Ch. 33 - Yuletide Promise

Harry bolted awake in the darkness of his own bed. Again. His scar was a throbbing, jagged line of fiery heat. Again. And Voldemort had killed the unicorn. Again.

Harry was getting very tired of 'again'.

He shoved his bedcovers off and his curtains aside, instinctively reaching for his glasses. Remembering last time, he glanced towards Hiei's bed as he settled the lenses on his face. The curtains hung open, the bed remained empty - good, Hiei wouldn't be bugging him this time.

Feet into slippers, Invisibility Cloak over shoulders, wand in hand - right, ready to go, then. "Lumos," Harry murmured, as he eased the door shut behind himself. He hurried down the stairs and through the common room, barely glancing at the clock as he left. The hands read: Yule; Out of Bed.

The portraits lining the halls grumbled fitfully as Harry hurried through the darkened passages, the tiny light spell half-waking them. He crept more carefully down the stairs in the towering atrium - a truly unnerving place at this hour, particularly with no moon to help him see even the outlines of the other stairs. At the second floor, Harry fled the vast, dark emptiness of the echoing chamber, relaxing slightly as he entered a corridor. Here, the walls and ceiling were at least dimly illuminated by his wand's Lumos. It was somehow better, being able to see everything that could be in his vicinity.

This half of the school was uncarpeted, being the 'public' section with the classrooms and offices - even a wizarding rug would be caked with grime and worn through in a couple of years, given the student traffic. Harry's slippers tapped faintly on the stone, and he tried to walk more lightly as he turned the corner and walked down the long, empty hall to Dumbledore's office.

Now, what was the password this time...? "Wine gums," he tried. The gargoyle didn't budge. "Smarties. Truffles? Butterscotch drops." Nothing. This was really inconvenient - what if a student needed to see him? Like, say, now? "I'm not going to stand out here all night," Harry grumbled. The urgency of the dream was fading... Harry forced it back into place. What else was there? "Snickers. Mars Bars. Everlasting Gobstoppers."

The gargoyle leapt out of the way.

Score one for children's books, Harry thought, as he climbed up the steps. Thank Merlin Dudley never wanted to read any of them...!

The office was dark and cold tonight, the fire barely embers on the hearth, the lamps snuffed. Harry's wand easily drowned out the starlight that made the windows the only visible thing in the room. A cold draft moved through the room, cutting through Harry's Cloak and pajamas, and he clutched the fabric closer in a futile effort to warm up. "Professor Dumbledore?" Harry called.

Movement against the windows of the loft, where the telescope was; a black shape against near-black sky and a rustle of cloth. "Ah, Harry..." Dumbledore's voice came, rasping through the oppressive dark. A door thumped shut; the lamp on the desk kindled, slowly casting a warm glow through the room.

"Nox," Harry murmured to his wand, as the professor was revealed walking down the stairs.

Dumbledore padded to the fire, casting a log on the embers, stoking the fire back to life. A wave of welcome heat poured out - not much yet, though enough to prove the fireplace was magically enhanced. Harry slid his Cloak off and stuffed it into his pocket.

"Another vision?" There was very little of the usual amusement in Dumbledore's voice... just husky weariness, the rasp of age. He sat behind the desk, thin gray robes and a nightcap taking majesty of the 'powerful sorcerer" away, leaving simply an old man dragged from what little sleep he took in these years before his final rest.

Suddenly, Harry felt deeply guilty for having to heap more troubles on the headmaster. "Yessir," he mumbled, looking down at the desktop. The surface was strewn with papers and gadgets, bits of arcane debris that helped distract Harry from the idea that Dumbledore was old.

"Hm... I've found it rarely helps to presume, but... was it the same vision?"

"Yes." With that much established, Harry could skip the similarities. Like the dead unicorn, and all the blood. "Though there was a bonfire, this time, set to circle the area. So it was a lot easier to see everything inside the circle, though I couldn't see past the fire." So he had no idea where this might've been. "And I think I got there sooner- Voldemort was checking some sort of scroll. There was a casting circle between me and them, so I tried going around it to see if I could recognize any of the symbols. But I couldn't."

"I see..." Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Was it that you could not see the actual writings, or that you could not recognize what was being written?"

"Couldn't recognize what was being written, sir," Harry answered. He'd seen a lot of weird symbols and lettering in most of his classes at one point or another (Transfiguration theory had quite a few, and Astronomy had some, which Ron and Harry had used liberally when faking the astrology unit in Divination), but he'd never seen these. Perhaps he should've taken Ancient Runes...

Dumbledore pulled open a desk drawer, extracting a sheet of parchment. "Might you perhaps, be able to recreate them from memory, even though you did not recognize them?" he asked, sliding the sheet across the desk and laying a quill on top.

"I could try," Harry answered dubiously. He dipped the quill into the inkwell Dumbledore offered him, set the nib just above the paper, and paused to focus on the symbols. "...um..." The images slid from his grasp, leaving a general impression of loops and dashes. "I'm losing them."

The professor took this with a nearly imperceptible sigh. "I suppose it is to be expected. This is only the first time you've had a chance to look at them at any length..." he trailed off, thinking for a moment. "Perhaps you should begin keeping parchment by your bed. It is far easier to recapture such details when they are fresh in your mind."

"Yessir," Harry responded. That was a pretty good idea, actually... and it would give them (well, Hermione) more to work with in their own investigations.

"Now...If there is anything else you wish to confide in me?"

"No, sir." For once, it was true.

Dumbledore tilted his head up. "Then I suggest you get some rest. I dare say you'll need it for the holiday festivities."

Sleep sounded good. Great, in fact. Harry nodded politely at the headmaster, then hurried from the room and down the stairs, past the gargoyle and into the bare corridor leading to the office. The windows at the far end, the ones that overlooked the courtyard, glowed softly with moonlight, and it had started to snow again.

Harry slowed. White Christmas, he thought. Then he did a double take.

It had been a clear, moonless night all of two minutes ago in Dumbledore's office. Where was this coming from? He ran to the windows and peered out.

Yukina danced in the courtyard. Her thick hair was caught in a high ponytail; a strip of twisted white and light blue cloth was tied around her forehead. Her kimono was white, and unusually short: knee-length, slit up the sides. It was tied with a blue belt, far thinner than her usual sash. Bare feet flicked through snowdrifts in the courtyard. She held a fan in each hand, blue tipped with white, and snapped them open and closed in precise movements as she spun.

She was glowing. No, that wasn't right... the air around her was glowing, silvery like Harry's first Patronus, and the light filled the courtyard. Harry glanced up, to see the stars were firmly in place and unhidden by clouds; the snow was being generated from the air itself.

Looking back down, Harry realized that, despite the strict control of Yukina's dance, and the harsh silence, she was beaming with joy. (She was oddly pale, too... oh, makeup.)

A shadow fell over Harry, and he glanced back up. Botan, on her oar, darted in through the window. But it's closed-! Harry thought in the instants as she slid from the oar, landing on her feet and catching him by the wrist as it vanished.

"Run. Now," she ordered, yanking him in her wake. They sped down the hall, away from the courtyard and Yukina.

"Wha-?"

Botan nearly ran them facefirst into a door leading to a side hallway - one that led back to the moving staircases, but without a view of the courtyard. She shoved at the latch, and jerked Harry through, catching the door to ease it shut silently.

"You," she said, breathing harshly, "have the devil's luck. I swear you do-!"

"What?" Harry asked, rubbing his wrist. Botan had a painfully strong grip. Well, of course she does. Hufflepuff Chaser, remember?

Botan turned, slumping against the closed door. "I don't think she saw you. Us. How long were you standing there?"

"A minute. Maybe two." Or three. "Why?"

"Because that is an intensely private ritual that boys aren't allowed to see, that's why," Botan answered sharply.

Harry blinked. "Oh."

"Yes. 'Oh'." Botan pointed towards the staircases. "Go back to bed, Potter, and don't come out til breakfast. She'll be someplace more private by then."

You'd think she'd be someplace more private now, Harry grumbled mentally. But he simply nodded, and headed down the corridor. The wrath of girls was all the same - from Hermione to Molly Weasley. Harry wasn't going to trigger Botan's.

Portraits snorted to grumpy awareness as Harry passed, but Harry ignored the grumbles. The staircase atrium remained as dark as it had on his way down, but somehow climbing up was better than down. Up gave just the tiniest added glimmer of starlight, and you could see if something jumped down at you. And Gryffindor Tower - home - waited at the end.

The staircase to the 6th floor shuddered under Harry. Five years of experience had him catching at the heavy stone bannister as the stairs shifted, pivoting away from the stairs to Harry's floor, and towards a rarely-used hallway.

Once they ground to a jerky halt, Harry hurried the rest of the way up. There was a narrow, steep set of stairs up to the Fat Lady's corridor from here, and who knew when the main stairs would shift back again? He set off down the richly-carpeted hallway, footsteps muffled. He walked in perfect silence: there were no portraits lining this hallway - just a single, small painting where the corridor turned sharply, angled to look down both - and the tapestries never woke to light shining on them.

Around the corner, and now he was nearly under Gryffindor Tower itself, only a single rooms' width between the corridor and the parallel outside wall. The staircase was at the far end of the hallway, seven doors down, behind a tapestry... but something else caught Harry's attention.

There was warm, golden light seeping out from under the fifth door down. Harry knew that room: it was directly under the Gryffindor common room, and rumor was that the Patil twins were tutored there on Mondays. But the twins had gone home for the holidays.

Curious, Harry tried the handle. Locked.

"Alohamora," Harry whispered. The latch snapped upwards with a near-silent click. Harry eased the door open, and peered into the room.

Candles crowded every surface within: thick, tall pillar candles, the kind that would burn from sunset to sunrise even on the longest night of the year. Tonight, come to think of it, Harry realized. But unlike the Hogwarts candles, which were a plain, all-purpose off-white, these candles were an assortment of black and red. Black for protection; red for... fire? And, um... energy and strong emotion. Depends on the spell, but you only need candles and stuff for longspells. Who would be casting a longspell in the middle of Hogwarts...? He couldn't see anybody.

Harry took a silent step forward, and then another, trying to see past the couch in the middle of the room.

A soft, monotone murmur fell silent, Harry not noticing it until it vanished.

"Hari-san."

Harry jerked with shock. Kurama's voice-? He stumbled another step forward, finally able to see over the couch. Kurama knelt in a circle of candles, nearly on the hearth of a fire slightly too large for the fireplace. He was facing away from Harry, pointedly not looking away from the bright flames. He raised his hand to the side, palm up.

"Iaringu o kudasai."

Say what?

Kurama gestured more firmly, pointing off to the side, his head half-turning. "Hari Potaa-san," he repeated. Harry shook his head: that was definitely his name, no denying that. "Iaringu."

Well. That other word sounded like 'earring'. He looked curiously to where Kurama was pointing, and saw a low table pushed up against the wall. There were no candles on it; instead, it held a pot containing a blue-white plant, and two neatly-folded piles of clothing. Something small gleamed on top of each pile.

"Hari-san," Kurama said, this time with exasperation.

Kurama wasn't buying the 'no one's here, really' act, which would've worked better if Harry had remembered to put his Cloak back on. So he gave in and stepped over to the table, discovering that the small, gleaming thing on the clothing was a gold stud earring - one for each set of clothes. He took a wild guess that the one on the non-black pile was Kurama's, took it, turned, and nearly dropped the earring.

Hiei lay curled in Kurama's lap, fast asleep. Kurama's left hand curled protectively over the smaller boy's bare chest - both were wearing thin, undyed pajama trousers, and nothing else. His right hand was still held out to Harry, mutely demanding the earring.

Something was wrong. What was it...? It wasn't that they were wearing so little; the room was hot, and dorm life wasn't exactly good for developing modesty between dormmates. Though it was extremely odd that Hiei's right arm was bare... and bandaged from bicep to knuckle, just like it had been the day after the Sorting, the only other time Harry had seen the arm. And it wasn't that Hiei was sleeping, because longspells had lots of crazy requirements sometimes.

And suddenly, Harry realized the problem. The only signs of spellcasting were the candles. There was no casting circle - the candles didn't count; they weren't placed over any symbols or patterns. There were no colored robes or symbolic items to guide the power, and Kurama had stopped chanting. Longspells weren't core magic; they were powerful surface magic, delicate and complex. They wouldn't work without all the ritual stuff.

This wasn't a spell at all. It was - it had to be - something private. Private in a way that Harry had no idea was even possible between two boys... was it?

Kurama's glare made him think that it was. Nervously, Harry picked his way through the sea of candles, and handed the earring to Kurama.

The Slytherin set it in place with a tiny 'snick', and sighed, turning to face Harry. "Oh, Inari, Harry, you shouldn't be here," he said soberly.

"I was, um, starting to figure that out," Harry answered. He jerked his thumb at the door. "I'll just, er, be going then?"

"No," Kurama said firmly. "You won't. You have no idea what you've interrupted."

Harry felt himself blush brightly. "Erm..."

Kurama pointed at the couch. "Sit." His tone allowed no argument; Harry meekly sat. "Inari," Kurama muttered again, this time directed at himself. "What on earth am I supposed to tell you?"

"That you haven't been snogging?" Harry blurted.

"Sno-?!" Kurama sputtered, cutting himself off mid-word. He glanced around, then down at himself and Hiei. "I hadn't even thought of that. It does rather look like a romantic encounter, doesn't it." A puff of laughter. "Don't I wish it were that. It would be far safer."

Harry tensed, though whether it was to the idea that Kurama might really want... (was that possible?!), or to the idea that whatever was going on was dangerous, he didn't know. "Then what...?"

"Give me a minute to think. Just... a minute. I don't know what I can tell you," Kurama said, oddly calm as he let his hand fall to a stack of bookmark-sized papers next to him. They were covered with strange scribbles. "I thought I locked that door-" he said under his breath, tossing one onto the fire. The blaze roared up, flames licking at the mantel and out towards Kurama, but the redhead didn't flinch.

Harry decided it wouldn't be a good idea to tell Kurama he'd unlocked it, as Kurama sighed, gently lifting Hiei from his lap. He settled the sleeping boy on the hearth and turned, fully facing Harry for the first time since Harry had entered the room.

"I can't think of anything that's safe for you," Kurama said, "Except... Will you submit to magically binding oath of secrecy, regarding whatever I tell you about what is happening in this room tonight?"

Harry blinked. "What happens if I don't?" he asked.

"Don't what? Don't make the oath, or don't keep it?"

Good question. "Both," Harry decided.

Kurama's face went blank. "If you don't take the oath, you leave here with no answers. Hiei wakes with his trust in the both of us shattered." His tone promised that this was a dire threat. "If you break the oath... I don't know." He paused. "The power of a broken promise is extremely potent. I've never heard of anyone who dared to break a magically-enforced one."

"I have."

Surprise flashed through Kurama's eyes. "Really? What happened?"

"He got away." Except... Wormtail had spent twelve years as a rat, the pet of a horde of rowdy Weasley children, afraid for his life if and when Voldemort returned, and now was snivelling and still afraid for his life, groveling at Voldemort's feet. It wasn't as bad as Azkaban, but... "Sort of," Harry added. And with that, his decision was made. "I'll do it."

Kurama accepted this solemnly, bowing his head slightly. "Snap a branch off that plant - one with a flower, you've been in here too long without one - and bring it back here."

Confused, Harry did so. When he'd settled back on the couch, Kurama took the branch from his hand, and plucked the flower, holding it up towards Harry. "Just a whiff, now," he cautioned. "Too much and you'll be running a dangerously high fever when you leave."

After Harry had taken a cautious sniff - which burned a warm flush through him, and he hadn't realized just how cold he'd been getting (why was he cold in a stifling-hot room with so many candles and a fire that size burning?) - Kurama set the flower aside and lifted the branch. He squeezed a vibrant blue fluid onto his finger from the broken end. "Open your shirt."

"What?" Harry hadn't heard that right, had he?

"Unless you want this on your face?" Kurama gestured with the blue stuff. "It won't wash off for several days."

Harry hastily undid the top three buttons of his pajama top, hoping that was enough. It seemed to be, for Kurama leaned upwards and started to draw in tiny, sticky movements somewhat below Harry's collarbone. He spoke as he did so, in no language Harry recognized - it was nothing like Japanese, or the bits of warding-cantrip Hermione had pestered Hiei to translate. Just how many languages did Genkai make her students learn?

"Repeat after me," Kurama said in English. "I solemnly swear my lips shall be sealed."

"I solemnly swear my lips shall be sealed."

"My mind and my heart, my hands and my magic."

"My mind and my heart, my hands and my magic."

"By the powers of others, the dead nor the gods,"

"By the powers of others, the dead nor the gods," What had Harry gotten himself into?

"I cannot reveal this:"

"I cannot reveal this:"

"The events within the room below Gryffindor Tower, on the night of the winter solstice,"

"The events within the room below Gryffindor Tower, on the night of the winter solstice,"

"Nor what Minamino Shuiichi Kurama tells Harry Potter of them,"

"Nor what Minamino Shuiichi Kurama tells Harry Potter of them,"

"Nor shall I use the knowledge for harm."

"Nor shall I use the knowledge for harm."

Kurama circled the little drawing with the wet, sticky fluid, and sat back. "All done."

"This had better be worth it," Harry muttered, buttoning his shirt back up as Kurama turned back to the fire and pulled Hiei onto his lap once more.

"It is," Kurama replied. "Hiei is in a coma."

That simple statement shocked a laugh of disbelief out of Harry. "You're joking," he said. It couldn't possibly be true. "He'd be in the Infirmary."

Kurama turned a cold look on Harry that made his insides shrivel. "I am not joking," Kurama said flatly. "I didn't take him."

It couldn't be... it... Kurama was Hiei's friend! "Why not?" Harry asked, voice tight.

"There's nothing Madam Pomfrey can do." Kurama gestured at the room. "I can. Am."

"But-" That didn't make sense. "What happened?" People didn't just fall into comas for no reason. Even Muggles didn't... and wizards could take a lot more abuse than Muggles. Hiei looked fine. What could've happened to him in Hogwarts?!

Kurama sighed, and was silent for a moment. Then... "Some core magics have side effects. Weak points, brought about simply by the nature of whatever you have power with. Weapons and fighting specialists waste away without fights - a contest or competition can save their life."

"Is that what's wrong with Hiei? He hasn't fought recently?" That didn't sit well with Harry.

"No," Kurama replied. "Hiei's swordsmanship is purely Muggle. His core magic is... complicated."

Entirely Muggle? "What is his core magic, then?"

Kurama's voice turned faintly amused. "Can't you guess?"

Guess? Guess... it was somehow obvious, then. Harry frowned, remembering...

"Look at the snow. They're running - I can almost see it, in blurs."

"Nobody else would go flying in a blizzard!"

Abruptly, Trelawney snapped her hand back, lifted the pitcher, and poured more water into Hiei's bowl. It hissed as it touched the metal, going up in steam and leaving the bowl bone-dry.

"We can hear you two, you know. Do you really want Hiei working with Kuwabara in a room full of volatile materials?"

"Not fireproof, exactly," Yukina murmured. "Just... immune. Oniisan and I."

Harry glanced around. Roaring blaze in the fireplace. Candles: black for protection, red for...

"Fire," he answered.

"In a sense," Kurama said. "To be more precise, his core magic is the antithesis of ice. Heat, speed... a true fire mage wouldn't be affected, but tonight is the height of an ice mage's power- and thus, is the lowest point of Hiei's." A rueful smile. "Though I wasn't expecting it to be quite this bad."

"If it's worse than it's supposed to be," Harry said - rather reasonably, he thought -, "why don't you take him to the Infirmary?"

"And have to magically bind every casual passerby to secrecy?" Kurama asked dryly. "The entire staff? Every student with a runny nose, even as few as there are staying? The ghosts? The House Elves? The portraits? I have limits, Harry."

Point, but... "Why do you have to? Cast secrecy oaths and stuff."

"Do you remember, back on the train, when I said we knew to be careful in regards to Voldemort?"

Harry did recall him saying that. "Yes..." he answered uncertainly.

"This is 'careful'."

This is borderline paranoia, Harry thought, but he didn't say it aloud. They lapsed into silence, and, slowly, Harry realized that he felt as muzzy as he did after going through one of Hermione's lectures. Information overload... I can't figure out what else I'd want to ask.

"If that's all...?" Kurama prompted.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I guess. Yeah."

"Then I really have to return to the spell again, before Hiei gets too cold," Kurama said apologetically.

It was an obvious dismissal, but not like Dumbledore's. Harry left this encounter with information, for a change... too much, perhaps, but that was better than none at all. He pushed himself up from the couch.

"Good night, then," he said.

"Sleep well, Harry," Kurama answered.

Harry picked his way through the candles and left, managing to reach Gryffindor Tower without any other incidents. Upon returning to his dorm, he stuffed his cloak into his trunk and fell gratefully into bed.

-0-0-0

The door clicked shut behind Harry, the lock falling back into place with a gentle clunk, and Kurama turned back to stare into the fireplace. He lifted his right hand before his face, first two fingers pointed upwards to begin chanting the Dark Phoenix Sutra again.

His hand was trembling.

Kurama frowned.

I wanted to kill him. Just for an instant- I wanted to break that damned vow Koenma forced out of me. Hurt one of the students. I like him, but... he intruded-

Except that intrusion didn't warrant that sort of reaction, not for watching over a friend, collecting on the debt of guarding him... how many times had someone from Team Urameshi barged in during the hours after Hiei had unleashed Kokuryuuha at the Dark Tournament? Allies shouldn't trigger the urge to kill while keeping watch...

Except in one case.

Oh. Hell. Kurama, you're an idiot.

Now what do I do?

-0-0-0

Hiei swum to full consciousness slowly, a way of waking that he was decidedly not familiar with. Fortunately, centuries of habit let him catalogue his surroundings while still seeming to be asleep, despite the odd, drug-like grogginess weighing down and slowing his instincts.

Injuries: none. Warding bandages: in place. Weapons: none, but he hadn't slept with his sword properly at his side more than a dozen times in the past couple of months anyway. Warmth under him, oddly firm for a Hogwarts cushion. Presences: just one, the scent and breathing pattern as familiar as his own.

Kurama.

With that, Hiei's eyes popped open. "What the hell are you doing?" he asked, finding added annoyance in the fact that his question came out fogged with sleep.

"Good morning, Hiei," Kurama replied, his own voice rasping and weak. "What do you remember?"

Not a bloody thing after I went upstairs after lunch, Hiei thought. He answered, "Don't avoid the question."

"Well..." Kurama looked up at the ceiling pensively, and Hiei suddenly realized that he was staring straight up at Kurama's bared throat and jaw. Which he could only be doing if he was lying on Kurama's lap.

That explained the strangeness of the "cushion".

Kurama swung his head down to smile at Hiei, blocking his throat from view. "You paid me back for Halloween."

Huh? "Paid you back...? How?" Please say you had your wicked way with me or something properly youko like that, so I can hate you. Don't-

"In kind. Eye for an eye, guard for a guard."

-say that. Fuck. Hiei pushed himself up off Kurama's lap, absently noting that Kurama's hands trailed over his (bared) shoulders as he did so. Where's my shirt? All my clothes, actually - these aren't my pants. "How did you know?" he asked simply.

Kurama shrugged. "You were affected by the equinox. A true fire demon wouldn't be... but you're not. So I guessed that the solstice would be even worse. And what do you know, I was right."

Goddamn too-observant too-crafty too-meddling secret-stealing fox... "Don't sound so smug," Hiei groused. "Where are my clothes?" Kurama pointed to a little table off to the side, and Hiei stumbled over to it and began to change.

"You know," Kurama said conversationally, slumping against the couch and gently starting to straighten his legs - he must've been sitting in the same position all night, Hiei realized - "I'm glad I finished the Shin Go."

Hiei dropped his shirt, feeling the blood drain from his face. He hadn't heard that right. He couldn't have- oh, hell. Halloween and last night almost precisely fit the terms of the ritual. The only missing component was the key one, the formal request for protection at the beginning. If Kurama was interpreting it as Shin Go... he'd obviously been living among humans and their sentimental crap for too long.

"You could've really hurt Harry and Ron last night," Kurama continued, faking obliviousness. "Humans can't handle hypothermia as well as demons can. Though I suppose I could've dosed them with frostgut pollen to raise their temperatures-"

"You... you think... are you mad?" Hiei interrupted.

Kurama pretended to think about that for a second. "Nope. I'm quite sure humans can't tolerate hypothermia-"

"Not that!" Hiei snapped. "This was not Shin Go." How the hell did Kurama think it could be? "I did what was necessary, you took payment. That's it."

"What if it wasn't?"

Hiei froze, and Kurama took advantage of that to pull himself onto the couch, letting his head fall to rest against the back. Hiei was uncomfortably aware that this bared Kurama's throat to attack for a second time since Hiei had woke. "I could ask, for next year."

He couldn't. He couldn't possibly. It was unthinkable.

"In fact," Kurama murmured, surprise in his voice, "I think I actually can. Will, even."

"You're insane," Hiei deduced flatly, regaining his equilibrium. That was the only explanation. "Whatever you did last night cooked what few brains you have."

"Sorry to burst your bubble, Hiei, but the simple fact that we are both standing here alive, intact, unmolested," he grinned, "and that we spent both nights pain-free, is proof enough for me. So... I, the Youko Kurama, freely admit to weakness upon the night of Halloween. I request your presence-"

Hiei jerked, jaw dropping in shock. He was never supposed to hear this. He wouldn't have even known there were formal words if it weren't for Shigure's library. And to be addressed to him...?

"- unbound and armed, free of will and from spell -"

It wasn't happening. He would pretend it had never happened.

"- without witness nor ward -"

Shut up. Come to your senses already, fox - don't do this to me!

"- to do as you will. Do you, Hiei, Jagan's master, accept?"

"Quit being ridiculous," Hiei growled, stomping into his boots and striding across to the door. "You have until Halloween to retract your proposal," he ordered, flinging the door open.

"You have until Halloween to accept it!" Kurama called cheerfully after him.

Hiei slammed the door in response.