Sunny Suzuki and the Stupid Traitorous Rat

Sunny didn’t know if homelessness was an issue wizards had to deal with. It probably wasn’t, considering they had magic and everything, but because Sunny was Sunny and he could never have good things in life, it was very much something he had to deal with right now. 

Walking through Diagon Alley was a good way to clear his mind, to just process the most urgent facts of his situation. But it didn’t take long before his legs grew tired and heavy, each step sending a jolt of pain up to his waist. He had to sit down on the cobblestone ground so many times he lost count. 

His previous inability to eat Lupin’s little takeout salad was a blessing in disguise. As soon as hunger called for him again, which it didn’t take too long to do so, he opened up the box and ate the remaining greens. It didn’t do much to satiate all of his hunger, but he didn’t feel like starving which was amazing. He would use any energy that he could get while in a place like this. 

The sun was completely gone by now, its rays swallowed by the horizon. The sky had darkened from grey to black, and Sunny found himself wandering in darkness for longer periods of time, no lights from the sparse open stores brightening his way any longer. 

You’d think that wizards would have some street lamps or old-timey torches or something, but nope. Nothing. Nada. Garnichts.

It was messing with him, being in the dark. Or maybe everything else was messing with him. He couldn’t tell. Every brick in every building seemed to watch him as he passed by, wondering and demanding to know what he was doing, why he was there, screaming at him to leave. 

The worst part was that he couldn’t know for sure if it was just paranoia. This world– if it was real, anyway– had magic. Actual, literal, magic. Maybe the walls were telling him to run away. Maybe he should listen to them. He wanted to leave. He did. But then, even if he were to try, where on earth would he head to? 

Muggle London was not an option. He entered this world through unnatural (possibly magical) means. It was through unnatural means that he would go back. And he would go back. He had to. 

He just needed to find a way out. There had to be someone who knew what happened to him, surely. Or something. A wise book somewhere. He should go to that one shop, what was it called– Flowers and Bots? No. Flourish and Blotts. Yeah. Maybe he could find answers there?

But that’d have to wait for another day. Any places that were open at this time of night were pubs and places where “kids” like him wouldn’t be allowed to go into. Which was annoying, but there was nothing he could currently do about i-

BANG

He almost yelped, but his voice turned off too fast for any sound to leave. 

Sunny spun around. His heart leaped to his throat, eyes wide and frantic as he tried to find the source of the noise. His eyes landed on a door from one of the buildings, one that was more decrepit than the shops he passed through a few minutes earlier.

Someone must’ve just shut the door with too much force. 

It was fine. Fine.

There was no reason to panic.

He swallowed down his dry throat, and pulled his hoodie’s cloth to his skin, seeking as much comfort from it as he could. Breathing in through his nose and his mouth, ignoring the painful and anxious prickle of his skin, and fighting with all his might another oncoming panic attack, he slowly turned back around and continued to walk.

The aged buildings melted into each other, their crooked and dilapidated architectures becoming worse and worse the deeper he went. His steps walked over uneven, bumpy floors, and once or twice he tripped over his own feet. 

…oh.

He was in Knockturn Alley, wasn’t he?

He remembered it well enough from the books. 

His hairs stood straight, shivers traveling up and down his spine. 

Oh no. 

Sunny sped up. 

Was he losing his mind, or was there someone watching him through the windows? 

Stop it. 

Stop it, there’s nothing there. 

A hand caressed his skin– Sunny yanked his wrist away with a startled gasp. He snapped around. No one was there. There was nothing there. Nothing. 

Calm down. 

His pace quickened.

Calm down, calm down, calm down. 

He needed sleep. He needed to sleep the night away. He needed to sleep fucking everything away. 

He needed a place to sleep. 

He needed some form of an open hotel to spend the night. 

Or an open house. 

An open shop. 

Open door.  

Ope-

Creak

Sunny stopped dead in his tracks. 

The night air was calm, still, stifling, and dead silent. It only made his heartbeat louder. Between Sunny and the closed shops breathed at least twenty feet of empty space, yet the street, the surrounding buildings, they had never felt more confining. 

What was that?

He turned his head, very, very slowly. A few feet away, on the right of a barred window, was an unlocked, open door, from which a hanging makeshift sign read “CLOSED – COME BACK LATER”. 

Sunny stared. 

A little bit of the interior was visible from where he stood, and despite the dark his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light well enough to see. Shelves upon shelves of vials filled with unknown liquids stacked the noticeable walls, and at the very end of the room stood a small, leather, comfortable-looking roll arm couch. 

Oh.

He stared some more. 

He shouldn’t go inside. That would literally be illegal. But the door… it had opened for him, as if begging him to enter, welcoming him into the warmth and safety that four strong walls around him could provide. He really shouldn’t go inside. He shouldn’t. But the exhaustion was too great, and the alternatives appeased him too little. 

One night. Just for one night, and then he’d leave. In fact, he’d leave in the morning, before anyone could ever even know he was inside in the first place. 

Sunny’s feet moved before his mind could finish his decision. 

He rushed in, footsteps echoing across the quiet air, one hand already grabbing the handle and quickly pushing the door closed before his guilt could follow him inside. When a click signaled it shut, it was as if the weight from the world had been lifted from Sunny’s shoulders. 

He was inside. He was safe. He was fine. 

A quiet sigh of relief passed by his lips, but he didn’t linger by the door for long. Like a zombie, he sluggishly dragged himself to the couch, dizzy with rushing exhaustion that made every step heavier than it should be. The day’s events were eager to catch up to him, huh?

His body barely slumped into the comforting softness of the couch before his eyes slid shut, and sleep embraced his aching limbs with welcoming familiarity. 

.

..

…

..

.

Foggy purple skies. Gentle green grass. 

White noise stuffing his ears.

White noise, white noise, white noise white noise white nois–

A hand grabbed his wrist. Squeezed.

Omori’s voice was clear.

*Wake up.

“–HOW DID SHE GET IN, THEN?!” 

Sunny was startled awake, adrenaline shooting through him. His entire body tensed immediately. 

Oh no. Someone was there. Someone saw him there. Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. He kept his eyes shut tight, trying to pretend to be asleep. Good thing he was facing the couch instead of the room, or else the Loud Man would’ve noticed his eyes opening. 

Did he oversleep? 

Shit. 

Shit, shit, shit.

Another voice retorted, one much shakier and quieter than the first. 

“I don’t– I don’t know, sir, I locked the door, I locked it, promise, I ain’t lyin’ sir, she must’ve casted a sp–”

“NO YOU DIDN'T! ” Loud Man continued to shriek, stomping his foot forward. The volume made his voice sharp like metal nails on a chalkboard, and Sunny cringed. “Look at the girl, you daft arse, do you see a wand?! TELL ME, DO YOU SEE A BLOODY WAND?!” 

“N-no sir, there is no–”

“Ah I see, so she merely waltzed in here, did she?” Even as he lowered his volume, every word trembled with barely contained fury. “Saw a wide open door and reckoned she may as well have a peek, eh? That’s what happened, then? Hm? WAS IT?!”

Sunny didn’t know whether to be amused, terrified, or offended. Did they just call him a girl? Multiple times? It was probably because of his longer hair, considering they didn’t see his face just yet. 

His hair was always one to grow horrifically quickly, the same applying to his sister. And After Mari’s… after the incident, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything, including any form of aesthetic maintenance. He only cut his hair at fifteen, two years post this current body of his, when Mom practically dragged him out of his room and into the bathroom, where she plopped him down a chair and forced him to bear through a haircut. 

He could still remember her crying softly behind him, a fact she tried to hide by snipping the scissors a little too quickly, wanting to muffle her noises with its sharpness, the rustles of the hairbrush used as another cover for any sounds she let escape. She tried to keep it together, but it didn’t take long for her quiet hiccups to disassemble into quieter sobs. 

“Oh Sunny… my sweet, darling, kind boy… oh, my little sunshine…”

Mom didn’t let him grow out his hair after that. Sunny never objected to a future haircut either. He never had the courage to look into the mirror otherwise, horribly afraid that he’d see someone else’s reflection staring back.

She always seemed to share his fear of ghosts. He never saw her as haunted as she’d been while brushing his hair, muttering quiet compliments and assurances. 

Mari always loved to grow her hair.

“Sir! I swear! I used all the damned charms an’ spells, she–”

“SO MANY SPELLS THAT A CHILD BROKE IN?! YOU’RE LUCKY I HAVEN’T CURSED YOU WHERE YOU STAND! Merlin knows what may have occurred… What if it was Black? WHAT IF IT WERE HIM?! We would’ve been dead! DEAD, I TELL YOU!”

And with that, he was forcefully pulled back to the current conversation and out of his thoughts. 

“I beg for your forgiveness sir, I will not repeat my mistakes, I will not, I–”

“No. I have given you your second chance. And then your third. And your fourth. I shall not be so foolish as to give you a fifth.”

Silence. 

Sunny held his breath, trying to mold himself into the couch, to become invisible to the world. 

“...sir?”

“Leave. And do not return.”

Shuffling noise, the opening and closing of a drawer. 

“Twenty five galleons for your troubles.”

“Sir, this ain’t necessary sir, you can’t just–”

“Ah, you wish to tell me what I can and cannot do?”

“Of course not! No, no, no, you misunderstand, I-”

“Archie.” 

“...y-yes?”

“My patience is running thin.”

“Yes, yes, I–”

There was a surprised scream, then a crash, and glass shattering and clattering to the floor. 

Sunny was shaking. He couldn’t stop shaking. 

“Get. Out. ”

The other Man- Archie, Sunny assumed- muttered some more apologies, and after finally taking a hint, he rushed out the door and slammed it shut, the walls trembling in impact. 

Silence fell once more. 

He didn’t dare breathe. 

The floorboards creaked as the Loud Man walked, and to Sunny’s relief, it was away from him. He could feel his heartbeat in his head, every thump sending another jolt to a growing headache. There was the sound of the swish of a wand, and the Loud Man spoke with enunciated clarity: 

“Reparo.” 

Sunny didn’t need to look to know that the glass- or whatever else that broke- had fixed itself, the pieces mending back together seamlessly. He almost felt a little bit bad. He would’ve liked to see that magic happen. 

The floorboards creaked again. Closer this time. 

His gut dropped. 

“Girl.” 

Boy, actually. Was his hair really that long?

“Have a seat. I know you’re awake.”

Damn it. 

He vaguely considered the idea of playing dead, but that dumb thought barely lasted a second. With a resigned groan, Sunny opened his eyes, blinking at the newfound brightness of the world, and groggily pushed himself off the couch, settling into a comfortable sitting position. 

The shop he entered looked very different when washed with dawn’s daylight. Either that, or he was finally noticing things he didn’t bother to make note of yesterday thanks to his exhaustion. 

The golden hues of the sunrise spilled over the shelves, highlighting the floating air particles, vials and bottles containing not only liquids but odd insects were set brightly alight. Webs and dust flocked near the corners of each showcased product, especially those with higher prices, but the goods closer to the doors were visibly cleaner than the rest, their glasses practically glowing.

Next to the couch was a simple, red-wooden receptionist desk, with stacks of pinned down yellowed paper and many drawers labelled with different words: ‘galleons’, ‘sickles’, ‘knuts’, and ‘exchanges’, from the upper drawers to the lower ones respectively. 

On the other side were more and more shelves, a worktable of sorts in the corner next to a window, and at the deepest part of the little room stood a dusty old door.

Where it led, Sunny had no clue. 

“Look at me, child. It is ill-mannered to not greet your host properly, particularly an unwilling one.”

Sunny shifted his focus towards the Loud Man’s deep, gravelled, normally-volumed voice, and ended up staring directly at the other’s legs. He lifted his gaze higher, and a twist ached into his gut as soon as his dark brown eyes met with the man’s light coral blue.

Loud Man’s short, silver hair was refined to perfection, slicked back smoothly without a single strand out of place. The sharpness of his widow’s peak hairline matched the severity of his arched nose, and round pearl chains dangled from his rectangular glasses that perched perfectly in between his thick eyebrows. 

The sunlight that had slid through the windows reached half of his wrinkled face, contouring his high cheekbones and chin, his pale skin outlined red at the edges of where the light reached. He wore a blue tie and a sleek black vest over a white buttoned shirt, its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a simple black leather belt and brown pants (or trousers, as he’ll probably have to get used to saying) finished with black formal shoes,

That was… not the type of person he was expecting to see, honestly. After hearing so much yelling, he thought he’d see someone who was, well, he didn’t want to say disorganized– but definitely less put-together. The wizarding world sure was full of surprises. 

Silence stretched on, in which both just kept staring at each other. Sunny was growing increasingly uncomfortable.The other man had an expectant look on his face. As if waiting for something. 

Oh, did he ask a question?

Sunny blinked, making a dumbfounded expression (which thanks to the circumstances, was not hard to do), hoping that was enough to make it clear that he did not hear anything.

Loud Man squinted, visibly annoyed. “Your name, boy.” 

He was ‘boy’ now, huh?

Sunny swallowed. He did not want to get on the man’s bad side. Especially if said man could blow him into smithereens any second with a flick of a wand. He looked down to the ground, and barely managed a whisper. 

“...S-sunny, sir.” He made sure to add the sir at the end, a little afraid he’d actually die if he didn’t. “Sunny Suzuki.” 

Loud Man merely glowered upon getting the name. “So, Mr. Suzuki… you’ve entered my shop.” 

Denying anything never did him any good. Sunny nodded.

“Yes, sir.”

“Without my knowledge, permission, or anyone else’s admission.”

“Y.. yes, sir.”

“And, as an unintended consequence, you’ve tested the poor capabilities of my employee, and lost me a worker.” His gravel voice lowered dangerously. Sunny swallowed again, unable to find his own. He just weakly nodded. Loud Man glared deeper. 

“Mr. Suzuki, I am not an unreasonable man. Nor am I generous, however. Enlighten me with one good reason why I won’t fetch any Aurors this very minute.”

“...p-please don’t, sir?” 

“I might do, despite your request. Tell me now, boy, why I won’t. Don’t beg. Explain.”

Sunny blinked, processing the words. The worst of his shaking stopped, and breathing came a little bit easier now, even though his airflow still felt constricted. Oh, okay. Loud Man was actually giving him a chance to explain himself. An actual, real, genuine chance to explain himself. 

He really didn’t expect that from the same guy who almost blew up that Archie guy a few moments ago. 

“I- I got lost. Uhm. I w-was trying to find a way back home, to my parents, and ended up here in the middle of the night.” Technically not a lie, right? Technically. “I was tired, I saw the door open and–”

“The door was open?”

Sunny had to force himself not to look away from Loud Man’s narrowed gaze. 

“Yes, sir.” 

The other scoffed, throwing his head back and pinching the bridge of his nose, crossing one arm over his chest. “Merlin’s beard, Archie. What a fool I was. Good riddance.” He absentmindedly gestured to Sunny with his fingers. “Continue.”

“I… I saw the door open, and since I didn’t really have any other place to go, uhm, I went in.” He put his hands up in the air, and he was forcing his voice to work so hard that he talked more than he intended to now, his words tripping over each other as his ramble spiraled on. “I didn’t steal anything, if that’s what you’re worried about! I swear! You can- you can check me with your magic stuff, or something, but like, I just needed sleep, and I didn’t want to be out in the dark so long, especially when–”

“–there’s a murderer on the loose, yes, yes, yes. I’m aware.” Loud Man finished, waving his hand dismissively before crossing both his arms. He took a step back, arching his thick brow. “May I say something, Mr. Suzuki?” 

That was not how he was going to end his sentence, and frankly Sunny did not want to hear anything he had to say. Despite both facts, he nodded. 

Loud Man squatted down to Sunny’s eye level, elbows on his knees and hands cupped together under his chin. His next few words were spoken softly, but firmly. 

“You are a bad liar, and a worse imbecile.”

Sunny’s chest tightened again. He held his breath. 

“Try again. Answer my question properly this time. I do not want your motives. I want you to tell me a reason.” 

A reason, a reason, a reason. Sunny racked his brain, flipping through ideas and thoughts and excuses he could maybe garble out. Then, suddenly, something clicked.

Tell me why I won’t, is what he said. It wasn’t tell me why I shouldn’t. 

He wasn’t planning on turning him in, was he? It wasn’t a threat. It was a… test? 

Why the hell this guy was testing him, now that, that, he had no idea. 

“We’re– we’re in Knockturn Alley,” stammered Sunny, trying to remember as much legal information about the wizarding world as he could. He failed miserably. The Muggle legal system is the next best thing he had. Before Loud Man could interrupt again, he continued, forcing the words out.

“At least, uh, I think we are. You– you– you fired that guy, but there wasn’t any paperwork, and, and uhm–” Did wizards do paperwork? Too late. “–and that means it’s not… not really legal, right? Because of where we are. You can’t go to the authorities, because you’d be putting yourself at risk. And, well, I don’t think there’s a bunch of Aurors near this place anyway. Not unless they’re busy investigating something else already.”

Loud Man was quiet for a second, a contemplative look behind his coral blue eyes. He stood up then, slowly, and gave Sunny a small nod. 

“Acceptable answer.” 

Sunny’s shoulders sagged in relief. 

“So, you comprehend that while you are here, you are under no legal protection, yes?”

And he tensed right back up again. 

“You’ve lied to me of your motives, even when that wasn’t the answer I seeked. You are partially to blame for losing me a tool, one that is hard to regain in these parts. You took advantage of my property when it was in a vulnerable state. If you weren’t but a child,” he spat out the word, “you would be finding yourself in a very, very unfortunate and painful situation.”

Loud Man didn’t need to raise his volume to get a message across. Even while he spoke quietly, he pronounced every word clearly, dropping heavy weights in each syllable. He had a silver tongue to say the least, one that would be very useful in a place with difficult customers. And very useful when intimidating difficult people. Sunny clenched his hands, trying to stop their shaking. 

“Tell me, Mr. Suzuki. What would be the best form of discipline to one who committed these moral and legal crimes without any hesitation?” 

Sunny was quiet. He didn’t know what to say. 

“I…”

What should he say? What should he say?!

“Yes, Mr. Suzuki?”

“I-I…”

“Yes?”

Well. 

If it worked with Mr. Jawsum…

He swallowed, shut his eyes, and hissed the words out.

“I could work for you?”

For the first time, the other man’s silence was not one of contemplation, but rather stumped surprise. 

Sunny took that as a bad sign, and continued talking. 

“Like- like just for a little while, and uhm, until you find someone better– and then– and then I’ll leave, I’ll go, you won’t hear from me again, just please don’t blow me up or kill me or anything along those lines I won’t do anything bad I swear! I can clean! Not really cook, but definitely clean! I’m small, and I can get into tight spaces, I can–”

“Boy–”

“I know how to play the violin, ish, I mean I haven’t played it in a while but I’m sure I can entertain any customers well enough, or maybe the piano if you prefer that except I’m not nearly as good my sister was so much better than me maybe you could help me find her in this place or actually nevermind that’s a stupid stupid stupid idea and–”

“Boy.”

“I can draw really well I can make posters and advertisements and I can be useful, I can be useful I swear, I can be useful, I can, I can be useful, I can be useful I can– ”

“BOY!” 

Sunny flinched, ducking his head into his shoulders, and his voice shut down. 

He kept his eyelids tightly closed.

The floorboards creaked. Loud Man went somewhere off to his right, and he could hear the faint noises of glass clinking against each other as he rummaged around for something.

His cheeks felt wet. His nose was stuffy, difficult to inhale through. Any airflow he got was in and out the mouth, every breath trembling and labored. 

Was he crying?

When did that happen?

“Here, Mr. Suzuki,” said Loud Man as he returned, more kindly this time. “Drink. It's a calming draught.”

Sunny opened his red rimmed eyes to find a glass of colored liquid being handed to him. He took it, and started gulping it down, not bothering to consider if it was poison. Being dead would take a lot of his problems away. A thick, mildly bitter vanilla taste slid down his throat, and he grimaced slightly. It wasn’t a bad taste, he barely felt it, but it was still weird. 

Like being hit with a tranquilizer, peace washed over him, calming his hands, his limbs, his overly loud heart. It was like someone had just yanked his head above water when he didn’t even know he was drowning. 

A hand touched his glass gently, and he stopped drinking. He looked up to see Loud Man watching him, wearing an unreadable expression. 

“...well then, that’s enough.” He took the glass, and placed it aside, on top of the desk. “I was not expecting such a reaction, Mr. Suzuki. I apologize. I am accustomed to dealing with nefarious adults, you see. Don’t sell your skills to me. I wanted to frighten you for your family’s money, not your own labor.”

Damn. At least the guy was honest about it. Sunny slumped deeply into the couch, fidgeting with sleeves. Now that he wasn’t scared shitless, he was just exhausted. What a bummer, he just got a full night of sleep too.  

He avoided looking back up at the other, keenly aware he was being watched silently, possibly judged. This was really fucking awkward. He panicked so hard that the man whose store he broke into gave him a calming potion. How twisted was that?

Loud Man squatted down to his level again, making it harder for Sunny to avoid him. 

“Mr. Suzuki, look at me.” 

Not knowing the consequences if he denied, Sunny obeyed. He stared intently at Loud Man’s nose. 

“Where are your parents? My troubles are with them, not you. Tell me the truth.”

A simple question. An insanely complicated answer. 

Sunny shrugged. 

“The truth, child.” 

Sunny shrugged again. This time, Loud Man went silent. Moments passed like that, with uncomfortable silence stretching over the both of them. Then he sighed, a deep, deep, exhausted sigh, and stood up, patting down his pants– sorry, trousers or whatever– as a nervous twitch. 

“I see.” A pause. “Are they in the States?”

Sunny shrugged again. 

It was the 90s if the timeline stayed consistent– whenever the fuck the timeline was here anyway, but if Lupin was the professor and Sirius was out and about, he could wager a guess– meaning his parents were like… kids. 

He didn’t even know if they existed in this reality, much less in this planet. Besides, neither of them were born in America. Mom was from Canada and Dad from Japan. He followed his shrug with the shake of his head. 

Loud Man hesitated before asking his next question. 

“Are they gone?”

Gone.

Sunny swallowed a painful lump down his throat, blinking back stinging tears. 

As gone as they could be, he supposed. 

He nodded. 

“...I see.” 

A second pause. One that lasted much longer than the first. 

Loud Man took a deep breath, sighed, and walked over to his desk, going behind it and opening one of the drawers. Sunny didn’t bother to look at what he was doing, feeling way too tired to care. 

What a mess. What a mess this was. 

The floors creaked again as the other walked back. Sunny turned to him, and his eyes widened slightly in surprise. Loud Man held a small pouch, one he dropped a few coins into. He set it down on the arm of the couch, allowing Sunny to either grab it or leave it by choice. 

“Four galleons, and ten sickles. That is enough to buy three meals a day, a few clothes, and a cheap personal item of your choice. If you spend them wisely, you will be able to afford more expensive endeavors with time.”

Sunny’s eyes widened further. He quickly did the math in his head, converting the money into normal currency. More than 100 bucks, maybe even 115 dollars a day! More or less anyway, he didn't remember the values all that well. Holy shit. That’s more than minimum wage back home!... if he only worked eight hours a day, of course. 

Loud Man rolled his eyes. Somehow he managed to do so gracefully. 

“Don’t insult me with your surprise. What kind of monster do you take me for? You are without your parents, without money, without a secure property, and worst of all without a wand.” Funny order of priorities, but Sunny didn’t comment. “And I myself am without a worker, something that you have already agreed to change. This is… beyond my usual level of comfort, I must admit, though I suppose paid child labor is hardly the worst crime I’ve committed.”

He did not want a list. He was afraid enough of this man as it was. 

“My generosity has limits. If you must spend your nights here, you shall do so on the couch. Soon I’ll show you your jobs– and yes, jobs– and how you shall accomplish them, and I expect little to no error in your performance. I am not nearly as desperate for an employee as you might think, and if you do poorly I shall send you directly to a muggle orphanage. Understood?”

Sunny weakly nodded. 

“Good. Questions?” 

“...u-uhm.” He thought about it, before one appeared in his mind. Calling him ‘Loud Man’ internally was getting a bit weird, especially since he was apparently getting illegally hired by this guy. “Your… your name, s-sir?”

Loud Man blinked, surprised at himself for a change, a shocked expression dawning upon him. “Ah. I have not introduced myself, have I?” 

Sunny shook his head. 

“I apologize. My clients or acquaintances know me as Providence, but you may call me Atticus, Mr. Suzuki.” Loud Man– Atticus– gestured to the little pouch he placed on the couch. “Any other questions, or shall I introduce you to your first job?”

Atticus didn’t ring any bells. Then again, he didn’t get a last name so maybe this guy could still be somewhat important to the main plot? Or maybe not. There was a lot Harry never knew about the wizarding world after all. Literally everything outside of Hogwarts and Mari’s rambles about post-books canon (what he remembered of them, in any case) was a mystery to him.

He could think about this later. Right now, he had a question to answer, and a job to learn.

“Yes, uh, you said a muggle orphanage?” 

Sunny was pretty sure orphanages weren’t a thing at this day and age, if he was in the 1990’s anyway, and he wasn’t exactly keen to be thrown into the British foster system. Unless orphanages were still a thing. Were orphanages still a thing during the 90s? God, hopefully not. He would rather die.

Atticus tilted his head. “You are a squib, yes? Either that, or you’re irresponsible enough to leave your wand unattended, or worse yet– to have lost it entirely. Nonetheless, assuming the worst is untrue, I believe you’re past Hogwarts or Ilvermorny age… unless I am mistaken.”

Sure, why not. Good enough cover that hid the very strange fact that Sunny was the muggliest muggle to have ever muggled, one that somehow was transported magically to this world. Yup, this is a more believable tale, he’ll take it. 

“N-no, you’re… you’re not. I’m thirteen.” Or fourteen, but based on the length of his hair, probably closer to thirteen. “And… and a squib. My dad’s a wizard, mom’s a muggle, and I’m me,” mumbled Sunny. Squibs could be half-blood, right? Yeah. Trying to find a sweet spot that would explain both his strange ignorance to the wizarding world and even stranger niche knowledge of it was more difficult than he expected. But this should be it.

There were a few seconds of silence, ones that stretched for an unexpected amount of time. 

Atticus narrowed his eyes slightly. “I do not appreciate lies, Mr. Suzuki. And as I’ve said before, you have no talent in that area of skill, something that if you wish to work for me, we must improve upon,” he said simply, without any bite but a very clear promise, before turning around and heading to the door. 

“Follow me. I shall answer more questions on the way.”

Sunny short-circuited, unsure whether to be mildly impressed, horrified, or just offended, before finally jolting back to reality and jumping to his feet. He snatched the little pouch, ruffled his hair in an attempt to untangle some knots or to at least make it look decent (it was way too long though, so that failed miserably) and scurried over to Atticus. 

Like every other adult he met so far, the man was infuriatingly tall. At least now he knew for sure that during his “Real Life” or whatever he grew some inches– daresay feet– despite all the lack of self-care he suffered. The thought came with a pang of bittersweetness. How much could he have grown if he actually bothered? 

“As you may have noticed, my potions shop showcases a humble number of potions,” said Atticus as he swung open the door. “This is because most of the business is done… off the books, shall we say. Customers won’t always waltz into one’s door, you see. There are times where we must go to them first.”

The morning air was fresh, though slightly dusty, the sunshine gently licking Sunny’s face with warmth. It was a surprisingly clear day, and the streets that were so terrifying the night before looked daresay normal now. At least, as normal as Knockturn Alley could look. The buildings still arched and the people scattered by the nooks of every street seemed anything but friendly. 

Sunny made sure to stick a little bit closer to Atticus as they walked. The older man didn’t seem to mind. 

“Today you shan’t do much, since you don’t yet know how. In any case, we must first make it known that you’re under my jurisdiction before you do anything yourself. They shall avoid harming you if they know you work under me. No, this is not kindness. You are simply worth nothing to me dead,” Atticus said plainly, before muttering to himself, “walking together long enough ought to do the trick, I hope.”

Sunny just nodded, going even closer after he spotted a particularly nasty glare from an old hag a few buildings away. This would be so great. Huzzah.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, with Atticus cutting in every once in a while with comments or questions of his own, which after Sunny only answered with a shrug or a nod, he stopped asking. The entire situation reminded Sunny so much of the whole thing with Lupin it made him want to laugh. And then cry, because goddamnit why did he have to be so horribly awkward. 

Atticus would occasionally stop walking, knock on a door, wait for five seconds or so, and then coins would materialize in the air, ones he caught easily before they could tumble to the ground. It was like collecting taxes. He explained that he was simply collecting overdue payment. Sunny didn’t ask further questions. 

He did ask a different question though, once they had enough privacy by walking through an empty street. 

“Do you… always do these things, sir?” Sunny asked. 

Atticus gave him a side-eyed glance, before keeping his gaze fixed on the path before them, watching their surroundings intently. “What things, Mr. Suzuki?”

“Well… uhm… y’know.” He gestured towards himself.

“Discarding my incompetent worker and hiring a fatherless, magicless, skill-less child from the States? No, boy. I must admit this is a first.” He sighed. “And I hope it will be the last. But alas, when you live in a place like this, one must learn how to be adaptable. Once you’ve learned enough yourself, you will leave. I don’t wish for your company any more than you do mine.” 

“Oh. Okay.”

This guy sure was blunt, to say the least.

“As I’ve said before, boy. I don’t appreciate lies. If I am to expect you to treat me with the courtesy of honesty, then I shall do the same to you.” 

…He said that out loud, huh? 

Sunny wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow him whole. 

If Atticus noticed his embarrassment, he didn’t comment on it. Instead he gestured to a very shady-looking alley. “Now, if you could bring your attention to where Madame Dion’s flat…”

And so they went for the rest of the day. It was a whole lot of walking, and a whole lot of talking from Atticus. Sunny’s feet were throbbing by the time evening came, and Atticus only let them go back to the shop once the fucking moon went up.

There was a quick dinner, one that Atticus supplied. He talked about how this was a “one time” thing and how he expected Sunny to “provide for himself” or at least “pay for the meals” he gave him later and all that jazz, but Sunny didn’t care much for it. All that mattered was that he had food and a place to sleep. Which, after being literally homeless for a little less than a day, he was very grateful for. 

Sunny asked about how showers and laundry would work, with which Atticus replied by simply muttering a cleaning spell followed by a drying one. Being cleaned with magic was uncomfortable, but effective, and he didn’t complain. He still felt dirty, but he knew that was purely psychological, his brain not accustomed to being cleaned in ways that weren’t ‘muggle’. He could get used to this with enough effort and time.

The only ‘job’ he actually did that day was cleaning some cauldron pots. They were used for potion making or something, and one shouldn’t use magic when cleaning anything that has a purpose in brewing because that could interfere with future ingredients and products. It wasn’t that bad of a workload honestly, but that was probably because it was Sunny’s first day and Atticus was going easy on him. 

All in all, once the day ended Sunny was utterly exhausted. Turns out Atticus lived on the floor right above the shop (that explained the whole ‘we could have died’ spiel he yelled at Archie before), so when the time came to clock out he just bid Sunny goodnight, summoned pillows and a blanket over the couch, and then apparated upstairs with a loud crack. 

Sunny wasted no time. He took off his shoes, slipped underneath the blanket, closed his eyes and let the soothing silence lull him to sleep.

—

It took an entire week and two days before Atticus allowed Sunny enough time to leave Knockturn Alley. Well, ‘allowed’ wasn’t the right word, considering the fact he was leaving because Atticus insisted he had to buy new clothes for himself.

Sunny wasn’t so keen to go back to Diagon Alley, as seeing any slightly familiar faces or hearing any familiar names would definitely send him on a spiral. But after too many days of refusing Atticus’ offers of chaperoning him safely to the clothing shops, the man did not take another “no” as an answer. He completely cleared out both of their schedules for the day, wanting to be able to focus just on buying Sunny some personal items. When asked about why they were doing this, Atticus just said he wanted his workers to be "presentable", whatever that meant. Sunny suspected there was another reason, one that held a lot more pity to his current situation, but he didn't push, even when he was a bit annoyed. 

The lack of jobs that day was one of the only things he was genuinely grateful for. Not that he didn’t want new clothes, it was just low, low, low, low on his (admittedly short) list of priorities. 

But a day free of work was a good day. Because seriously, when the old man said jobs, he really meant the plural part of the damn word. From sunrise to sunset, he made sure Sunny had something to do. 

Washing cauldrons, organizing vials, keeping track of sales, cleaning the shop, reorganizing the same fucking vials, cleaning the shop (again), gathering ingredients from their garden, restocking products, cleaning potion-making tools, and of course, going on very long walks that consisted mostly of Atticus parading him around and having him knock on clienteles’ doors to collect money. 

It occurred to Sunny on the third day of his new employment that he was, technically, the wizarding world’s equivalent of a drug dealer’s assistant. Haha. Oh joy. 

“How much money are you allowed to spend?” asked Atticus for the fourth time that day.

They stood at the border of Knockturn Alley, where its streets merge with the ones of Diagon. A few feet away, right around the corner, was the bustling animated nature of the brighter wizarding world, so alien and different in atmosphere from what he was used to for the past week that Sunny was close to having a meltdown. 

Sunny sighed. 

“Ten galleons, twenty sickles,” he answered automatically. That would leave six galleons and twenty five sickles left in his little pouch– he had spent some money already during the last few days.

“You understand why I’m giving you this limit?”

“So that I don’t spend all my money at once.”

“Yes, and so that you gain an understanding on how to use it responsibly by having a model to follow at first. What will happen if you spend more than the given limit?”

“Nothing other than me having less money, so that I can learn the consequences of my own actions.”

“Good. What shall happen if you are unable to pay for your meals?” 

“I’ll go to bed hungry.” 

Atticus nodded. “Good. I’m glad to see we are on the same page.” 

Sunny tried hard not to glower. Since he wasn’t exactly going to restaurants or grocery stores to buy food, Atticus just gave him whatever he made in his kitchen for the price of 5-15 sickles depending on what Sunny wanted to eat. It was much easier to get food, but it was still annoying. Not to mention a bit expensive in his opinion. But the food was pretty good so he didn't complain.

He already went a few nights without dinner (he told Atticus he ate somewhere else) in order to save up some money. That, and also because he just wasn’t hungry. Throwing up was unfortunately a common occurrence after breakfast or lunch. It was nothing he wasn’t used to. The one good thing about cleaning the entire day was that no one needed to ever know his little incidents. Atticus certainly didn’t know, and Sunny was happy to keep it that way.

“Well then, one last thing for you before you leave,” said Atticus, reaching into his pan– trou– pa– trousers– oh, fuck it– pants’ pocket. He pulled out a wand, one that was silver, slender, and simple in design, and Sunny had to pick up his jaw from the ground.

Seeing his wide-eyed, starstruck, glowing expression, Atticus shook his head. “No, not a real wand. It’s a fake. You wouldn’t be able to use a real one regardless. This is enchanted so that if the need arises, you may injure someone easily and find some time to flee. Point at them and say ‘fire’, and then turn around and run. Think of it as a gun, the ones you Americans adore.”

This did not quell his excitement. If anything, Sunny’s eyes widened further. A magical stick gun. A wand that could actually magically shoot people. It was mind blowing. People-blowing. And so exciting!

Atticus, noticing this, rolled his eyes and handed the gun-wand to Sunny with a small sigh. 

“Please do not misuse this. I am trusting you to utilize this weapon, not a toy, weapon, in a proper and safe manner. If it reaches my ears that you’ve attacked someone under inappropriate conditions, you will be fired immediately. Understood?”

Sunny nodded, holding the wand with awe. It felt cold under his fingers, perfectly smooth in texture. 

It felt magical.

He successfully stifled back a giddy giggle.

“In that case, go on. I’ll meet you in Flourish and Blotts in three hours. Three hours. Do not make me come fetch you. You know where that is, yes?” Atticus asked with a raised brow. 

Truth was, he didn’t know, but he would figure it out. Sunny nodded. 

“...boy.”

Nevermind, this guy was a damn lie detector. Sunny shook his head.

“Hm. I see. That is fine. Ask anyone for directions and they’ll provide. If a need for me arises, you may find me there at any time– there’s a few books I’ve been meaning to buy.” 

And with a few more words of warning, and a small goodbye, Atticus disapparated with a loud crack . 

.

..

.

An hour had passed since Sunny was left to his own devices, and during this time he was mostly sight-seeing. The colors and sounds and magic were extraordinary now that he wasn’t on the brink of a mental breakdown, and he was enjoying seeing some kids running around with frogs and owls and wands, and parents and wizards and witches muttering spells and gossip in every corner.

It was some time in August, that much he knew, so Hogwarts would start again soon and stuff, and everyone was eager to buy their supplies. It was really nice to watch the wizarding world so closely. He tried not to think too much about his situation as he wandered, of how he would get back home, if he ever would, and all the other thoughts that plagued his mind the last few days.

There existed plenty of nice aspects about living this fantasy, and he clung to them as much as possible. 

But his moments of peace didn’t last long.

During his walk, he caught sight of someone.

Another kid, one that he knew very, very well. 

He had his face so close to a magic-broom’s store window that his breathing left little clouds of warmth against the glass. Bright green eyes behind circular glasses shone with admiration for the Firebolt broom that floated before him, filled to the brim with the desire to snatch it for himself. His black hair was messy and untamed, wildly sticking out in all directions, leaving a little opening for the lighting-scarred forehead to be seen easily enough. 

Harry fucking Potter was smiling to himself as he gazed upon a magical broom that he did have the money to buy. He was rich, after all. Because he was the Boy-Who-Lived. He was Lily and James Potter’s son. He was the Chosen One. He would kill Voldemort. He would bring peace. He would end the war, the war that approached closer and closer every day, the war that if Sunny did nothing, would kill almost everything this child held dear. 

Sunny lost the power to move his legs. 

His heart dropped when the other looked away from the broom, slowly turning his head to gaze at him instead. 

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, stared in mild confusion at the boy who for some reason never fully died.