From Unexpected Places

His night was spent poorly, Chuuya tossing and turning in that sad excuse for a bed— and maybe Dazai had been a little right to call him spoiled considering there was nothing wrong persay with the bed, but goddammit he missed his silk sheets. Dazai certainly didn’t help, the freak rolling across the floor in hourly intervals, tugging at any scraps of blanket that’d managed to flap over the edge of the mattress until he burst back awake at a sudden influx of cold.

That, to no one’s surprise, made for a hellish morning, Chuuya’s irritation sparking at every little thing.

“Someone’s grumpy,” Dazai said with a playful lilt, curling up the edges of his smile to an obnoxious degree. “And you even had the bed all to yourself, you really are spoiled, huh?” the two-faced maniac just had to fucking gloat. Chuuya took a deep breath and continued to get ready, aggressively adjusting his hair in the mirror. “Oh, don’t be like that!” Dazai fussed, having contrastingly thrown on the first outfit he’d had packed.

Dazai’s suit wasn’t black, a making of Chuuya’s own request considering this mission was more favorable done with discretion. The charcoal gray he’d managed to settle on didn’t help the illusion, but mafia black it certainly was not. And it wasn’t like he’d wanted to see the bastard in a black suit again, anyway. For all Dazai was a rotten person, it just didn’t quite fit him anymore.

He was sure as hell Dazai figured that out once they’d opened their bags, but for once had kept his mouth shut on the topic.

Chuuya himself had gone for navy, a more elaborate get up than Dazai’s because the fish-eyed freak wouldn’t know good fashion if it punched him in the face, and Chuuya wanted to keep the collateral damage to a minimum. Even the mafia standard was wasted on him, but he had to make sure he was still presentable.

A humming kicked up behind him, Dazai kicking his feet as he lounged on the bed. He could feel the other’s eyes on him as he was getting himself ready, a faint prickling of mirth setting him on edge. What the hell was that guy up to? Bristling, he moved to put on a watch. It was only as he was fiddling with the strap he took notice of its face. A trickle of dread funneled through him.

“What time is your trial supposed to be?”

He watched as Dazai grinned through the mirror, “Ten o’clock.”

A second of silence passed before— “Then what the hell are you waiting for? It’s in twenty fucking minutes.”

“It’s not my fault Chuuya takes so long to get ready!” the fucking bastard justified as Chuuya scrambled to grab his necessities, a task that took him less than ten seconds before they were out the door. Dazai gave a cheery wave to the pub owner as he passed, the man raising an eyebrow at Chuuya’s frazzled state.

“Where are we supposed to go? Can we even get there in time? Are there going to be any legal repercussions to being late to your own damn trial?” he asked while speed walking down the street.

“Don’t be such a worrywort! Wouldn’t want to give you more wrinkles than you already have—”

“Fuck off.”

“— and it won’t take long to get there, anyway,” Dazai finished.

Chuuya turned a glare on him, “And you couldn’t have said that earlier?”

“Chibi talks too much. Don’t you know we have somewhere to be?”

Chuuya made his displeasure real fucking clear, but Dazai had already started walking. He had no choice but to follow.

His pace was impatient behind Dazai, steps heavyset against the pavement. That was a mistake, Chuuya realized only when Dazai made a comment on him dragging his feet like his slug ‘brethren’. He retaliated with his own nasty remark and they settled into their familiar hum.

Chuuya was already pissed, so you could imagine the vein that popped out his forehead the second Dazai stopped at a derelict phone box five minutes later.

He paused his next line, staring incredulously at the thing. “Are you really stopping for a call? Now?” His question went unanswered as the mackerel rolled his eyes before dragging him inside, shutting the door behind them. “What are you—?”

“Can chibi dial a number for me? I’m sure if you stand on your tip-toes you can reach it,” Dazai gestured to the dial in front of them.

Chuuya scowled but warily complied, turning to the phone dial. His shoulder brushed against Dazai’s chest as he moved and he was increasingly grateful he wasn’t claustrophobic in this stuffy ass box. “What number?”

“Six-two-four-four-two,” he guided, Chuuya mid-dial when he paused.

“Isn’t that literally just spelling magic on a phone keypad?”

“Yep! Wizards are so creative, aren’t they?” Chuuya gave a neutral hum before entering the rest of the number. Immediately, an English woman’s voice rang in their ears.

“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business.”

“Osamu Dazai,” Dazai answered first. “Here for my trial with a hat rack—” Chuuya was close enough to step on his foot, Dazai not even faltering as he sent back a passive aggressive grin, “—known as Chuuya Nakahara, who I bring as my witness.”

“Thank you,” the voice replied. “Visitors, please each take a badge and attach it to the front of your robes.”

Chuuya couldn’t help his twitch at the mention of robes. He was sure there was some sort of fashion statement out there that wouldn’t make the garment absolutely atrocious, but he sure hadn’t seen it yet in this venture into this society of wizards. Dazai’s snort brought him out of it. The other was giving him a look, knowing exactly which part of that statement had caught his attention.

He didn’t know what the degenerate was so caught up on. Chuuya’s heard the man’s two cents on wizarding fashion more than once in the past. For all the man lacked in taste, it was something they could agree on for once.

As Chuuya was questioning Dazai’s stupidity (a useless endeavor by now), a rattle sounded. Looking down, he saw two badges exiting the coin shoot. Chuuya picked up the one with his name printed on it, pinning it to his lapel and subtly mourning the hole it made in his suit.

“I’m pretty sure you’re gonna need that,” he nodded towards Dazai’s own badge, still sitting on the floor of the phone box.

“Can the slug pin it for me? You are closer to it, after all,” he suggested, taking a dig at his height for the who-knows-how-many-th time. He grumbled vague protests but did it anyway, taking enough of a hint from the way Dazai’d had him handle the phone to guess the badges churned out within five seconds of them announcing themselves were magically conjured. Figures.

Chuuya let the pin pierce the fabric of Dazai’s suit jacket, adjusting it so the man wouldn’t be liable to brushing against it at any time. Not that he thought he would— Dazai was a neurotic bastard, if anything, the majority of his moves controlled to a psychopathic degree.

“Visitors to the Ministry,” the woman’s voice chimed back in, “You are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the Atrium.”

As she aired her final word, the phone booth trembled. Chuuya’s eyes darted about as they began to descend, the pavement rising above them before they were enshrouded in darkness. Eventually, they reemerged, the woman’s voice wishing them well as they exited into an extravagant hall.

Chuuya raised an eyebrow, “That’s an interesting statue. I wonder how those goblins feel about it.” The larger-than-life fountain feature of a wizard being praised by whatever other magical creatures were surrounding it screamed superiority complex, and he was starting to take Mori’s words into account. What type of shitty government makes that sort of statement at their fucking entrance?

Tearing his eyes from that warm welcome, it was a trip seeing people pop in and out of existence all over the place, fireplaces flashing green as wizards entered and exited from them. He’d seen all sorts of weirdness in the world of abilities, but this was its own kind of strange.

“Let’s go,” was all Dazai said before they started moving again, blending with the crowd before splitting off towards a desk labeled Security.

The scruffy man behind the desk looked mulish at their approach. “What can I do for you?” he asked in a deadened tone.

“I’ve arrived for a trial,” Dazai answered, giving a pleasant smile.

“Right,” he sighed, “I’ll just need you two to step over here.” They complied, the man waving a golden stick (that was notably not a wand) over Dazai like someone from airport security. “Wand,” the man held his hand out, and Dazai looked to Chuuya.

“Here,” he grumbled as he handed Dazai’s wand off, the security guard looking perplexed.

“Uh, I need his wand,” he gestured back to Dazai.

“It is his,” Chuuya said flatly, Dazai giving an enthusiastic nod in the background.

“Right…” he said after a moment, setting the wand on a scale-looking apparatus, a slip of paper being spat out its base. The security guard took it, somehow only becoming more confused. “Thirteen and three-quarters inches… um, a human blood core, and been used for fifteen years,” he shook himself back to attention, “Is that all correct?”

“Yep!”

“Alright.” He gingerly handed Dazai’s wand back. “Now you,” he turned to Chuuya, running through the same motions until it came time for the wand.

“Don’t have one.”

“Pardon me?” the security guard asked.

“I don’t have a wand,” he repeated. “I’m not a wizard, I’m just accompanying this guy,” he shoved a thumb at Dazai.

The man gaped, eyes darting between the two of them. “Muggles shouldn’t be down here, much less know of us,” he aired the words towards Dazai, his demeanor indicating he was probably thinking of calling for some sort of backup.

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Dazai waved away, leaning into the man’s space before whispering something just out of Chuuya’s earshot. The guard’s face stretched in surprise.

“Oh! Uh, yes, I’m so sorry for the hold up, you two can go right ahead through those gates and then take the stairs down to the tenth floor. You’ll be in courtroom eight.”

“Thank you for the help!” Dazai said cheerfully, putting his hand against Chuuya’s back as he steered him towards the aforementioned gates. They quickly joined the bustle of wizards.

“What’d you tell him?” Chuuya asked once they were a sufficient distance away, shrugging off the other’s grip.

“Just reminded him of a couple legalities. Don’t worry about it.” Chuuya narrowed his eyes.

“It better not come back and bite us in the ass.”

“Does the hatrack have so little faith?” Dazai gasped. Chuuya just rolled his eyes at the other’s antics.

With little issue, they made their way to the courtroom, a surprising three minutes to spare.

The room was fairly sparse, what he assumed was the ‘Wizengamot’ holding severe expressions from their seats at the front of the room. There were only a few people in the audience, a couple he assumed were journalists or reporters and the rest looking like they made a hobby of trial watching. There was a court reporter off to the side whose eyes were glazed with boredom, and two guards were stationed by the doors. Eyes darted to them as they entered, their shoes clicking on the stone floors.

He glanced around the room as they settled behind the defendant’s stand. The place looked like a dungeon, torches and all. It was an odd way to model a courtroom.

“Osamu Dazai, I presume,” a man’s voice rang out. The question came from a severe looking man, his hair resting above his shoulders as he spoke from his place at the center of the gaggle of wizards and witches.

“That would be me, yes,” Dazai answered, giving a close-eyed smile to the group.

What Chuuya presumed was the head of the group looked unimpressed. “Cutting it rather close, are we?”

“Would you believe me if I told you this is the earliest I’ve ever been to anything?”

The wizard grunted, shuffling the papers on his desk. “We will commence the trial in three minutes. You best prepare yourself.”

“Will do!” The wizard (wisely) ignored him.

They sat in near silence for a minute, the slightest shifts echoing loudly in the quiet. Chuuya observed the rest of the apparent Wizengamot, most of these people looking like they’d fit right into a nursing home. The audience wasn’t much better. That was especially true of this one wizard. The man was like a fucking real life Gandalf, though the awful print of his robes made it clear he didn’t have half the fictional character’s style. That was saying something considering Gandalf’s style was abysmal at best, even if the fantasy aspect of his garb meant he couldn’t judge it half as well as it should be. What was this guy’s excuse?

The creaking of the door interrupted his thoughts, Chuuya automatically turning towards it. And that’s how, in an extraordinary occurrence, Chuuya caught Dazai faltering.

Dazai had always been a creep. Though people couldn’t tell at first glance nowadays with the goody-two-shoes act the man put on, it wasn’t hard to notice after a time. Certainly not in his mafia days.

Despite the rampant suicidal jokes and actions (which already put most people off), the true culprit was the fact that Dazai radiated the uncanny valley effect. The gaping blankness of his eyes, the deliberated actions, the strings you didn’t realize he’d been pulling until the tangle he’d made became indecipherable to the human mind— all little tidbits that contributed to the thought.

It used to bother Chuuya, this strange veneer of a human being. And then he’d watched as a fifteen year old Dazai ran headfirst into a light pole because the idiot thought he could navigate blindfolded in a foreign city.

It wasn’t as difficult to think of him as human after that, even if he tried his best to make it difficult.

Chuuya couldn’t help but be reminded of that old, wary feeling now at his partner’s blank expression. It was only years of experience with the man that let him realize Dazai was uncomfortable.

It wasn’t hard to tell why.

A woman had entered the courtroom, a chilly aura emanating from her and the stiff clicking of her heels sharp to the ears. Brown hair was pulled taut, a severe look on her face as she scanned the room, eyes piercing and then dismissive as they passed them. It was a look he used to witness all the time, painted on his partner’s face in mafia dealings when he’d felt something wasn’t worth his time.

It was easy to recognize Dazai in this woman’s features.

Now, Chuuya wasn’t typically someone who’d disrespect women— he’d known too many bad ass women in his line of work not to. Not to mention Ane-san had given him a healthy mix of fear and respect for the opposite sex in her lessons back when he’d been a teen. Even so, he couldn’t help the thought that slipped from his lips, “Your mom looks like an asshole.”

Dazai let out an ugly snort, and the wizards close enough to hear him looked appalled. Chuuya almost winced. He hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, and he hoped to any higher power it’d never get back to Ane-san. Her resemblance to Dazai just brought out his verbal reflexes.

“Oh she is,” Dazai agreed with a grin, the stiffness loosening a tad as he looked at him. “The absolute worst of them.”

The woman— Dazai’s mother, that part still tripped him up— sat on a bench off to the side. It was still at the front of the room, yet far away from where he and Dazai sat.

The head wizard coughed, whispered conversations coming to a close. “If all parties are here,” he started, “We shall begin. Osamu Dazai, if you would take a seat before us.”

Dazai approached the judges, taking a seat in a chair decorated with heavy chains. Chuuya’d noticed it when he’d walked in, but it was even more surreal seeing it actually being used in a court proceeding. What were wizards on when they came up with the idea of chaining the accused before a group of judges? Sure, the chains weren’t being used now, but he doubted that held true in the past.

“Criminal trial of the eighteenth of August,” he announced to the court, and the court scribe began to take notes (Chuuya couldn’t find it in himself to be surprised at the quill). “Osamu Dazai,” the man addressed, “You sit before us today accused of a multitude of crimes against Wizarding law. These crimes consist of failing to enroll yourself in the wizarding registry, practicing magic both before and on muggles thereby breaking the Statute of Secrecy, and potential harm or death inflicted on muggles with the use of magic.” At the last accusation, a few whispers broke out behind them, their sparse audience members suddenly much more intrigued.

“Interrogators,” he continued, “Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic, Amelia Susan Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement…” The wizard, now known as one Rufus Scrimgeour, went down the list, Dazai standing surprisingly patient before them throughout the announcement. “…Tane Tsushima, Japanese Ministry of Magic representative…” That name pulled a glance from Chuuya, even as the minister continued to drone. Tsushima Shuuji, he remembered. It was so weird to think that Dazai hadn’t always been Dazai Osamu, this woman the clearest indication of that. It was still on Chuuya’s mind as Scrimgeour finished. “As per procedure, we will start with the matter of your registry.”

The minister shuffled through his papers, tugging one from the stack. “The sparse records afforded to us by muggle authorities indicate you are a Japanese citizen, however, no record of you exists in the Japanese Wizard registry,” Scrimgeour read off. “What is your defense for this negligence?”

Dazai perked up, somehow having taken to ignoring the glaring presence of his mother (or at least pretending he did). “Actually, you’ll find that I am registered. I changed my name a while back in the muggle world and never updated my wizarding records to match.” That earned the mackerel a few odd glances, judgment and confusion the top contenders.

An old woman, lips pinched tightly and staring down her nose with a haughty gaze, spoke up. “Is there a reason for this?”

“Right, how do I say this?” Dazai tilted his head, for all sake giving the impression he was somewhat of a ditz, “I haven’t actually been affiliated with the wizarding world for nearly a decade now, I didn’t see the point.”

“That is still a point of your negligence,” Scrimgeour scowled, turning the attention back to him. “But if you’d disclose the name we’d be able to find you under, the matter of identity can be sorted promptly.”

“Shuuji Tsushima,” he proclaimed, a sacharine grin staining his face as he finally turned to face his mother. “I’m sure your representative over there can testify to that.” A wave of heads swept towards the benched woman, who looked as collected as ever.

Chuuya watched as the minister narrowed his eyes, and he had to resist the urge to scoff at Dazai’s dramatics.

“Ms. Tsushima, would you care to elaborate.” It was not a question.

She seemed to give a sigh before rising from her seat. “I can, in fact, validate his statement. He does exist in the registry as one ‘Shuuji Tsushima’,” she said coolly, meeting the Minister’s scrutiny head on.

“And does Mr. … Tsushima,” he emphasized, “Happen to have any relation to yourself, Ms. Tsushima.” Dazai gave a near unnoticeable twitch at his birth name, and Chuuya almost felt guilty he was glad for it. That the name he knew Dazai by was the one that had truly settled in the man’s skin.

“Yes,” she answered simply, head still held high, “He is my offspring by blood.”

Scrimgeour looked displeased. “Will this in any way impede your judgment in the assistance of this trial?”

“Scrimgeour-sama, I am here on behalf of the Japanese ministry. I take my position very seriously, regardless of any blood relations. Additionally, I have not been a part of Tsushima Shuuji's life for a decade. His actions since then do not concern me outside a legal standpoint.”

“Very well, then,” Scrimgeour stated, if a bit uncomfortably, glancing between Dazai and his mother. He wasn't the only one, some members of the Wizengamot looking on in disapproval. Like they had the right to fucking judge. Chuuya didn’t know much about Dazai's mother, but considering his partner had ended up in the mafia of all places, she hadn't been a good one.

Or, you know, Dazai could have always just been a weirdo. He was still out on that verdict.

“Ms. Tsushima, if you would give a third-party run down of his background?” the minister asked, and she straightened.

“Shuuji Tsushima, born to Tane Tsushima and Tom Marvelo Riddle on June nineteenth…” she began, but Chuuya was very quickly distracted. While most people in the room were listening with stoic faces, a couple members of the Wizengamot had gone pale. They weren't the only ones.

Chuuya heard a hitched breath behind him, and glancing back revealed it to be the Gandalf knockoff himself. His mouth was set in a firm line, eyes locked onto Dazai with a new intensity. Chuuya frowned, he didn't like the way this old guy was eyeing Dazai.

Unfortunately, Chuuya had not been as discreet as he should have been, and the wizard's gaze turned his way after a moment. It was only a couple of seconds their eyes met, but a headache was quick to spike.

Chuuya's hand came to rub at the center of his forehead as he pulled his eyes back to the front of the room, a frown tugging at his lips. Arahabaki was flaring towards the surface, and a clenched fist was all Chuuya could do to shove it back down. There was iron at the back of his throat, blood a hairsbreadth away from the tip of his tongue as it boiled in agitation.

“Mr. Nakahara.”

He jolted, tuning back into the conversation at the trove of witches and wizards who had just turned his way. He blinked before straightening.

“Yes?”

“If you would come forward,” the Minister prompted. “You have been proposed as a witness to Mr. Tsushima’s other criminal charges. The Wizengamot would like to question you.”

“Right,” he took the few steps forward, his headache stiffening his movements. Hopefully it’d just be played off as nerves, even if that wasn’t the first impression he’d want to give the governing forces of this place. Then again, his introduction was at the side of Dazai, who was currently standing trial for alleged fucking murder. Would it kill the bastard to leave a good impression?

Chuuya placed himself next to Dazai, who was still seated. As soon as he’d stopped, Dazai grasped his hand. He wove their fingers together and just… held it. Chuuya felt himself loosen, Arahabaki’s presence dissipating even as an irritated spark of confusion lit up in him.

What the hell are you doing? He tried to communicate with a squeeze, tamping down the urge to shake him off. Fuck, the mackeral’s hands were cold. Dazai ran a thumb across his hand that just radiated smugness, and Chuuya would’ve snapped regardless of their audience had the notion of trust me not been layered beneath it.

Chuuya kept his suspicion from leaking into his expression, keeping his eyes on the Wizengamot. Said members’ attention drew towards their linked fingers, and Chuuya did his best to seem unfazed. Dazai’s mother— who’d he’d forgotten was there for a moment— leveled him with a dissecting glare.

Scrimgeour, thankfully, did not comment on it. Though what he did question wasn’t any better. “You are a muggle, yes?”

The Wizengamot seemed to ripple under this revelation and Chuuya braced himself for their inevitable reaction. What the fuck was with these wizards?

“What is the meaning of this?” A man a few seats to the left of the Minister voiced, various murmurs of essentially the same question being thrown about. “The matters of wizards do not concern muggles, this man should not even be aware of our existence, much less pose as a witness in this trial. What if he’s been spellbound?”

Excuse him? Like hell he’d be spellbound, that idiot Dazai couldn’t even conjure a fucking teapot if he tried. He didn’t bother hiding his displeasure at the thought this time around, scowl real fucking clear.

“I haven’t been bespelled or whatever,” he deadpanned, the wizards still looking on with apprehension, suspicion, concern, and whatever ungodly mix their worldview cooked up for them.

“A muggle has no place here,” another judge spoke up, his words landing on deaf ears. Honestly, Chuuya wouldn’t be surprised if they were— most the Wizengamot sure looked like they had the age for it. “He should be obliviated promptly.”

“Chuuya has every right to be here,” Dazai interrupted. Unlike with himself, the Wizengamot turned to him immediately. He could feel Dazai’s mirth in the flex of his fingers. Chuuya dug his nails in just a tad. It was fucking insulting to have Dazai’s words be taken above his own. He was still a Port Mafia Executive, for crying out loud. His presence should count for something, even if that fact should be kept under wraps.

“On what grounds,” that same judge spat.

“We’re married!”

They were what?