Knockturn Alley (with cameo from Dobby)
“Dear Osamu Dazai,
Dobby hopes that he is not disturbing Osamu Dazai with this letter, but Dobby must warn him, sir!
Dobby must protect Osamu Dazai, and Dobby must tell him, that Osamu Dazai must not go back to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this year! There is a plot – a plot to make most terrible things happen!
Dobby would come and speak to Osamu Dazai in person, but you must understand sir, that Osamu Dazai lives so terribly far away!
Dobby hopes that Osamu Dazai understands, and that he stays far, far away from Hogwarts, back in Japan, where he is safe!
Sincerely,
Dobby, the house elf.”
Dazai stared at the letter in his hands. Out of everything he could’ve expected when it’d arrived, addressed to him, two days earlier, this was not it. And trust him – none of Dazai’s ideas had been very pleasant.
At first, he’d brushed it off as a prank. After all, he hadn’t exactly been popular within Hogwarts as a whole last year – not even within his own house (his status as both a muggleborn and a Slytherin had made him a walking, talking, Wizard repellent, his brain supplied helpfully) and so anyone might’ve wanted to postpone his return. In fact – it seemed exactly like the kind of thing those punks and their tacky House loyalties and pureblood supremacy bullcrap might do. It didn’t matter how they had gotten his address – they were magic, he was sure that they’d figure something out.
So yes, at first, a prank seemed like the most logical option, (and Dazai prided himself on his logicality) But when a second, a third, and even a fourth letter arrived – the content much the same as the first one – Dazai’s confidence in his theory began to waver.
Now, having been shut away most of his life, Dazai wouldn’t exactly call himself a pranking expert, but he had gotten relatively close to Fred and George last year, and freshly armed with the arsenal of pranking knowledge they had imparted on him, was pretty sure that this as a prank would be excessive.
To him, it all seemed like way too much work to hunt down his address, draft four convincing letters, distort the handwriting and grammar to convincing illegibility, and then post them, all with the assumption that Dazai would actually read them.
Yeah, no. Way too much work. And call Dazai lazy, or maybe even overly optimistic (now that was a new one) but surely inane house loyalties couldn’t stretch that far?
Or maybe Dazai was just projecting his own scorn for the Hogwarts system onto everyone else, but still.
So, probably not a prank then. Letting his eyes drift over the letter again, Dazai took in the poor grammar, nearly illegible handwriting, and the almost instinctive third-person referral - “Dobby hopes that Dazai Osamu understands..” - and allowed himself to consider a second possibility, that this letter was, in fact, written by a house elf – a house elf that wanted to warn him away from Hogwarts.
It couldn’t be. It was almost impossible – why would a house elf be sending him letters – no, scrap that, why would a house elf be warning him??
It didn’t make sense, not one bit. “A plot to make most terrible things happen!” Was the elf – Dobby – talking about the War, or something else? Could he be a servant of the Death Eaters? Tasked to send this letter to deter Dazai, because he knew too much? Weak tactic, if it was. If Dazai had been the one asked to silence a kid who had stumbled to far into one of their schemes, Dazai would just kill them. But nobody ever cared what Dazai thought.
Okay, so that didn’t work either. Maybe...
“Dazai-kun.”
Dazai neatly folded the letter in half, turning round to face his addresser – Mori – Who was regarding him like one might a particularly irritating rook pawn – a crafty little piece, sure, but not quite enough to win the game on its own.
“I have things to do – I trust that you’re capable of getting your school supplies on your own?” Not a question.
“Of course, Mori.”
“This is why talking to you is my favourite pastime,” the doctor smiled, deceptively sweet. “You’re always so cute when you get all obedient.”
“I thought your favourite pastime was kicking puppies.”
Mori ignored him. “Once I have completed my own tasks, we will meet back here. Do behave, and try not to murder any Hogwarts professors should you bump into them.”
With a final glance down at his watch, Mori turned and walked away, quickly blending out of sight into a crowd of dull looking consumers. Dazai was left standing on his own amid Diagon Alley, where Mori had accompanied him to buy school supplies, as well as do... whatever it is Mori does.
Dazai was pretty sure that Mori was looking to acquire some info on the Philosopher’s stone, stuff that couldn’t easily be found in the muggle world, and that was why the doctor had tagged along. When he had tried to confirm his suspicions, Mori had given him a vague response that suggested he shouldn’t push it, so he hadn’t. Never say he wasn’t good at keeping his mouth shut when necessary.
Dazai sighed, biting down on his lip out of habit, and tucking the letter away. He had elected not to tell Mori about the warnings, as he was pretty sure receiving a barrage of letters from a supposed ‘house-elf’ counted as making waves, and he was eager not to mess up his mission before it had even begun.
That being said...
With Snape as his escort, he hadn’t really had much of a chance to snoop look around, had he?
His eyes drifted to a small alley peeling away from the bustling street he was on. It looked shady as anything, but quiet, and exactly the kind of place one would go if they were interested in diving into the darker side of the Magical world. Which Dazai was.
He grinned to himself, the taste of curiosity fresh on his tongue, and swiftly changed directions, slinking down onto the street that was (rather fittingly, Dazai thought, glancing passively at a rotten-looking sign) named ‘Knockturn Alley.’
- - - -
Dazai ambled down the alley with the casual nonchalance of someone who was up to no good, sparing the occasional glance at shady passers-by. The atmosphere here was very different from Diagon alley, he noted with a grimace, quickening his stride. Not that he was anxious, per-say, he was just... keen to get away from all of the eyes. He knew that he looked odd, the only child for miles around, and one wrapped up in bandages like a half-baked mummy no less. Most of the time, he knew that his bandages only served to make people think him weird, or sad. They were usually wonderful at making people underestimate him, and lower their guard (read: Quirrel) but right now they only made him feel vulnerable.
Run! Dazai’s body screamed. It’s dangerous, idiot!
He sent the most recent onlooker his most vitriolic glare, the one that could put even Mori on edge, but when the cloaked figure (had he mentioned that everybody here looked like the evil witch or wizard from some 90’s horror movie?) started to advance towards him, Dazai’s fight-or-flight instinct won out, and he darted into the nearest store – was that a store? It looked like a store – without bothering to read the sign.
A bell tinkled from somewhere above him, and he leaned against one of the shelves, taking a moment to pull his mask back together, and pasting a neutral expression onto his face before pushing upright, taking in his surroundings.
The room was dark, and dingy, and seemingly empty. Dazai peered out of a mildewy window to get a better look at the name of the shop. ‘Borgin and Burke’s’ The sign read.
Dazai turned around, squinting in the murky light, and quickly realised that the majority of the shop’s produce seemed to be various shapes and sizes of skulls. Skulls in cases, skulls lined up on shelves, skulls in – oh, here was something different. In front of an ornate looking mirror – something you might see in an antique shop, perhaps – was a gnarly, withered, very real looking hand, curled into a ready stance, and looking eager to grab.
Dazai, because he is a meddling bastard by nature, reached out to touch it. The hand immediately sprung to life, clamping down on Dazai’s hand with inhumane strength, it’s (very real) fingernails digging into the exposed skin of his left hand, before No Longer Human whirred to life, pushing back at the animated hand like a shield. Dazai yanked his own limb back hastily, heart thumping with residue adrenaline. He looked around to see if anyone had noticed, but, like before, the shop remained eerily empty.
Regarding the hand one last time, Dazai made to turn away, but was stopped by the sound of the bell at the entrance of the shop clanging. Mafia instincts taking over, Dazai looked around minutely before opting to dart inside a large, black cabinet, shutting the door behind him just as two people entered the shop. Standing on his tiptoes, Dazai peered out of two (helpfully placed) holes in the cabinet’s front. He wondered if it was the cloaked figures from before. Dazai was relatively sure that he could overpower them if needed (perks of having a nullifying ability in a world full of magic) but in the end opted to stay put. If Mori found out what he was doing, it would be a death sentence. Better not anger him further by creating conflict.
At the sound of footsteps, Dazai craned his neck further. He was at an awkward angle for snooping, so if he could just-
A bell – probably one of those ones they had on counters rang, and then -
“Touch nothing, Draco.”
“I thought you were going to buy me a present”
Wait – Draco? That was unexpected. Dazai strained his ears in curiosity. While he couldn’t see that well, he could still hear.
“I said I would buy you a racing broom.” replied the man – Mr. Malfoy, presumably.
“What’s the good of that if I’m not on the House team?” huffed Draco, sounding sulky and bad-tempered. Dazai rolled his eyes, and Mr Malfoy sighed in a way that suggested this wasn’t the first time this conversation had been had.
Mr. Malfoy said something else Dazai didn’t quite catch, and he strained his ears to rejoin the conversation.
“You have told me this at least a dozen times already.” sighed Mr Malfoy. “May I remind you – ah, Mr. Borgin.”
Borgin and Burke’s. Dazai remembered. The bell Mr. Malfoy rang earlier must have been answered.
“Oh Mr. Malfoy! What a pleasure to see you again – and young master Malfoy too, delighted.” drawled Mr. Borgin. His voice was slimy but rich, and he slurred the ends of his words, giving him the aura of a drunk; or a snake.
“I must show you” - The sound of fumbling; Dazai assumed the man must be searching around for something. A quick glance to his right confirmed this, the angle from his peepholes was just such that he could see what was happening if he really tried. - “Just in today, and very reasonably priced-”
“I’m not buying today, Mr. Borgin. I’m selling.”
“Selling?” The smile in Mr. Borgin’s voice, which had been prominent before, dimmed a little.
“You are aware – no doubt – that the Ministry of Magic is conducting more raids on private houses.” The rustling of parchment. “I have a few – ah – items at home that might embarrass me if the ministry were to call...”
Dazai perked up. The Ministry of Magic, that was the Wizard government! Finding out everything he could about them would be crucial to the success of his mission.
“The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”
“I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumours about a new Muggle Protection Act - no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it -”
Dazai raised an eyebrow. Weasley? Was he referring to Ron and the twin’s father? He supposed it made sense. “Muggle-loving fool” suggested that the Ministry weren’t complete pure-blood supremacists, like Dazai had assumed, but instead had an entire branch dedicated to Muggles. It made sense that a family like Draco’s might have certain items they’d want to hide if that department came knocking.
“- and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear -” Crap, he’d gotten lost in his thoughts, and missed some information. Oh well, it all seemed relatively inane either way.
“I understand, sir, of course,” said Mr. Borgin. “Let me see...”
“Can I have that?” interrupted Draco, pointing at the hand that had assaulted Dazai earlier on. He frowned. Clearly, Draco had terrible taste.
“Ah, the Hand of Glory!” said Mr. Borgin, abandoning Mr. Malfoy’s list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir.”
Whatever feelings of dislike Dazai harboured for Mr. Borgin were instantly amplified. He obviously had terrible taste as well.
The three continued to talk, discussing dull subjects that Dazai didn’t care for, and so he mostly zoned out (although he did catch Mr. Malfoy scolding Draco for his poor grades – something Dazai was looking immensely forward to holding over his head, after all of Draco’s sniping about his grades last year)
Then, as Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Borgin began to haggle, Dazai squinted at Draco (he really should’ve chosen a better hiding place, how was he supposed to keep an eye on the target if he could barely see?) as he drew nearer and nearer the cabinet. Dazai waited with bated breath, staring down Draco in a one-sided competition. While he didn’t exactly mind the idea of being caught snooping, he knew there’d be hell to pay from Mori if he was. So, for the sake of his mission (and his bones) Dazai silently willed Draco to stay away.
Draco did not stay away. Instead, he walked closer, reaching for the handle of the cabinet, poised to throw it open and reveal Dazai’s hiding place to the world-
“Done,” said Mr. Malfoy at the counter. “Come, Draco.”
Dazai let out a breath he was holding as Draco turned away.
“Good day to you, Mr. Borgin. I’ll expect you at the manor tomorrow to pick up the goods.”
The moment the Malfoys left the shop, all trace of a smile dropped from Mr. Borgin’s face.
“Good day yourself, Mister Malfoy, and if the stories are true, you haven’t sold me half of what’s hidden in your manor...” Muttering darkly, Mr. Borgin disappeared into a back room.
Dazai waited for a minute in case he came back, then, quietly as he could, stepped out the cabinet, slipped past the glass cases, and darted out the door.
- - - -
Dazai trudged back down the alley, hands in his pockets, peering at the odd assortment of shops as he went. (Was that one really selling poisonous candles? If not for the fact they wouldn’t work on him, Dazai might’ve snagged a few for himself) He should probably attempt to pick up some school supplies before Mori got back, if only to make himself look more like he had been diligently following orders the whole time. He was peacefully pondering this, when a voice in his ear made him flinch back.
“Not lost are you, my dear?”
An aged witch stood in front of him, holding a tray of what looked disturbingly like whole human fingernails. Not that he could judge, he had seen (and done) worse. She leered at him, showing off mossy teeth. Dazai instinctively took a step back, flashing the woman a pleasant smile.
“I’m fine, thanks.” He chirped. “I was actually just leaving, so if you’ll excuse me-”
“Why don’t you come with us” - the woman ignored him - “we’ll help you find your way back!”
Dazai realised with a jolt that the passage back onto the main road had become awfully crowded – his escape route blocked by leering Wizards dressed in cloaks and rags, grinning down at him, and drooling like they were starving dogs, and he was fresh meat. Dazai balked at the unwelcome familiarity.
The Wizards began to advance once again, and Dazai could practically see them licking their lips. For a moment, he froze, feet stuck hard against the concrete, unwillingly resigning himself to his fate. His brain caught up a moment later, and he pulled his knife out of his trench coat. It was sharper than his last one, and the only birthday present Mori had ever given him. (The doctor had handed it to him with all the casualness that a parent might have when gifting their child a stuffed toy, reminding Dazai that no matter how weird he saw the lives of other, non-mafia children, theirs was the norm, not his. It evoked a feeling in him that Dazai couldn’t quite place.)
Dazai thrust his knife in the witch’s face, and she startled, several fingernails falling off her tray and cascading down her feet. Taking advantage of her momentary distraction, Dazai darted around her, weaving around various cloaked figures, some of which made to grab him, but Dazai was quick, and managed to evade their reaching hands.
He slid out of the alley, not calming his pace until he was a safe distance away, then leaned forward to rest his hands on his knees, gasping for breath.
Dazai straightened up a minute later, dragging his nails across his wrist to drown out any residual panic, and looked around. He was back at Diagon Alley, directly outside Gringotts, and, if he remembered correctly, not too far off from Flourish and Blotts.
Dazai frowned. If he was going to be finished before Mori came back, he should probably tackle Gringotts first. But then again, there was also the matter of the goblins ignoring him like last time...
Maybe he could-
“Dazai! Dazai! Over here!”
Dazai looked up to see a girl with thick, curly hair and kind eyes running down the steps of Gringotts towards him. He raised a hand in greeting.
“Hermione, hey.”
“Oh, it’s so wonderful to see you again, Hogwarts just felt so quiet after you’d left.”
Dazai grinned “Aww, did Hermione miss me? It's okay, you can admit it. I know I’m irresistible.”
Hermione flushed, rolling her eyes, but she was smiling. “I’m just finishing up in Gringotts, are you coming?”
A shrug. “Sure.” Hermione knew about No Longer Human, and he was sure he could bully her into exchanging his money for him. Two birds with one stone.
Hermione sparkled, grabbing Dazai’s wrist and running up the marble stairs. Dazai allowed himself to be led, noting with a frown that he could feel the beginnings of a headache building behind his temples. It would take him a while to become re-accustomed to the constant sting of magic, and he was already considering smuggling some Advil to Hogwarts this year.
Dazai turned his attention to two adults standing nervously at the counter that ran all along the great marble hall, waiting for Hermione to introduce them. They waved timidly. Hermione’s parents, then.
Dazai allowed himself to tune out Hermione’s cheerful introduction (“this is Dazai, he’s muggleborn as well…..Slytherin...but not a rotten one like the others, he’s more......right, Dazai?”) instead focusing on the weird feelings building up inside him. They were the same feelings he’d had when Mori had announced his return to Hogwarts. Warm, and heavy, but not uncomfortable.
He rubbed the back of his neck, as if to try and dispel some of them. He wasn’t sure he liked this new addition to his range of emotions. It felt far too sentimental for his liking.
Dazai felt around in his pocket for the pouch of money he’d bought along, and shot Hermione a pleasant smile.
“Say, Hermione, would you exchange these for me? I don’t think the goblins like me very much.”
Hopefully, the distraction of a new mission would be enough to stamp out whatever fondness he had for these Hogwarts brats before he ended up compromising himself.
He sighed. Maybe he was getting sick.