Sunny Suzuki and the Stupid Traitorous Rat

Atticus didn’t believe him, and yeah, Sunny didn’t blame him for that.

It wasn’t that he thought Sunny was lying to his face, or anything like that. No, no, he was very convinced that Sunny believed he did magic, but Atticus didn’t think for a second it was what really happened. He acted as if Sunny had just imagined it, or experienced something that he thought was magic but in reality wasn’t, because squibs didn’t just “get their magic” after thirteen years of waiting. 

And… honestly? Sunny was close to being convinced of that himself. Maybe the insanity of his situation caught up with him and he really was losing his shit. 

But no, he knew what he saw, what he felt, what he did. And it was driving him crazy.

He didn’t go back to Diagon Alley after that. 

The only reason he ever did before was to keep an eye on Harry, to make sure that the plot didn’t fail him and that Potter somehow got killed in the summer or something because of the unpredictability that was the butterfly effect. But after that excruciatingly awful interaction with him, he wasn’t keen on seeing him again, or being seen by him. 

Or being seen by anyone that might have been near that store he blew up, really. 

Accidental magic wasn’t illegal (he was pretty sure it wasn’t anyway), and Harry had fixed his mistake pretty easily, but it was still a horrifying concept to wrap his head around. He had magic. Sunny, a muggle – and worse, someone who was part of a world where ‘muggles’ didn’t exist– somehow had magic.

It didn’t make any fucking sense.

Had he actually died? No, no, seriously, was this the afterlife? Was he dead, and did he fall into the body of a Harry-Potter-World Sunny, who coincidentally wore similar clothes as him when he body-snatched?? Was he cursed to never fully die??? He hoped not. He scratched that idea as quickly as it came each time it appeared, even when it popped up again and again and again.  

It was unlikely, and stupid, because if this was a Sunny that existed in this universe, then Mari should be here. Or, if Sunnies were cursed to repeat the same mistakes in every reality, and she’s dead, at least his parents should be here. Or anyone he knew.

And so, he was back to square one, wondering what the hell was going on and how he suddenly became a wizard.

Nothing made sense, and it made him feel ill, horribly irritable, and fucking insane. 

Sunny didn’t like thinking about it. He didn’t like thinking about anything concerning his situation. 

And so, he didn’t. 

He threw himself into his jobs, focusing all his energy on perfecting his skills in every task, every scrub of the floor, or the tables, or of the cauldron, much to Atticus’ mild concern and reluctant content. 

Sunny was a fast learner, always had been, so it didn’t take long for his hands to become adept at plucking ripe leaves and ingredients from their garden, for his brain to become used to categorizing and reorganizing all the different vials and ingredients based on their properties and values, for his scrubbing to become more practical in its cleaning and less time-consuming. 

If he wasn’t exhausted enough to be unable to think by the end of the day, then he didn’t work hard enough. Passing out was the only way to get any form of dreamless sleep, and even then he wasn’t always so lucky, being thrown into Headspace again and again– Omori was always there, never talking or interacting with him but always keeping quiet company, and Sunny was terrified at how comfortable his dreamworld was starting to feel again. The only saving grace was the fact he couldn’t move, only sit or lay depending on the dream, but that didn’t mean he disliked it any less. 

Omori also looked a bit different from last time, and he wasn’t sure if that was because he destroyed Headspace all those months ago or because of influence from whatever the hell his current reality was. He wore striped pants instead of shorts, and his hair was a bit longer than he remembered it being when he was twelve. Omori looked more like his current age, which was weird. 

But the most unnerving aspect of it all was the way that he felt… unfamiliar. Which was also weird, considering this was his brain he was talking about. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the new clothes or if Headspace was actually trying to rebuild itself into something new after everything, but either way he didn’t like it. Omori was never a stranger before, hell Omori was barely even a person as his vessel, and the possibility of him actually becoming a Stranger was even worse. 

He didn’t like to think about it.

So he worked, and he worked, and worked, and worked. 

Providence’s Potions became his haven from insanity, his one and only hobby and home of his habits, his entire life, all in the span of a few weeks. 

It was madness, he was well awake, but he didn’t care if it kept him from actually going mad. 

But Atticus was growing worried. He could tell in the way that the man started spending more and more time in the shop instead of outside selling products, in the way that the prices for his daily meals slowly dropped, in the way that the couch had been transfigured to almost double its original size. One might wonder why the last bit wasn’t done sooner, and the answer was simple: Atticus sucked at transfiguration. For all his talents in charms and potions, he probably couldn’t turn a match into a needle his first year and gave up ever since with how bad he was at it. He had to hire someone to get it done. It was a whole ordeal. Sunny was grateful, in the end. 

But despite all the unexpected perks of having someone question your mental health, it was his illegal wizard-drug-dealingboss who was getting worried. He didn’t know what he could do to change that. He wondered if Mr. Jawsum would’ve ever cared for his mental health. And, like his many other trains of thoughts about Headspace, he nipped the bud at its core and stopped thinking about it entirely. 

It only got worse and worse and worse, until one night, when Sunny had (finally) finished restocking the last remaining jars with their respective ingredients, Atticus actually called him up in the middle of the evening for some tea. 

Some. Fucking. Tea. 

Now, that never happened. Ever.

Sunny, for all his time spent inside of the store, barely went upstairs where Atticus lived for anything other than breaks for using the bathroom. He didn’t even know the way up there since he always got snatched through apparation, which was one hell of a thing to get used to (he had to ask for each break through a magical mirror thing that kinda worked as a phone. He was allowed one break per finished task. Sunny rarely ever asked).

Unfortunately, that was a mystery that this invite didn’t allow him to solve, because Atticus transported him the typical way there again. Honestly at this point Sunny was suspecting the store’s building either literally had no staircases (something which he approved of), or, worst-case scenario, Atticus didn’t actually live there and was lying the entire time about doing so. He doubted that was the case though. His boss was unflinchingly honest, even when Sunny would’ve preferred it if he wasn’t. 

The apartment was humble appearance-wise, and pretty boring if he had to be honest. 

The kitchen and the living/dining room were all meshed into one large connected space, the stove and the cabinets kept clean but visibly old. There was no fridge, since most wizards used magic to keep everything fresh (and wasn’t that a discovery when Sunny asked about it). There were only three other doors he never went into, discounting the bathroom he was familiar with. Probably led to bedroom(s?), bathroom(s?), and an office, if Atticus was the type to have one. Which he probably was. 

Atticus brought him to a small square table with two chairs, both of them wooden and with chipping white paint, and waved his wand. A teapot and two cups materialized in the air before dropping down.

The conversation, which consisted mostly of questions over his well-being and very curt answers, was terribly awkward, and Sunny’s tea was left untouched throughout the entire exchange. Atticus didn’t force him to drink it. Once it became ardently clear that Sunny didn’t want to talk, he didn’t force the rest of the conversation either, dispensing him to go back to his jobs. 

Sunny spent the rest of his summer in a productive daze, not thinking about anything other than the steady movements of his hands, the next task, the next day.  

Wake up, work, eat, work, work, work, eat, throw up, clean, work, eat, magical hygiene, sleep, repeat. 

Atticus tried talking to him two more times before leaving him be. 

Sunny was grateful for the other’s silence. 

.

..

.

A few days had passed since the incident with Harry, and it was already August 27th.

Sunny was by his little working area, a stone table tucked into the furthest corner of the store, busy scrubbing a particularly grimy cauldron. He was in a deep state of focus and thoughtlessness, something that was kept untouched and unbreached until a loud knocking came from one of the windows. 

Tuck tuck tuck

His heart spiked for a moment and he looked up, glancing around. 

What was that?

It was noon, and sunlight flooded summer warmth into the room like liquid, drowning Sunny in droplets of sweat and tangible, vibrant heat. He wiped his head with his damp hand, putting down the cauldron’s Scrubby-Brush with one hand and pushing back his bangs with the other, blinking at the vibrancy of the day. 

Alright. It was not coming from the window near the door, or the window opposite to him. Tuck tuck tuck the knocking rang out again, closer to him this time. Sunny jolted. Oh, it was from the window on his right?  

He turned around, wiping his hands on his robes. His eyes widened at the sight of a great grey owl perched on the other side of the cloudy glass. 

Oh. My. God.

It was beautiful, dignified, magical, and horrifying, with bright yellow eyes that stared deep into his soul. A letter… no, the letter was tied neatly on its leg with a ribbon, and its butter-colored envelope seemed to radiate against the sunlight. On its visible back, written in bold green ink and elegant handwriting, was his name.

Mr S. Suzuki,

The First Floor Workshop Corner,

16th Street Number 134, Providence Potions,

Knockturn Alley

Sunny stared. 

No way. 

He stared, and stared, and then stared some more. 

No. Way.

He stared for so long that the owl began to peck at the window impatiently, the sharp sound of its beak against the glass momentarily startling Sunny out of his shock.

“Oh. Oh, right, I’m sorry, so sorry,” he whispered, somehow finding enough of his voice to apologize as his hands flew to the window, unlocking it and swinging it open. The owl fluttered inside, and Sunny followed its trail with his wide, wide eyes. It settled on his worktable, ruffling its feathers as its yellow eyes glared daggers through him. Sunny cringed. 

“I am so sorry, miss- sir– miss…sir… owl… person…” 

It looked so unamused at his patheticness, and Sunny wondered how an animal could be so expressive. Then he remembered that magic was real. That this was real. And, somehow, that the letter in front of him was real, and ohhhh, he had a much bigger problem on his hands. 

The owl ruffled its feathers, hopping forward and perching at the edge of the table, sticking out its leg. 

‘Take it already, damnit!’ is what it would probably say if it had a voice. 

Sunny gaped, brain short-circuiting.

This can’t be happening, a horrified part of his mind mumbled miserably. 

THIS CAN’T BE HAPPENING, an elated part of his mind cried out excitedly. 

He wasn’t sure which part was showing on his face, and judging by the very annoyed and increasingly worsening posture of the owl, it probably wasn’t the positive one. 

“...o-okay.” 

He swallowed, blinking. He had to fix this.

“Okay, okay, okay, Mr. Owl, you… you have the wrong person, I am so sorry, but you do, I am not…” I am not supposed to be real here. But he couldn’t say that. “I am not a wizard. I’m a muggle, alright? Muggle, muggle, muggle, no-maj, all of that, I can’t be a… a… a student. I’m a squib, actually, and– and– and squib’s don’t… they get their magic after thirteen years of waiting. Thank you very much, I will go grab you a treat or something, but… you… you have the wrong person, you really do, you… you…”

The owl didn’t so much as blink (could owls blink?) during his entire monologue, and Sunny’s eyes slid down to the letter once again. 

It was his name. His location. Him.

Even without speaking, he could hear the owl’s answer in his head. 

You are not the wrong person. 

His shoulders slumped as a sinking feeling in his stomach calmed the ferocious beating of his heart. Sunny watched detachedly as his hands moved to the owl’s leg, his fingers unwrapping the ribbon and taking the letter. He stared at it, at the deep green ink that drew in his gaze and locked his attention. 

A quiet ruffle of feathers and a soft breeze told him that the owl just left. 

“This can’t be happening,” he whispered to nobody at all, and the texture of paper never felt so foreign to his skin before. “This can’t be happening.” 

Sunny opened the envelope with surprisingly steady hands, unfolding the letter. 

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Suzuki,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. 

Due to the unique nature of your belated acceptance, a member of faculty will assist you throughout your academic year to provide mentorship and guidance in your studies. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment for your classes, electives may be chosen upon sorting with the Head of your house. 

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 30 August.

Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress

Attached along with the letter was the Hogsmeade permission form. 

Sunny had butterflies in his stomach, and not just the good kind. He wanted to throw up. 

What. The. Fuck. 

“This can’t be happening,” he repeated for the millionth time, and he sounded like a broken record even to his own ears. The words felt wrong when they left his mouth, and a horrible, twisted, sickening excitement started to rise up in his chest. Because this was happening. And it was absolutely insane. 

A voice came from behind. 

“What can’t be happening?”

Atticus. 

Sunny turned his head slowly, so slowly, forcing his eyes away from the letter as he creased it in his grip. 

The older man was wearing his typical fancy and well-put robes, having just come back from one of his long walks. There was a furrow in his brow as he watched Sunny with a considering expression. He stood in front of the red receptionist desk, a stack of papers in his hands. He set them down as he tilted his head.

“Boy,” he began, his voice gravel as usual. “What happened?”

Sunny swallowed and turned his body around completely, shakingly holding up the letter that made Atticus’ eyes go as wide as his did a few seconds ago. 

“You’ve… been accepted into Hogwarts,” Atticus breathed out, and Sunny could do nothing but nod. 

.

..

.

It was safe to say the rest of his day spiraled to shit. And it was completely cleared.

Atticus sat him down for two hours, not one, but two hours, so that they could discuss whether Sunny wanted to attend, the pros and cons of starting this year versus the next, who would pay for what since Hogwarts had registered him as someone who already had a wizard guardian (which, by the way, who the fuck was it supposed to be? Atticus? His illegal boss? God, if this was real, his life was fucked) for some reason so the Ministry fund was out of the question, and so many more topics that Sunny had zoned out almost entirely after the thirty minute mark hit. 

‘Discuss’ would be an overstatement to what those two hours were like, honestly. It was mostly Atticus talking and Sunny listening with barely any attention, every now and then nodding or shaking his head if Atticus asked a direct question. 

At the end of the day, Atticus wrote a letter confirming Sunny’s attendance, and the two left to go back to Diagon Alley to buy everything. He tried not to feel overly upset or overly excited about the confirmation. He didn’t remember saying ‘yes, I do want to go this year ’, but he also didn’t remember most of that discussion, so it was likely he agreed at some point if Atticus did that. 

Everything felt so foggy. And distant. 

Sunny hated it, but there was nothing he could do. He forgot all of his grounding exercises two days after being literally thrown/falling into this universe. His therapist would be disappointed. 

They bought him his school robes first thing as per Atticus’ suggestion. Even though the list only mentioned ‘a set of black robes’ or something like that, Atticus went all out, buying him different sets for each and every season with fabric that were enchanted to change colors that matched his wishes. Sunny was beginning to think the man had a fascination with clothes, given his insistence on buying a whole new wizard-worthy closet for him a few weeks ago, but he kept his theories to himself.

Flourish and Blotts went fine, if not a little underwhelming. He was surprised to not be walking out with a Monster Book, but then he remembered that, oh right, he didn’t pick his damn electives. He’ll have to talk to the Head of his house after his sorting for that.

…his sorting. 

His sorting. 

Sunny decided he could lose his mind about this later. Or never. Hopefully never. 

To his luck, Atticus agreed to cover everything that was necessary for his classes out of his own pocket. So the books, the robes, and soon his wand (don’tfreakoutdon’tfreakoutdon’tfreakout–) would all be expenses that Sunny didn’t have to worry about. Anything that wasn’t on the list, Sunny would have to buy with his own earned money, which was fine by him. 

They barely got anything new for potions, only a cauldron, which genuinely confused him because they had so many back in the store. But he didn’t have the voice or mind to ask so the mystery remained. 

And then, finally, came the time for Ollivander’s. 

Sunny looked up at the entrance door with wide, wide eyes, his jaw to the floor. 

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodthisisactuallyhappeningholyshit. 

He never felt so small and insignificant before in his entire life, and that was saying something. 

Atticus nudged him forward. 

“Go on, Mr. Suzuki, we haven’t all day,” he said, as if he didn’t erase their entire schedule to get this done. Sunny nodded nonetheless. 

He cleared his throat, trying to stop his hands from shaking with both terror and excitement as he reached out to the door knob and twisted it open. 

The shop was way more cramped than he expected it to be. It was breathable, yeah, and one could move around easily enough, but it was still so tiny in terms of width and length compared to how he had always imagined it. Height, however, was another thing entirely, and the walls seemed to stretch on and on to the sky, the distant ceiling covered by the scrolls and cobwebs that stuck out from the wand shelves. 

It smelled so nice. If parchment was a scent candle, he would’ve bought it. 

Sunny took a hesitant step further inside, turning his head to where Mr. Ollivander should be standing behind his desk. 

But there was nobody there.

He frowned, swallowing, and then turned around to Atticus. 

“I don’t think he’s…”

He stopped dead. 

Atticus also wasn’t there. 

What the hell?

But he was so sure the man had followed him insid–

“Ah, Mr. Suzuki.” 

A scream lodged up in his throat as Sunny spun around with a jolt, eyes widening. By the desk, at the exact position he thought Ollivander would be, was… well… Ollivander. He had wild white hair, and even wilder eyes. But there was a smile on his face, and a steady peace in his gaze that covered his passionate glint like water over porcelain. It couldn’t help but put Sunny in a sense of equal comfort and unease. 

He wanted to ask how the man knew his name. 

He couldn’t. 

Sunny swallowed again, and took a small step forward, giving him a wave.

Ollivander smiled wider. 

“Greetings young man. A late bloomer, I see. It is not a common delight to come across, no, not at all, but fret not. I have yet to come across a witch or wizard that was set back by something so small as time. It matters little how quickly one finds their potential. It is much more important how they learn to nurture it.” 

With those words, the man turned around and disappeared between the stacks of wands, his voice still clear and audible through the shelves. 

“Providence has told me all about you, and I have quite a few ideas for you, yes… Hm, this one ought to do, yes! Black walnut, dragon heartstring core, six and a half inches, flexible…” 

Ollivander plucked a wand from its case and returned shortly, and Sunny barely had time to process that oh shit, Atticus and Ollivander are apparently friends(?), before he had a stick shoved into his hand. 

He jolted as the skin of his palms actually flared, a shot of electricity, the bad kind, and he gasped in shock, almost dropping the thing. But Ollivander was already plucking it away, tutting his hand and mumbling under his breath, “no, no, a foolish choice in retrospect, what was I thinking, hm, perhaps the…”

Barely ten seconds later, and he got a different one. Hawthorn, dragon heartstring core again (running theme, for some reason), seven inches, sorta flexy. Though it was gone as quickly as it came, snatched out of his grasp before he could give it so much as a wave. 

“No, much too young, much too young.” 

Okay, this would take a while. 

Sunny waited patiently though, getting to try a wand of cherry, pine, even willow, most cores dragon and some phoenix– part of him hoped he would get a unicorn core wand, like what Mari, Hero, and Kel had in this one quiz, but nope– but none of them worked. Some outright flew out of his hand. At this point he was starting to grow anxious. 

Maybe there wasn’t a wand for him, because there shouldn’t be one in the first place. 

And then, almost ten minutes of trial and error later, Ollivander suddenly gasped. 

“Oh, I believe I have just the one for you, my boy…” 

He was off, and then he returned. 

“Beech, phoenix core, nine and a half inches, and bendable,” he explained delicately, holding out the box for Sunny to see. There was a soft smile on his face. “Wise beyond your years, are you not? Hm, perhaps you two will get along well.”

Sunny’s gaze slid from the man to the box, and something inside of him beamed at the sight alone. There was a tug in his gut, and he reached out, carefully grabbing the wand from its case and holding it gently in his grip. It was beautiful. A light beige color wood adorned with two reflected spirals that stretched from the base of the wand and tapered off by the tip. 

Warmth blossomed across his chest, spreading through his veins and warming every inch of every limb, and Sunny smiled. 

“Ah, just as I thought.” 

Ollivander wore a grin that could match his. Sunny glanced up, and bowed his head politely. 

“Thank you, sir.” 

A voice spoke up from behind. “How much will it be?”

Sunny jolted again, but it was just Atticus’ voice, so the surprise didn’t hit him as badly as before. Did the dude just leave him to get his wand in private and then come back? Sunny wasn’t sure if that was careless or considerate, but since this was Atticus, he would likely bet on the latter. Atticus was many things, but careless wasn’t one of them. 

As Atticus stepped forward and discussed the price with Ollivander, Sunny brought his gaze back to his wand, unable to stop the giddy grin from widening further in his face. 

His wand. 

Something about that felt so right, despite everything. 

Sunny walked over to a small corner in the shop, where hopefully the two older men wouldn’t pay much attention to him, and held his wand high in front of him. 

“... lumos,” he whispered, giving it a small wave as he focused on pushing something into it, be it will, intent, or magic, or whatever it was that he needed, and at that very moment he could imagine the light so clearly in his mind, the little dome of pure white that would be attached directly to the end of his wand. 

Only a second later, barely a moment of delay after he spoke the spell, exactly that appeared. 

Sunny blinked, face going slack with surprise at himself for a moment– and just like that, his focus snapped, the image in his head gone, and the light went with it. 

That didn’t ruin his mood. 

Just about nothing could ruin his mood right then. 

He giggled, he actually giggled after a month of not even smiling , waving the wand again as he mumbled the same spell, imagining the same outcome. This time, when the light appeared– again, holy shit– he kept his focus on it not blinking away, imaging… no… believing that there was another thinner dome of pure “protective” magic around the light that would stop it from dispersing, even when he focused on something else entirely, or left his wand by itself. 

“Mr. Suzuki?” called out Atticus, sharp to demand attention, and Sunny glanced over at him with that same bright, bright smile. The man blinked, his eyes going momentarily wide. At first pride blossomed in his chest, did he impress him?, but it was gone pretty quickly when he realized that Atticus’ gaze was locked on his face rather than the wand. 

…this was his first time seeing Sunny smile like this, wasn’t it?

Something he couldn’t quite name flashed across Atticus’ expression, but it was gone as soon as it came. For a moment he said nothing, simply watching him silently, and then he did something Sunny never thought he would do. He visibly softened, the tension in his brows faltering as well as the stiffness of his shoulders.

He gestured to the door, already walking to it and pushing it open slightly. The sounds of chatter and chaos from Diagon Alley filtered in easily through the crack.

“Come on then, we are going. You can stay here another minute if you wish, but not much longer. Unless you are fine with leaving now. We ought to fetch you an owl soon.” 

An owl? An owl?! He didn’t need to be told twice!

Sunny nodded, discarding the offer to stay immediately, and glanced back at his wand. 

“Nox.” 

He imagined that shield breaking, and a blanket of shadow extinguishing the light immediately– a beat passed, a bit longer than the delay he had before, but after pushing through another turn off, turn off, turn off type of request through his wand, the light was gone. 

Sunny chuckled to himself, high with the giddiness that was overflowing him. 

He pocketed his wand, that goofy smile still plastered on his face as he waved a happy looking Ollivander goodbye and exited out the door. 

.

..

… A few days later. 

..

.

The train, the Hogwarts fucking Express, rumbled a few feet away. The overlapping voices of tearful families and children saying their final goodbyes for the school year meshed together into background noise with the rustle of feathers from hundreds of owls, with the thuds of footsteps and the squeaks of carts.

Sunny kept his gaze trained on Atticus, holding his luggage cart tightly and wearing the standard black school robes already. He could smell that awful whiff of metal from the cart, and the scent would probably stick to his hands with how badly his palms sweat and how tightly he clutched it. 

“...and you will write to me if anything goes wrong, yes? And if you need any assistance with your studies. I will not have a worker of mine be uneducated. Knowledge is a gift, one this school is allowing you to be able to earn. Do not waste that opportunity because of laziness or misjudgement.”

Atticus spoke evenly as he held Sunny’s shoulders, forcing his eyes to meet the other’s, and he nodded for the millionth time. If it weren’t for the whole child-labor thing, he would’ve assumed this man was in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin with his enormous and very obvious passion for learning. But, alas, child labor, and more crimes he is happy to not know about… there was no way this guy wasn’t in Slytherin. 

Maybe he was a bit biased, but it wasn’t like the books painted a pretty picture. Mari always used to say that there was more to the story than just ‘Slytherin bad blegh’ though. But Mari always tried to see the best in people, even those who didn’t deserve it, so he wasn’t sure how much he should listen. 

The old man nodded back, and continued to speak. 

“Good. You will not spend your holidays at Hogwarts unless you must for your studies, but even then, I prefer it if you return.  Your duties in the shop are not excused and you are still expected to earn your wages if I am to continue paying you. If you do not show during winter and spring, the money you have earned this summer is all you will be able to spend for yourself. I also expect you to provide for your own supplies next year out of your own pocket. My generosity has limits. Understood?”

Sunny nodded again, trying not to feel too disappointed. He had been looking forward to Hogwarts’ Christmas. But wizard money didn’t grow on trees, goblins were too scary and powerful to steal from, and he needed a place to stay during the summer, even if it was with a magical, fancy-looking drug dealer. 

Atticus stared at him for a few seconds, silent, his crystal blue gaze penetrating. 

He let go of Sunny’s shoulders with a nod, and then cleared his throat. He glanced to the side and massaged the arms of his fancy beige coat, then tightened his blue tie and smoothened out his pastel shirt. 

God, this man was so vain. 

It was a bit weird seeing him fix himself up in public though, Sunny had to admit. He never saw him do that before. Not even during their walks, where his clothes did get all messed up. 

A small sigh escaped Atticus’ lips.

“Now, as you are becoming a more, ah, permanent resident in the shop, despite it only being a few months at a time, I have decided to…” 

He paused, hesitating, and that got Sunny’s attention. 

Atticus never hesitated. Not like that. 

He cleared his throat again, and continued in his typical precise way of speaking. 

“...I have decided to arrange a room for you,” said Atticus matter-of-factly with a small nod gestured his way. “It will have a bed, a cabinet, and a desk. Nothing more. All your personal belongings are in your luggage now, but should you wish to leave them there between visits, you may. But when you return, should you wish to decorate it, you will do so on your own and buy all that you wish with your own money. Consider this an early Yule gift, or a birthday one. Whichever you prefer. Regardless, it’s the only one you’ll ever receive from me.”

Sunny’s eyes widened. 

He…

He got a room?

He–

He got a whole. Fucking. ROOM?!

Something in his heart simply swelled, and his eyes only widened further, beginning to grow glazed. 

Atticus gave him a room of his own. 

He gave him a room. An actual room. Even though Sunny had been perfectly content with the couch. Even though half the workshop was practically exclusive to him and his stuff alone, though that was never officially stated by either of them.

That…

Something in his cracked, in the best way possible.

That was so damn nice. 

Atticus squinted at him, visibly growing irritated at the awestruck silence. “Now, don’t read into this too deeply, boy. It is merely a–” 

Sunny never got to find out what it was, because impulse already took over and he tackled Atticus into a grateful hug. The best thanks you can give, as Mari would say. The man was much taller than him, so much so that he had to wrap his arms around his stomach, but Sunny didn’t care, hugging tight, tight, tight. 

Thank you, he wished he could say, had he found his voice. 

Atticus physically stiffened, tense arms lifted away from Sunny in obvious shock, but to his credit he didn’t gasp or huff in surprise. He did stay stiff for long seconds of silence though. Then he sighed, body releasing tension bit by bit ever so slightly as he loosely let his hands rest on top of Sunny’s head, barely hugging back at all but just enough to know that it was meant as reciprocation, however small. 

“...alright, now. Get off, boy, you’ll be late and miss the train, and I will not escort you to Hogwarts myself.” 

Sunny let go immediately, quickly blinking away a few tears that had sprung at the edges of his eyes before Atticus noticed them– gosh he was being too emotional over this, he barely knew this guy– and while he usually noticed everything no matter what, he mercifully chose not to mention it this time if he did. 

Atticus fixed his coat again and flicked a hand towards the train, practically shooing him off. 

“Go on, Mr. Suzuki, go on. I’ll see you during the winter holiday, should you wish that to be the case.” 

Something in his tone seemed to suggest that he hoped it was the case, but maybe that was wishful thinking on Sunny’s part. He smiled, and nodded, giving Atticus a wave as he grabbed his things– just his luggage and his pet– and headed straight into the train. 

This was going to be awesome. 

Once he stepped inside he could already feel the floor trembling beneath him, vibrations running up his legs across his entire body. 

It didn’t take long before he found an empty compartment. It was pretty easy actually, which was hilarious considering the golden trio didn’t manage to do it in the books. If he remembered that correctly anyway. He settled in easily enough, putting all of his luggage on the seat in front of him and his pet to his side. 

Sunny sat down, sinking into the soft cushion of the red seat. The rumble of the train spread to the rest of the body, making his skin ticklish thanks to the blood flow. Out his window he could glance at the rest of the kids like him that were also boarding the train, saying their last goodbyes. Despite himself, he leaned forward ever so slightly, wanting to see if Atticus was still outside–

But he stopped, and leaned back. He didn’t want to know if the answer was no. 

He turned to his rectangular cage, where a black, beautiful cat sat instead of an owl. 

Atticus didn’t agree to the change in plans when he suggested it, saying that owls were much more practical and beautiful and superior in every way. Which, to an extent, Sunny agreed with. But when Sunny spotted that elegant, small, and sickeningly familiar korat cat amidst all the other pets, something in him broke and screamed at him to get it. 

He named her Mewo. 

Because of course he did. 

And she was sleeping peacefully inside of the fluffy haven he made inside of her cage, curled up with her tail flicking over her head ever so often. 

It was nice. 

Everything about these last few days were nice, so nice, and he could almost forget why he was so nervous about it all in the first place.

The cushions were luscious and comfortable, and once the train roared to life and began to move and then speed away, it was easy to sink into them and close his eyes, allowing himself to be rocked to a half-conscious sleep. He was still a bit awake, just enough to rest his head against the window and periodically gaze at the blur of colors that passed through. 

It was raining outside, the sky ashy and dull, and the thick droplets clattered against the cold glass in a soothing pattern. The sound of shifting gear from the train was just as steady, and as the minutes (hours?) ticked by in this happy daze of comforted exhaustion, Sunny almost fell asleep entirely. 

Then the train came to a sudden halt with a screech. He was snapped to wakefulness. 

Oh, were they here already?

He looked outside, and then froze. The window’s glass, from the edges down to the center, was freezing. Bit by bit frost festered and grew like a virus, and he blinked, blood chilling at the sight. 

They weren’t at Hogwarts yet.

And this unnatural cold…

Sunny’s gut plummeted. 

The dementors. 

He forgot. 

Mewo whined in her cage, and Sunny could do nothing to help her except weakly mumble comforting words. 

Oh, fuck. 

He remembered this from the books, from the movies. Azkaban’s ‘guards’ would be coming here any minute, checking compartment after compartment for Sirius. 

Deep, deep, deep dread gave way and settled inside of him. 

The air chilled, and it was as if the temperature was dropping down to the negatives. 

A dark, tall figure’s shadow gravitated closer behind the door, lingering. 

Sunny grabbed onto Mewo’s cage and pulled her close.  

The door was unlocked, without any spell, without any touch, his only explanation the silhouette of twistedly long skeletal fingers that had reached towards the handle.  

The compartment slid open. 

His breathing simply stopped. 

A horrible veiled creature drifted inside, its face curved into itself, an abyss for a mouth born to consume. It had a black translucent cloak for a body, its pure existence somehow more than a spirit yet less than a being. 

All his energy drained away, that giddy joy long forgotten swallowed by its enclosing darkness, leaving nothing but a weighted void in its place. 

It looked around, only for one moment, closing in, and in, and the darkness worsened, his vision blurred, faded, and faded, and shadows drowned him as his world slowed… and he did nothing but watch as his sister fell from the stairs the same way he did, as he grabbed her and shook her and begged her but she didn’t wake, and she never did wake up again, and she was dead, she was dead, she was dead, she was dead, he was dead, he was dead, he was dead, hekilled her he did it you did it you did it you did you di– 

“Sunny, don’t you walk away from m–”

The violin’s strings rang and rang and rang and rang and rang and rang andrangandrangandrangandrang

.

..

.

There was no chocolate to help him when he woke up.

No Lupin, no box of salad, no Atticus, not this time. 

That was fine. 

Sunny stared at the white ceiling of Whitespace. No lightbulb in sight, no picnic blanket, no computer, and Mewo rested in a train not a void. It was just a white empty void as he laid on the numbing ice-cold ground that lacked a real floor, Omori beside him holding his hand. The child’s touch was colder. 

Vaguely, in the back of his mind, he could feel his legs move, could feel the push and pull of dragging his luggage out of the train, could hear voices talk around him. 

He didn’t process much of it.

He didn’t remember the way to Hogwarts either, when his consciousness returned. 

And, by the time the white ceiling faded from view, from memory, and the gallops of a carriage led by black skeletal horses– Thestrals– slowly pulled him away from the eerie silence of his mind, by the time that Sunny was back and aware and fine…

He was on a stool. In the Great Hall. 

Being watched by hundreds if not thousands of people. 

Being watched by Harry, worst of all. 

The foggiest memories slammed into his mind. 

Many of them were vague to hell and back, like the one of being escorted in and introduced by a Professor whose face he couldn’t recall, and one of a speech to welcome the First Years and the new student by McGonagall, and one of the odd stares the newer and older kids gave him alike. 

Every little thing came rushing like a wave and Sunny was drowning. He scrambled to pull himself together but he could barely find the time to just fucking breathe–

Then the Hat fell on his head. 

And he almost forgot how to do so in the first place.  

“Ah… how curious.” 

It all crashed down at once. 

holyfuckingshitholyfucKINGSHITHOLYFUCKINGSHITHOLYFUCKINGSHIT –

“Hah! Calm yourself, child. My, I’ve never had such anxiety fog a mind so strongly before… I won’t harm you, Sunny Suzuki.”

Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.

Sunny held on to his stool for dear life, focusing every ounce of his energy on keeping his face straight, trying to hold back the urge to snatch his thoughts and hide them away from the creature that sat on his skull, lock them behind doors with thicker boundaries and trickier locks and uglier keys, ones that would look too terrifying to try and search for, ones that would be lost and cryptic and safe. 

“Breathe, boy. There is nothing to fear. Your secrets, your world, that… person. Those that inexplicably live inside of you, memories and souls, I will not share them.”

He had. No. Fucking. Clue. What the fuck this Hat was on about. 

Was he speaking of Headspace? Of Omori?

…of home? 

“I needn’t explain myself to you, you will understand just fine with time. Now, let us see the main matter at hand. Where exactly should I put you? A strong sense of courage is needed to confront one’s past. I can see boldness in you, intensity most are unaware of…”

Oh no. 

No, no, no, fuck off Gryffindor, noooo thank you. Please no. Fuck that. Fuck that. If he had to be in the same house as Harry Potter he would die, he would die, he would finish the job that those stairs couldn’t do, because good fucking lord–

“Yes, I can see it even now.” It was strange how amused it sounded, despite everything. “Though it is a bit different. Boldness for you is a trait you wear in your mind rather than your heart. Hm. You are correct, boy, Gryffindor is not fit for your needs. The flame inside of you should be nourished by nothing more than yourself. You would burst to ashes if surrounded by others with matching fires in their gaze.”

Sunny hated this. He already hated therapy, with how the doctor needed to get into his head. 

This was much worse, he decided. 

“Hm… you are kind, and loyal to an extreme, much like your flowery friend, but honesty comes to you in waves, only when deceit threatens to drown you.”

He clung to the stool, his fingers digging into the wood harder. His nails began to chip. 

He remembered the Hat being way more casual with Harry, why was this guy speaking like this to him? He sounded like some old dead poetic philosopher or some shit and he hated it. 

The Hat chuckled, and Sunny immediately remembered that, oh right, it was reading his mind. 

“Don’t fret, formality merely comes more naturally to me upon meeting a True Seer. Rare it is to see one of your kind, very rare, though they do arrive every few centuries whenever Magic sees it to be fit. Seers like you I haven’t met for some time. Or, in your eyes, a Traveller. Neither title is wrong, not truly. It is up to you to choose what to do with your knowledge, this life that was gifted upon you. Change the world or leave it, or perhaps, if you wish, do both. I wonder what you will do, young one.” 

Leave it? That was the only thing Sunny clung onto out of all of that bullshit– he could leave this damned place then, and go home, and–

Sunny could barely process the things the Hat was saying, it didn't stop speaking for a moment. 

“You do value wisdom, I can see it clearly. A library held your soul once, though it was one you let sink until it was forgotten… hm. I see ambition in you as well, yes, but it does not define you. The world inside of your mind, it is cunning, yes, but afraid. Despair itself is a form of ambition, but its strengths do not quite apply to you. You would stumble over the strings of your own lies and crumble when your motivations falter, as they tend to do, like you’ve done so many times before.”

The Hat was silent, and Sunny was tense.

“Hm. Yes. I know where you would flourish, my boy. A mind like yours, with the power to hold worlds in its hands. You have a vision unlike any I’ve seen before, so vivid. You could rewrite truth with nothing but will, bring forth a universe with only a thought. The drive to make, to build, to learn, to contain knowledge, to hide it, to find it, no matter what form. Wisdom of life, of experience, memory, and the lack of it, the need to control, to uncover, to know, it defines you. You have the heart to discover, and the mind to create, and the soul to do both. Yes, yes. I know exactly where to put you.” 

His heart spiked as a yell rang out through the room that had been silent for far too long.

“Better fit in…”

 “RAVENCLAW!” 

(you can find a colored sketch of how Ravenclaw Sunny will look like throughout the rest of the fic here!)