Title: When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations
Plot Mistresses: Shiozaki, Shaynie, Librarycat, Literary Eagle
Spell Researchers: Fellow wizards, witches & omnyouji at my Yahoo!Group
Warning: R – LEMON AHEAD! BEWARE! Please exercise due caution. SPOILER FOR THE MANGA CONCERNING THE KUROSAKI FAMILY!
Scene Masters: Shiozaki and Librarycat
Review replies:
Quatre Winner, Yui-mag, Literary Eagle, Yanagi-sen, Tatsuko, Aka, hitsuji, cmquietone, DK-Adeena, hitomibishop, Lilo: Your constant presence in the review sections warms my cold, lonely heart which yearns for approval and affections. *sniff*
Daemonchan: You're damn right it's been a long time since we heard from you. *Sniff* I was feeling unloved, what with a number of the old readers disappearing on me. . .
Inami: I thought the 'plastic ruler' quote was quite inspirational myself! *grin* And the first of the plot bashing file, aptly titled Plot Bashing Vol. 1 is up in the Files section in the mailing list. Been waiting for people to give it a look-see, discuss, but. . . .
Chapter 25Foreshadowing
Snape leaned against the cold wall, his wand held almost negligently in one hand. Here, free from prying and inquisitive eyes, Snape let his usual mask drop and the sneer was replaced with a contemplative look, thoughtfulness placing a crease between his eyebrows and softening the harsh lines bracketing his mouth.
The door to his side stayed closed, a fragile illusion that the occupants inside had privacy undisturbed. He should know how delicate that mirage was; he had just shattered it earlier with a whispered spell that sent a jet of red light streaking underneath the door. The eavesdropping was impromptu; he had meant to announce himself but the low murmur of voices from inside stopped him, the door opened a bare crack. Just as silently as he opened, it, he had closed the door again and launched the spell.
The glass sphere in his other hand was rapidly filling with red smoke. The size of a remembrall, it was a spying tool for the most novice but it served its purpose well. With just a tap of his wand, he could hear again and again, the conversation in the room beyond that he recorded.
"It was from the Count."
"Th—the Count? What did he say?"
"Hikaru and Ken are dead."
The rest was merely low sobbing, sounding tinny yet even more heartbreaking for it. Snape shifted uneasily on his feet. Yesterday's incident was sure to have caused the balance to shift but the instructions by the Headmaster to keep the Japanese under careful surveillance was a standing order, one that had yet to be revoked. But. . .he gripped the glass sphere tighter, there were times when you had to be ruthless to get what you want and there were times. . .
With a sharp crack, the glass broke and red mist drifted away, spinning on errant breezes.
In one decisive move, Snape pushed off the wall, his heeled boots impossibly making little sound on the stone floor. Just as he was about to shove the infirmary's main doors open, they swung in, almost knocking into the professor if he hadn't quickly stepped to the side. Snape scowled fiercely, a scathing attack ready to fall like the hammer of judgement on the witless fool when said fool spoke up before he could.
"Severus!" Lupin exclaimed. "I've been looking all over for you!"
Snape sneered. "A daunting task for one of your capacity, I'm sure," his earlier discomfort lending a sharper edge to his retort. He was rewarded with a slight flinch from Lupin before the werewolf recovered his usual mild-mannered composure.
"Albus wants to see you and me. He's been talking to Tsuzuki and wants to discuss it with us," Lupin said evenly.
Snape snarled wordlessly, rudely pushing past Lupin as he stalked out into the halls of Hogwarts. Left in the Potions professor's wake, Lupin watched helplessly as frightened students scattered like rabbits in the face of Snape's apparent bad mood.
******************
The roar of the crowd was like that of a monster; it reverberated throughout the entire pitch, shaking through the wooden stands and for a moment, Kyo fancied he could feel tremors under his feet. The crowd hungered like a beast as well, screaming for the players as they swooped and dived, all for the sake of a game.
While the rest of the school was up in the stands that were more magic than they were wood, Kyo was down at the very edge of the pitch, leaning against one of the supports. Even down here, his bones ached with the roars and cheers of the multitude of supporters: one side clad in red and gold, the other in blue and bronze. Years of living mostly in the peaceful solitude of Meifu had lowered his already thin tolerance for large throngs and he winced as the cheering reached a particularly high pitch. His black cloak snapped back in the rising wind, the fabric flaring out and twirling about his legs. The warming charm in the cloak protected him a little from the encroaching winter; the frost that already seared the ground fast seeped through his shoes, numbing his toes. For a moment, he fancied the tempting thought of warming the earth.
But to do so was to abuse his powers. A delicate and precise balance lay in the elements; what one lost, the other gained. The world was moving on its natural course towards death and rebirth. For him to wittingly give it life was to make presumption of his powers over the natural order.
Still. . .he sighed internally. Sometimes I wish I could give the 'jiisan a kick. All his talk about order and balance makes me too responsible for my own good. Just the memory of the old Shinigami who had taught Kyo how to master his power was enough to bring a faint smile to his face. The old man had moved on after deeming that there was nothing more he could possibly pound into his head.
Kyo's head lolled back, his bangs falling into his eyes as he lazily tracked the black dots that were the Quidditch players flying high above. If he squinted his eyes just so, he could make out the undulating kehai of gold that was Harry's. For someone so young, the boy had an impressive aura; one that with proper training, could rival Tsuzuki's at his height. There were blocks preventing that currently, silver and grey filaments in the otherwise pure color but that was inevitable. Should the matter they were sent here for be concluded in Harry's favour. . .but that was counting your eggs before they hatch.
The air before him shimmered and a high-pitched humming grated across his ears. The previously sluggish element shivered with a sudden influx of energy that caused agitated rainbows sparkling around like a mad painter gone wild with his brushes. Kyo winced.
"Do not conquer the world with force, for force only causes resistance. Thorns spring up when an army passes. Years of misery follow a great victory. Do only what needs to be done. Without using violence," he quoted softly. Without moving his head, his eyes slid to his right where an imposing figure in black stood waiting for acknowledgement. "Professor," he inclined his head in respect.
"Shiozaki." The customary sneer was gone, replaced with a studied indifference. The Potions Master's sudden appearance, complete with lack of hostility intrigued Kyo. He turned slightly, keeping the wooden post behind him as support. From the professors' stand, he could make out Takashi's instinctive kehai flare; worry coloring the usual green fire a warm orange. He sent back a wordless assurance and the flare died down, though there was still a tendril of inquisitiveness caressing his mind.
"An interesting saying," Snape commented mildly. "From?"
Kyo shrugged infinitesimally. "I forget," he said, lips twitching into a half-smile. "Some Zen thing. It felt appropriate."
"Oh?" Snape raised a black eyebrow. "And why's that?"
Kyo waved a hand vaguely, indicating around them. "The spell you cast. Some sort of ward against. . ." he closed his eyes briefly, "Sound?"
Snape nodded once, admiration lightening his onyx dark eyes. "A privacy bubble," he clarified.
"Western magic is very harsh," Kyo continued blandly. "I'm not saying it's an inferior style but the way your will and power bends the very fabric of magic to suit your purpose. . ." Kyo smiled suddenly. "But you're not here to talk about differences in Eastern and Western discipline, ne, Professor?"
Snape's earlier indifference collapsed like a tower of cards to reveal an interesting mix of dread and. . .nervousness? Kyo tilted his head a fraction of an inch, his smile fixed. Snape took one precise step closer, his robes swirling around his legs, the hem touching Kyo's cloak briefly and Kyo wondered whether he could contract the professor's apparent edginess with just that brief touch. The brown, dead grass crackled under the man's booted feet, the stalks bent and crushed heedlessly. Kyo felt a pang of pity stir inside, his power whispering to him that he could make it alright, that he could give life to the dead, brittle grass and cold, cold earth.
Kyo told his power to shut up.
"I came to apologise," Snape said abruptly. "And to give you this." With one quick movement, he shoved a piece of folded parchment into the boy's hand.
Kyo blinked, looking up in surprise. Unaware that the brief tussle with his magic had caused his irises to flash an intense white at the edges, reminding the professor harshly of a desert and a black, faded armchair, Kyo's smile disappeared.
"Apologise?" he repeated warily. He looked down to his closed fist as though it was an alien appendage, one that did not belong to him. Carefully, he opened the folded parchment and the familiar writing inside made him frown.
"The directions to your. . .husband's apartment. The Headmaster has seen fit to grant some allowances for you and your friends."
A smile lit up Kyo's face, only to disappear again as he remembered the professor's earlier statement
"And your seemingly pointless apology?" Kyo asked, a very faint note of teasing in his voice.
"I'm sure you're aware of the fact that I was present, along with others during your. . .dreaming," Snape stopped, shocked silent when the young man's previously almost-friendly expression changed to that of cold apathy. He had seen a gamut of expressions on that face: from kittenish playfulness, to a gravity belonging to an adult, to a wistfulness that softened the harsh edges. But when that mobile face restructured its clean lines to frosted blankness, it rammed home again the fact that despite the boy's partner's assurance that they were there to help, this was also the very same boy who had the power to affect the thousand-year old wards that protected Hogwarts, laid down by the very best practitioners of magic. Snape almost expected the same sort of display of raw magic as in the infirmary and was absurdly grateful, and strangely disappointed when nothing happened.
The fortitude and pure guts that would have otherwise seen him placed in Gryffindor if it wasn't tempered with a more than healthy dose of cunning propelled Snape to finish what he started. "I am certain that if you had been in any condition to have a say in the matter, that I am easily the last person that you would wish privy to your secrets," he tugged nervously on the tight sleeves that encased his wrists. If his students were to see him now! He gave his sleeves a final tug, before drawing himself up to his full height, gathering his cloak about his shoulders. It was a peculiarly dignified stance, one that thawed the iciness on Kyo's eyes and the taut lines bracketing the boy's mouth disappeared.
"I have done things, Mr. Shiozaki, of which I am not proud of. That is the nature of my life. I was, and am, a Slytherin. We are consummate survivors. But at the same time, I regret. . .what was done to you. I am sorry." He turned to go, his quick movements whipping the folds of his robes around his long legs. He had not even taken three steps when a voice, soft and strangely curious, stopped him in his tracks.
"Why?"
He halted, his robes which were as much as a meter of his moods as were his black eyes, stilled and inexpressive in their ceased flaring. "Because, Mr. Shiozaki," Snape said slowly, not bothering to look behind him, his words exact and formal in their cadence and laced with bitter humour, "The ones to whom I owe my true apology to are either dead or beyond caring."
******************
Goosebumps were creeping up Harry's arms, making him tremble with exhaustion. The strain of flying in slow figure-eights, scanning for that momentary spark of light that would tell him where the Snitch was, was wearing at him. Perhaps he shouldn't have insisted on playing; should have let Criss have the Seeker's position for once. But out of all the things that he had come to hold dear since discovering his wizarding heritage, Quidditch was still the one thing that was pure, unsullied by the war with Voldemort. Oh, sure, he had nearly died thanks to Quirrell's efforts, but it wasn't quite the same thing.
Now, if he just weren't so damned cold. And tired. Let's not forget tired. And confused, he added reflectively, noting Ginny. The girl's streaming red hair shone like newly minted Knuts, and a surge of anxiety tightened his stomach in ways that had nothing to do with being the team's Captain. She was swooping into a drawn out barrel roll as her hand shot out to snatch the Quaffle from the air. A Bludger streaked past her, missing her shoulder by a good foot. Her spiralling motion brought her upright just in time to heave the smaller ball past the Ravenclaw Keeper. Harry had to fight the urge to scream and cheer with the rest of the Gryffindors.
The Quaffle returned to play, and then it was Harry's turn to execute a controlled roll to avoid a Bludger. The surge of adrenaline warmed him for a moment and cleared out some of the lassitude that was fogging his brain. Below him, one of the Gryffindor Chasers – his Chasers – managed a perfectly timed interception. He darted with unbelievable speed between the Ravenclaw Beaters, stealing the Quaffle from the Chaser that they were supposed to be protecting. When the opposing players closed on the Gryffindor, intending to force a pass to Ginny, the boy feinted and heaved the ball underhanded to their third Chaser instead. She swiped the Quaffle out of the air and headed for the goals, passing back and forth with her team mates, avoiding the murderous attacks of the opposing Beaters. Their goal widened the gap between the two Houses to eighty points.
The game being played out was interesting from a strategic standpoint, but Harry realised that he was letting himself get distracted from his job: Seeking. He eyes sought out Cho, finding the dark-haired girl easily. It was tempting to see if he could trick her into thinking he had spotted the Snitch, but it probably wouldn't be worth it. Cho was intimately familiar with that kind of a ruse, and it wasn't likely that Harry would be able to trick her. Sighing, he turned his attention back to a careful scan of the playing field's air space.
The weather had eased some, over night, and Harry understood that to a large extent it was due to Kyo's improved mental state. He had a guilty suspicion that he ought to be scared that Kyo, his cheerful, sometimes silly, occasionally wise Japanese friend, had a power like that. Oddly enough, he wasn't frightened by the older boy. Kyo was still just the unexpected saviour who had made the preceding summer bearable, who had taken care of him when he was sick.
As if summoned by his very thoughts, Harry's eyes fell on the Gryffindor stand and he immediately noted the lone figure at the very back of the bleachers. Kyo was watching. Happiness surged through the English boy, chasing away the last of the cobwebs from his head and Harry grinned. Kyo raised one hand in a brief, laconic salute and, to the younger wizard's bafflement, pointed somewhere to his left.
Harry turned his head and yelped, launching into an immediate sloth roll not a moment too soon as a Bludger whizzed past. Heart in his mouth, Harry righted himself, cursing the Ravenclaw Beaters when to his utter amazement, a small, golden winged ball fluttered just a few inches from his nose. Automatically, his hand snapped out and the Snitch was caught.
"Gryffindor wins the first game of the season!"
The crowd erupted into cheers, applause, and not a few boos and jeers from the Slytherin side. The Snitch beating helplessly in his fist, the boy descended on to the pitch and was immediately enveloped in a scarlet and gold flood. As Ron was beating his back, shouting out his glee, Harry noticed that Kyo was not among the well-wishers, even those daunted by the jubilant crowd and hanging back at the fringes. Hermione pushed her way in, kissing Harry and Ron's cheek soundly, the latter blushing a bright red, before announcing that she had some research to do in the library.
Harry and Ron watched her run off with identical looks of fondness mixed with a slight hint of exasperation. Ron clapped his back again, saying directly into his ear, "Party in the common room, mate."
Harry nodded. "Yeah, you go on first. I need to speak with Kyo a bit."
Ron shrugged, smiling crookedly as Ginny finally managed to plant a quick peck as well. Harry was still blushing as the stadium emptied, his feet booming out a hollow beat on the wooden steps as he climbed up. Kyo was still sitting where he last saw his friend and with a quick smile from Kyo, Harry dropped into the seat beside him.
Kyo, as was his wont whenever Harry was less than a foot away from him, slung an arm over the boy's shoulder, hugging him close. With a contented little sigh, Harry duly snuggled into the older boy's embrace, the heat from Kyo's body a comfy blanket after the adrenaline wore off and the late autumn made its presence known. His Firebolt set safely aside, Harry took a moment to wonder at how much he'd changed in the course of just over three months. The Harry back then tended to bite first and ask questions later, to shy away from physical contact that was more than a handshake from anyone but Ron or Hermione. This Harry was quite happy to accept the random hugs and cuddles offered by both Kyo and Takashi. If he was to be vocal about it, he'd say that the couple couldn't keep their hands off of him. In the nicest way possible, of course. And being around the taciturn Takashi and (usually) laid back Kyo had rubbed off on him. So much so that when he thought back to his fifth year, he winced at the mere recollection of what a prat he had been, to himself and to his friends.
Kyo shifted, turning his body in to shield the shivering form next to him from the rising wind and with his mouth close to the boy's ear, murmured softly, "I'm sorry."
Harry faced his friend, puzzlement creasing his forehead. "For what?"
Kyo sighed, running a hand through his black hair, mussed beyond recall thanks to the wind, a reflection of the other teen's unruly mop. "That. . ." he closed his eyes briefly before opening them again to stare into Harry's bright green ones. "That you had to see what happened to me. . .I wasn't exactly planning to ever let you know that little part of my life," he added wryly.
The English wizard shook his head fiercely, instinctively giving his friend a tight hug. Kyo stiffened, surprised, as Harry wasn't the type to initiate physical contact himself, but he immediately relaxed, even going so far as to rest his chin on the boy's thick, flyaway hair. "Don't," Harry said, his rebuke muffled in Kyo's sweater.
He felt, rather than heard Kyo sigh. "Still. . ."
Harry pushed the young man back, holding Kyo's gaze as he said, slowly, "If. . .I'm the one who should be sorry!" he blurted out and promptly flushed.
Kyo blinked slowly, looking as puzzled as if he had discovered a new life form and was wondering what to call it. "You're. . .sorry?" he clarified with a mystified air.
Harry nodded miserably.
And flinched back, glaring up at Kyo who had whapped him upside the head. "What was that for?!" he demanded.
"For being a bloody martyr," Kyo told him blandly. The older boy sighed, tugging Harry closer as the wizard fussed with the back of his head. His hands on Harry's shoulders, Kyo looked at him straight in the eyes, saying slowly, and clearly, "Were you the one who set Akuma on us?" he asked point blank, not even wavering when he said the demon's name.
Harry blushed a deep red, shaking his head silently.
"And were you the one who cursed me?"
More silent denial.
"Then what gives you the right to assume that burden of guilt?" Kyo asked quietly. "You can't be the entire world's saviour, Harry. No matter how much you want to be."
Harry cringed, dropping Kyo's gaze as he fiddled with the hem of his Quidditch robe sleeves. "I. . .I guess Voldemort isn't responsible for all of the world's evil, huh?" he laughed shakily.
"No, Harry. There's more evil in this life than just Voldemort. Unfortunately," Kyo said dryly.
"It's just. . ." He tried to search for the right words, his eyes flashing behind the lenses of his glasses and the hem of his sleeve tore under his furious picking. "I'm The-Boy-Who-Lived! My entire life has been about Voldemort! Without this stupid scar I'm nothing! What am I supposed to do when he's gone? I don't know how to not worry and save people! Am I still Harry Potter then, or do I lose the right to be him?"
Kyo's longer, more slender fingers gently closed over his, stopping further abuse of his robes. Moving automatically, Harry buried himself in Kyo's embrace, the Japanese silently rubbing his back as Harry wiped away telltale tears that threatened to drop.
"I know it seems like the entire world sees you as nothing more than that scar and your. . .title," Kyo coughed delicately. "But does it really matter what the entire world thinks?" Kyo drew back from the hug, gently tipping the other boy's chin up and brushing away an errant tear. "Ron doesn't," he reminded Harry softly. "Neither do Hermione, Dumbledore, Lupin. . ."
"And. . ." Harry hesitated, hiccupping. "And you? And Takashi?" he asked hopefully.
Kyo smiled broadly. "And me and Takashi," he confirmed. "Not to mention a whole family of redheads, I might add. As well as a couple of other Japanese whom shall remain nameless," he teased, though something dark flashed in his eyes, gone in an instant. "Besides," he added slyly, "A certain Weasley seems to find you quite attractive for yourself."
Harry was mortified beyond belief. Blushing a violent tomato red that rivalled said Weasley's hair, he squeaked out, "W-w-what?!"
"Tch, don't try to fool me," Kyo chided him, an unholy gleam in his eyes. "That kiss just now seemed to say a lot, ne?"
"You saw?" Harry asked faintly.
"I do have eyes you know," was the glib reply. "Tell me, has it gone beyond a simple peck on the cheeks? Have you been sneaking around behind my back?"
The deepest red that his face was capable of producing betrayed him and Kyo crowed delightedly. "I knew it! By Enma, I knew it!"
The smaller teen groaned, rather fatalistically, and tried to wish that the sky would fall on him, preferably in the next instant, but no such luck. Kyo kept on pestering him for details and when he finally broke down, the Japanese teased him mercilessly all the way back to the locker rooms, empty now save for them.
Even when Harry was in the showers, Kyo kept up a steady commentary on how proud he was, that Harry was all grown up now and soon he'd be having little Harry's running around and what would he name his firstborn?
It was as Harry was towelling himself down (still blushing a fierce red), that Kyo suddenly fell silent in mid-spiel about the uniqueness of Japanese names in British society. Concerned, Harry quickly donned his clean robes, his hair still damp and he padded out to the locker area where Kyo waited.
The Japanese was standing in the middle of the room, head cocked to the side and a look of intense concentration on his face. His eyes were trained on a shadowed corner of the room, where the pile of soiled robes that the house elves had yet to pick up lay steaming. Harry, directed by his friend's stare, looked as well and it might have been a trick of the low light but he could have sworn that the pile of robes weren't robes, but something else.
Harry blinked, and that fanciful impression was gone.
"Kyo?" he called out, grabbing his Firebolt and tugging at the older boy's sleeves. "Kyo?"
The slim youth started, as though only now aware of the other boy's presence. His smile was tight, forced, and the grip he had on Harry's elbow was almost painful. "C'mon, let's get out of here."
"Did you sense something?" Harry asked curiously. By now, he was quite used to Kyo and the other Japanese's ability to sense more of the world around them than the average wizard was able to. He knew he wasn't the only who noticed that the Japanese could always tell who was approaching them, even without looking. It was almost Dumbledore-ish, that talent of theirs. Hermione was one of the few who did as well, but only because she frequently hung out with them.
Kyo hesitated, again throwing another look back over his shoulder as he hustled Harry out of the locker room. "It's. . .I must have imagined it," he answered ruefully. "I haven't exactly had the most restful night anyway. . ." he trailed off. He reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a piece of folded parchment, thoughtfully fiddling with it.
"What's that?"
"Hmm?" Kyo, to Harry's amazement, actually blushed; more of a faint tinge of pink to his cheeks rather than a fire engine red, but it was still a blush. "The Headmaster's relaxed some of the restrictions for us. . .these are the directions to Takashi's apartment."
Harry grinned. If there was one thing he knew for sure about his friends, it was that the enforced separation pained them. Especially since Takashi had confessed one summer night that he and Kyo rarely went without one another. That was made even more obvious over the past couple of months with Kyo's usual cheer dimming steadily and dark shadows under Takashi's eyes.
"That's great!" Harry enthused. "You finally get to spend time with each other!"
"Yeah, great. . ." the Japanese echoed.
"You don't sound too happy about it." Harry frowned.
"No, no!" Kyo protested, waving the parchment around agitatedly. "I am! I am," he finished softly. He fingered the parchment, seeing beyond it to something that Harry couldn't.
"Kyo?" Harry touched his friend's elbow worriedly.
Forcibly shaking off his sudden melancholy, he shot Harry a bright grin. "So what do you think of 'Kyo' as your son's name?" he asked brightly and was instantly rewarded with a drawn out groan from the young wizard.
"Kyo! Cut it out!"
******************
The library was quiet, even more so with almost the entirety of the school out at the pitch for the first Quidditch game of the season. Even the most studious of the Ravenclaws had abandoned their haven to support their House team and Hisoka revelled in the peace and sanctuary to be found there.
Tucked in a little alcove where what little sun there was shone warmly through the leaded glass window, the empath didn't so much read as just staring blankly at the book on the history of arithmancy and its development. He was only vaguely aware that the game had ended when the 'noise' level of the usual flood of emotions in the school slowly returned to its normal levels. The usual humdrum feelings were tinged with more joy though, and ecstatic glee, as well as some bitter resentment. Hisoka didn't have to ask to know that Gryffindor must have won the match.
The deluge of emotions was starting to seep through the library as well, effectively cutting short his peaceful meditation. Or what was supposed to be peaceful meditation. Tsuzuki always said that Hisoka could stew in silent misery with the best of them.
He snorted quietly. 'Stewing' was practically a required skill for all Shinigami (save for Watari who preferred a far more volatile method to drown his troubles in). He just happened to have it down to a fine art, that was all.
"Hisoka? May I join you?"
Startled from the request itself, Hisoka nodded his acquiescence before he knew it. Beaming, the bushy haired girl dropped an armful of thick, dusty tomes on the table, causing it to groan pathetically under the weight.
"You weren't at the game." Hermione noted, already opening a book and throwing him an inquisitive look.
Hisoka sighed, kneading the spot between his eyebrows. "I hate crowds," he muttered.
"I know what you mean," Hermione clucked sympathetically. "I can't stand it myself, but since it's for Harry and Ron. . ." she shrugged.
The blond grunted noncommittally and Hermione went on, looking at him from the corner of her eyes. "There's a new rumour going round the school about Halloween," she offered quietly.
He did nothing more than to raise one fine eyebrow. Hermione went on, undaunted. "Somehow, it leaked out that Harry got. . .involved with the Wild Hunt. But that's it really; there isn't much in the way of details." Hisoka made some sound of relief at that, if she had translated it correctly. "Can you. . .can you tell me what happened? What really happened?" she asked in a rush. "Usually Harry tells us but. . ." she bit her lip.
"And it's up to Harry," Hisoka said shortly. "It's none of my business anyway." Seeing the girl's frown, he sighed. "Give him time. Maybe he'll tell you eventually. Or not."
Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation and to the empath's surprise, she actually gave him an affectionate sort of smile. "You don't believe in coddling people, do you?" she asked rhetorically, with more than a hint of mischief.
Hisoka decided that he would not deign to answer that.
The minutes ticked by quite pleasantly then but Hisoka was shifting around in his seat, agitated, the book in front of him no longer holding his interest. Hermione had always been the one the reticent youth found easiest to relate to; both devoted bookworms, they had spent a few evenings by the Gryffindor Tower's fireplace discussing the latest books they read, or a theory Hisoka wanted explained. Deciding that he'd prefer to spend the time in a debate with the girl, rather than pretend to be absorbed in his book, Hisoka turned to Hermione, thinking of asking her opinion on the structure of western spells when he finally noticed the titles of the books she was going through.
The Customs of Feudal Japan.
Old Families, Old Names, Old Traditions: Japan Uncovered.
Great Wizarding Families of Japan.
Hisoka's jade green eyes narrowed. "Hermione," he said quietly, "What are you doing with those books?"
Hermione looked up from the old tome she was currently reading, the pages yellowed and crackling between her fingers. "I'm doing an extra-credit project for History of Magic!" she said brightly. "With you and the others around, I thought I'd research Japanese wizarding families and do a comparison study and. . .Hisoka? Are you alright?"
"Where in the seven hells did you get that?" Hisoka's low voice, normally a quiet monotone, was shaking with rage and disbelief. Hermione stopped dead in her questions and stared at the blond boy. His gaze was fixed on the book in front of her.
"Hisoka. . .?" He flinched clumsily from her instinctive reach, stumbling out of his chair and backing into the corner of the next library table with enough force that it probably would leave a bruise on his hip. It was as if he didn't feel that sharp impact at all. Hermione rose slowly, careful to not spook him, but his eyes still cut to her, captured by her movement.
"I said, where the hells did you get that?!" Hysteria was rising as his features paled, leaving two spots of vivid color behind on his cheekbones. Hermione gaped. She didn't know what to say. She looked from the book open on the table, to the retreating boy, and back to the book. She couldn't see why it should have such an effect on Hisoka.
The man in the photo was broad shouldered and confident in a traditional kimono in shades of gold and blue, layered over with embroidered chrysanthemums in a darker shade of bronze. Sleek honey blond hair that was streaked with wheat gold caressed his strong jaw line and was gathered into a thick pony tail that flowed over his shoulder. She considered briefly that it was too bad that it wasn't a wizarding photograph; forever frozen in shadow, she couldn't tell if the man's eyes were blue, gray, or green. . .Green? Suddenly suspicious, Hermione looked up at the boy who had pressed himself into the angle between a bookcase and the outer wall of the library. Something about the look of horror on his face decided her. There was more to this than a casual relationship. Even thought the book indicated that the main branch of the Kurosaki clan had died out, Hisoka's reaction meant that he had to be more than just a member of some cadet line. That look meant that he knew.
"Hisoka," she asked quietly. "Who is this?"
His whispered reply was automatic, coming without conscious thought. "Kurosaki Nagare, the sixteenth and final head. . .My father." His terrified eyes met hers. "Hermione. . .Get Tsuzuki. I- I don't feel very well." Then he crumpled bonelessly to the floor.
******************
Hisoka was back on his feet – or rather, sitting in a chair as far away from that betraying photo as he could get without leaving the safety of the corner – by the time she arrived, breathless, with Professor Tsuzuki in tow. The older man tried to gather the blond into his arms and was rebuffed with a muttered "Leave me alone." Hermione's heart cringed at the expression of resignation and sorrow that crossed the taller man's features as he let his arms fall limply to his sides.
"Hisoka. . .Are you -"
"I'm fine. Leave me alone."
" 'Soka. . ." The worry in Tsuzuki's violet eyes, together with the way the youth's name came out in a pitiful whine, made Hermione take a step closer to them. They were both so miserable that she wanted to comfort one or the other. Hisoka pushed off from his chair, skirting around them and the table where the book still lay, face open.
"Just leave me alone." he growled. Shoulders hunched, he shoved his balled up fists into his trouser pockets and stalked away.
******************
"Well, that wasn't so difficult." muttered Kyo. The hastily scrawled directions on the scrap clutched in his sweaty hand had been accurate, and in their own way, they constituted an invitation, didn't they? So why was he swallowing down a fluttery feeling of apprehension? The plain door in front of him led to Taka's quarters; all he had to do was to knock, and walk in.
But it was damned hard to do.
The ringing sound of footsteps approaching around a bend in the corridor finally gave him the push that he needed, and Kyo rapped his knuckles against the age-darkened wood. When the door swung silently open at his touch, he darted in without thinking, and quickly pushed it shut behind him. And stared as he drew a panting breath. The small sitting room was an almost perfect replica of their apartment back home. Instead of the usual stone, the floor was of a dark hardwood, gleaming with polish. And there was the same long cream colored couch that had been witness to many a good time and a few bad ones, and the pair of comfortably deep chairs upholstered in soft beige. The main differences he could see were the fireplace with a broad mantle of some speckled pink and white stone, a plain wooden desk and chair in a corner underneath a window, and bookcases half filled with a jumble of titles from the library. But it was still empty of the one person that he wanted to see. There was no Takashi.
That quivering, nervous feeling intensified, turning to a flight of moths that beat against the lamp of his soul. What if he had misunderstood? It had been weeks. . .months. . .since he had been able to get more than the briefest contact with his love. What if. . .he swallowed hard. What if Takashi had lost interest in him?
He shouldn't have come.
A faint noise from somewhere beyond stopped Kyo before he could lose his nerve and bolt back out the door. He froze, listening intently. No, his ears weren't deceiving him; the low, needy moan was as familiar to him as his own breath. It uncurled a matching, tingling sensation within his own chest, tugging like a steel cord toward the half open portal across the sitting room. Kyo followed, automatically slipping out of his shoes, leaving them by the shoe rack near the door, and padded on silent feet on the cool wooden floor.
The room beyond was cast in shadow. All but one of the candles in the sconces mounted on the white plastered walls were unlit, and only the barest light from the waning day came through the heavy drapes that concealed the windows. But as the young man's eyes adjusted, he had no trouble making out the figure lying atop the covers in the canopied bed.
Takashi had removed his long black outer robe, but for the rest he was still clothed as if he expected to get up and head back down to teach another class. The fine wool of his dress slacks clung to the contours of his hips and thighs and his sweater was bunched up carelessly above his waist. He looked adorable, sleep robbing him of his usual solemn lines. Then he twisted again, murmuring indistinctly in what had to be Japanese, before settling back with one arm out flung on the bedding.
Kyo stared for a long moment, his mouth gone dry. It had been forever since he had had the luxury of watching his life mate sleep, and he had forgotten just how beautiful the man was. The thick, copper-touched hair that was always so neat during the day was mussed over his forehead, and a delicate flush brightened the pale tan of his skin. Kyo remembered teasing Takashi, once, about being a natural redhead, and how the former sensei had drawn himself up in mock indignation – before stripping and demonstrating that a very different head of hair was only a shade darker. The memory drew the boy closer, unconscious of his movements until the side of the bed bumped his knee. Kyo let out a breath that he hadn't been aware of holding.
The need to reach out, to draw his fingers through that auburn hair, to run his hands over the soft knit of Takashi's sweater, was making him crazy. Cautiously, Kyo seated himself on the edge of the bed, feeling the mattress dip beneath his weight. Even sound asleep, Takashi must have felt the movement, because he blinked. He opened those eyes, heavy lidded with a mixture of sleep and arousal. Lovely eyes, like green tea, both golden and peridot at once, shadowed with smoky topaz. Takashi unfurled his fingers, reaching up and tangling them into Kyo's silk-fine hair. Then, with the weight of weariness, of the sleep that drugged his unfocused eyes, he let his fingers slip down, just rubbing over the skin on the boy's throat, leaving behind a burning tingle. His eyes drifted shut again.
Kyo stayed frozen where he was. He didn't dare so much as inhale, afraid to disturb his partner and miss any of the nearly inaudible words that he was whispering. Kyo caught the sound of his own name, and every endearment that they had ever used for one another, before it all dissolved into a low moan. Takashi arched, back and hips rising, and he swore softly before gasping "Kyo. . .koibito. . Anata wa sei desu ka?" his voice gone husky. Kyo's eyes widened.
The blunt proposal hung in the air between them as the younger man realised just what Takashi was dreaming.
Kyo breathed out in a whoosh. His lips felt dry and he licked at them self-consciously. Takashi was getting even more restless; his fingers kneading the bedclothes in agitation and more mumbled invitations tumbled out. I guess I don't have to worry about whether he still wants me or not, Kyo's thoughts were definitely tinged with a little hysterical happiness. He was still wrung out over the discussion he had had with Harry, never mind that he had been the picture of a concerned, calm and understanding friend. Caught at the heels of his and Takashi's private grieving for their friends, just reassuring Harry had taken a lot out of him.
But Kyo sure as hell wasn't going to deny that seeing his life partner lost in sleep and dreaming of him in that way refreshed him far more effectively than a bucket of ice cold water in the face.
He climbed onto the bed distractedly, eyes intent on tracking every twitch, every play of emotion that crossed his love's face. If Kyo doubted the intensity of Takashi's dream, the gaze that he raked hungrily over his husband's form dispelled any such notion. Takashi was sweating, the moisture lending his skin a light sheen that glowed in the dim light of that lone candle. His body was alternately coiling and relaxing, the muscles quivering as Takashi parted his legs, a ragged gasp falling from his lips. Takashi's arousal was delightfully obvious and again, Kyo's tongue unconsciously flicked out, wetting his lips in anticipation.
A low moan pierced the air and Kyo was startled to note that it came from himself. He crawled up the bed, Takashi instinctively edging closer to him as he closed the distance between them. Carefully, as Takashi's eyes fluttered at the edge of awakening, Kyo straddled him, slowly lying himself down lengthwise on top of Takashi to cover his partner's body with his own. Kyo made sure that he was still supporting most of his own weight with his knees and elbows; even though Takashi was the taller of the two, they were roughly the same weight and he doubted Takashi would appreciate being suffocated.
His own arousal rubbed softly against Takashi's and simultaneously, they both moaned. Kyo returned Takashi's earlier favour and tangled his fingers in Takashi's hair, tugging gently. He laid a gentle kiss just over Takashi's rapidly beating pulse and the taste of skin he had been dreaming of for months cracked his restraints. He bit, just hard enough to draw a startled, and definitely aware, gasp from his husband. Takashi's body instantly tensed beneath him and arms shot out and clamped over and around him, crushing the two of them together. Their arousals rubbed and Kyo whimpered, not even realising it as his fingers kneaded Takashi's scalp desperately and he peppered Takashi's neck with hot, moist, open kisses that scored the pale amber skin.
"Kyo. . ."
Enma, how he missed hearing his name uttered in that long, drawn out groan that was as much pain as it was pleasure. His breathing sped up in eagerness; the years together had taught him what such a sound promised and sure enough, Takashi pulled him up roughly and their lips met in a bruising kiss that conveyed lust and love, and was salted heavily with desperation. Takashi was gasping his name between kisses, as his partner gripped the back of his neck in an almost painful hold, forcing him still as they both groaned out their need, breath mingling.
In a move that made Kyo giddy with desire, Takashi hooked his leg around Kyo's, his thigh brushing against Kyo's erection and the young man squeaked, eliciting a chuckle from Takashi. The former sensei nudged him, manoeuvring until Kyo was lying half on top and covering his side. Their urgency had dwindled to a slow exploration by then, Takashi taking the lead and Kyo content to let him. As Kyo breathed softly, warm air ghosting across flushed skin, Takashi's hand slid under his t-shirt and traced circles on his back. Kyo shivered, burying his face in his partner's neck.
"I love you," Takashi said, his voice hoarse with desire. "I love you so much, do you know that?"
Kyo nodded silently, not trusting his voice to answer but he followed obediently when he was tugged into a sitting position. Takashi took his hands and placed them on the bottom edge of his sweater, a silent question in his eyes. Almost reverently, Kyo helped Takashi out of the sweater, tossing it aside and the shirt underneath as well, followed quickly by the slacks and briefs. When Takashi was sitting before him completely naked, Kyo stopped, on his knees with his legs straddling Takashi's.
"Kyo?"
His eyes refused to meet Takashi's. Instead, he fiddled with the hem of his t-shirt, his nervousness clear. Takashi's fingers closed over his own and he noted absently that death had ensured that his skin would forever stay a pale, milky white and Takashi, a light amber.
"I didn't want to come," he said abruptly, finally meeting Takashi's steady gaze. He was still in that position, not wanting to set himself down, yet not wanting to move away either. "I didn't want to come here earlier. I almost went back even."
"Why?" Takashi asked quietly, not letting go of Kyo's hand which twitched in his grip.
"I was. . .afraid," Kyo confessed.
"Of?"
"You," Kyo whispered. "That you didn't want me anymore. It's been so long and. . ." He fell silent.
Takashi was quiet as well, letting go of Kyo's hand only to gently draw the t-shirt up, Kyo allowing himself to be divested of it without fuss. There was a faint smile on Takashi's face when he was pulled closer. The move forced him to sit down lest he fall and he settled himself in Takashi's lap, his jeans the only armor shielding him.
"You do realize," Takashi said lightly, "that you're being an utter idiot?"
Kyo flushed and the embarrassment made him poke Takashi's chest. Hard. "You have absolutely no sympathy for my insecurities," he pouted.
Takashi raised an eyebrow. "Not when they're baseless. You do appreciate the current condition I'm in, don't you?" he said with a significant look down.
Kyo's eyes followed his gaze and the sight of Takashi's evident arousal, nestled in a thatch of dark auburn curls made his stomach muscles tighten, his breath hitching in his throat. "You were dreaming earlier," he murmured, eyes not moving and he was rewarded with a twitch that made interesting things happen to his own body.
"I was," Takashi stopped, coughed, and continued. "I was. And it was a damn fine dream as well."
"Oh?' Kyo murmured still. "Would you prefer to continue dreaming or something. . .real?"
Takashi laughed and he hooked a finger in the waistband of Kyo's jeans. "I wouldn't mind something more. . .solid," he answered with a cheeky grin. "But you seem to be overdressed for it, love."
It was like his earlier hesitation had never happened. Kyo hopped off the bed, ripping off his jeans and briefs impatiently, kicking them aside. Takashi was watching Kyo with that infuriating grin still on his face as he scooted further up the bed, leaning against the headboard. One leg drawn up invitingly, Takashi cocked an eyebrow. "Well?" he said challengingly.
Kyo felt an answering grin curve his lips as he crawled back into the bed. The feel of bare skin sliding against bare skin was electric; little tingles and sparks in his blood that sensitised every nerve endings and shot down his spine. It was almost reverent, the way he settled himself oh so slowly in Takashi's lap and the instant their erections touched, Takashi gasped, his hands clutching Kyo's upper arms for support. Very carefully, Kyo rubbed again and was rewarded with a long, drawn out moan that ended with a "You damn tease!"
Kyo chuckled, kissing Takashi chastely on the lips. "Did you like that?" he asked innocently. Takashi growled under his breath. The chuckles died as Kyo locked gazes with Takashi, his partner likewise falling silent. A feeling that defied words passed between them, Takashi rubbing his hands up and down Kyo's arms as Kyo locked his own hands around Takashi's neck.
"I love you," Kyo said softly and his mouth met Takashi's in an open, wet kiss. The two months seemed as though it never happened as they each proved that time and distance had not eroded their memories, as they kissed and touched and sighed against each other. They were lovers in every sense of the word and they did not let the years dim the fire.
When Kyo drew himself up, Takashi looked surprised, only for his expression to change into one of pure lust when Kyo pressed the tube of lubricant in his hands. He coated his fingers thoroughly and with Kyo kneeling, he prepared his partner. Takashi almost lost control when Kyo's hips bucked suddenly, his muscles tightening around Takashi's fingers. Kyo whimpered, muttering half-phrases like, "So good. . .imagined. . .Taka. . ."
With his other hand, Takashi prepared himself, viciously choking back the need to drive himself into his partner right there and then. By this time, Kyo was panting against his shoulder, little jerks and thrusts pushing against his fingers and when he withdrew them, Kyo whimpered again. The younger man followed Takashi's hands on his hips that urged him down blindly and the feel of something far more hotter, far more firmer at his entrance drove away the last of his coherency. Kyo pushed himself down, taking in Takashi completely and he threw his head back, screaming at the sudden pain. But when Takashi fisted his erection, Kyo was in motion, building up the urgency and Takashi followed his pace, his ragged gasps loud in Kyo's ears as he kissed Kyo's lips, his cheeks, biting into the soft flesh of Kyo's neck.
Kyo's thrusts were getting shallower, more rapid and he was leaving red marks all over Takashi's biceps and shoulders, clawing frantically. Takashi found Kyo's fast beating pulse and bit down, hard, when he felt Kyo tensing under him and screaming out again in his release. Kyo fell limp in his arms and Takashi moved quickly, lying Kyo down as his partner dazedly and accommodatingly lifted his legs, locking them around Takashi's hips. Takashi grunted with pleasure, mimicking Kyo's fast thrusts and within seconds, he was yelling Kyo's name, as he spilled his seed in Kyo.
For long moments, there was only the sound of their breathing, slowing down to a languid rhythm. Takashi felt far too heavy to move but Kyo managed to prod him into a more comfortable position, namely with Kyo tucked in Takashi's arms, and Takashi lazily summoning a towel from the bathroom. Cleaned, sated and feeling utterly debauched in the best way possible, Takashi nuzzled Kyo's neck contentedly, mildly disappointed that the marks he left were already fading. Kyo stirred in his arms, humming his approval when Takashi sought to remedy that with tongue and teeth.
"Can I just say something here?" Kyo asked, his voice heavy with sleep.
"Mm?" Takashi continued nuzzling.
Kyo sighed happily. "Damn, that was good."
And for the first time in months, Takashi laughed a real laugh.
***To be continued***
A/N: Well. The long-awaited lemon. Happy now, all you lemon-lovers? I wasn't looking forward to writing it, truth to tell. I'd been feeling very uninspired in the lemon business but, Lisa, saviour that she is, helped me out by giving the trigger for the scene.
TO ALL TSUZUKI-HISOKA LOVERS:
I've said this a few times before but I'll say it again: this story is Kyo & Takashi-centric. I am a Kyo-Takashi Lover and as such, that's where the focus of the story lies. But I'm sure you're aware that we've been giving more of the spotlight to our old Shinigami. In fact, you can expect a lemon from Tsuzuki & 'Soka-chan as well (Do I hear screaming?), plus some emotional/physical trauma. Yes, we're evil. But with purpose. Remember that. Purpose is important. Why on earth would I want to do a 300-odd pages long PWP anyway?.