Strange Beginnings
It is a widely accepted fact that Osamu Dazai does not care for anyone.
Dazai has never had friends, and Dazai doesn’t need friends.
And so, subsequently, it was only natural that if Dazai happened to gain a few allies - a few acquaintances, maybe, during his last mission, then that’s all they were. People to be used and abused to his heart’s content, and then discarded once they had served their purpose.
And they had served their purpose, and to a degree of excellency that Dazai himself, even with all his cold, calloused intellect, hadn’t predicted. Infact (though he hated to admit it) without his gang of mutts, the Philosopher’s stone would've been tugged out of reach - lost forever to Voldyguy and his band of terrorists.
(And again, if Blaise hadn’t shown up when he had - hadn't taken that hit for Dazai, there was a high chance he wouldn’t be sitting here now; running through the events in his head, and mourning just how close he had been to death.)
Wishful thinking.
So yes, his gang had done their job. They’d protected him, helped him achieve his goals, yadayadayada. Run-of-the-mill type subordinate stuff. Really nothing special.
So why could he not stop thinking about them?
He couldn’t do it.
Osamu Dazai, son to the boss of the most nefarious criminal organisation in Yokohama, a feared mafioso at only twelve years old and undoubtedly a child genius, couldn’t do it.
How Mori would laugh at him if he knew.
Or perhaps the doctor would try to surgically remove whatever feelings Dazai had caught during his stint at Hogwarts through carefully controlled torture; effectively pulling him out of the pit of self-pity he had fallen into after his stunt with the Mirror of Erised.
Dazai fell back onto his bed with a frustrated groan, throwing an arm over his face and closing his eyes. (Well, eye. He had gone back to keeping the right securely wrapped up as soon as Mori had let him out of that dreaded infirmary. The slimy doctor had insisted he didn’t move an inch until he had fully recovered from the exhaustion that had plagued him after his battle with Quirrell.)
Urgh, he was doing it again.
Stop. Thinking. About. It.
To distract himself, Dazai flexed his right hand, staring down the bandages on his fingers. The glass cuts had long since healed, but his fingers hadn't been free for very long. A mere three days after his bastard doctor had discharged him, He had been summoned to his father's study. While there, Dazai had made an offhand comment about his utter incompetency with magic (A stupid, careless move. Hogwarts had made him soft, and he had almost forgotten that nothing less than perfect was acceptable in the eyes of the Mafia. Almost. That sort of teaching tends to stick with you for life.) and his father had reacted before he was given a chance to explain. If you were to unwrap his bandages now, you would see the normally pointed digits swelled to painful stumps, bruising decorating his hand with blotches of blue and green, a morbid artwork that nobody would pay to see.
While patching him up, Mori had cheerfully explained that his father's mental illness had taken a turn for the worse in his absence, (which explained the doctor's avoidance of the subject over letters) and that as a result, he would be more prone to irrational decisions and violent outbursts.
(Violent outbursts that made you break your son's fingers after barely five minutes of conversation??)
(Later in bed that night, Dazai had stared at the ceiling, thinking awful, treacherous thoughts that he could never voice aloud. It was vile of him really, after all Mori and his father had given him, to even think about these things, to mull over Snape's last words to him, and to wonder whether he was truly safe at home.)
Of course he was. How stupid of him.
From her cage, Featherbrain hooted in what Dazai was choosing to translate as agreement.
- - - -
Dazai groaned inwardly, dragging his feet as he ambled over to Mori's office, in no hurry whatsoever to see what the doctor had in store for him. He had been requested over there on Mori's orders by a rather miffed looking exec he didn’t know the name of, who had knocked on Dazai's door at four am to deliver the message. Honestly, how Mori, a lowly mafia doctor, had the power to issue such a request to somebody as highly ranked as an executive was beyond him (Being so closely involved with the Boss and his son had its perks, Dazai noticed.)
Semantics of the request aside, the point was, Dazai had been ordered to go see his bastard doctor at four in the fucking morning, and he was feeling absolutely peeved about it.
Dazai knocked on Mori's door sharply and without fanfare, not waiting for a response before entering. He hoped to convey some of his irritation by doing so, but Blaise and the twins had always been more adept at the art of silent messages than he was. Dazai, not for the first time, regretted not finding the time to question them about it.
Shoving down the pang of what he had come to identify as loss, Dazai pasted a neutral expression on his face before strolling up to the doctor, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.
“What could possibly be so important that you could not wait till the morning to tell me, doctor?”
“Straight to the point as always, Dazai-kun!” Here, Mori offered up a pleasant smile despite the insubordination. Dazai scowled back at him. “And here I was hoping you might take the time to thank me for the gift I bought you as a welcome home present! I trust that you found it?”
He had. The ‘gift' in question had been a ruffled white dress, the same one Mori had referenced in one of the more threatening letters he had sent during Dazai's time at Hogwarts. The doctor had made it very clear what would happen if he were to fail to retrieve the Philosopher's stone, the cold threats clashing terribly against the cutesy heart-dotted ‘I’s’. He was lucky that it had been burnt to illegibility during the whole dragon fiasco, for it would've been utterly damming if anyone had found it.
“I did. A little late for a welcome home gift, seeing as I returned home a month ago. In any case, the thing was hideous. I may burn it.”
Mori pouted childishly, though there was something sharp in his eyes.
“So ungrateful, Dazai-kun! you'd think that after all I've done for you, you'd at least have the sense to make your blatant insubordination a little less obvious.”
Dazai rolled his eyes, pouting. “Did you bring me here just to lecture me, or is there a point to all of this?”
A sigh. “Would it kill you to be a little respectful? Pretty please? I’m sure it will come in handy during your next long-term mission.”
Dazai's eyebrows quirked in interest. “Oh?”
Any remaining humour dropped from Mori's gaze as he rested his chin on interlocked fingers. There was a calculative glint in his eye. Dazai similarly steeled his own expression, his brown eyes falling to rest on Mori's darker ones.
“There has been wind of a growing interest in ability users within the magical community as of late. As a large organisation formed of mainly ability users, we are bound to end up on their radar. With the rumoured return of this terrorist group, the 'Death Eaters,' and their leader, a powerful man with a large global influence, an all-out war within the magical community seems more likely than ever. Given the Port Mafia's current position, it would be wise to avoid unnecessary conflict. Which is where you come in”
Mori paused to stare down Dazai, perhaps looking to gauge his reaction. Dazai kept his expression neutral, showing only the faintest traces of interest. Mori smiled.
“We will need you to once again infiltrate Hogwarts under the guise of a student. While there, you will be expected to find out everything you can about this War. For example, who are the major players? who are the Death Eaters and what is their motivation? And most importantly, where do ability users tie into all of this? You get the idea.”
Dazai frowned. “I spent most of my free time at Hogwarts searching for a connection between magic and abilities, and while the effects of No Longer Human tell me there is one, there isn’t anything about it in the library. According to what you say, while the magical community is aware of the existence of ability users, any records of such a thing are completely hidden from the students, how strange.”
“It is my understanding that your headmaster is politically involved” - Dazai had suspected this last year, but it was nice to have it confirmed. He hated being left out of the loop - “Look into him. Strip him of any and all information possible, material and not. I’m sure he has some lovely little files on us somewhere, so fetch a few for me, would you?”
Dazai nodded. Yes, he could do that. He had proven firsthand that Dumbledore could be tricked, and manipulated, no matter how cunning the man may seem.
Mori’s lips quirked upwards, like he knew what Dazai was thinking. “Understand this, Dazai-kun. I am putting great trust in you, allowing a boy so young to lead a mission that would normally only be entrusted to long-standing members with decades more experience than you. I allow you to do this because of your unique intelligence and great tactical thinking. I ask that you return the same respect by keeping your head down this year, exactly as I’ve taught you. As the whole point of this endeavour is to avoid conflict, I ask that you stay out of trouble and avoid making waves. Am I understood?”
Mori had smiled his way through this lecture, dripping with sugary sweet deception as he spoke with a voice that promised great punishment in the face of failure. Dazai, having spent an entire year living with brats who worried about him when he showed how hollow he was, had returned with his mask more seamless than ever, pasting on phony smiles now more like second nature than ever before, and so he returned the doctor’s expression with a candied smile of his own, making sure to project as much honeyed arsenic as possible into his tone when he answered:
“I understand, doctor.”