filing complaints about it to the prefects he hopes Ryousuke will be forced to confront him, but all he gets instead is some angry Slytherin girl who chases him off (multiple times) with a broom.

Giving up on that, he tries searching other places: the library, the Slytherin table in the Main Hall–he even tries walking Ryousuke’s schedule to catch him between periods, but only ever just catches a flash of pink in his peripheries before the halls swallow him up once again.

Finally, he thinks to check the Room of Requirement. After walking back and forth three times and thinking only that he needs to see Ryousuke, the door appears and he tries the handle. Locked. That’s new. Youichi takes a step back to contemplate the meaning of this.

Maybe I didn’t think hard enough? He wonders. No, that’s not it. Ryousuke must be inside, he realizes, and be in need of privacy.

Annoying, Youichi decides. But at least I know where he is. All that’s left to do is wait.

This proves problematic too once curfew falls and ghosts start roaming the halls like glow-in-the-dark law enforcement. Youichi tries the door again in vain, then makes a mad dash down an adjoining hallway, only narrowly avoiding Peeves. When the picture frame slams shut behind him, the Fat Lady makes an indignant noise, and Masuko and Sawamura startle where they’re sitting alone playing some muggle card game. They give him an odd look. He shrugs and heads up the stairs.

The next several days host the same results; the door’s either locked or the room is empty, and Youichi’s beginning to get nervous. What if Ryousuke doesn’t want anything to do with him anymore? What if he’s trying to give Youichi a hint that he’s done helping him, and now he just thinks Youichi’s too dumb to pick up on it?

What if Youichi has to spend the next full moon alone?

It’s only a few days before said full moon when the door opens and Youichi finds it isn’t empty. He’s caught off guard; he had something planned, some furious storm of words he was going to hurl at Ryousuke like javelins while he marched into the room and demanded what was going on, but after so many days waiting outside the door and expecting no one to be inside once it finally opened, he’s forgotten all of it and just sort of feels awkward.

Ryousuke, however, looks perfectly calm. Youichi can’t tell at all by looking at his face whether he’d meant for Youichi to come in or if he’d forgotten to lock the door or whatever. Something about his impassive expression pisses Youichi off, and he finds the words that had eluded him.

“Where the hell have you been?” he demands, straightening his shoulders and trying his best to look angry. He’s irritated, yeah, but there’s no real passion behind it. He hates to admit it, but there’s a significant part of him that’s been concerned. Ryousuke hadn’t looked too excited about heading home for the holidays the last time they’d spoken, and he’d quickly changed the subject the moment Youichi’d suggested they hang out without outright shooting him down. It occurs to Youichi that he knows very little about Ryousuke’s home life, except that his family is all muggles aside from Haruichi. (He has to wonder, then, if there are muggle families that aren’t okay with their children being magic, that only send their kids to magic schools to try and forget that they exist.)

Ryousuke’s smile looks brittle where it’s fixed on his face, probably only held together by habit and necessity. His hands are linked tightly behind his back in a deceitfully clever gesture of confidence. The telltale, barely-there cave of his shoulders completely defeats it though, and Youichi decides that whatever it is that Ryousuke knows he’s guilty of, it’s something he’s not too proud about.

“I was wondering when you’d come, Kuramochi.” He laughs. It’s so weak, so un-Ryousuke-like that it grates in Youichi’s ears and he nearly flinches at the sound of it.

He growls instead. “Like hell you were–you locked me out!” He shapes it into an accusation, but his irritation just sits in his throat, unprovoked and waiting to turn into something that can choke him.

Ryousuke gives him a tense shrug in response. “I hadn’t noticed,” he dismisses.

Youichi’s hands curl into fists at his sides, and there it is. The first adrenaline-shock of anger, real anger, tingling in his fingertips and narrowing his vision. He finds the words he’d forgotten earlier, kicked into place by the lie at Ryousuke’s lips.

“What the hell, Ryou-san?!” He explodes. His feet find the energy to march forward, and soon he stands face to face with the other. For the first time since they’ve met, despite Ryousuke’s diminutive stature, Youichi really feels like he’s looking down at him. “I don’t know what you’re trying to pull here–if this is some, some shit about your family, or if something happened over break or if you’re just sick of me or, or whatever–but you can’t keep fucking avoiding it! I’ve been looking for you all week and I finally find you and you say you were ‘wondering when I’d come’? That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Ryousuke at least has the decency to let go of that smile. Somehow, his expressionless face looks even worse. “I don’t believe it was ever in my job description to detail the history of my day to you,” he says, his demeanor suddenly becoming cold.

Youichi grits his teeth. “That’s not the point. And don’t call it your ‘job description’ like talking to me is a chore, I know for a fact you’re not that cold-blooded.” Ryousuke frowns, but Youichi goes on. “It’s been months, Ryou-san, I at least thought we were friends by now.”

Ryousuke hesitates, but his expression doesn’t change. Finally, he breaks eye contact and looks away. “Then you thought wrong,” he replies quietly.

An angry sound rips itself from Youichi’s throat in his frustration, and he looks for something to kick. Finding nothing, he shoves at the air with his foot and fists his hair in his hands. “Oh my god, you’re such a bad liar sometimes!” That clearly wasn’t the response Ryousuke was expecting, because he looks up too quickly to mask the surprise on his face. “How can you just–just stand there and say those things like you think I’d actually believe them? You’re just trying to get rid of me, I can see that clearly enough, but if you think I’m gonna just turn around and walk out that door because you feed me some B.S. about never being friends then you’re so wrong I could laugh.”

Ryousuke bristles at that, and for the first time it looks like he’s really lost control of the situation. “If you’re so aware of my intentions then why do you even look for me?” He practically spits the words like they’re poison on his tongue.

“‘Cause I see how shifty you get when I thank you for things!” Youichi leans in like physical proximity alone can help impress his point. Ryousuke’s eyes widen, and Youichi takes this as a sign that he’s struck on something. “Every time, you get tense, or you freeze up and you look like you think something terrible’s about to happen, and you think I don’t even notice! I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause I know how to mind my own business but then you turn around and pull this shit and I’m concerned, okay?”

Ryousuke shakes his head, runs his fingers through his hair in distress. “I don’t know what you want from me, Kuramochi.”

“I just want the truth!”

A sound like a bell ringing cuts through their argument like a guillotine. Confused, they fall immediately silent, blinking at each other and then around the room. Suddenly, and right as Youichi remembers where they are and all the implications that holds, a mirror manifests itself to Ryousuke’s left.

Youichi squints. He pauses only a moment before stepping closer. “What the…” It’s the same mirror Ryousuke’d been looking in the day Youichi first walked in on him. The mahogany designs twist and curl up the sides of the frame, imitations of plant life meeting to corners and folding together like wicker at the ends. The oddest thing about the mirror, though, is that when he stands in front of it, Youichi finds there’s no image of him reflected back. It’s just Ryousuke, staring frozen into his own eyes like he’s haunted by what he sees. Then his eyes go dark, and his face twists up into a likeness of rage Youichi’s never imagined he’d see on someone so composed, and he raises his hand in an abrupt, violent motion.

And instantly, the mirror shatters, and the glass falls like a sheet of rain to the floor.

Youichi whirls around, startled. Ryousuke stands hunched over like he’s been punched in the stomach, his arm straining towards the mirror in a way that makes Youichi afraid his shoulder might disengage from its socket. His face is shocked to pale where it’d been flushed and angry moments before, and the corners of his mouth tremble like he’s holding back a gasp. Youichi’s not sure if he should be more confused or terrified but in that moment, the first thing that comes to mind is concern.

“Ryou-san?” he asks cautiously. He can’t help the undercurrent of horror that darkens the word, and he swallows to try and clear it from his voice.

Whatever spell that’s holding him in place seems to break at that, and Ryousuke stumbles backwards, burying his face in his hands. He falls back into a wall and braces himself against it, shaking his head furiously and seemingly unable to breathe a sound.

Youichi follows after him hastily and crouches beside him as he slides to the floor. His hands are trembling as he digs his fingertips against his scalp, like there’s a tension just beneath the bone that’s splitting at his skin.

“It’s the mirrors.”

Ryousuke says it so quietly, Youichi almost misses it. He shoots a look back at the empty frame, the glass glittering like diamond fragments over the floor. He looks back at Ryousuke.

“Ryou-san, I–I don’t understand–”

“It’s the mirrors, Kuramochi.” Ryousuke’s voice is incredibly firm, Youichi thinks, considering the state he’s in. When Ryousuke looks up it’s to glare at him; not angry, but insistent, like he needs Youichi to comprehend the full weight of what he’s saying or he’ll never be able to come back to himself. With everything he’s got, Youichi tries. “That’s how they follow me. In every bathroom, every store window hell–even the lake; they watch me to make sure I don’t do anything wrong and there’s no escape from it.”

Cold horror twists in Youichi’s chest and trickles down to pool in the pit of his stomach. He looks around but, as is usually the case during his times here with Ryousuke, there are no windows, nor any other reflective surface he can think of. Youichi always thought he just liked the privacy; he’d never imagined to what extent.

Youichi leans in, but it’s not to intimidate this time. He rests one hand on Ryousuke’s knee and, hesitating only for a second, takes his hand with the other. Ryousuke’s face is already hardening over again, and Youichi doesn’t want him to shut down and shut him out before he can get the whole truth.

“Who’s watching you, Ryou-san?” he asks shakily. It’s too much terrifying information for him to be able to compose himself, and he’s got a sour, creeping feeling he already knows who it is.

Ryousuke holds his breath like that’ll somehow help him steady it. Youichi’s not an expert on talking a person down from a panicked state like this, but he’s pretty sure that’s not how it’s supposed to go. He squeezes Ryousuke’s hand to remind him he’s there and assures him there aren’t any mirrors around to see him. Ryousuke squeezes back, but it’s only after Youichi asks him again that he answers.

“The people who did this to you,” he says, seeming to find his voice again, but all the self-assurance in the world can’t make up for the way Youichi’s stomach drops at the sound of those words. “They… threatened to hurt Haruichi, if I ever told anyone about this. They said they’d torture him and kill him if I ever…” He trails off, most likely unable to finish the sentence and keep himself together all at once. He lets go of Youichi’s hand, and Youichi sits back on his heels, letting his hand slide off the other’s knee. The loss of contact feels like a severed connection.

“So that’s why…” he breathes, the pieces falling together slowly in his mind. He sits all the way back onto the ground and stares at his feet. That’s why Ryousuke accepted his proposal in the first place; it wasn’t about impressing the Ministry, or making up for the bludger, or even being Youichi’s friend–it was about keeping an eye on him while he tried to expose the people who cursed him.

And now, Ryousuke’d been trying to distance himself because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to keep the secret much longer if he didn’t. That really backfired, Youichi thinks wryly.

But Youichi can’t blame him, either. Hell, they could threaten someone random like Sawamura and Youichi imagines he’d still be tongue-tied; he can’t imagine what it’s like for Ryousuke, who’s got an unrelenting duty to protect his younger brother, to be trapped in this situation.

Youichi finds it in him to laugh. “Talk about holding a wolf by the ears,” he jokes, and Ryousuke looks at him strangely. Youichi can see the unformed question in his eyes: You’re not mad?

Youichi shakes his head. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, keeping this a secret for so long.” he says. He nudges his foot against Ryousuke’s, reconnecting. “I’d never blame you for doing what you had to. You’re protecting Haruichi, and that’s more important than petty revenge.”

Ryousuke ducks his head again. It takes a long moment for Youichi to notice he’s smiling. Youichi scoots closer to sit next to him and reaches out to hold the other’s hand loosely with his own. Ryousuke snorts.

“You’re really too trusting for your own good, you know that?”

Youichi grins. “It’s what makes me so awesome,” he insists. He leans in close, trying to see past the fall of Ryousuke’s hair and into his eyes. “Now c’mon,” he tugs lightly on the other’s arm to get him to look up. “You can’t expect me to listen to that whole thing and do nothing about it. Now that we know how they’re spying on you…” Ryousuke raises his eyebrows, but his smile doesn’t disappear. “Let’s show ‘em what happens when you fuck with Kominato Ryousuke.”

–– ––

They use that evening to start planning; once Ryousuke pulls himself together (and Kuramochi, thankfully, doesn’t make so much as a comment about any of it), he becomes aware of the significant weight that’s been lifted from his chest. He hadn’t realized how suffocating his secret truly was, with the way it built on top of itself for so much time. There’s still the bit of him that’s guilty about not telling Kuramochi he was the one who lured the kids into the forest, but it’s so insignificant he doubts it’s even worth mentioning. Better to let things be while he’s still got Kuramochi on his side.

(He doesn’t know what he’d do without him.)

Truly though, he feels lighter than he’s felt in months. It’s like someone’s finally let go of the rubber band holding his secrets in place, but instead of the rejection he’d expected the backlash is just this weird, elated feeling of giddiness that he’s trying to contain but can’t help but let seep through into the way he holds himself: his shoulders tense, but not with fear; his attention spacing a little if he’s left to his thoughts for too long; his hand brushing Kuramochi’s just a bit too often to be entirely coincidental.

(It’s the relief of it, he tells himself, that’s got him acting this way. He’s truly not paying attention at all to the way Kuramochi hardly seems to mind.)

They spend the next two nights like this. Their plan is to wait for the weekend, which is risky for its timing, given the full moon, but since the Quidditch match that Saturday morning will be between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw (and perhaps only a little because Ryousuke’s worried about what might happen if they wait too long), it’s the best opportunity they’ve got.

Ryousuke spends a lot of time warning Kuramochi about how dangerous their plan is.

“Not just for Haruichi,” he adds when Kuramochi barely looks up from the map of the forest the room’s provided for them. “Inashiro’s got a lot of powerful wizards and witches that even I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of. The last thing we want is for them to catch us.”

Kuramochi nods along, tracing an invisible trail with his finger. “I got it, Ryou-san, but you don’t have to worry. We’re just dropping in to see what’s happening. In and out, real quick.” He looks up finally to meet Ryousuke’s eyes, and vaguely Ryousuke can’t help but admire how they shine even in the dim lighting of the room. When he smiles, it makes something in Ryousuke’s chest twist. “And don’t worry,” he reassures him in a softer voice. “Our plan’s perfect. There’s no way they’ll be able to track anything back to you even if we do get caught.”

Ryousuke decides to believe him. He still can’t tell if that’s a good idea or a brash decision but (rather brashly,) he decides he doesn’t really mind. It’s what he wants to believe, and Kuramochi’s doing a better job at convincing him that what he wants matters by the day. With Ryousuke’s secret gone the barrier between them vanishes too, rendered unnecessary, and within no time at all Ryousuke discovers that holding hands is not something he particularly minds.

When Saturday comes, he thinks they’re ready.

–– ––

“It’s so wild that you can hear them all the way from here,” Youichi says as they pick their way around the edge of the forest. Rin the owl makes a dumb sound where he’s perched on Ryousuke’s shoulder, staring suspiciously down at the disguised face of his master as if owls don’t have the kind of senses required to sort out who’s who. (Youichi’s not sure if this one does, or if he’ll even be able to do the job he’s here for; should all else fail and they do end up captured, Ryousuke’s instructed Rin to deliver a letter straight to the headmaster describing the details of their situation. Rin, however, either doesn’t recognize Ryousuke or is distracted by his hatred for Youichi, because he mostly looks like he’s ignoring them at this point. When Ryousuke explains that his owl is extremely gay, things don’t become any less confusing.) The sharp sound of foliage snapping underfoot doesn’t disrupt the birds chittering in the trees, but it does seem to have Ryousuke on edge enough to throw a look over his shoulder. His best efforts for standing fearless are giving way under the pressure of months of conditioned anxiety. He’s got his best passive expression on, but having transfigured himself into the likeness of Miyuki Kazuya really makes it difficult for Youichi to see anything the same.

(Ryousuke’d insisted it was the most convincing disguise he could conjure. Youichi’d scoffed and made a joke about Ryousuke staring so much he could mentally construct Miyuki’s image with ease, to which Ryousuke’d said, “Why not? He’s not considered the most attractive player on the team for no reason, after all.” Youichi’s reaction isn’t something he’s proud to remember, something along the lines of stuttering and blushing and too much of a smile on Ryousuke’s part for it to have really been a serious statement at all.)

Getting to know Ryousuke these past weeks has been like something out of a dream for Youichi. To think it all started with a bludger that wasn’t even aimed at him… Youichi can’t help but think (privately) that it’s all too serendipitous to be real. He never expected he’d be wrapped into a revenge mission of this caliber when he first asked Ryousuke for help. He wonders if maybe getting his memories back wouldn’t have been such a bad idea, in the long run, then immediately shakes the thought. Whatever he’s been through, however easier it would have been to fast-forward to the end when he’s already got all the answers–he’d still rather have taken the time to get to know Ryousuke like this.

Well. Maybe not quite like this.

“Hold on,” Ryousuke commands suddenly, grabbing Youichi by the back of his school robes and pulling him back as he takes a step into the treeline. Youichi manages to catch himself before he falls, but he still shoots Ryousuke a questioning look as he turns to face him.

Ryousuke’s watching the trees with an unreadable expression, his eyes scanning for something Youichi can’t guess at. Ryousuke’s told him what they’ll be facing: there’s a point in the forest that all the kids are drawn to, a sort of portkey enchanted to lure them in once they’re cursed. How they’re cursed, Ryousuke says he doesn’t know, but after they’re transported to wherever it is they go Inashiro steps in, does its experiments, and then cuts the kid loose to fend for his or herself on the Hogwarts grounds. Youichi shudders. He remembers that part well enough.

“What is it?” he asks, eyes searching for whatever it is Ryousuke might have seen.

Ryousuke hesitates, then looks up at him. “Don’t suppose you’re having second thoughts, are you?”

Youichi snorts. “No, but if you are I don’t mind accommodating.”

Ryousuke huffs a short-tempered sound and turns away, nose turned up in that Ryousuke-esque way of his. “Of course not,” he declares. “Some kind of ridiculous accusation, is this what I get for being considerate?”

Youichi laughs and takes his hand, to Rin the owl’s great dismay. “Yeah, okay tough guy, let’s just get this over with.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, Youichi quickly extracts his hand. “I’m sorry dude, it’s just too weird to do that when you’re wearing his face.”

Ryousuke’s soft laughter sounds so, so horribly wrong coming out of Miyuki’s mouth.

–– ––

An hour into their search, Youichi’s over it.

“Ryou-san,” he groans, “I understand the tactical advantages to bringing an owl, but did it have to be him?”

Ryousuke’s not exactly having the easiest time with Rin either. The barn owl has his shoulder in a vice grip, staring with wide eyes at Miyuki’s face like he still hasn’t put together what’s going on. Every now and then he’ll headbutt Ryousuke like he thinks that might shake him back into his own skin, and then screams with confusion when it doesn’t. He’s a major risk to their cover, and the added fact that he keeps shooting Youichi the dirtiest looks an owl has ever shot anyone doesn’t exactly get him many charm points.

Currently, he’s flapping his wings like he’s trying to carry Ryousuke away. Ryousuke sighs exasperatedly and holds Rin as far away from his body as he can. Rin’s head spins and he shrieks. “Honestly, I didn’t imagine he would be this ridiculous,” Ryousuke insists, but Youichi can tell he’s been regretting this decision since the moment they stepped past the treeline. All the same, Rin’s a familiar presence, and Youichi imagines it’s comforting for Ryousuke to have him around, even if he’d never say so out loud.

Which doesn’t make him any less of a problem.

“You oughtta send him back,” he says uncertainly. “At this point, he’s doing more harm than good.”

Ryousuke snorts. “You know, I would, if he’d let go of me.” He tries to pry of Rin’s talons, but they just sink deeper into his arm and he winces.

Just then, Youichi thinks he sees something move in the trees in front of them. He grabs Ryousuke’s free arm and stutters into character. “R-Miyuki,” he says, the word rolling awkwardly off his tongue as it tries to take the shape of the other’s actual name.

Ryousuke responds smoothly, immediately taking the hint and giving his best Miyuki Kazuya impression. “What?” he asks, appearing distracted by the owl on his arm but no doubt fully attuned to his environment. “Did you finally see that damn cat?”

Cover story, right. Youichi remembers. “I dunno,” he says, squinting into the bushes. “Coulda been, but it looked a little big. Might’a been a dog or something. Didn’t Chris say there were wolves in here?”

Every line of Ryousuke’s body is tense, and Rin goes still. Youichi feels a little panicked, realizing he’s not nearly as nervous and wondering if he should be. He’s got the luxury of not knowing the full weight of what they’re up against, no matter how many time’s Ryousuke’s tried to impress it upon him. For the first time, he wonders if they really could be walking to their deaths.

Nothing else moves for a while, but Youichi’s certain that whatever it was is still there. Like a sixth sense, he can feel it watching them, knows that if they step away in any direction it could be on them in a heartbeat. Ryousuke, incredibly, maintains character.

“Well,” he sighs, finally looking away from his bird. “Might as well check.” He takes a step towards the bushes and kneels, though his head is angled up. “Here, kitty kitty…” If the situation wasn’t so tense, Youichi would’ve laughed his ass off at the sight of Miyuki patting around for a nonexistent cat on his hands and knees while the barn owl settles into a new space at the top of his spine.

“Imagine my surprise seeing you here, Miyuki Kazuya.”

Ryousuke freezes instantly, and Youichi’s only thought as the red-headed kid steps out of the trees is Oh my god, we’re fucked.

–– ––

Ryousuke sucks in his breath at the sound of Shirakawa’s voice. They know each other?! He thinks, panicked. What the hell is Miyuki doing, associating with Inashiro?

He has to think of a plan, and fast. He’s unwittingly stepped into a situation where just putting up the charade of being a slightly bigger, more obnoxious asshole isn’t going to get him very far. He lacks background, has no idea what Miyuki knows about these people or what they know about him, and the worst part of it all, he realizes, is that he’s stupidly brought his own owl along for the ride. As if Rin’s mental deficiency isn’t identifier enough.

He stands, though, because he can’t sit there staring dumbly forever. He has to at least try. “Shirakawa,” he says with a masterful mixture of aloofness and familiarity. “The hell are you doing in the middle of the woods?”

A cold smile curls at Shirakawa’s lips and doesn’t reach anywhere close to his eyes. “Shouldn’t you know, Miyuki?” he says. The sound of his voice creeps like fog, and Ryousuke has to make a physical effort not to stiffen. “You are the conduit, after all.”

The conduit? Ryousuke keeps his face impassive, but his thoughts are jumbling now, pieces of a puzzle he thought he’d finished falling apart and making room for new ones. “…Right,” he says carefully.

Shirakawa shrugs, his eyes flicking over to Kuramochi, who remains shocked to silence just behind Ryousuke. “But then of course,” he says as his face falls flat again, and Ryousuke almost misses his not-smile. “You wouldn’t know, now would you?” He locks eyes with Ryousuke again. “‘Ryou-san’?”

Ryousuke tenses, but initial shock gives way to grim acceptance and he immediately goes for his wand. Shirakawa’s faster, though, and with a flick of his wrist Ryousuke’s wand is thrown from his hands. The burst of light from the spell startles Rin off his shoulder, and before Ryousuke can give him orders he flies shrieking off into the forest. Ryousuke clicks his tongue. So much for that plan.

With surprising speed, Kuramochi disarms Shirakawa before the other can get to him. Ryousuke goes to pick up his want as Kuramochi keeps his primed at Shirakawa, and Shirakawa raises his hands. The apathetic look on his face, however, is far from how he should look with a stranger’s wand pointed at his throat.

“I wouldn’t do that, If I were you,” he warns passively, and a quick flick of his eyes over Kuramochi’s shoulder is all the warning any of them have before a bolt of light strikes Kuramochi in the small of his back.

He doesn’t make a sound as he goes down, his legs crumpling beneath him like someone’s kicked him in the backs of his knees. Ryousuke has just enough self-restraint to keep himself from calling out, from shouting Kuramochi’s name even as the horror that rises in his throat at the sight nearly chokes him. He grits his teeth instead, determined to keep face while he’s in front of the enemy.

When Carlos steps out of the trees, he’s not even surprised. Carlos’ eyebrows shoot up at the sight of him though, and he looks over at Shirakawa.

“Why are we fighting him?” he asks, glancing between the two of them like it might help him find what he’s missing here.

Shirakawa rolls his eyes. “It’s Kominato, you idiot, he’s just transfigured himself to look like Miyuki.”

Carlos gives a quiet “ohh,” of realization, then trains his wand on Ryousuke. Ryousuke raises his own, but as they face off the stalemate Shirakawa moves to pick up his own wand with a sigh.

“I’d think carefully, Kominato,” he warns, and Ryousuke tenses. On the ground, Kuramochi groans softly, but the fleeting thought of He’s alive isn’t enough to bring Ryousuke relief. “You’re already in hot water, coming out here like this. You haven’t actually done anything yet, but I’m sure Mei’s just jumping at the chance to find you at fault.” He wipes dirt from his wand between the fabric of his robes, taking his time. “You don’t want anything to happen to your precious brother, do you?”

Ryousuke’s jaw clenches. “You leave him out of this,” he demands coldly. Trying to stand taller works better in Miyuki’s body, but it’s still unusual and a little bit off-putting. He’s sure his smile looks incredibly strange when put together by the other’s features. “You all are cowards if you can’t take me on without your trump card hanging over my head.”

Shirakawa remains unimpressed. “On the contrary, Kominato,” he sighs, holding out his wand for examination. “I’d say it makes us rather bold.” He flicks his wand experimentally and a few sparks flicker out. Then, he finally looks up and meets Ryousuke’s eyes, and the disdain buried there is so apparent it makes his skin crawl. “You do know he’s been bluffing the whole time, right?”

Ryousuke goes still.

“Bluffing?” he breathes. The word feels brittle on his tongue. He lowers his wand as his arms go numb, then his legs, and then the cavity of his chest feels like it’s filling with water and suddenly he’s drowning in every horrible thing he’s ever done. Every time he’d look in the mirror and be met with Narumiya’s glinting blue eyes, every foot-in-the-door moment leading up to the first potion he’d made and dropped in Chris’s drink during some Ravenclaw’s birthday party. The images of him and Tanba and Takako all horribly disfigured as they’re sent to recover at the Ministry’s Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, of the single letter they’d received from Chris that assured them he would never be quite the same. Kuramochi’s clever affliction, the one that’s not quite lycanthropy but might as well be worse, because there isn’t even a way for him to keep his mind for those nights. All the people he’s lied to, all the times Haruichi noticed something and demanded to know what was going on, all the nights Ryousuke’d stayed up and wondered if everyone would be safer if he just disappeared from it all and the only thing that pulled him through until morning was the desperate hope that someday, it would all be over and he’d find a way out of this.

And it was all a bluff.

Which means…

Shirakawa gives a humorless laugh. “Of course you wouldn’t know; there’s no way you would go along with our plan if you did.” Now he’s aiming his wand at Ryousuke too, but Ryousuke hardly notices. His mind is working overtime, now that the weight of the true threat has been lifted from his shoulders.

I’ve ruined so much, he knows, his grip bone-white around the slender cherrywood length of his wand as he raises it again. I fucked up pretty bad. He opens his mouth and the words take shape in his mind. But that means there’s nothing else for me to lose here. Shirakawa and Carlos are moving now, talking over him, faster, but it’s all slow motion to Ryousuke. They don’t have Haruichi. That’s enough for me.

Carlos’ spell hits first. It’s not deadly, Ryousuke knows, but it’ll be enough to knock him out. Still, as long as they don’t have Haruichi, Ryousuke’s got a chance. I’ll tear them apart if I have to, he decides as the world goes dark. Or I’ll die trying.

–– ––

Kazuya has no trouble getting into Quidditch matches that don’t involve his own team. The same is true for many people, of course, but Kazuya imagines they don’t dedicate themselves as religiously to analysis as he does.

He’s currently completely invested in the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw match–he always enjoys a good rivalry, even if it’s not the infamous Gryffindor-Slytherin one–so it’s something of a serendipitous novelty that he looks up at all, even more so that he looks up when he does.

A white streak is diving from the sky directly towards him. Kazuya has just enough time to suck in a breath of surprise as it collides painfully into his face with a high-pitched, screaming sound not unlike a tea kettle.

The object explodes into feathers as Kazuya is thrown forcefully back against the bench behind him. The people around him shout with surprise as they scramble to get out of the way. Kominato Jr. hovers cautiously nearby with Furuya over his shoulder, nervously assessing the situation.

“Miyuki-senpai, are you alright?” he asks carefully.

The object, now identified as a raging owl, is clinging to his robes and beating its wings relentlessly, screaming insistently into his face.

Miyuki covers his face with his arms and discreetly fixes the set of his glasses on his nose. “Just get it off, geez!”

Kominato reaches out to try help but flinches back as the owl’s powerful wings buffet his hand. Furuya, unthinking, or perhaps just thinking rather stupidly, reaches out with both hands and a blank expression to try and pin the owl’s wings to its sides. When the owl is further enraged by his fruitless attempts, he pulls back with a dull, surprised sound that doesn’t quite match the total apathy on his face.

“Wait a second,” Kominato says as onlookers begin to crowd around to observe the spectacle. The bird is now headbutting Kazuya repeatedly and staring at him with wide eyes, and Kazuya gets the strange feeling that he’s slowly recognizing this animal. “Is that… Rin-chan?!”

At the sound of his name, the owl’s head spins a complete one-hundred-and-eighty degrees around. He chirps happily and hops over to Kominato, releasing Kazuya without a second thought.

Kazuya sits up slowly, wincing at the sharp pain in his upper back where he’d collided with the bench. “Ryousuke’s owl?” he asks. “The hell is it coming at me for?”

Kominato raises the owl so he can check its legs. “There’s a scroll tied to his foot,” he realizes, quickly slipping the piece of parchment from the string holding it to Rin’s leg. Rin shakes himself and looks back over at Kazuya. He tilts his head sideways and moves to jump on him again, but Kominato manages to get a hold of his foot before he can. Rin struggles, but Kominato ignores him in favor of the letter. “It’s addressed to Professor Kataoka,” he says.

Kazuya and Furuya lean in to see, Kazuya raising an arm to shield himself from Rin’s barrage of headbutts. The crowd around them is starting to murmur, but doesn’t come any closer.

Sure enough, the parchment has Kataoka’s name on it, bright and clear in deep red ink. “Rin-chan,” Kominato sighs at the owl, bringing him to eye-level. “Why did you bring this letter to Miyuki-senpai?” He shakes his head. “Why Aniki keeps an owl that can’t do its job around is beyond me.”

“Well,” Kazuya says, snatching the note from Kominato’s hands. “If Rin-chan thinks it’s for me, I think I at least deserve to read it.” He unravels the parchment before Kominato’s protest is fully out of his mouth and scans it with a scrutinizing eye. As the contents of the letter begin to come together, though, Kazuya’s mischief falls away, giving in to the weight of grim realization of what’s going on. He closes the letter immediately as he finishes it and stands abruptly, scanning the crowd for Kataoka. He spots him across the stadium where he always sits, between Oota and Takashima with Ochiai standing bitterly off to the side. Kazuya takes starts pushing his way towards the isle, ignoring the annoyed protests of the people he pushes past.

“Miyuki-senpai!” Kominato calls after him, and then he and Furuya are following close behind him. “What’s going on? What did Aniki say?”

Breaking out into the isle, Kazuya takes the stairs down the stands two at a time. “Ryousuke’s in deep shit,” he mutters to himself.

“What?” Haruichi calls.

“I said Ryousuke-san’s having some trouble. I’m gonna go tell the Headmaster about it.”

Kominato finally manages to pull him aside once they make it to the open space under the stands. He and Furuya stare at him expectantly (or at least, as expectantly as Furuya ever stares at anyone), and Kazuya sighs.

“Look, your brother and Kuramochi have gotten into a mix-up with some bad people.” At the look of fright on Kominato’s face, he raises his hands placatingly, taking on an authoritative, steadying tone that even he’s surprised to hear come out of his mouth. “I’m gonna go tell Kataoka and we’re gonna help him out. It’s no big deal–you stay here and we’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

Kazuya can’t see Kominato’s eyes behind the fall of his hair, but somehow, he gets the impression that they’re blazing. “We’re coming with you,” he says. Despite having been volunteered out of nowhere, Furuya makes no motion to suggest he’d protest.

Kazuya shakes his head. “No way, are you kidding? Do you have any idea what your brother would do to me if he knew I knowingly let you into a dangerous situation?” The mere thought of it sends a collective shiver down everyone’s spines. “Besides, shouldn’t you be like, I don’t know, babysitting Sawamura?”

Kominato frowns at the implication, but his voice is un-accusing when he replies. “Eijun-kun doesn’t like to come to matches that he’s not playing in,” he explains. “He’s not a fan of watching Quidditch, only playing it.”

Kazuya shrugs. “Whatever. Just don’t follow us. I know you want to help, but this is something you really shouldn’t involve yourselves in.” And then he’s off with the letter in hand, leaving Kominato and Furuya behind, exchanging a determined glance that he doesn’t see.

–– ––

“You told him?!”

Narumiya’s voice is piercing enough to split through the blinding darkness of Ryousuke’s unconscious and pull him back into the waking world. He stays still, though, and keeps his eyes shut, relying on his other senses to tell him where he is.

There’s a sound that’s distinctly like Shirakawa scoffing (Ryousuke’s heard it enough to know), and the way it rebounds off the walls tells Ryousuke he’s in an enclosed space. “As if it really would have mattered. You act like you don’t love the idea of torturing him to get him to do it.”

Ryousuke’s sitting, he realizes, in a chair with his hands tied. He can’t be sure if his wand’s with him, but he imagines not, if Narumiya’s got any brain about him at all. He thinks he must be back in his own body too, because he no longer feels unbalanced or weighed down by Miyuki’s longer limbs.

His head’s clearer now after the heat of the moment. He’s only slightly embarrassed by the way he’d been caught up in his emotions–from here on out, he can focus on fixing the situation.

There’s the sound of something crashing to the floor, likely the collateral of one of Narumiya’s tantrums. Ryousuke cracks an eye open, just enough to see vague shapes and colors through the darkness. Narumiya’s blonde head stands out like a beacon, but there are two other people that Ryousuke guesses must be Shirakawa and Carlos. “Fucking! Doesn’t mean you just–blow our leverage! You’re lucky I had a backup in case you screwed this up.”

Ryousuke can practically hear Shirakawa roll his eyes. “Get over yourself, Mei. Kunitomo didn’t put you in charge.”

“He should have,” Narumiya harrumphs. “At least then we wouldn’t have asshats like you two running off and screwing the whole plan over!”

Shirakawa starts forward, his icy demeanor fractured by Narumiya’s relentless nagging, but is held back by Carlos, who lays a firm hand on his shoulder. “Cut it out you two,” he says. “Our guest is waking up.”

Ryousuke’s not even surprised–Carlos, while not the shrewdest of the group, has always caught onto things quickly. He finds a smile curling readily at his lips, and he raises his head without hesitation.

“I’m impressed,” he says sarcastically. “You managed to keep your clothes on this whole time.”

Carlos frowns at him, but Narumiya’s already pushing his way into the center of attention.

“Kominato, glad you could join us!” he jeers. His bad mood doesn’t vanish (Narumiya’s not so good an actor that he can flip a switch or throw on a mask), just takes a new shape as his verbal abuse turns onto a different target. “Now that someone–” He throws a dirty look over his shoulder at Shirakawa, who rolls his eyes again. “–has exposed our secret, I’ve gone through the liberty of personally ensuring your participation.” His eyes flash cold despite the dim light, and Ryousuke raises his eyebrows, unimpressed. He feels more at ease now that the only one at risk is him, feels more comfortable slipping into his usual self. (It doesn’t make his skin crawl any less with any less disgust at the sight of the Inashiro tattoos printed bare on each of their forearms, a shock of red ink outlining a serpent baring its fangs, but it does give him back his baseline defenses, and the change is astronomical.) “I don’t suppose you’re thinking of changing your mind any time soon?”

Ryousuke sits back in his chair, and oh does he relish in the way he can finally look down on them. “I can think of nothing else I would rather do less,” he says.

Narumiya glares at him. “Yeah, whatever, I figured you’d say something like that.” He nods at Carlos, who acquiesces without complaint while Shirakawa folds his arms and moves to open a door off to Ryousuke’s right. The old wood creaks on rusted hinges, and just as Ryousuke’s eyes widen in realization, a scream pierces the air and there, in the closet, sits Haruichi.

The bruise blooming across his face is even more pronounced than the desperation painted there, and old blood flakes at his cheeks where it meets with grimy tear tracks long-since run dry. His hands and ankles are bound so tight Ryousuke can see an angry rash rising against the flesh where the ropes chafe against him. His hair parts just over one eye, so expressive and full of pain that despite his best efforts it still tugs at Ryousuke’s heart.

He laughs, softly.

“A boggart?” he asks, incredulous, even as the figment of Haruichi cries out for him. “Surely you’re aware I’ve faced these before?” He can’t cross his arms, but he imagines tilting his head back further gives a similar effect. “You’re going to have to do better than that.”

Narumiya scowls. Clearly, he’d hoped the shock of it would make Ryousuke fall for it. (As much as he hates Ochiai, Ryousuke has to admit he’s grateful in that moment for the two weeks the class had dedicated to overcoming boggarts those couple years ago.) “Either way,” he replies hotly, shooting the boggart a bitter look. “You can’t sit here wandless and listen to your little brother scream. Even you can’t handle that forever.”

He’s right about that, Ryousuke can admit to himself, but Narumiya’s unwittingly given away one key piece of his gambling bit. Ryousuke smiles. “I won’t have to,” he reasons. “Everyone knows there’s a boggart in the closet of one of the old, unused storage rooms in the Hogwarts dungeons. You’re hiding me in plain sight, and that won’t last forever. I just have to hold out for a few hours at most for someone to come looking.”

Narumiya’s grimace twists even deeper, and before he can get ahold of his temper he’s raising his wand at Ryousuke and spitting, “Crucio!” with all the vehemence he can fit into three syllables.

Ryousuke’s back arches off the chair as blinding pain consumes him, the impact of the spell pushing all the air out of his lungs so all he can do is choke on a soundless shout of agony. It’s as if his blood has been replaced by magma, as if every nerve of his being has been lit on fire, as if someone has taken a thousand knives and simultaneously raked them over his skin the same way his mother peels potatoes, and he has no more ability for cohesive thought. The world narrows to only this curse and this pain, until Ryousuke’s sure he’ll never feel anything but this ever again.

As soon as it’s started, it’s over, with Carlos intervening angrily with Narumiya’s brash actions. Ryousuke sucks in a breath like he’s been drowning, feels no shame even as he fights for composure. Distantly, he becomes aware of someone yelling, and Haruichi’s voice, still there, still calling out for him even though he knows it’s not him. Damn, he thinks. That’s one way to do it.

Eventually he does come back to himself, his senses regaining cohesive existence all at once, and he becomes aware of Narumiya talking to him.

“…go crazy, like that. Sooner or later, Kominato, you’re gonna give in.”

Ryousuke manages a smile, and the fact that it’s not even fake thrills him. “Don’t get so full of yourself,” he breathes. “Those spells are easy. Anyone can break the law.”

Narumiya’s eyes are stone cold as he says, “Yeah, but I’m not afraid to actually do it.” And he turns on his heel and follows Shirakawa and Carlos out of the room, leaving Ryousuke to himself with the boggart in the closet.

After a few minutes of nothing but sobbing and screaming from the Haruichi-look-alike, Ryousuke sighs. “Well, enough with all of that.” He whispers a quick counterspell and the ropes (magically conjured like he’d guessed) fall from his hands and ankles where they’d bound him to the chair legs. His knees shake slightly as he stands but he catches himself on the side of a nearby table, then reaches out to slam the door in the boggart’s face. The screaming goes silent, and Ryousuke turns away.

“Now.” He clears his throat. “I certainly hope they left my wand nearby, because that would make my life so much easier.”

–– ––

“…ramochi…Kuramochi!”

A smack to the face brings Youichi back to the land of the living, and he looks wildly around immediately ready to punch the offender. Sadly, it turns out his arms are bound to his sides by some yet-unseen force, and he is unfortunately unable to kick the smug look off of Miyuki Kazuya’s face.

“The hell, Miyuki?!” he shouts, kicking out with his unbound feet. He realizes, slowly, that he must be tied to a tree, and that someone’s probably stuck him here with an Incarcerous spell. “Is this some kind of a prank? Because you can’t do the same shit twice, it’s just not funny!”

“Kuramochi, I’m not pranking you.” It takes him a moment to realize the look on Miyuki’s face isn’t smug at all. It’s serious, and offers the vaguest flash of concern behind his thick-ass lenses, and it’s all so out of place that it immediately shocks Youichi’s memories back into him, and he stops kicking at Miyuki at once.

“Holy shit,” Youichi mutters, and then he starts fighting at the bindings with renewed vigor. “Holy shit, Ryou-san! Those bastards got us, where’s–”

“Kuramochi,” Miyuki cuts in again. His voice is strangely steely, and it’s really not doing anything to put Youichi at ease right now. “Ryousuke’s not here. Do you know where they took him?”

Youichi shakes his head. “No, they got me first, I was already down…” He slows to a stop, eying Miyuki suspiciously. “Wait… how do you know what’s going on?”

Miyuki breaks eye contact, setting to work on the ropes holding Youichi down as an excuse. “Ryousuke’s dumbass bird attacked me in the stands,” he explains, pulling fruitlessly at the bindings. Realizing they must have been magically enhanced, he tugs his wand free of his robes. “I got his letter to Kataoka as fast as I could, and we decided to split up to come after you and Kunitomo.”

He mumbles a spell and, after a couple of tries the ropes finally give and Youichi falls flat on his face. “Ow,” he grumbles, but for once, Miyuki’s helping him up. Youichi side-eyes him. “Who is this Kunitomo guy, anyway?” he wonders.

“Bad news,” Miyuki says bluntly. “I’ll tell you more on the way, but basically just think of it like the magical world’s yakuza.”

“The fuck is the yakuza? And where the hell are we going?”

“How can you literally be from Japan and not know what the Yakuza are?”

“Well how do you? Muggles and magic don’t usually mix! And you didn’t answer my question!”

Miyuki sighs exasperatedly and pushes Youichi forward through the trees. “Dad’s a muggle, remember? And we’re going to save your boyfriend,” he sneers. Youichi’s face goes red, but before he can decide whether he wants to deny it Miyuki pushes him forward again. “Now move your yankii ass, for crying out loud.”

All of Youichi’s stuttering efforts at protest after that just look silly, so in the end he shuts up and follows.

–– ––

“Alright,” Eijun yell-whispers, eyes narrowed and keenly determined. “Everyone ready to start Operation Rescue Onii-San, put your hands in.”

Haruichi sweats. “Eijun-kun,” he protests softly. “I really don’t think there’s need for this.” Furuya doesn’t so much as move to humor him, just sits there disinterestedly while Eijun sputters insistently. Haruichi, at least, caves for the sole interest of getting after his brother as soon as possible. After a few seconds of Eijun grabbing Furuya by the wrist and trying to force his hand into the circle, Haruichi clears his throat. “Furuya-kun, please.” Furuya acquiesces reluctantly.

Eijun beams. “Alright! Now that we’re all in,” he beams over at Haruichi. “Harucchi, what’s the plan?”

Haruichi sighs. Maybe Miyuki-senpai is right, he thinks, I really do seem to babysit Eijun-kun. “Well, we’re sort of going in blind here,” he admits, turning to face the foreboding line of trees that looms over them. “But I managed to read some of the note over Miyuki-senpai’s shoulder, and it looks like Aniki and Kuramochi-san are going to be somewhere in the woods.” He brings a finger to his chin thoughtfully and scans the trees. “Though, I’m not sure where exactly we should start.”

Eijun brings a fist down into his open palm with a sudden idea. “I know!” he exclaims. “Harucchi, you can use that dowsing trick we learned in Divination! You’re the only one who could ever do it right, so it has to be you!”

Haruichi suppresses a sigh. “No need to convince me, Eijun-kun,” he says, and he pats his robes, looking for his wand.

Just as he finds it, he feels a hand fall surprisingly light on his shoulder, and he looks up. Furuya points off to the left, down the edge of the trees.

“Look,” he says emotionlessly. “It’s Kuramochi and Miyuki-senpai.”

Sure enough, there are Miyuki and Kuramochi, pushing their way out of the forest and stumbling into the open only about a hundred meters away. Relief floods Haruichi at once, but is immediately followed by worry as soon as he realizes Ryousuke isn’t following them.

“Let’s go talk to them,” Haruichi says as he starts jogging in their direction, unable to keep his concern out of his voice.

Miyuki looks up before Kuramochi does, and the surprise in his face quickly gives way to irritation as he recognizes them. “Kominato,” he says sternly. “I thought I told you and Furuya to stay behind.” Eijun’s shouting protests at being ignored stay ignored.

Kuramochi’s eyes widen at the sight of them. “Shit, Haruichi?!” he gapes, and Haruichi flushes slightly at the other’s use of his first name. “Are they luring you into the woods now?” Kuramochi rushes forward and grabs him by the shoulders, trying to stare into his (unseen) eyes. “Thank god Furuya and Bakamura came to stop you, they’re gonna hold you for ransom over Ryou-san’s head!”

Haruichi blinks. “Eh?” he says, then shakes his head. “N-no, Kuramochi-san, no one’s luring me, I’m–we came to look for you and Aniki.”

Kuramochi’s expression shrinks into something confused, and Miyuki lays a heavy hand on his shoulder to pull him back from Haruichi, much to Haruichi’s private relief.

“Get ahold of yourself, Kuramochi,” Miyuki sighs. Kuramochi shoots him a glare. Miyuki ignores him in favor of turning his sharp-eyed scrutiny on the three underclassmen. “Kominato… you three shouldn’t be here. Kuramochi says Inashiro’s been threatening you to get Ryousuke-san to do what they want. If you’re here, that might really put him in danger.”

Haruichi frowns. “Threatening me? That’s…” he shakes his head, firmly getting rid of any excess information. All of it can be dealt with when this is over. “Where’s Aniki?” he demands instead, his face hardening into something determined.

Kuramochi looks away, but it’s Miyuki who speaks up, his face stony and unchanging. “We don’t know,” he admits. “But I doubt he’s still in the forest. Mei could’ve taken him anywhere, by now.”

Eijun speaks up before Haruichi can. “Harucchi can find him!” he declares proudly. Haruichi’s not sure how Eijun can maintain such a positive disposition when the situation is clearly falling apart. “He’s the best at dowsing, he’ll find where Onii-san is!”

Miyuki raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?” he says, some of his incredulity breaking through his steely mask. “I was shit at dowsing. Divination was impossible.”

Haruichi nods. “Aniki and I did pretty well in that class. I can help us find him.”

Miyuki hesitates to agree, but Kuramochi grips his shoulder and leans forward like he can’t physically wait any longer. (Despite the situation, Haruichi still has to suppress a smile: he hopes his brother recognizes how fond Kuramochi is of him, or at least recognizes how fond he is of Kuramochi. The two of them give him a headache, he swears.) “Well then hurry up and do it! What are you waiting for, a formal invitation?”

Sort of, Haruichi thinks, watching Miyuki intently. Finally, Miyuki sighs. “Alright,” he caves, but he cuts of Eijun’s triumphant shout with a warning. “But as soon as we figure out where he is, you three are turning back.” He continues talking through Eijun’s booing. “I’m not kidding when I say you don’t want to mess with these people, and if they’ve been holding you over Ryousuke’s head–” He nods towards Haruichi. “–then the last thing we want to do is walk right up to them and hand you in. Chances are, if Ryousuke’s realized they don’t have you, he’ll be looking for a way out right now.”

Haruichi nods. He can agree to that. Aniki… So this is why you’ve been acting so strange all this time. He can’t help but feel slightly guilty about it all. If he’d only pressured Ryousuke more, or paid more attention to all the offhand comments he’d made regarding his safety, or even just been better at taking care of himself…

No, he decides. You couldn’t have changed this. All you can do now is try to fix it.

So he readies his wand and utters the dowsing spell. “Invenio: Kominato Ryousuke.” The tip of his wand sparks to life, producing a bright white beam of light shooting straight off in the direction of the castle.

“He’s… in the school?” Kuramochi breathes beside him, and Haruichi squares his shoulders.

“Well, let’s go!” Eijun shouts, pushing at them from behind. “If you’re all this slow, we’ll never make it in time to save him!” He takes off then, followed closely by Furuya, who won’t be bested. After exchanging a glance, the others follow quickly, eyes never straying from the beam of light pointing the way.

Behind them, the sun sinks lower into the sky.

–– ––

They track the beam of light to the dungeons, and then Kazuya instructs the fifth year trio to leave. Haruichi’s reluctant, and Sawamura outright refuses, but eventually Haruichi gives in and convinces the others to follow him. Kazuya’s not quite sure Furuya tagged along in the first place–the kid’s something of a mystery, to him.

“We should split up,” Kazuya says once the three of them have disappeared down the hall. He turns to address Kuramochi. “We’ll cover more ground that way, and then we can regroup here in, like, half an hour on the off chance we don’t find anything.”

“Are you insane?” Kuramochi protests immediately. “Don’t you watch horror movies? Those are famous last words right there.”

“And those are the famous not-last words of the fourth-wall-breaking comic relief character of modern horror films,” Kazuya points out. “You’re spending too much time with Ryousuke. This is real life, we’ll be fine.”

Kuramochi doesn’t look satisfied. “You don’t expect not to run into anything, do you?” he says grimly, shaping the question more like a statement.

Kazuya shakes his head. “Honestly, I don’t plan on coming out until I do.”

Kuramochi huffs. “Yeah, well, as long as you come out after that, do whatever the hell you want.”

“Is that concern I hear, Kuramochi?”

“Eat my ass, Miyuki.”

“Gladly.”

“Fuck you!”

They part ways after that, splitting off at the first hallway they’re met with. Kazuya waves goodbye with false cheer before turning to face the dank depths of the Hogwarts dungeons, and his smile slips from his face immediately.

His footsteps echo down the walls of the corridor, amplifying off corners and bending back at him, putting him on edge. It’s colder down here than it is in the rest of the castle, and Kazuya has to force himself not to shiver. The dungeons can be something of a labyrinth, to the inexperienced first year (or in this case, invader), but Kazuya knows his way around well enough by now that he’s confident he’s got the upperhand. Still, he doesn’t like that he’s the one out in the open, and that any one of the doors coming up could hold something less desirable than the target of this search and rescue.

He holds his breath unconsciously as he opens the first couple of doors on empty rooms: a couple classrooms, an old potions closet, some weird room filled with globes and world maps. Geography, he thinks bitterly, recalling an old foe from his days in the muggle education system. He closes the door and moves on to the next, and, finding nothing there either, continues on down the hall.

At the next intersection, he takes a right, and immediately stops. His nose itches. He squints thoughtfully. He knows that smell. It smells like…

Something’s burning, he realizes, his breath catching, and he runs back to the middle of the intersecting hallways, illuminating the tip of his wand to get a better look down each way.

There. Straight ahead, he sees smoke curling out from under one of the doors. There’s a moment of hesitation, a temporary battle between his self-preserving instincts and his worry for whoever might be in that room, and then he takes off down the hall towards the room, grabbing the brass doorknob without a second thought. It burns him, and he flinches back, then grits his teeth and kicks the door in, heart racing and sweat already lining the back of his neck.

The entire room is empty. There isn’t a single indication that a fire has ever existed, except for a small candle lit on a desk. Nobody’s inside. There’s no smoke, no heat–if anything, it’s colder in here than it is in the all.

Kazuya’s immediately suspicious, and the moment the door slams shut behind him, he knows he has a reason to be.

“Of all the people I expected to show up tonight,” says a cold voice from the shadows. Kazuya whips around and finds himself being stared down by none other than Shirakawa and Carlos, two of the biggest headaches Kazuya’s ever met (though, they’ve got nothing on Mei). Shirakawa continues, “I was absolutely expecting it would be you.”

Kazuya grins, something jagged and lopsided and unfailingly irritating. “I always knew you were a good illusionist, Shirakawa, but did you really need to lure me in with a trick like that? You know I would’ve just as easily shown up for your endearingly dull voice.”

Shirakawa’s scowl doesn’t flicker. “Please,” he scoffs, “the way you looked when you kicked the door open was priceless, and I’m sure it never hurts to stir up old memories.”

Never hurt you, sure, Kazuya things dryly. His hand still stings where the nerves had been triggered by a nonexistent burn, and he’s sweating more than he reasonably should be following a short less-than-a-hundred-meter dash. The image he’d been expecting to walk in on, though… Fire curling up the sides of the walls, licking hungrily at the kitchen appliances and at the hem of his mother’s dress as she suffocates in the smoke. Her wand isn’t on her. She can’t do anything but prop herself up against the cabinets and try to look dignified. And Kazuya’s too late to do anything, too young to actively try, and by the time his distress manifests itself into a solution and the fire disappears like magic, she’s gone too.

He doesn’t dare let the reliving of his worst moment show on his face, but he’s sure Shirakawa knows anyway. Carlos hasn’t said anything yet, just stands there looking smug with his wand held casually in the hand he’s got placed on his hip. Shirakawa, someone who’s never relaxed in his life, raises his wand slowly and aims it in Kazuya’s direction. “You made a mistake coming here,” he says. “You know that Mei sees everything you see. He knows you and the wolf kid are down here. Do you ever think things through?”

Kazuya shrugs. “Well, obviously.” he says haughtily. “That’s why we split up–now Mei has no idea where he is, and I get to take down the two of you on the side.”

Carlos laughs. “You’re pretty confident for a guy going two-versus-one.”

Kazuya grins. “What are you talking about? Last I checked, two half-pints only equalled a whole.”

Shirakawa takes that opportunity to unleash his first spell, and the fight begins.

–– ––

Damn it to hell, Youichi thinks desperately as he runs down the hall, throwing open doors with the sort of frantic abandon best reserved for missions that aren’t wholly dependent on not being caught by the bad guys before he can save his friend. How many fucking doors are there down here?!

He can’t count how many hallways he’s turned down at this point. He’s sure he passed the potions classroom at some point near the beginning, but the further he gets the more lost he finds himself, and now he’s not sure if he’s actually getting anywhere at all or if he’s just been running in circles for the past fifteen minutes.

So when he turns another corner and runs flat into another person, he’s both surprised and terrified. They’re carrying enough collective momentum that they both fall back onto the floor, and Youichi’s blindly scrabbling for his wand before he actually looks to see who it is and then–

“Kuramochi?”

Youichi stops searching and looks up, his own wide eyes meeting Ryousuke’s shocked expression. Something about his face, so open and framed as it is by the soft fall of his only slightly ruffled hair, seizes something in Youichi’s chest and before he can think he’s throwing himself forward, wrapping his arms around Ryousuke as the other makes a small sound of surprise.

He pulls back just as quickly and rests his hands on Ryousuke’s shoulders, gripping him tightly like the other might disappear if he doesn’t. “Ryou-san, thank god!” he exclaims, scanning the other for any sign of injury or otherwise. “I didn’t know if we’d actually find you down here–are you okay? What’d they do to you?”

Ryousuke’s hands come up to push slightly against Youichi’s chest, and he falters, realizing their proximity. He lets go of Ryousuke’s shoulders and sits back on his heels, unsure what to do with his hands. Before he can apologize, though, Ryousuke speaks up. “I’m fine,” he says. “They didn’t do anything lasting. Is Haruichi okay?”

Youichi’s surprised by how not-shaken the other is; his face has hardened into something set and determined, and even though he’s not smiling Youichi can hear the ghost of it in the self-assurance he speaks with. This is the Ryousuke Youichi’s most familiar with: all confidence and sharp lines, like he’d been before all of this had started happening. Youichi’s not sure, but he imagines that in the dim light the tired lines under his eyes have softened.

“Haruichi’s fine,” he replies after a second, realizing he’s staring. He feels heat creeping up his neck and forces it down, furious with himself. “He’s with Furuya and Sawamura, and I doubt they’d let anything happen to him.”

Ryousuke scoffs. “Those two sure are a handful. I don’t know how you put up with them.”

Youichi laughs at the old joke, eliciting a private smile from Ryousuke, and despite the fact that they’re currently trapped in what may be a life-or-death situation, Youichi wants to pause that moment and stay in it forever.

Ryousuke picks himself up first, then offers his hand to Youichi, who readily accepts. Neither of them lets go as they turn to face the hallway Youichi’d just come down.

“Somehow,” Ryousuke says, “I get the feeling you don’t remember which way you came.”

Youichi huffs. “Well sorry, I was kinda busy on a manhunt making sure you weren’t dead. But there has to be more than one way out of here, yeah?” He tugs at Ryousuke’s hand and they start forward. “C’mon, the sooner we start moving, the sooner we can regroup with Miyuki and think of our next step.”

No sooner are the words out of his mouth than a sudden blast by an unseen force throws him and Ryousuke sideways into a door, which splinters under their combined weight and gives way, admitting them into an empty classroom. Their hands slip apart, and Youichi tumbles into a couple of desks. Ryousuke misses the desks and rolls down the aisle, ending up closer to the back of the room.

Dazed, Youichi makes to sit up, holding the side of his head with one hand. He blinks himself into focus and glances up at the doorway, and immediately his mouth goes dry.

Some smug-ass blonde kid stands in the threshold with his arms folded. Behind him, a stone-faced giant leers like a phantom, but whether he’s there for backup or intimidation, Youichi doesn’t really want to find out.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” the blonde kid sneers, stepping over wood splinters and into the room. “Or I guess, the rat, since it was Kazuya that brought you here.”

A thrill of violence races down Youichi’s spine at the sound of Miyuki’s name. “What’d you do to Miyuki?” he demands, forcing himself to his feet. Behind him, he thinks he hears Ryousuke coming to as well.

The blonde kid–god, Youichi wishes he’d paid more attention when Ryousuke was telling him their names–laughs. “I didn’t do anything, but I can’t say Shirakawa and Carlos won’t have their fun with him.” Youichi growls, and the blonde kid’s expression falls flat and unimpressed. “I don’t know why you’re concerned about him, of all people. He is the conduit after all.”

Youichi makes a frustrated sound. “You people keep saying weird shit like that. ‘The conduit,’” he spits, “the hell does that even mean?”

The blonde kid scoffs. “You mean you don’t know? We’ve had Kazuya acting as our eyes and ears from the beginning,” he says. Youichi glares at him suspiciously, bracing himself against the desk behind him for support. “Seriously, he wears glasses, and you didn’t think to stay away from him? He’s been our main point of access for some time you know,” he adds, looking over with that stupid smug face to where Ryousuke’s collecting himself in the back.

Fuck, Youichi thinks. That’s so obvious, why didn’t I think of that? Out loud, he says, “Yeah, well, he might be an asshole, but Miyuki’d never do anything like that on purpose. It’s all just you sick shitheads running around with your weirdass plans, tricking people into doing the dirty work for you.”

The blonde kid shrugs. He doesn’t look at all like he’s preparing for a fight, which Youichi finds odd. He doesn’t even have his wand in hand. “Underhanded or not, it gets things done. I don’t give a damn about what happens to you lowlives when it’s all over.”

Something clicks into place at the sound of those words, and Youichi remembers exactly who he’s talking to. “You’re the assholes that cursed me,” he accuses, whipping out his wand. “And Chris-san, and Tanba and even Takako. I don’t know what kind of sick game you’re playing at but it ends here.”

The blonde kid checks his watch, then gives an exasperated sigh and looks back up. “I can’t say you’re not right about that, but you are missing a few minor details if you’re looking to play the blame game.”

“Narumiya,” Ryousuke growls a warning, and Youichi jumps at the sound of his voice, having nearly forgotten Ryousuke was there. Narumiya smiles contemptuously.

“What’s wrong, Kominato?” he jeers. “I thought you came clean to your pet dog.” Youichi glances back at Ryousuke cautiously, unsure if he should trust what Narumiya’s saying. Ryousuke’s eyes harden, and Narumiya laughs. “All but one crucial piece, then! Wolfboy,” he says, turning back to Youichi. “Did you know that night you came looking for the person who ruined your life in your Room of Requirement, that it opened on the very person who’d sent you to the forest in the first place? Not your damn benefactor, but the one who’d personally given us an opening to experiment on you like we did?”

Youichi blinks, falters. When he looks at Ryousuke then, the other’s face is stubbornly set but paling further by the second. The angle of his elbow is locked out against the head desk at the back of the room, but Youichi can tell he’s forcing it not to shake. “Ryou-san…” he breathes. Narumiya’s laughter glitters around the room like the most annoying windchime in the world.

“And he’s withheld so much speculation on what he thinks you might be suffering from!” Narumiya confesses happily. “I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now, right Kominato? Oh, well, maybe not all of it. It is some very inventive magic after all, but it’s not all really that complex.” Youichi turns his glare back on Narumiya, shooting an extra glance the tall guy’s way just to cover his bases. Narumiya tucks his arms behind him in a way too snobbish to be reminiscent of Ryousuke’s usual confidence.

“It’s really pretty simple,” he brags, pacing back and forth deliberately. “It starts with transfiguration, as I’m sure you’re aware. If we’ve forced it on you, you’ll retain the mental state of your form, which is, of course, that of an unintelligent dog. Not really much of a change for you,” he adds with a sneer, and Youichi pinches his face into something mocking. “After that, we use what’s called a ‘Transfiguration Timer,’ something invented by Kunitomo himself that lets us decide when you can come and go from that form. It’s not very useful in the grand scheme of things,” he admits, “but we were playing with the idea of a manufactured werewolf, and it was just too much fun.

“Then–and here’s the part you really should have figured out, Kominato–after all that, all that’s left to do is find a way to make you act like a werewolf. You ever heard of the Oppugno Jinx? I’m pretty sure Hogwarts kids learn it like, fourth year. Geez, you’re slow.” He shakes his head. “Well, that’s the part we’ve really been working on: force-shifting all of Kataoka’s precious students so they’re trapped in the simple minds of stupid animals so we can build an army he couldn’t bear to defeat that will attack him relentlessly. Kunitomo’s really pretty brilliant, you have to admit.”

Youichi’s scowl is ingrained so deeply into his face he’s not sure he’ll ever fully get rid of it, but he takes a deep breath. Collecting himself, he glances back at Ryousuke, who’s determinedly glaring daggers at Narumiya and not meeting Youichi’s eyes. Youichi lets the breath go.

“It’s not Ryou-san’s fault,” he decides, and Ryousuke does look over at him then, barely-masked surprise visible on his face. Youichi smiles slightly, encouraging, then turns a grimace back on Narumiya. “I know you all blackmailed him, and I know it’s fucked him up to be forced to betray his friends like that.” He can’t know if the words feel as bitter against Narumiya’s skin as they do coming out of Youichi’s mouth, but he doesn’t care. “You don’t get to make somebody choose like that, it’s fucking low. And… as for everything else…” He makes an aborted gesture with his hand to demonstrate how much he doesn’t care. “I’m not a scientist, I don’t give a shit about your magic experiments or whatever. I just want two things: to be turned back to normal, and for you to go to hell.”

Narumiya checks his watch again, and a disgusting smile curls over his face. “Well, that’s enough of that. You know what they say about keeping the enemy talking,” he sighs with mock sympathy. Youichi watches him, puzzled. Seeing this, Narumiya holds up his watch and sneers. “Do you know what time it is, Dog Boy?”

Realization stops Youichi cold as suddenly, his knees go weak. Shit, he thinks desperately, unable to speak as he grits his teeth past the pain throbbing in his skull. Not now, fuck, not now! It can’t have been that long–he and Ryousuke started this mission in the morning, that much time could not have elapsed since then.

Youichi stumbled and grasps desperately at the desk, but just ends up toppling it with himself. Narumiya’s cold laugh echoes loud in Youichi’s ears, harsh and unforgiving. He thinks he hears Ryousuke call his name, but suddenly he can’t be sure, because suddenly he’s lost in a tempest of mindless fury, and he’s not Kuramochi Youichi anymore.

–– ––

Ryousuke watches on with vague horror as Kuramochi undergoes the familiar transformation while Narumiya orders Harada to guard the hall to make sure there are no interruptions. Harada casts a single glance Ryousuke’s way, something a bit like disappointment and regret all at once, then does as he’s told, patiently reserving his personal reservations because he’s already lost one family. (Terrible as Inashiro is and as much as Harada must resent them, Ryousuke assumes he’s not too keen on losing another.)

“It’s too bad you didn’t just go along with things in the beginning,” Narumiya croons. The wolf gets to his feet, snarling and throwing the previously-toppled desk off of him. He rounds on Ryousuke, and Ryousuke sees a flash of recognition as Kuramochi registers him as the target. “It’s not too late, you know. Heel, dog.” The last part is an afterthought, but Kuramochi listens and waits. Narumiya smiles at the display of obedience, then locks eyes with Ryousuke again. “I’m still willing to make a deal. You play your part in Inashiro’s plan, and I’ll let Dog Breath and your brother go, home free.”

Ryousuke frowns skeptically. “And what, I’ll just go back to spiking the punch and hope I don’t get caught when I’m the only one left to accuse?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Narumiya sniffs. “By then, we’ll have extracted you, and you’d be safe from the authorities. Besides,” he adds. “There’s an easier way to go about it, an option you’ve had since the beginning.”

Ryousuke holds his ground. “I’m not using the Imperius Curse on anyone, much less my friends.”

Narumiya rolls his eyes. “You honorable types are ridiculous sometimes,” he spits. “I always thought Slytherins were easier to deal with, but you’re just as bad as everyone else in this damn school.” He glances at Kuramochi, who shakes his head vigorously in his anticipation. “Final chance, Kominato,” he warns. “I’d think clearly, if I were you. I know you’re wandless, and it’s one on three. You’re chances of winning this fight are next to none.”

Ryousuke looks down at his hands. He knows Narumiya’s right. There’s no way he can hold off both Narumiya and Kuramochi, who he’s already reluctant to attack, and then get through Harada out in the hall. Harada might have some deeper-down inkling of empathy for Ryousuke’s situation, but he’s loyal to Narumiya now, and Ryousuke’s pretty sure there’s no chance he’d defect now even if Narumiya went down. It’s a lose-lose situation: if he submits, he’s fucked and the school goes over to Inashiro; if he fights, he loses and the school still eventually goes over to Inashiro, only then Kuramochi’s trapped as a wolf and Haruichi loses his (dubious at best) free card. Also Ryousuke dies. That’s not something he’s looking forward to.

But he hates even more the idea of being enslaved by Inashiro, of being forced to betray every single person he cares about and more for the sake of preserving himself and the two people he cares about most. And hell, he doesn’t know what Inashiro thinks is gonna happen as soon as their magical-yakuza-shit is finished, or even if Kataoka would let it get as far as enslaving his whole school before he shut things down. There are too many variables that Narumiya hasn’t thought through, too many ways it could still go wrong for him either way Ryousuke chooses. If he goes down fighting here, someone’ll notice, and Kataoka might have stood through his students disappearing but a death is something he won’t tolerate. Maybe it’ll even leave him a clue to what’s going on, and he’ll be able to stop Kunitomo once and for all before things get out of hand.

It’s a gamble, he knows, one that risks everything he’s desperate to defend, but even with Kuramochi standing unrecognizable for the way his eyes burn with blind hatred, Ryousuke can still hear him insisting that What you want matters, Ryou-san.

And what he wants right now, more than anything, is a fucking break.

It’s my one selfish request, he thinks, lowering himself into an old brawling stance that he hasn’t needed since he and Haruichi were children at the playground. To destroy you, Narumiya Mei, or die trying.

Narumiya takes this as a response, and sighs. “You know, Kominato, you really did have such a bright future. It’s a shame that a powerful wizard like you has to go down fighting with your bare hands.”

Ryousuke smiles. “That’s the thing about mudbloods, Narumiya. We’re not afraid to get our hands dirty.”

“Clearly,” Narumiya sneers, and then, with a disinterested flick of his hand, he releases his mental hold on Kuramochi, and the wolf lunges for Ryousuke.

Ryousuke dodges sideways, rolling behind the front desk for protection. The wolf slams into the front of it, outraged, and starts clawing at the wood in frustration.

Still not too bright, are you, Kuramochi? Ryousuke thinks with barely-afforded amusement. He needs a plan. Hopeless situation or not, there has to be something he can do to get out of this. Maybe he can get ahold of Narumiya’s wand and–

The wolf figures out that jumping on top of the desk is the most efficient way around the obstacle, and Ryousuke rolls out of the way as he comes snarling down at him.

He risks a glance at Narumiya. He’s perched on one of the untouched desks, completely uninterested and unengaged. For now, that’s good, but if Ryousuke can figure out a way to pin Kuramochi against him…

Wolves have natural self-preserving instincts, Ryousuke reasons as he makes for the opposite side of the room. If I can bait Narumiya into accidentally hitting Kuramochi, maybe that’ll override Oppugno and he’ll attack Narumiya instead…

He doesn’t have time to think of it as the wolf leaps at him again, and Ryousuke doesn’t get out of the way fast enough. Kuramochi’s claws catch him by the shoulder and throw him down to the ground, knocking the air out of his lungs at the impact. Across the room, Narumiya clicks his tongue. “Head in the game, Kominato. You’re barely even trying.”

Ryousuke rolls sideways before Kuramochi can pin him down and jumps to his feet. He glances at Narumiya. But how am I supposed to..?

He’s out of ideas and willing to try anything. Stupid as it may be, Ryousuke charges Narumiya, Kuramochi at his heels. Narumiya almost falls back off the desk in shock and raises his wand hastily, shouting “Stupefy!” in a voice a whole octave higher than his usual. Ryousuke manages to duck out of the way, letting the red light strike Kuramochi behind him. The wolf makes a wounded noise and trips over itself, momentarily paralyzed.

It’s a weak spell though, and Kuramochi’s back on his feet after a few seconds. Ryousuke holds his breath hopefully as the wolf shakes its head clear and looks between him and Narumiya. Narumiya notices this and growls.

“Oh, I see what you’re trying to do,” he says, raising his wand again. He slashes his wand in a wordless spell and Ryousuke’s knocked backwards into a nearby row of desks. Seeing this, the wolf remembers Ryousuke’s the threat, and turns on him again. “You didn’t think that would actually work, did you? My magic’s stronger than you think, mudblood–he can’t go against me if he tried!”

Ryousuke hooks his elbow over the surface of a desk and pulls himself up, holding his head in his other hand. Before he can get fully to his feet, Kuramochi lunges again, and Ryousuke has a panicked moment’s thought before he’s throwing his hand out in front of him and willing a barrier between them. His magic complies mercifully, and the wolf rebounds against a red wall of energy that manifests between them.

Wandless magic, Ryousuke remembers suddenly as he manages to get to his feet. Duh, you idiot, you’ve still got a shot at this. He’s not completely debilitated–he still has an opportunity to turn things in his favor. A way to distance yourself from the wolf without repercussions…

Another soundless spell catches Ryousuke by surprise, throwing him back again. At the back of the room, Narumiya laughs derisively.

“The best wizards,” Narumiya brags as another bolt of light dances from the tip of his wand. Ryousuke just barely has enough time to dodge it as Kuramochi gathers himself and comes at him again. “Are the ones that aren’t afraid of breaking the law to get what they deserve. We’re the ones that take risks to get what we want, and you’re a fool if you ever thought you could get anything without giving up something!”

Ryousuke finds his ground and plants his feet. Kuramochi comes at him, but Ryousuke raises a barrier between them to block his mindless attack. He looks at Narumiya. He smiles.

“Thanks for sharing,” he says, raising his hand. If ever there was a time for a gamble, he thinks grimly, it’s now. He focuses all of his magic, all of his soul and all of his intent into that one point, and then pushes it even further. The hand, the palm, and then a single finite point at the very center of the palm, the finest pathway he can physically channel and then further still, until the magic built up under his skin hums like it’s come to life. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

And this time, when the words leave his lips, he feels the way the syllables resonate in his bone marrow, taking the shape Auribus Teneo Lupum with an ease so imbedded in his being he imagines that this is the very euphoria those women were trying to preserve centuries ago. All the power of an empire has somehow been prescribed to three words, immortalized like myth proven to be fact, and suddenly golden light engulfs the room with the deafening roar of a colosseum.

When it fades, Ryousuke’s alone in the room with an unconscious, butt-naked Kuramochi Youichi, and Narumiya Mei is nowhere to be seen.

He waits a moment to make sure nobody else comes running, but the spell must have gotten rid of Harada too because the doorway stays empty. Ryousuke drops down beside Kuramochi and turns him over, being extremely careful to keep his eyes far above the waist.

“Kuramochi,” he says, shaking him slightly. Kuramochi doesn’t respond. “Kuramochi, I am not performing CPR so you’d better wake up.” He chops him over the head for good measure, and that seems to do the trick, because Kuramochi’s hands shoot up to cover his head and he groans.

“The hell… Ryou-san?” He blinks his eyes open slowly, and Ryousuke does his best to suppress the flood of relief that fills him at the sight. “What happened?” Kuramochi asks. His eyes widen then, and he squeezes them shut, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets. “I’m naked, aren’t I?”

“As a newborn baby,” Ryousuke confirms with a smile. Kuramochi groans with frustration. Ryousuke takes pity on him. “Come on, I’ll find you something to cover yourself with, and we can get out of here before someone shows up to kill us again.”

–– ––

When they actually do regroup with Miyuki, he’s a little worse for wear. He’s got a pretty bad burn on his arm and a black eye, “Nothing a little time in the infirmary can’t fix,” but still enough to make Youichi wince nonetheless.

“Your outfit, however, is gonna take some serious recuperating at the Ministry’s Fashion Resuscitation Center.” Miyuki adds dryly, and Youichi’s face goes red as Ryousuke laughs with him.

“Yeah, whatever man!” Youichi barks. It’s not his fault that he woke up bare-ass-nude in front of some guy he may or may not like whatever Miyuki Kazuya, and that the only thing around for him to wear came out of a box of old (old) fashioned dress robes Ryousuke’d found in a closet down one of the hallways. It was a horrible, vomit-colored thing with a frilly lace collar and way too many accents to be reasonably fashionable at all.

Ryousuke’d caught him up on what happened after he blacked out. Apparently, that old Roman-hippie spell had actually done its job for once, transforming Youichi back into himself and getting rid of Narumiya and Harada. Youichi’d asked about that as they climbed the stairs to freedom.

“I doubt they’re dead,” Ryousuke’d confessed, raising a hand to cover his eyes as the light from above blinded him momentarily. “Probably just teleported somewhere. That spell was powerful, but I don’t think it was malicious.”

Youichi could accept that. Looking at Ryousuke now… He looks lighter than he has in ages. Inashiro doesn’t have their claws sunk into him anymore, so to speak, and everything is out in the open… Youichi bets it’s an outcome he’d never dreamed to imagine.

“Kominato.”

The three of them freeze where they stand at the sound of that voice, and slowly they turn to face the speaker. Professor Kataoka stands over them with a steely expression, his face as unyielding as usual. Kuramochi swallows.

Ryousuke stiffens under the scrutiny. “Yes, headmaster?”

Kataoka stops in front of them, arms folded. Youichi imagines he’s the only one who can effortlessly stare down someone as intense as Kominato Ryousuke. “I learned about what happened. Miyuki showed me your letter.”

Ryousuke somehow doesn’t wither, but Youichi gets the impression he’s panicking internally. He wants to reach out and take his hand, but decides against it in present company.

Kataoka continues. “I wanted to let you know you’re not in any trouble for what happened. I knew you were involved all along.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then another, and then: “What?” collectively, from all three of them.

Kataoka nods. “I figured Inashiro was involved early on,” he explains gruffly, his expression unchanging behind his shades. “After Chris disappeared, I looked into it immediately. One of the portraits in the Ravenclaw hallway mentioned thinking you were acting strange, but dismissed it as you being a Slytherin.” Out of the corner of his eye, Youichi sees Miyuki nod his head and make a fair point gesture with his hand. “After that, and having remembered your brother’s disappearance the year prior, I pieced together what was going on.”

Ryousuke frowns uncertainly. “Then… why didn’t you stop me?” he asks uncomfortably, and it sounds like he’s forcing them to stay above a whisper.

Kataoka doesn’t waver. “I had faith that you would do the right thing in the end,” he says. “And if I’d made a big deal out of it then, the Ministry would have gotten involved, and you would’ve been in actual trouble then.”

Ryousuke looks down with a bitter husk of a laugh. “I would’ve deserved it,” he mutters. “After everything I did…” Youichi looks at him. It’s the most self-deprecating thing he’s ever heard come of of Ryousuke’s mouth, and it both surprises and saddens him. Before he can do anything, though, Kataoka steps forward and braces a hand on his shoulder.

“You can’t blame yourself,” he says firmly. Ryousuke looks up again. “You were put in an impossible situation. I’m proud that you were able to find your way through.”

That doesn’t seem to comfort Ryousuke much, but he manages a smile. It’s enough of a touching moment for Miyuki to feel the need to ruin it.

“What happened to Kunitomo?” He asks. “Did he disappear like the others?”

Kataoka nods his head. “We were fighting, and he vanished. I thought he’d apparated away, since we were outside school grounds, but I take it you all have a different theory?”

Youichi grins proudly, clapping a hand on Ryousuke’s shoulder as he puffs out his chest like a proud best friend. “Ryou-san kicked butt with that Gambler’s Spell!” he declares, and Ryousuke shoots him a sly sideways smile. “Turned me back into a person and got rid of the bad guys and everything! You all should have seen it!”

For the first time ever in his entire life, Youichi sees Kataoka smile. “Well done,” he praises. “You’ll have to tell Professor Ochiai. Maybe then he’ll stop being so bitter about having to teach it.”

Youichi laughs, loud and bright and “Annoying,” Miyuki puts in with a shove. Youichi shoves him back, and Ryousuke rolls his eyes at both of them.

Everything is fine.

–– ––

They catch each other in the Room of Requirement near the end of the year.

With finals looming threateningly and graduation leering even bigger, Ryousuke is, understandably, stressed. He seeks out the room for a quiet place to study, and isn’t remotely surprised when Kuramochi finds him not twenty minutes later.

“Thought I’d find you here,” Kuramochi says by way of explanation as the door closes behind him. “You know it took ten minutes to guess what kind of room you’d be needing? I almost gave up.”

Ryousuke snorts, not looking up from his review paper. He marks an answer down with his quill. “That’s no surprise,” he says. “You never were one for studying. I bet the room doubted you even needed a study place at all and blocked you out of pure skepticism.”

Kuramochi huffs. “Well geez, if you wanna get technical about it.”

Ryousuke looks up gleefully. “It really did?”

Kuramochi scowls and yanks out a chair across from him, plopping heavily down into it. “Whatever,” he says. “It knew I was looking for you in the end.”

Ryousuke smiles and picks up his quill again. “And here I am,” he says.

Kuramochi props his elbows on the table and leans in a little. “And here you are.”

Ryousuke continues working for another minute, before the silence holds too much weight and finally, he has to look up. “What did you really need, Kuramochi?” he asks. The other is staring at him with a strange look on his face, something that’s better seen if Ryousuke looks into his eyes and searches for an explanation. It’s a bit sad, he thinks, and a bit of something else he can’t quite read. It’s enough to make Ryousuke put his quill down and designate all of his attention to the answer.

Kuramochi sighs. “Just… to spend time with you, I guess,” he confesses, unable to look Ryousuke in the eye. “I don’t get to see you as much anymore, now that you don’t have to help me with the whole werewolf thing.”

Ryousuke understands. Since that night, Kuramochi hasn’t transformed again, much to everyone’s great relief. Kuramochi’s life has gone back to normal, and Ryousuke’s almost there. He hasn’t quite gotten over his aversion to mirrors yet, and sleeping is still hard some nights, but he’s getting there. He rarely feels guilty anymore, and when he does, he knows he’s always got Kuramochi to force compassion and encouragement down his throat to counteract it. They’ve only grown closer, despite having physically grown apart, so Ryousuke has no inhibitions about reaching out to take his hand over the table in that moment. He holds it idly.

“I know,” Ryousuke says. “I’m busy with studying, and I spend all my free time on the Quidditch pitch. You never study, so you don’t have that problem,” he reminds him, and Kuramochi shrugs sheepishly, unable to deny it. Ryousuke’s smile widens. “You’re lucky you’re good at sports, or you’d have nothing to do after school.”

Kuramochi frowns. “Ryou-san,” he protests petulantly, but that’s the extent of it. He sits back and rolls his shoulders and Ryousuke lets go of his hand. After a second of stretching, he says, “What about you?”

“What about me, Kuramochi?”

“Aren’t you… Don’t you want to play Quidditch? You put so much time into it, and you’re the best beater Slytherin’s ever seen.” He leans into the table again, staring at Ryousuke earnestly. “You’re not the kind of kid whose parents make them go to med school, are you?”

Ryousuke laughs. “My parents aren’t like that. In fact, my dad’s the reason I became a beater in the first place. It’s the closest thing the magical world has to baseball, which Haruichi and I played all throughout elementary school. I picked it up because my dad’s a big Swallows fan, not that you’d know who they are.” He folds his arms on the desk. “I don’t know. Maybe I could stand to play professionally for a few years, but in the end I’d want a job that lets me do something with myself. Magical Accidents and Catastrophes… seems kind of fitting, after everything that’s happened.”

Kuramochi laughs in agreement. “You wanna stop a magical catastrophe, you should do something about your owl. I heard he coughed up a live, undigested mouse in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class the other day.”

Ryousuke shrugs. “That was my idea, actually, not that anyone can prove it. Ochiai took off ten points from Slytherin for it, but after how many Kataoka awarded us for the whole Gambler’s Spell thing it barely put a dent in our shot at the House Cup, and it was so worth it.”

Kuramochi shakes his head. “I don’t know what I hate more: your eternal feud with Ochiai, or having to deal with him finding a new target to pick on.”

Ryousuke rests his chin on his arms and closes his eyes. “It’ll probably be Haruichi. It’s good for him to toughen up, though. He’s still a bit of a baby sometimes.”

“Ryou-san,” Kuramochi sighs, but it’s more fond than exasperated, and in the end it has Ryousuke opening his eyes to shoot the other an amused look. Kuramochi lowers his head onto his arms as well so he can come to eye level with him. Ryousuke watches him for a second before snorting softly through his nose and sitting up.

“What?” Kuramochi asks defensively, but he’s smiling and sitting up too.

“You’re face is ridiculous,” he taunts, picking up his quill again. “Anyone can tell just what you’re thinking by looking at you.”

Kuramochi leans across the table indignantly. “Yeah? Well it’s better than you! I’ve known you this long and I still don’t know what you’re thinking half the time, even when you say it out loud!” Ryousuke shoots him an amused glance at that, smiling at the frustration on Kuramochi’s face. “Besides,” he adds stubbornly. “I doubt that you have any idea what I’m thinking right now.”

Ryousuke hums at the challenge. Finishing another question, he puts the quill down again and props his elbows on the desk, lacing his fingers and leaning in to mockingly study Kuramochi’s expression. After a second, he unlaces his fingers and reaches out to hold the sides of Kuramochi’s face, pretending to inspect it more closely. He feels the other’s skin go warm under his touch, and the nervous glint in his eyes only gives Ryousuke more confidence. He hums again, considering. “I think I’ve got a pretty good idea,” he murmurs in the breath of space between them, and then he closes the distance.

It’s a fast kiss, close-lipped and made only slightly awkward by the way their noses brush, and Ryousuke pulls back as soon as Kuramochi starts to return it. Kuramochi’s blinking himself back into focus, stunned, but he can’t get rid of the shock blown clear across his features, and Ryousuke laughs at it. Suddenly coming back to himself, Kuramochi grins and leans across the table again, and for the moment, Ryousuke’s exam review is forgotten.

#roihuu #publicbenches #type: fic #kuraryou #kuraryo #submission

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