Private Sorting
“Ah, so you’re in the green one, then?”
Dazai nodded as Chuuya pointed at the letter he held. They sat on a concrete slab that overlooked the bay of Yokohama (both their favorite spot to hang out after playing arcade games all afternoon. Dazai thought the sunset looked beautiful from there.) and Dazai’s letter, which had been sent from Hogwarts holding all his supplies for this year, which Mori also handed to him, meant that he’d be returning. It was such a shame to leave the dog behind, though the ginger didn’t seem all too upset. He stared in fascination at the snake, badger, bird and lion sat on the small emblem.
“If I was in one of these houses, which would be the best for me?”
“You’d be a Hufflepuff of course! Such a loyal dog. Ah, but all those guys are too... Soft, you know? Definitely not Mafia material. If you want to be taken seriously as a member of the Mafia, then the other three houses sound equally as suitable. Maybe a Gryffindor? They give off the same vibes as you. Friendly and full of courage, that is.”
“If I were on a mission with you, would that be the best idea?”
“Hmm? What’s this all about, huh? Anyway, I suppose so. A Gryffindor and a Slytherin not liking each other happens all too often. We’d fit right in!”
“Yep. So, Hufflepuff is the... Yellow one, and Gryffindor must be the red one, because the blue one is clearly a raven.”
“Mhm! You’re absolutely right.”
Chuuya had taken this conversation into account the moment he stepped into the headmaster’s office, houseless and fascinated. He still didn’t know how, exactly, one’s house was decided, but he was kind of excited. His back felt as warm as if it were facing a cozy fireplace and not a collection of metal trinkets (he had obviously failed to notice the phoenix in the cage behind him, radiating the warmth and comfort he was feeling.)
Dumbledore placed a hat on the table between them. It was old, dusty, and patched up in various places.
“This is the sorting hat,” he explained, gesturing to it, “It will sort you into the house you belong in here. Please, put it on.”
Gryffindor. Slytherin. Ravenclaw. Hufflepuff.
Which one will he be, he wonders? Even Dazai had a hard time choosing for him. Why would a random hat be able to do something that even the person who knows him better than he knows himself- his partner- can't?
As he placed the hat on his head, still doubting its ability, and his hands dropped to their sides, he felt and heard the rummaging of cloth above him.
“Hmm... A new student, eh?”
He tensed and his fingers tangled together to try and stop himself from removing the hat. Why the fuck was it talking? He kept his gaze firmly on the floor.
“Yes, that’s right. Please sort him for me.”
“Will do, Headmaster Dumbledore.”
Suddenly, he heard Arahabaki hiss exceptionally loud. The hat seemed to be asking permission to access his thoughts. He quickly scrunched his eyes shut and focused on his mind. Arahabaki was busy hissing and snarling, and the apparent thoughts of the hat seemed rather confused. What Chuuya wasn’t expecting was the fact that the hat likes to express his confusion aloud.
“Hmm... An interesting one, you are, boy.”
He paled as a headache started to kick in- Arahabaki was very upset. The sooner the hat is gone, the better. If he had to wear that stupid thing for any longer than ten minutes, then he’d have to pry his own hands from their death grip and throw that thing out the window. Dumbledore’s watchful eye wasn’t helping. He felt like he was about to start shaking.
“Indeed.”
“He does not have the compassion of a Hufflepuff, but he has the loyalty. He does not have the wits of a Ravenclaw, but he is adaptable and easy to catch on to riddles. He is not manipulative or cunning like a Slytherin, but he has his own secrets to hide, and he does not have the righteousness of a Gryffindor, but he has the courage and bravery of one. A tough decision, indeed.”
He sat still, waiting, despite the statement hitting him in a place he didn’t think it would. ‘You’re only half as good as a human being. You aren’t worthy enough to be one.’
“Ah, it appears that I am... Unable to decide, Headmaster. Please, boy, choose which house you’d like to belong in.”
...Which house... He would want to be in?
He kept his gaze firmly on the floor.
“Will it be... Hufflepuff?”
An image flashed in his mind of sitting on the cold, dark dungeon floor of the Port Mafia headquarters, wiping away the blood that had spilt on his arm while... Interrogating a member of a rival gang. Dazai helped with the areas he couldn’t reach, sat behind him and running his hands through his hair.
“You’re such a Loyal, obedient mutt, always following my orders. Especially with the collar I've noticed you’ve been wearing recently, Chuuya.”
He felt the boy’s long, pale hands hold his choker from behind. He tugged on it and made Chuuya choke a little.
“I’m not your dog, damn it! And this is a choker, not a collar!”
When the supposedly dead body writhed a bit from the wall a few feet away, Chuuya was quick to throw a knife to hit the body’s heart. Blood came oozing from their mouth and splattered on the floor, joining the rest of the puddle they had spilt.
“Loyal, indeed.”
“Or Ravenclaw?”
Another memory came to the surface of his mind. Again, he was on official duty, hiding behind a stack of crates beside Dazai (again. Ew). Just behind him, there was a group of slightly dangerous ability users searching for their supplies. Too bad they had already given them out. All they had to do was kill those bastards.
“Cover for me. I’m going to find a way to shoot from above.”
The whisper could be heard from Chuuya, but not from the men who were busy cackling, drunk, behind them. Suddenly, the cold presence from beside him disappeared and Dazai faded into the shadows of the warehouse. The afternoon sun shone in from above him as he was left to figure out a way to distract them. Coincidently, he had a bottle of booze and a deck of cards from Soukoku’s previous endeavors (they drank and played cards while waiting for the ability users without Mori’s permission).
He carefully made his way to the other side of the crates and carefully opened the one that had earlier been opened by the ability users. There wasn’t much aside from alcohol inside, but there was a matchbox on a nearby crate. He smiled, carefully took a few alcohol bottles out (they wouldn’t be missed) and switched the deck of cards for the matchbox.
He had a plan. Sure, he didn’t know how well it would work, but it’s worth trying out. Not their warehouse, not their problem. Even if alcohol isn’t as flammable as gasoline. He saw Dazai trying to ascend the stairs carefully from across the warehouse and knew that now would be a great time to start.
He emptied a bottle of alcohol on the floor, the only notice of it gone being the wet slither on the floor and the quiet sound of it coming from the rapidly emptying bottle. He managed to make a circle around the crates and watched as Dazai finally made it to the top. He’d have to join in, soon, too. He stroked a match against the matchbox and watched as it came alight. Carefully keeping to the door (Dazai was probably counting on this, damnit. He’d have to jump out the window if it ends up exploding.), Chuuya threw the match onto the wet spot on the floor.
It did indeed explode.
A lot.
It ended up causing an oil truck outside to also explode and set the whole block on fire. Dazai cackled from up on top of the warehouse as he came tumbling down out the window. Chuuya caught him just in time.
“Perhaps, Slytherin?”
A third memory popped up. This time, although still on a mission (many similarities, he knows) it was an undercover one just like this one. His hair was longer (extensions) and curled up neatly, trailing on his back in curves just like the wine-red dress he wore. Kouyou did his make-up, so he looked at least ten years older, and he wore... Tall high heels. Very tall.
The slit in his dress revealed black leggings, thinner than paper which easily showed off his legs. He had a glass of wine (his only one for the night, to avoid getting drunk) nestled between his fingers, and was busy laughing (fake) at some joke an old man- his target- made. Dazai was waiting on the balcony above one of the exits. His goal was to lure the target outside, but even with extensive research on the old man, he wasn’t even able to convince him to leave yet- mainly because he hasn’t found the right time.
“This party, as much as it is enjoyable, is getting quite stuffy.”
“You’re right of course. Mr. Black would stoop so down low to invite anyone with even a bit of wealth. I could never host a party like this.”
“Neither could I, Mr. Owen. Perhaps I should go get some fresh air out in the garden.”
“Let me go with you, then. After all, someone as beautiful as you might get taken advantage of if left alone.”
The man’s hand wrapped around him and landed on his ass. He tried to play it off, keeping his fan in front of his face to hide the scowl that appeared. They made their way outside quickly, watching the servants open the doors for them. There was a fountain outside, which is where Dazai thought the best place was to shoot him- to get rid of any blood right away. Dazai was to dispose of the body while Chuuya returned to the party and played it off.
The moment the two of them got into view for the sniper, however (thank fuck for the doors being shut and the sniper being quiet- a new model from the Port Mafia) the man’s brains splattered everywhere. He edged away from it as Dazai jumped down.
“You didn’t get much blood on you. Just the ends of your hair. Go wash them in the fountain.”
Of course, Dazai would know exactly where to shoot. Of course, he’d shoot slightly wrong to get blood on Chuuya just to piss him off. News of Mr. Owen’s death didn’t reach the ears of the partygoers until his business started failing without him present.
“Or maybe a Gryffindor?”
This time, the two of them stood side-to-side in a wide alleyway. Enemies swarmed around them, but Dazai held the confidence of a leader and Chuuya had to mimic that. He smirked, even when guns were raised and pointed at them. Shitty suicidal maniac. Why does it have to be his job to make sure that the stinky mackerel gets away unharmed?
They were prepared for gunfire, and Dazai had yet to issue any orders. Is he seriously making Chuuya figure it out on his own, again? From beside him, Dazai barely held onto his hand. He rubbed the back of his palm, sending as much as an order as it would verbally: ‘Get me out of here’. The moment he shot into action- recklessly jumping towards whoever was in front- he heard gunfire.
“Unharmed,” Mori’s voice chimed out in his head, “I want you to bring Dazai back, Unharmed.”
So, he did what was most reasonable. He jumped back and blocked the gunfire with his own body- His ability made useless after hitting Dazai’s back. Everyone in front had been swiftly executed, but those still shooting at him- and Fuck did it hurt- were still yelling, quite alive. Good thing is that none of the bullets even scratched Dazai.
He stepped away and caught the next lot of bullets with his ability. Blood dripped over his eyes, making it impossible to see, but he caught more and more bullets while sensing- feeling- where his opponents were. Some missed the grasp of his ability and pierced his skin, but none touched Dazai. He fired back. An hour later, Dazai knelt in front of him, applying the last of the bandages to his sore skin. They had already visited Mori, who took one look at Chuuya’s sorry state and excused them both, asking them to come back later.
Mori, although he was a doctor, wasn’t allowed to heal any injuries Chuuya sustained- and it was all Dazai’s fault. The boy wanted to do it himself. It was a drastic change to the usual, but Chuuya’s glad Dazai was alright to patch him up. He knows Dazai’s mind was someplace else during that battle- which was why all he did was stare down at the wet concrete- yet he also knows that Dazai knew about everything that was happening.
“God, you dumb dog.”
“I’m not your... Ugh.”
Dazai laughed, “Get some rest, Chibi. I’ll be here when you wake up... You were quite valiant today,” he said, as Chuuya’s exhaustion started catching up on him. ‘Thank you for protecting me’ was left unsaid, just like all the other ‘Thank yous’ and ‘Sorrys’ that they should’ve exchanged. Soukoku didn’t do that, though.
He hummed. Now that all the options were revealed... Which one? Surely, it’s a hint to that conversation back at Yokohama (which Dazai quickly changed the subject to getting his glass eye replaced with a real one in the next winter holidays), right? Which one would be more beneficial to Dazai? Which one would be more beneficial to the Port Mafia?
“...I think,” He started, not too sure on how he was going to word this, “No, screw that. I'd like to be in Gryffindor.”
“Well, so be it then... Gryffindor!”
The hat yelled so loudly Chuuya thought he lost a third of his hearing. Dumbledore waved his wand, and now his black robes had been adorned by a red tie, scarf and the bottom bit of them had also been dyed red, symbolizing the house, no less.
“Excellent choice. Yes, I believe Gryffindor will suit you quite well, Chuuya. Why don’t we go meet your professors?”
“Please, lead the way.”