The Vicious Dogs of Ootori
Chapter One
"This is Auror Summers, requesting immediate field intervention; Aurors Desmond and Taka need emergency attention. They're on the corner of Market and Feasegate. We've no aurors available to portkey them back. Weasley and I are in pursuit." Before the mirror-relay was halfway done, Harry was already putting on his DMLE-issue class 4 protective gear. His experienced fingers no longer fumbled with the clasps; three years made quick work of that.
"Potter! Alright you'll do. EPS, portkeys, go. You know the drill." Head Auror Tego—stubble, horn-rimmed glasses, perpetual cigarette—thrust the black Emergency Potions Satchel at him. Harry'd barely caught the licorice stick when he was portkeyed somewhere along Feasegate. He spotted the two prone bodies in the intersection.
One of them heaved a wet cough, "Healer Potter, I'm not doing so well myself, but Taka needs a blood stabilizer, now. He's been hit with a boiler."
Harry rushed over, snapping open the EPS and fishing out a blue vial. He tossed the vial to Desmond, "Take care of him, will you? Might bleed out before I finish administering," he said, and let the seasoned auror assist their new recruit. Meanwhile, Harry cast a diagnostic first on Desmond, then on Taka, quickly deciding to numb Desmond's leg, put together the bones, and conjure a splint to hold the breaks temporarily.
"We'll mend those properly once you're out of here. How long d'you reckon he'd been under the curse? Not less than seven minutes?"
Desmond, pale as a sheet having glimpsed his laughing shins without mouths, grimaced. "Possibly," he muttered.
Harry, by now used to the steady trickle of casualties in the Auror Department, simply locomotor'd Desmond, conjured a wheelchair under him, and handed him the soda tab that was their exit portkey. Just as he was about to lift Auror Taka, Harry's seeker eyes caught a glimpse of a flash of light. In the alley across Market… it came from a pair of shades reflecting the lampposts. He pretended not to see.
"Desmond, hold onto him tight. I have to clean up," Harry whispered, as he lowered his head and glanced quickly at the street across. Witness, he mouthed to Desmond. In a second, the injured aurors were gone. In another, Harry was headed towards the bystander. But as soon as he'd angled his body towards the alley's direction, the witness was off like a spooked stray cat. Harry contracted his muscles and prepared to sprint, when suddenly, Market, Feasegate, and likely streets much farther, were blinded with light. Less than a heartbeat later, Harry was blown off his feet and into the alley by an immense shockwave of heat and energy.
The next thing he was aware of was ringing in his ears, followed by a dull ache in his left shoulder and temple. He must have rag-doll'd into the brick alley wall. Cautiously, he took stock of his body parts from head to toe: possibly dislocated shoulder, concussion, and various other bruises around his sharp edges. He suddenly remembered the unknown he was pursuing, and gingerly heaved himself up off the sidewalk. From the light of the various fires the explosion sparked, he could just barely see a black-clothed mess some meters ahead, debris littered about him. Harry swore—not that he could hear it—and hobbled over to assess the damage. Not for the first time, he thanked the wand holster that automatically retracted his wand once he let go of it.
It seemed to take forever, and his ears seemed only marginally better, but Harry finally reached the man. He levitated the large chunks of brick and concrete off the stranger, turned him to face upwards, and quickly set to work on the injuries.
"He's worse off than I am. Probably muggle," Harry mulled as he cast incantation after incantation to mend wounds, heal bruises, and put the few minor fractures into splints. After a minute, Harry regained his hearing and finished the preliminary restorations. He glanced at the man's face to see if he was awake to take potions, and found that the man looked in no way groggy.
"I was awake the entire time, Healer."
"Bullocks."
The man, clad in all black, removed the broken black sunglasses that were partially covering his eyes. He looked at Harry in what might have been an assuring way, if he weren't also grimacing in pain. "Not to worry, I know."
Harry looked at him warily, but sighed in relief. Quickly, he took out pain relieving and blood replenishing potions from the EPS. "That's a load off my mind," he said, passing the vials. They were immediately gulped down.
"Still, I'd like to thank you properly for assisting a muggle. My name is Ryouichi. Aishima, Ryouichi."
The fires outside the alley suddenly crackled loudly, and Harry glanced outside the alley, startled. "Shite! Ron, Daniel! Mister Aishima—that is your last name?—you want to meet up, right? Meet me here, six p.m., the day after tomorrow." Harry hurriedly collected the empty vials and took a pain reliever for himself. "And it was no problem. I'm Harry Potter. I'll see you then!"
"Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak."
- Sun Tzu, The Art of War
The day after tomorrow was a Friday, and Harry, having clocked in a few hours earlier, was now working on the stack of paperwork waiting to be filed following the pursuit and successful capture of the Strychnine Murderer, who was spotted at the Parkinsons' Spring Dinner Charity Ball trying to poison Mister Parkinson; exactly as the anonymous tip had said. But, well, that was a mystery for another time.
Just as he'd finished filling out the EPS Usage Report Form, Ron stuck his head through the office door. He glanced around at the white office and shook his head bemusedly, "No matter how many times I come here," he laughs, "I still can't get over how different it looks from the rest of the DMLE and Aurors' offices." He stuck his hands in his robe pockets and walked over to Harry, who was sitting behind the front desk.
"What've you come for this time?" Harry asked snappily, but the slight quirk of his lips told Ron that his best mate was pulling his leg. He got up and stacked the papers neatly
"Lunch with me? I finally talked Hermione out of those working lunches she loves so much so we can grab a proper bite to eat," Ron babbled on as Harry flipped through the forms. "Do you have to file these now?"
"Yeah, walk with me?"
"Sure mate, Incident Reports ain't that far from the floos anyway."
Ron's 'proper bite to eat' turned out to be a muggle dive bar that served various giblet dishes. Not that Harry was complaining. He rather liked giblets. Hermione, as it turned out, did not.
"Come on, 'Mione, it's just cow's stomach. It's no Polyjuice Potion!"
"Keep your voice down, Ron!" Hermione cried, her frizzy hair for once not emphasizing her gesticulations, as it was currently in a stylish bun. Apparently, the DRCMC cared about appearances. Meanwhile, Hermione gathered the soft bits of cow stomach, beans, and other things, onto her spoon. Harry dug into his giblet pie with gusto.
A few minutes of silence passed as Hermione decided that she rather liked the callos she ordered.
"Oh Harry, my parents send their congratulations by the way, for getting your Healers' License," Hermione said.
"He bloody well earned that license, what with him being a Trainee Field Healer starting second semester of his first year! You sure showed the Academy who's boss!" In all their years of friendship and now, romantic involvement, Hermione never succeeded in training Ron out of speaking with his mouth full. She now only sighed in exasperation and dunked the baguette into her stew a little more forcefully.
Harry smiled politely at his best friends. "Thanks Hermione. Tell them I said thanks," he responded sincerely. But afterwards, his gaze gravitated towards the other people milling about the bar, the waitresses bustling around, the cooks in the back.
Hermione, perceptive as ever, laid her hand on Harry's forearm. "Is there something wrong, Harry? You know you can talk to us." She gave him a reassuring squeeze but, mindful of his aversion to touch, drew her hand away momentarily. Ron likewise stopped eating for a second to pay attention.
"I… I'm just feeling a little stir crazy, I guess. I was just so busy during my last sem, you guys remember? I barely had time to sleep."
"Harry, you nearly killed yourself with all the Pepper-Ups," Hermione chided. Harry only scratched his nape sheepishly.
"I just… I don't feel like staying in the DMLE," Harry admitted. He did not look at either Ron or Hermione. Instead he masked the silence with another bite of his pie.
"What're you saying mate? You worked your arse off to become a Field Auror, and now you don't want it?"
Harry sighed and put down his fork. "I guess I regret going into the DMLE, Ron. When I applied for the Healer program, it was because I was fed up with fighting, remember? I didn't want to do that anymore. Didn't want to become an auror anymore."
Hermione grimaced, but, in a reply that showcased her Gryffindor loyalty, "Well technically Harry, you aren't fighting—"
"You don't get it, Hermione. I wanted to be a Healer because I wanted peace. I wanted to help people in peace. And… in the Auror Department, with all these rampant wannabe Death Eater Resurgers, there's like, a corpse to portkey back every few months, there are battle wounds that'll leave permanent scars, there are aurors with mental traumas that are fighting their way through it because they fight for what they think is right. Just like we did, Hermione! And… even though people say we're heroes, that we fought an epic battle… In the end, I didn't feel like a hero. I wasn't The Defeater. I was… I was just tired. I am tired."
Ron and Hermione, predictably, were grasping at straws. Harry tried to ignore the non-verbal argument they were having with their eyes and vague lip motions, and finished off his pie.
Finally, Harry calmed down enough to feel remorse for the outburst. "I-I'm sorry for venting like that. You guys don't deserve it."
"It's my fault, mate. I shouldn't have forced you into it. I just thought that—"
"Don't worry about it Ron. In the end, it was my decision. But it's helped me realize that this isn't what I want. Listen, I gotta go. Some of our potion supplies need restocking." Harry stood up and left a few pounds on the table. Enough for the meal and a tip.
Hermione caught the sleeve of his Healer Robes. "Then what do you want, Harry?"
He frowned pensively. After a few seconds, Hermione let go of his sleeve. "Honestly, I don't know."
"Save the giblets!"
- Julia Child
That afternoon, as soon as the clock struck five, Harry changed into muggle clothes and walked out of the Ministry, headed towards a small alley on Market Street. As soon as he got there, he quickly spotted the Asian-looking man with the slicked-back hair and Fu Manchu moustache. "I'm sorry about last time, Mister Aishima. That was a rather rude way to set an appointment," Harry said in greeting. He shook Aishima's hand to make up for it.
"Do not mind it. You were in quite the bind after all," Aishima replied. Now that he could look properly, Harry noticed the slight Japanese accent, but was nevertheless impressed with how naturally the man seemed to speak English.
"Did you have anywhere in mind, Mister Aishima?" Harry inquired as they walked down the sparsely populated street.
"If you wouldn't mind it, I would like to take you to a Japanese teahouse, Mister Potter. Although it might be a bit of a walk."
Harry chuckled, delighted at the unexpected foray into international culture. Mister Aishima was a refreshing change from all the Ministry people he dealt with day in and day out. "Not at all, Mister Aishima. Lead the way."
A bit of a walk turned out to be a 10 minute stroll through cozy streets, brick façade houses, and intimate shops. But Harry, with troubles up to his ears, looked around absentmindedly, face drawn tight.
"If I may inquire, is there anything bothering you, Mister Potter?" Aishima said, intruding on the endless looping circle Harry's thoughts had been reduced to. Harry sighed and casually cast a Muffliato around them.
"Well, you know I'm a healer, right?" Aishima nodded, "well, I'm not a regular healer. I'm employed by Britain's Auror Corps as a field healer. Meaning, I get sent out onto missions, emergency support, sometimes battlefields." Aishima hummed, encouraging him to continue. "It's just that… I was involved in the whole Voldemort mess that threatened more than just the Britain magical community—you've heard of it?"
Aishima frowned slightly, "I think I might have, in passing."
"I was on the frontlines. I fought against him, personally. Honestly, there's… quite a bit of hero worship over here. I'm only glad it seems like you've never heard of me, Mister Aishima." Harry laughed. His newest Japanese friend was a good listener, and Harry felt like he finally had someone that could be in his camp, or at the very least, be an unbiased neutral.
"We're nearly there," Aishima said. He glanced at Harry, a slight smirk lifting a corner of his lips. "Let me hazard a guess, Mister Potter. You wanted to become a healer to help people, as well as to get away from direct combat, but instead you've become the wrong type of healer, and it's dredging up memories you'd rather stay buried. Maybe even causing PTSD flashbacks?"
Harry grimaced. "Right in one, Mister Aishima. I did think I'd developed some sort of anxiety disorder, but I thought that, you know, with constant exposure, I might… get over it?" Harry grimaced sheepishly, realizing how stupid that sounded. But Aishima only briefly placed a large and calloused hand on Harry's shoulder. It was heavy, lasted only for a moment, and it seemed like he didn't do those things often, but Harry appreciated the sentiment.
At that moment, the duo reached the teahouse. Harry looked at the thing, with its Japanese architecture and garden, sitting in the middle of the very English street, and wondered if it was a magical space, or something. It seemed to exist in a completely different plane. Harry glanced at the sign on top, done in beautiful-looking calligraphy. "What does it say?" he asked Aishima.
"Ichimoku-an, which means lone tree hut," he explained as they entered the rather small establishment, walking on the stones placed steps-width apart on the lush green grass. Aishima pointed to a singular large tree beside the small teahouse, "that is Pinus thunbergii, or the Japanese black pine, famous for its use as a garden tree, as well as a bonsai tree. It is also the lone tree the teahouse is named for."
Inside, there were several square rooms divided by sliding doors that contained Japanese-style low tables, small cushions for sitting, and decorative pots and scrolls. While Harry observed the outside garden through the glass sliding doors, Aishima ordered for the both of them.
"This is fantastic, Mister Aishima. Thank you for bringing me here," Harry said, sincerely, as he sat cross-legged on the cushion. Aishima did the same.
"Commonly, in Japan, important matters are talked of near the very end of meetings, as if it were an afterthought. However, since I am in the U.K. and in the presence of a native, I shall cut straight to the point. I did invite you here to express my thanks, but I also invited you here to apologize, Mister Potter."
Harry leaned forward subconsciously, "what's there to apologize for, Mister Aishima? You've listened to me talk your arse off about my problems, and took me to this wonderful place, and been friendly and courteous the entire time. No hero worship or anything!"
At that moment, their kimono-clad server arrived, knelt beside them and gradually set piece by piece Harry's first Japanese meal. It consisted of a glass of ice water, a bowl of green tea the server poured from a teapot right then and there, and several colorful pieces of what looked like sweets. Harry was both completely out of his depth and giddily excited. But Aishima's explanation came first.
Apparently to Aishima that was not so, as he took a sip of his tea and ate a slice of a dark purple block of something jiggly. Harry, resigned to waiting for answers, did the same.
"I don't know about magic."
Harry nearly choked on his tea, but managed, at the last minute, not to make a sharp intake of breath just as he was swallowing. There went his small miracle.
"Pardon?" he asked, dabbing at the tea that dribbled down his chin in recompense for the choking.
"I'm not a magic-user, nor do I know one," Aishima explained. He was extraordinarily calm, especially in stark contrast with Harry, who was slowly losing color.
"Then, how?"
"I made it up on the fly. When I was in that alley and happened to see you tending to those men, what you were doing, it looked completely inexplicable. I could only conclude that you were performing some feat that the rest of humanity is unaware of. The only plausible plan was to insinuate that I was in on the secret, as I had no doubt you had less than pleasant intentions when you began to chase me down that alley."
Harry felt like an idiot. This guy lied through his teeth! Really, after surviving a war, as well as Field Auror training, you'd think he would remember a little bit of that Constant Vigilance. Apparently not!
"But then, how did you find out I was a healer?" Harry asked. He was actually surprised he hadn't yet Obliviated Aishima, but his curiosity won him over. Why did this man call his own bluff? What did he want? And besides that… Aishima honestly seemed like a good guy. When the question was asked, Aishima actually chuckled. Harry had to pinch his arm to remind himself this was real, The Boy Who Lived, "The Defeater", had actually been hoodwinked by a… muggle?
"You had a pin on your chest with your name and position on it, Healer Potter."
Harry could only reply, "Merlin help me," before he let his head fall on the low wooden table, narrowly missing one of his colorful sweets.
Harry heard the faint sipping of tea. "But I do sincerely wish to thank you for saving me. I have no doubt that without whatever magic you performed, the chances of my surviving that incident would have been much lower. And for that, I owe you my life."
Harry's head shot up, completely embarrassed and flabbergasted at the sincerity in Aishima's voice. "Mister Aishima, that sort of thing is my job, you know." "Yes, but as you said yourself, I was—am, a muggle."
Silence surrounded them for a while, and they slowly worked through their selection of Japanese sweets. Aishima was as poker faced as ever, sipping his tea quietly and occasionally looking at the greenery outside.
"Would you like to take a walk, Mister Potter?" Aishima said, once they had finished their tea and snacks, motioning to the garden outside. Harry nodded, and they both stood, with Aishima taking the lead.
They observed the sparsely landscaped garden for some moments, taking in the small oasis of respite in the middle of the city.
"I forgive you, you know," Harry said, after mulling over the situation. "For lying to me about magic. Honestly, it's no big deal, at least for me. If you'd woken up and I thought you didn't know about magic, I'd have followed protocol and Obliviated you."
"Obliviate?"
"It's a spell that erases a person's memory," Harry explained. "Britain's magical government is always at work hiding our community from the rest of the world; so whenever situations like these pop up, there are people whose job it is to erase us from non-magical people's memory. It's a fear all witches and wizards have, you know, being discovered. A lingering fear from the Witch Burning times."
"I see," Aishima replied. He looked calm, but the restless rolling of his shoulder belayed him.
"You're taking the whole hidden magical world thing pretty well, I have to say." Harry said, in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Aishima chuckled and nodded. "Since you've been gracious enough to share more information about a secret I only pretended to know about, I think I shall share with you some of my secrets as well." Harry led them to a small bench in the middle of the garden, in a slightly secluded area.
"If you wondered how I was able to trick you so effectively, and with so little background information, it's because I have been in similar situations in the past, many times. I have had to penetrate secret organizations to cut off the head, so to speak, steal sensitive documents, and get rid of dangerous people, among others. It has taught me to think on my feet, and to always find a way to come out on top; make it appear as though I know everything, when in reality I might know nothing. In simpler terms, I was a secret agent, Mister Potter."
"That's—well, Mister Aishima, should you be revealing this to me?" He'd heard of similar missions assigned to older aurors, and the things Aishima experienced sounded just as, if not more, dangerous. And if there was one thing that could connect the two, it would probably be the secrecy.
"No need to worry. I retired from service. But I am still trained in specific fields that severely limit my opportunities for alternative income. Thus, I found myself a bodyguard for a powerful Japanese family."
Harry was speechless for a moment. "That's amazing. But I should've expected something of the sort, Mister Aishima. You cut an impressive figure, even in retirement!"
Aishima chuckled, and the two chatted for a bit, fueled by Harry's curious questions about Aishima's agent days, and his current job, as well as his numerous abilities. Harry found out that Aishima worked for a massive zaibatsu, a family-run conglomerate that dipped its hands in various industries, called the Ootori Group. He was in England for a month on scout detail while the family vacationed. All too soon, Aishima's break was over and he was scheduled to report back to his team.
However, as he and Aishima got up from the bench to settle their bill, Harry felt a certain uneasiness. Despite the cunning Aishima displayed, would Harry get caught for performing magic on a muggle? Surely the Ministry could detect these things, even if it had been an area in which Aurors had been deployed? The logical conclusion was for Harry to report the incident himself, instead of waiting to be caught by the, admittedly, inept bureaucracy, however long that might be. Given, the report for usage of magic on a muggle (DMLE-MMO-RN9577)1would probably be mixed in the report for magic used in battle within muggle area(DMLE-MMO-RN9500), but surely they'd cotton on sometime.
Harry's swirling thoughts were interrupted when Aishima called out his name. "Mister Potter," he said, "before we part, I wish to offer you a deal in exchange for letting me keep the information you've just shared with me." "Were you expecting to be obliviated?" "I considered it a definite possibility."
They arrived at the front desk, and Aishima, unheeding of Harry's protests, paid for both of their sets. "The life of a bachelor gives me much disposable income. Grant me this indulgence," he said.
They left the quiet of Ichimoku-an and were loitering outside the gate, Harry nervously shifting from one foot to the other, feeling instinctively that there was more to be said, and Aishima gazing at the sky that was slowly being abandoned by the afternoon sun, ignoring Harry's unease.
Finally, Aishima decided to break the silence. "Why don't you become a bodyguard?"
"What?" Harry replied, bewildered.
"The Ootori group is a powerful player in the medical and pharmaceutical industries, and will possibly overtake the market leaders in other sectors as well. This is a family that is making waves in Japan, and is stimulating economic growth. It is, to me, a family worth protecting, especially now that the heirs apparent are only just children. As you said, Mister Potter, you want to help people, and you want to escape the hero worship. Why not assume an alternate identity, while protecting one of the families that serves as Japan's economic backbone?"
Harry had listened in confused rapture at the speech, and continued to stare in stunned silence for a short time afterwards, only for it to be followed by slightly hysterical giggles, then chuckles, delighted at finally finding a way out. "That must have been the most roundabout way to offer a deal, Mister Aishima," he comments after he had taken a few good breaths. "So, in exchange for me finding a way for you not to be obliviated, you're offering me refuge?" "That's right," he replied.
"I'm sure the Boy-Who-Conquered has the barest of dregs of political power in him. I'm in."
Aishima only smirked. The smug bastard.
The next few weeks were a flurry of activity. Harry called in some favors, asked for some others, and got the 9077 report misplaced neatly in the EPS raw material accounting reports (where no sane man ever looked). After which he held an intimate-turned-explosive conference with his closest friends regarding his abrupt migration, spoke privately with Head Auror Tego and wet-behind-the-ears (that is, from 12 years of combat auror service) DMLE Chief Van der Weyden, and formally turned in his resignation after a meager three years of active duty. He said good-bye to all his friends, headed to Gringotts to close his account only to find that "Yes indeed Mr. Potter, we have a Japan branch", put his furniture into storage, fended off Hermione's 90-page treatise on why Harry James Potter Will Have a Better Quality of Life in the United Kingdom: 10- and 20-year Future Projections in Finances, Career Advancements, Friendships, and Romantic Engagements.
The Inter-Magic-National Apparition, Portkey, and Floo Station (IMNAPFST, or as it is known colloquially, "I'mma nap fast") in August was busy, noisy, and also apparently inspired by the Sagrada Familia, Harry noted, as he stared at the high ceiling while Hermione sobbed into his chest. "Hermione," he near-whines, as he tries to unclutch her fingers from their talon-grip on the back of his Weasley-knit goodbye sweater. Sensing his distress from a distance of 10 meters where he'd been perusing a "vending machine" Ron pries her away, hands her a tissue, and claps a supportive man claw on Harry's shoulder. George, Molly and Arthur, Kingsley, and Minerva, were a few steps away, watching the spectacle.
"I'll mirror-call you every week. We'll exchange packages every month. I'll send you time stamped pictures with very detailed descriptions and coordinates. I'll visit during all holidays, I promise," Harry said. Despite his eagerness to get away, he held Hermione's arms as tight as he could without hurting her. He felt lightheaded, like he hadn't been taking in enough oxygen—or he had been taking in too much. He managed to let go of Hermione to give Ron a hug, clutching each other's matching sweaters.
For a second Harry remembered the Forest of Dean, Ron running away just when times got the toughest. Harry tried to convince himself that Magical Britain had no need of their savior any longer, and that he wasn't betraying anyone, wasn't leaving anyone in the miserable dark for more a comfortable milieu. Marveling at what their friendship had gone through, Harry let go of Ron, clasping his shoulder tight for good measure.
Next came hugs from George, Molly, Arthur; a firm handshake with Kingsley and Minerva, with Minerva "call me Minny!" looking in his eyes just as he was about to let go, and pulling him in a fierce bear (lion?) hug.
"Last call for International Portkey K1136 bound for Tokyo, Japan; departing from Hall B-22 at 7:00 in the morning. I repeat, this is the last call for International portkey K1136 bound for Tokyo, Japan; departing from Hall B-22 at 7:00 in the morning."
"G'wan Potter. We'll be right where you left us."
Look who hasn't updated in forever! Here I am with a new story since Resurface keeps trying to pull my head under water with all the research it insists on making me do. I am plodding along on this story (Vicious Dogs), but I figured posting the first chapter for some CC wouldn't hurt. Please tell me what you think!
NB: The Vicious Dogs of Ootori will feature a romantic relationship between two men.