When Death comes a'knocking (REWRITE)

by Under the Oak Tree

1 JUNE 2019: REWRITE. New title "From the Thunder & the Storm". Two worlds are about to collide, violently. Wizards are losing the battle against the dark as they rely on a would-be saviour who's not sure he's up to the task. Death walks the mortal realm in the shape of men and they bring with them secrets that even they are not aware of. May the gods save them all.

36. Chapter 36: Memories

Title: When Death Comes a'Knocking: Book 1 – Of Revelations

Plot Mistresses: Kelly & LibraryCat

Spell Researchers: LibraryCat and Kelly

Warning: A rather long, emotionally-driven chapter. I just have this to say – finally, the damn chapter's done!

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Dedicated to Angel of the Eclipse, who helped make Kyo and Takashi come alive in colors and ink.

(View the official Kyo & Takashi over at my mailing list! See link in profile!)

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Review replies:

OctoberLeaves aka Rina-chan: I'm glad you liked it so. The Kyoto scene was perhaps, one of the most outstanding moment in the anime, and I was happy that I could use it. Besides, Harry needs to realise/remember that he's not the only one who was screwed by fate.

Cmquietone, Literary Eagle, penny, Aiden Istar/Nekoki Yakkai, sol-nemesis: Woot! Some of the most faithful readers/reviewers I have! Love you guys. And so happy the story keeps meeting your approval!

Quatre Winner: I made you speechless? Cool (grin).

Chara13, rachelsilverrose, yaoi-hunter: Thank you!

Daemonchan: (glomps) Hello! And hey, glad you agree with me that sometimes, you gotta be a bastard (grin). Truthfully, I wanted Tsuzuki to pull the mojo on Kyo too. . .but. . .plot integrity and all. . .bah, humbug. (Don't tell me you didn't read the AU-fics at the mailing list at least?)

Teldra: It always makes me so happy whenever someone is willing to give Kyo and Takashi a try! Thank you for your thoughtful comments. For myself, Kyo and Takashi were created (or rather, given flesh since they were in my head for a long time already) because I was in despair of ever writing anything worth reading concerning the original cast of YnM. It felt as though every conceivable plot bunny had been used (Kouri and Karasu. Leareth. 'Nuff said) and I felt that I would just be a mere copycat to continue. Hence; Kyo and later, Takashi came to life. If anything, I use the two of them to explore the other Shinigami. Only, I'm too fond of subtext and it ends up only myself and Lisa who see it. . .(sighs)

Jimmy: Thank you for giving my story a try! And, oho, can't tell you what's gonna happen with the Quinta Essentia! (cackles) Just be assured that it will be a very unpleasant time for everyone involved. . .

Hitomibishop: . . .it's a good thing I really like you, otherwise, your late and very short review would have hurt me badly. . .(sniffles) (How's the eyes by the way?)

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Chapter 36

Memories

Though sands be black and bitter black the sea,
Night lie before me and behind me night,
And God within far Heaven refuse to light
The consolation of the dawn for me,--
Between the shadowy burns of Heaven and Hell,
It is enough love leaves my soul to dwell
With memory

--Madison Julius Cawein, The End of All--

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Carefully, in case hurried movements disturbed the silence of the night that had gripped most of the castle in peaceful slumber, Kyo allowed the heavy door to swing close on its own momentum, just catching it shy of the jamb and easing it shut with a soft click. Most of the apartment's interior before him was shrouded in gloom, the brackets of candles now unlit, though the fireplace burned still – merely enough to alleviate the darkness.

Enough also, to highlight a hunched figure in a large armchair, head bowed and hands restlessly mauling the should-have-been neat hair. The shadowy figure didn't even stir as Kyo padded up behind, footsteps soft and silent, feet bare on the cool wooden floor.

Grateful for the fact that his husband had chose to go with more modern furnishings than what had graced Tsuzuki's apartment, Kyo perched himself on the armrest, cold feet burying themselves into the warmth of Takashi's lap.

The man stilled, silent and unmoving before he willingly accommodated the chilled limbs and with open arms, asking without words for the boy to lower the rest of him into a desperate embrace.

The soft crackle of the fire, glowing red logs that gave off more heat than light now, was the only voice to disturb the stillness. That, and the low moan as Kyo surrendered to the burning kisses that traced his lips, his cheeks, his jaw, the crest of an ear and he shuddered in painful release when the same mouth traced a pattern on the thin skin of his neck, before biting down hard and drawing blood. The young Shinigami clamped down ruthlessly on the rising lust that churned his stomach – he couldn't afford to give in, not until they knew for sure the repercussions (if any) of such an act. He refused a repeat of. . of then, for his husband's sake rather than his own. It was with more than a little relief that Takashi appeared to be aware of his struggle for control, for his husband did nothing more than to continue sucking gently at the open wound, kept from healing as Takashi worried the torn skin with teeth and tongue, coaxing more blood even as their Enma-bestowed abilities tried to prevent it. Takashi made sure that his hands strayed no further than the boy's thin shoulders – keeping him still and allowing the boy to sink with a sigh between his legs.

Kyo choked back another sigh as the older Shinigami lapped the wound languorously, blood slowing to a trickle as his body was allowed to regenerate. But no sooner did healthy pink skin, than sharp teeth closed in a vicious nip that wrung a cry from the boy, breaking the skin again and darkened blue eyes closed in pleasure as warm lips closed over the new tear. The pain/pleasure of the act helped him ignore the twisting ache that lurked behind his navel, helped him concentrate on the here and now. It alleviated a pressure inside that he didn't know how to appease – other than with Tsuzuki's earlier offer of magic, which could only help him in small amounts as the nature of their innate powers were incompatible in the first place. This physical, inflicted act tricked his mind into believing that it somehow eased the ache inside even as his blood was drawn.

Small comforts, all of them, but he clung to them nonetheless as he doubted there'd be much else in the coming days. The dark sympathy he had detected in the Potions' Master's eyes had warned him of that.

Soon enough, the couple shifted position; Kyo cradled in the larger man's lap, head tucked comfortably in the crook of Takashi's neck and the boy played idly with the buttons of Takashi's shirt, noting with dim, abstracted amusement how the dying light of the fire glinted off the plastic and painted his husband's skin a delightful bronze.

Takashi meanwhile, had his own amusement to pass the time. He carded long, doctor's fingers through the younger Shinigami's thick hair, humming an indistinct tune under his breath.

Soon enough, the fire died out, plunging the room into inky shadows and dark shapes that could be monsters waiting to pounce on the unwary.

Kyo preferred the darkness, this time. It wouldn't let him see the anguish he was sure to cause on his mate's face.

A cold hand cupping his partner's rock-hard jaw, Kyo started his story of a night of fire and pain.

"He called me an alchemist's dream, because of my powers. . ."

---

"I won't do it if you don't want me to."

"There's no 'if's or 'wont's," Hisoka snapped and immediately regretted it, looking away from dim, twilight-deep eyes to stare blindly at the book he was trying to read. He'd come here, to the library, for some peace and a place to wallow in his returning misery and Kyo was not helping. The literally earth-shaking moment he had shared with Tsuzuki was dwindling away, leaving him cold and lonely and with his guilt clamouring loudly in his ears. So to have the very source of his guilt confronting him in his hideaway was not helping.

"Go away," he muttered sullenly.

"Not until you can look at me in the eyes and stop thinking that I regret what happened between us." A papery pale hand crossed his line of vision, hovering above the death grip he had the Arithmancy book in before it retracted because I'm dirty to set itself lightly near the edge of the table. "I don't regret or hate what happened, 'Soka. What Voldemort did to me, yes. What Malfoy did to you, undoubtedly. But never what happened between us."

A flinch he couldn't prevent nearly gave away the game, and Hisoka muttered a curse under his breath. His hand was shaking as he slammed shut the open book lying neglected in front of him, and reached for another of the scattered volumes. Arithmancy. Why the hell was he pretending to do schoolwork? It wasn't as if their lessons were of any real use. But it gave him something to stare at besides Kyo, who, in line with that particular ability to be remarkably dense when the dark haired Shinigami put his mind to it, had chosen the seat right next to the empath, instead of taking the one opposite the table. The lack of distance, and the book, wasn't much help. He found that the older boy's words were giving him disturbing images of normally pale cheeks flushed a delicious pink, and of the way the crest of his ears would show the same precise shade where they peeped out of his glossy black hair. Desperate to convince himself that what his imagination was suggesting wasn't actually there, Hisoka wrenched his eyes up from the table's top, briefly meeting Kyo's disgustingly serene gaze before he was forced to glare at his assignment again. And now it was his turn to go pink as his face heated. Gods damn this gaijin complexion that he had been stuck with; it left him feeling even more exposed.

"If Snape says this is the best way," he continued evenly despite the uncomfortable flush, "then we'll do it. Unless. . ." he shifted awkwardly. "Unless you don't want to." And inside was a niggling sense of shame that a miniscule part of him wished that Kyo would say 'no,' would refuse to go through the planned horror.

The young man in question snorted delicately and the empath knew he'd rolled his eyes. "I'd rather tell Tatsumi to his face that I destroyed the dojo again then go through this. But. . .Snape seems adamant that a. . Pensieve is the best way. . ." When the black haired boy failed to continue, Hisoka snuck a glance from under a veil of dark-gold lashes, unable to stop himself, to find his friend staring off into space, disquieting eyes seeing something no one else could. He waited, tense, and almost fell out of his chair when Kyo continued blandly, eyes twinkling with familiar humor, "Of course, it could be that he has a stake in that betting pool that says we're secretly. . ah, what's the slang again? 'Shagging' each other behind Tsuzuki and Takashi's backs."

The empath sputtered, glaring murder which had absolutely no effect on someone who had been on the receiving end quite regularly for the past thirty years. "Not. Funny." He growled.

"Hell yes it is. Especially considering that the other pool is that Takashi and Tsuzuki are shagging each other when we all know there's no one who can wind Takashi up quite like Tsuzuki."

"I'm not listening," he said firmly to the book he was still pretending to be absorbed in. Hisoka drew in a tremulous breath and fixed his attention on the page in front of him. The print was upside down. Oh. Damn. He didn't dare take another look to see if Kyo had noticed. His shoulders hunched instinctively, bracing for the inevitable. His composure was sitting on the thin ice right at the edge of a torrent, being relentlessly undermined by the rushing current of guilt and self loathing that he felt. Fat lot of good it did to be an empath – it did nothing toward teaching him to cope with emotions. Not the flood that raged outside him as people went about their daily lives, hating and loving, grasping and punishing... And not the ones that surged through his own heart and mind.

Of course Kyo thought that it was funny, the bets riding on who was 'shagging' whom. No doubt the Shinigami thought that sleeping with someone like him was laughable. Touch, yes. But never be intimately involved with because he was a dirty, dirty monster. Tsuzuki was blind, deaf and dumb to still hang around after all these years because no matter what they said or felt in the sanctuary of their bedroom, he knew what the world really thought of him, and he was a revolting monster for having done. . .that to his friend.

"You didn't let me finish," came the gentle reprimand and what Kyo said next made him wonder who was the empath – him or the other boy. "I find it funny because they're betting on something which I would sincerely love to experience, and can never have."

"Stop trying to make me feel better," Hisoka mumbled wretchedly. Defeated, he closed his Arithmancy text and shoved it away. There was no point to any of it any more. "I know what you're going to say: that I did what I had to do... that you were grateful because it could have been worse... But it is worse, Kyo. Don't you see? I had no right. Even I can see that much." Leaning forward, he planted his elbows on the polished walnut table and buried his face in his hands. Perversely, Hisoka felt a stab of release, of catharsis, in no longer hiding from the other boy, in no longer pretending that everything was just as it had been. Because it wasn't, and he was no good at pretending.

"No, you didn't," Kyo agreed in a mild voice and the tone was disproportionate to the pain caused by the words he uttered. Hisoka curled into himself, wishing that the chair would sink into the stone floors and swallow him whole. This was the wizarding world after all, where paintings talked and suits of armor moved. Surely a void opening suddenly beneath him was entirely plausible?

No such luck.

"You didn't have any right," Kyo continued softly, relentlessly and each word struck deeper, twisting his insides into something unidentifiable. "Because you belong to Tsuzuki and I to Takashi. So that also means that I don't have any right to do this."

The gentle touch of a hand carding through his gossamer hair shocked the young empath enough that he twisted out of his defensive crouch, whirling around in his seat only to be caught by the inexorable hold of eyes shadowed by something more than a dark curse that ate from the inside out. Along the heels of that hand that trailed an invisible course along his jaw, to rub his parted lips softly, came the other boy's memory of pale cheeks stained a delicate pink, deep forest-dark eyes colored with rising lust and skilful hands that caused his body to cry out in response.

And damn his gift for not lying to him and instead telling that Kyo did speak the truth – that the only regret the dark Shinigami had was that only through a night of pain and tears and magic could he ever touch what he had longed for all this time, always admiring from a distance and never daring to lay a hand on because each belonged to another.

Those eyes that saw him as something beautiful and untouchable left him no wiggle room, no chance to prevaricate, for they knew his thoughts as intimately as their own. "Don't. Please- " But he couldn't decide if that wretched, begging sound meant stop, or... don't stop.

His hand, traitorous, rose toward Kyo's face. His fingers ghosted along the smooth line of a jaw that would never grow old enough to prickle with a beard; damned like his own to be forever young. Or at least until his mind broke and he could no longer bear the twilight existence of a Shinigami. Hisoka was painfully aware that his hands would never become the broader, more muscular ones of his partner, nor the elegant length and strength of the sensei's. He focused on how they looked, blanched white against the clear skimmed milk of Kyo's skin, and tried to argue the sensations away with logic. "I'm not worth it. Don't you see? I'm not a normal person – I'm a freak. Got that? Just... a freak. I couldn't be what my family needed – a strong heir to step into the fight against Yatonogami. I couldn't stop Muraki from raping and cursing me. Worse, I couldn't stop him from... from... Tsuzuki..." His voice cracked, wobbling in two octaves and he swore viciously. The burn in his eyes was threatening to overflow and he resisted the urge to blink. "Tsuzuki always thinks he can fix everything. But he can't. My parents were right when they locked me away."

Kyo caught his trailing hand, small and delicate, with his own. He held the boy's hand surely, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to clearly convey that he would not be letting go any time soon.

"I told this to Harry once," Kyo began, "And I'll tell it to you now. You are a very selfish person, Hisoka. You don't have the right to carry all that burden of guilt. You did not ask for your empathy, nor did you want parents who didn't deserve that title in the first place. And as for Muraki. . . ." Kyo trailed off, breaking the eye contact he had initiated and he rubbed his cheek against the palm of Hisoka's still-trapped hand. "Then am I weak as well, for not being able to stop Akuma from doing what he did to me? To Takashi?" Unspoken between them was a dream that only the young empath had been spared of; of Takashi exacting his revenge and the price he had had to pay for it.

"Am I weak then, Hisoka? Was it my fault?"

The thin fingers caught between Kyo's cheek and palm spasmed. The reference to Akuma slid home like a knife blade between the ribs, and Hisoka could have kicked himself. He hadn't meant to imply that Kyo's torment was his own fault, nor to belittle Takashi's suffering. But even with that horrible mistake between them, he wasn't reading any kind of real disappointment or censure through their unwelcome bond, enhanced as it was by the contact of skin on skin to a point where he couldn't ignore it. Kyo truly believed what he was saying, both in his spoken words and in the underlying presence of his mind. Hisoka shook his head slightly, lost in confusion born of empathy and memory, of the past and present. An impulse that he couldn't define or comprehend made him do the unthinkable; rather than answer verbally, he projected his own chaotic feelings into their link.

Beneath a shattering layer of guilt was the desperate tangle of a child's hunger for love, and an intensely physical longing that flooded into the current between them. Wonder over the firm flesh that he had been allowed to caress hovered at the edges, refusing to be banished, and it added a specific poignancy because that opportunity was never likely to come again. A little boy, clad in a fine yukata of celadon green silk, kneeling on a stone floor, was starving for affection and for a simple touch, and it hurt to the very depths of his soul that he was alone. Choking, Hisoka scooted closer to the edge of his seat, to be nearer to the other boy, inadvertently kicking him in the ankle. Without conscious will, his free hand reached for the fringe of fine hair that lay on the nape of his friend's neck, and felt it, smooth and fine as silk under his fingertips. The sensation was so sharp that his hand jerked back, scorched by what it encountered. Please, Kyo... he begged silently, but 'please what' he couldn't have said.

Sighing softly, Kyo turned his head, just a slight motion, urging the return of the light caresses of fine fingers, still not letting go of the boy's other hand. If you only know how beautiful you really are, Hisoka. . . the unspoken thought was soft as a butterfly's wings, brushing the surface of his fraying shields, asking for permission and with a sense of wonder and dread, he allowed the protections to fall away.

And he saw himself.

He saw the way his hair lit like strands of fire, sitting by the window that overlooked the small herb garden Watari cultivated carefully, reading a book the younger Gushoushin had recommended and felt his heart ache with longing which he promptly buried under a playful smile and a teasing touch that threatened to snatch the book away if the blond Shinigami continued to ignore him.

He saw the way his forehead scrunched in a ferocious scowl, tone harsh and scolding, berating his older partner for eating too much chocolate again and in the next breath, handed the repentant-for-now Tsuzuki a mug of hot tea to soothe the tummy and he wondered whether the empath liked having chocolate sauce trickled across his skin and a hot, wet tongue languorously licking every coated inch.

He saw the way the forever sixteen Shinigami reach the morning's supply of doughnuts before Tsuzuki ever ambled into the break room, and saw how the boy would set aside several of the chocolate-filled doughnuts (his favourite) and wrap it carefully, knowing that if he didn't, Tsuzuki would finish everything and they were his favourite after all and the empath knew it too.

He saw that he was loved, without restriction.

Stunned, Hisoka tried – and failed – to master the tiny, sideways flinch, the instinctive tightening in his shoulders that subtly signaled his need for distance. Not that there was any hope of fleeing; the tide of thought and emotion that washed over and through him was as warm and transparent as a tropical ocean current. It buoyed him up, cradled him, and protected him from the hurt that tore at his heart's foundation. And that was undoubtedly for the best. Through his bond with Tsuzuki, the empath felt the older man's concern and knew that his life mate was a heartbeat away from abandoning small Professor Flitwick, who had cornered the older Shinigami, and charging off to the rescue. The thought centered Hisoka, gave him the strength to send a wordless pulse of reassurance even as he struggled to dampen the flow of feeling.

But that fragment of composure scattered when he realized that he was leaning into Kyo, bumping his knee against the other boy's hip. Through the gold haze of his lashes, he could see the determination and concern on his friend's features, and it sent a shiver down his spine. It was as impossible for empathy to lie as it was for the sun to rise in the west. Tentatively, he stroked the thoughts and memories curling around him, struggling to control the trembling that spread out from his centre.

You love me...?

An impish smile chased away the previously wistful tone. Kyo turned in his chair, so that they were both face to face and leaned forward, closing the distance between them slowly, watching carefully for signs of bolting from the empath. He stopped a bare inch from Hisoka, his nose just bumping the boy's and their breath mingling together.

"I do love you," he said quietly and with the non-distance between them, his lips brushed softly over Hisoka's as he spoke. "Even as I love Takashi and you love Tsuzuki, I love you." This close, Hisoka was, to describe it in the most disgustingly mushiest way possible, drowning in sapphire dark eyes and his breath caught, mouth parted when Kyo asked, tones practically reverent, "May I?"

Oh, gods... His voice was gone. The only thing that came out of his mouth was pitiful whimper. Please, Kyo... Touch me. The whimper became a sob, and Hisoka felt his fingers clench into the smooth hair on the back of the young man's head. It must have pulled, must have hurt, but Kyo made no attempt to rescue those strands. Disoriented, the blond closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing in the sweet scent of chocolate and freshly washed skin that was so utterly unlike anyone else that he knew.

From the softest brush of skin on skin, Kyo captured Hisoka's pale pink lips, nudging the boy gently until they were in a more comfortable angle to truly enjoy the kiss.

Oh, merciful Kannon... The thought derailed completely as Kyo's soft lips moved against his, worrying a bit at his lower lip, soothing the spot where he had bitten himself earlier. They were cooler than his own, dry and light as a dragonfly's wing, until they parted and Hisoka felt the warm humidity of Kyo's exhalation. A shiver wrenched through him, and his hand fled the soft clinging of Kyo's hair. His fingers scrabbled blindly over the turned spindled of the chair back at his side, seeking an anchor solid enough to keep him from reaching out in turn.

"Please, Kyo..." His whisper was harsh with the need to avoid attracting attention, half muffled against the other boy's mouth. They were in the damned library. There were people just a few aisles away, and that dragon of a librarian was at her desk near the doors. The Gushoushin had nothing on her when it came to terrorizing patrons into proper behaviour. Kyo did something... a tiny nibble, or a brief teasing touch with his tongue. Heat shot through Hisoka, lancing like a strike of lightning through his stomach and bones.

Turbulent memories swirled to the surface. A glittering, gem-sharp image of Kyo bucking into his devouring mouth, filling him with his bittersweet-salt flavor, collided with the vision of a narrow slice of sky that was all that could be seen through the tiny, high window of the cellar, as the cold floor numbed his knees and a child's clear, high voice lifted tremulously to sing.

Kagome Kagome, Kagome, Kagome,

Kago no naka no tori wa, When does the bird in the

Itsu itsu deyaru? Cage comes out?

Yoake to ban ni. At dawn and at evening.

And the bars of the cell melted away.

---

"Is there anything I should be aware of, Severus, before we enter his memories?" Dumbledore gestured towards the shallow basin on his desk, the engraved runes glowing softly. Swirls of thick white mist churned agitatedly inside, tendrils slipping free to let loose a distantly heard scream or a faraway sigh before sinking back into the roiling white mass.

His Potions Master spared a brief glance towards the Pensieve, a frown darkening his face. Severus said nothing for a while, black eyes glancing to the side, to Shiozaki who, contrary to past behaviour, was sitting alone in a narrow armchair nearest to Nigellus' portrait, watching his mate and colleagues on the couch. The high, flaring wings of the velvet-upholstered chair combined with a strange trick of the afternoon light wreathed the boy's face in shadows and he might have been mistaken for a petrified victim, if not for the slow rise and fall of his breathing.

"It will be unpleasant," the former Death Eater finally admitted. Severus had refused his offer of a seat before the sprawling mahogany desk, choosing to stand slightly to the left and at such an angle that the Headmaster had to tilt his head back to address the man properly. Such a placing and position was odd and one would have even ventured so far as to say that it was rather rude of the man, making his employer strain so just for a conversation. But it did offer the Headmaster a splendid opportunity to allow his gaze to stray a bit from the man's face to the large mirror that took up space above the fireplace, affording him a fantastic view of the other occupants in the office.

The old wizard allowed for the younger man's words to wash through him, even as he studied the other Japanese intently. Matsumada, Tsuzuki and Kurosaki were sitting together, the latter listening with a somewhat reddened face to Shiozaki's partner. Matsumada, his reddish brown hair clashing with his wan face and shadowed eyes nevertheless had a gentle smile, talking ever so earnestly to the boy. Dumbledore did not activate the ready listening spell he had placed in his office. Whatever it was the two of them were talking about, he felt it to be a private matter, one that he did not begrudge the Japanese, not after all that they've done for the school.

Not to mention the fact that they were talking in their native language. While he could have performed the Speak-All-Language charm on himself, there was the earlier courtesy of privacy that he had extended. And even should he wish to analyze their conversation later, if he did record it, spoken words were ephemeral substances – too easily destroyed and swallowed by echoes of the past. Only a Pensieve or a modified Remembrall such as the one Severus used for his spying could have recorded any conversation with accuracy, enough so that a translation could have been performed.

Continuing his observation, the Headmaster noted that whatever it was Matsumada and Kurosaki were talking about, it amused, or at least pleased Tsuzuki greatly. The guest professor kept a hand on the boy's lower back, thumb running slow, languid circles. Kurosaki was visibly startled when his partner laughed softly at something Matsumada said, shooting the older man an exasperated, yet fond look.

Dumbledore noted it with a small, happy smile; whatever it was Matsumada was obviously trying to convince Kurosaki about, it seemed to have worked. The wheat-gold head dipped briefly down, a shy smile on the usually so serious face, echoed on his partner's. All the same, the Headmaster choked on air when Matsumada leaned forwards and kissed Kurosaki on the lips.

". . .Albus?"

"Nothing, Severus, nothing," Dumbledore waved the young wizard's concern away. "Just swallowed a lemon drop the wrong way."

Severus' exasperated eye rolling told the amused Headmaster what the man thought of his excuse. Chuckling, the old man waved his hand, conjuring a plush armchair, telling his former spy just by his action that his services as an excuse were at an end for now. Dropping into the chair with a huff, the cynical man gave his employer and mentor a pointed look.

"Well?" Severus asked waspishly.

With an effort, Dumbledore pushed aside his simmering curiosity as to precisely what that was all about, in favour of focusing on essentials before his Potions Master succumbed to apoplexy. "I have been giving some thought to the report submitted by young Mr. Kurosaki. I am convinced of the accuracy of his observations, in that the Dark Lord has indeed been successful in recruiting ghouls, and one or more of the werewolf packs."

Long fingers drummed on an over-stuffed arm before stilling reluctantly on the upholstery. Severus gave a short, sour nod. "While I find no fault with his powers of observation - Morgana knows I would be overcome with joy if the regular students were capable of as much - I am still not convinced that Mr. Kurosaki truly grasps the significance of whatever it is that he believes he saw. For one thing, this matter of the Moonlight Potion that he refers to. It is notoriously difficult to make, limiting the number of possible sources. If it were possible to persuade the boy to submit to a similar viewing of his memories, then perhaps we could obtain confirmation, and thus have a more concrete direction in which to focus our investigation."

The Headmaster did not answer the man's well-thought out points. They had every reason to ask, no, demand a memory viewing from the young Japanese who outwardly bore no scars from his three days captivity in the hands of Tom Riddle and he readily acknowledged that.

"He did not inform me in so many words, Severus," Dumbledore said slowly, softly, tired eyes trained on the for once parchment-free blotter. His wrinkled fingers toyed absently with a quill, the iridescent, peach gold feather a gift from his own phoenix. "But there was no doubt that young Mr. Kurosaki was given. . .special attention by Lucius Malfoy."

His Potions Master drew breath sharply, leaning forwards to try and stare down the Headmaster. "Are you positive?" he hissed. "Even if Shiozaki and Kurosaki both are sure, they are foreigners and they do not know Lucius as I do. They could have been fooled by Polyjuice or even the Doppelganger Draft and—"

"Hestia has confirmed it. The poor wretch who took his place in Azkaban killed himself the moment they took him for questioning. He had secreted upon himself a poison pill, fashioned in the form of a false tooth." The old wizard sighed. "A most ingenious method. I was informed by Hestia that it's a favored means among Muggle spies, to ensure their master's confidentiality."

Severus' dark, glittering eyes blinked once, before the man himself sank back in his chair looking deceptively at ease. A long, tense minute passed in silence before-

"Lucius is the Dark Lord's most trusted lieutenant besides myself, when I still held his confidence," Severus murmured, fingers again tapping a restless tattoo. "His cunning and intelligence is an asset and a boon to the Dark Lord. And his interrogation methods. . .acknowledged as the most effective and ruthless among us, even more so than Lestrange's, who often allowed her emotions to get in the way."

The white head nodded slowly, blue eyes sorrowful. "You see why I would rather not force Mr. Kurosaki to a Pensieve viewing. He is only sixteen years old, Severus."

"And Potter, a mere pup," he snapped back.

Cut to the quick, the Headmaster accepted the rebuke with a bowed head.

"Cease with your Gryffindor sentimentality, Albus." Sneering, not a little amount of discomfort evident on the sallow features, the former Death Eater shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It irked the man that he could face the Dark Lord and play the once discarded guise of faithful Death Eater with ease but in front of this man, he would revert again into a young wizard discomfited to realise that the adults weren't all-knowing and all-powerful. "We are at war and sacrifices must be made," he allowed grudgingly. That won a fleeting, wan smile from Dumbledore.

"Indeed," the Headmaster answered, voice still low and soft. He snuck a glance to the still silent Japanese sitting by himself. "From what you've told me, Mr. Shiozaki's alone would be unpleasant enough. Maybe I am getting too old for this, Severus, but I find myself reluctant to ask more from those who have given so much, to a cause not their own."

"You talk as though they are our saviours, Albus," Severus hissed darkly, eyes darting to the side, ensuring that the other office's occupants were otherwise engaged. "You forget that they are still less than forthcoming with their purpose. True, they have helped us but let's not forget the fact that their being here has tipped the balance! Who knows what the Dark Lord has been driven to do, to tilt the scales back in his favour."

Shaking his head, Dumbledore answered, "I am not as foolish as that, Severus. But neither can I deny that they are our allies. Even more so now that Tom has made the most grievous error of harming one of their own. You have seen it with your own eyes; they are bound to each other and Tom's actions have ensured that they would do their all to exact retribution."

"Vigilantes and fools."

"Allies, and fresh ideas and resource," he corrected. "I am not so far gone as to willingly blind myself to our allies' secretiveness but neither am I about to turn away any help offered."

Severus looked ready to protest, if the furious emotion in his dark eyes was any indication and Dumbledore held an aged hand up. "Patience, dear man. I-" the Headmaster broke off, startled but not surprised by the small pressure he felt - the gargoyle guarding his office entrance had been opened by a password and the magical signature he felt was one he was familiar with, accompanied by others. Dumbledore's chest felt tight then. The coming confrontation would not be pretty and already he dreaded it.

"Harry and his friends are on their way up," he said quietly, but apparently not quietly enough. Even as his Potions Master jumped to his feet in a swirl of black robes, face already pulled in a ferocious scowl, the Japanese had fallen silent, looking to the door expectantly. Shiozaki stayed where he was, the only indication of his awareness was of his head tilting back to rest against the back of the chair, hands laced together in his lap.

"Headmaster."

The old and suddenly very weary wizard felt all too keenly the burden of his years. Young Harry Potter stood in his office, back ramrod straight, emerald eyes shining so brightly with power and determination. Oh, how he resembled his mother so much then-! More than just the eyes, but a strength clearly felt; one born of stacked odds and trials no one, least of all a child, should have faced. His friends: Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley and Ginerva Weasley stood behind him, lending silent support to the boy. For like his mother, and like James Potter as well, Harry drew others to him, people who would and have gladly died for him. A gift the young, burdened wizard hated but had been given all the same.

"Harry, Ronald, Hermione and dear Ginny," he nodded. "To what do we owe the pleasure of your visit?"

The Boy-Who-Lived swept his gaze around the office, taking in the Japanese who watched the students silently, Severus glowering malevolently and Shiozaki, who made no move to acknowledge the boy he and his partner had practically adopted.

"Professor Tsuzuki-"

Dumbledore felt a pinprick of worry. Why the hesitation? Had something happened between the two? He glanced between them, finding nothing in either's blank, careful faces.

"—informed me that there was to be a meeting today, to discuss our next move."

The Headmaster leaned back in his seat, sighing. "We are, and we will," he said cautiously, and sensing an upcoming denial, a furious storm started to brew in the depths of Harry's too-expressive eyes. "But later, Harry. Right now, myself, Professor Snape and the rest," he indicated the Japanese, "are having a private meeting."

"Why?" Harry asked sharply. "To discuss what you're going to keep secret from me?" The harsh, bitter tone jarred, and the young wizard's friends shifted awkwardly on their feet. None had overlooked the fact that the usually kindly Headmaster had not offered them seats and refreshments.

Dumbledore took off his half-moon glasses, rubbing the lenses with a handkerchief, sighing again before putting the glasses back on. Do I have to wonder still, how much I've damaged his trust in me with my past actions? "Harry, please. We were not planning such. Professor Snape himself has assured me of the strength of your Occlumency-" the man mentioned shot him a glare at the implied praise in his wording, "-and I have confidence in your abilities as well. We are not questioning your integrity or your rightful place in this war, but for this, I am afraid that we must deny your participation."

Again, the Boy-Who-Lived rapped out, "Why? Why else would—"

"Morgana's bastards, boy!" Severus finally erupted. He stalked up to the defiantstudent and his friends who kept their silence yet showed their support with rebellious glowers. And as dear Ms. Granger paled slightly at such seditious behaviour beforea figure of authority, the former Death Eater turned spy dripped malice and scorn from every word that left his thin lips. "Is it any wonder, that I think you an arrogant brat? Time and again you prove yourself incapable of listening to your betters, of bowing before those who are vastly more knowledgeable than you—"

"Just like you bowed to Voldemort?" Harry broke in and immediately paled, realizing his error too late.

Deathly silence gripped the room, till even Fawkes eyed them warily, when—

"Fool Gryffindor." Even Dumbledore winced at the venom-laced insult. "So you've faced the Dark Lord and survived. So you've stood up to the most feared Dark wizard of all time."

As much as his old heart ached, Dumbledore did not step in and halt the escalating animosity. The young man he loved like his own had proved that he was no glass figurine to be wrapped in cotton wool – look how his efforts to keep the Boy-Who-Lived a child just a bit longer proven disastrous! Harry Potter had demanded a place, his rightful place in the war effort and despite an old man's misgivings, the Headmaster had caved in. And to prove his mettle against those who would use his age against him, Dumbledore must swallow his grief for allowing more burdens to be added to thin shoulders. Harry must learn to fight his own battles.

". . .Does that make you all-powerful, all-knowing, all-mighty, oh brave Gryffindor?"

Harry paled further yet he kept his silence, fists clenched tightly by his sides. The spitefully gleeful professor leaned closer, almost purring as he said, "And by virtue of your most august personage, who are we to question your wisdom when you have proved your infallibility? After all, you can so easily get someone else to die in your place due to your mistakes, can't you, Potter?"

That was too far, Severus! The Headmaster rose to his feet, a frown gathering his bushy white eyebrows. Harry's friends had broken out in a babble of righteous anger, yet the young man himself was strangely composed, though his face was too pale and he stared straight into the expectant face of one Severus Snape. Both onyx gaze and emerald refused to give way.

Oh Harry, oh my poor boy. What have I done to you?

But before he could intervene, even as Fawkes started to trill a soothing tune to calm ruffled feathers as it were, a quiet voice cut through the noise like a charmed knife through butter.

"Children, behave."

Dumbstruck, they stared at Shiozaki who, as far as the Headmaster could make out from the concealing hood of shadows, merely smiled at their looks of bemusement and in Severus' case, of annoyance. Dumbledore cleared his throat, sitting back down. "Severus," he began calmly. "You go too far." Rebuked, the dark man flinched before subsiding with ill humor into his earlier vacated chair with an annoyed thump. Frowning, Dumbledore nevertheless informed Harry, "It was Mr. Shiozaki's wish as well, that you and your friends do not participate in this part of the meeting, Harry."

Shocked, the boy's eyes widened before he whirled around. "Kyo-! Why—"

"Harry-kun." Faster than the assembled wizards could have thought, Matsumada had blocked Harry's way, a hand pressed against the boy's chest gently. "It is for your own good, Harry-kun."

Mollified by the use of the familiar endearment attached to his name, Harry turned pleading eyes upon the guest professor who sighed, face seeming to sag further still in bone-deep fatigue. "Kyo has been cursed by Vold- forgive me Professor Snape- the Dark Lord. You know that." Taking in Harry, and the other young wizard and witches' nods, Matsumada continued. "We are going to. . .review Kyo's memory of the ritual V- the Dark Lord enacted to try and figure out a counter-curse. It won't be a pleasant undertaking, Harry-kun. That is why Kyo refuses to have you here for this."

"But," Harry pleaded, "I want to help! I don't want to be kept in the dark! Not like last time!" Dumbledore flinched at the indirect barb. "I'm not a child anymore, Takashi! You can't keep me protected forever!"

Before Matsumada could answer, Shiozaki again said simply, "It is none of your business, Harry-kun."

Harry recoiled as if struck, Matsumada's grip on his forearm preventing him from stumbling back in his shock.

"Forgive Kyo's abruptness," his mate sighed. "The curse is wreaking havoc with his immune system, as well as his magical core. But what he said is true to a certain extent, Harry-kun. What virtue could be gained in allowing you to see the Dark Lord's perversity? You already know of his cruelty. Why add more?"

The boy shook off the guest professor's hand, stepping to the side to better glare at Shiozaki. "Because you're my friend," he bit out. "I want to be there for you. Like you were for me. Is that so wrong?"

Dumbledore held out a wrinkled hand in entreaty. "Harry, please," he started softly. "Understand that we are not doing this-" he broke off with a frustrated sigh. Again came the warning that the gargoyle had been accessed, and three strong magical signatures were on their way up. "Harry," he said simply.

Haunted eyes met his before sooty black lashes swept down, veiling the storm of emotions within.

I'm so sorry my boy. I'm so sorry you had to learn too fast that we adults are fallible. That we fall and we take others down with us when we do. I'm so sorry.

There was only the briefest of a courtesy knock on the inner door before it swung open, the students scrambling out of the way and crowding the Japanese' side of the room. Remus, followed by the Transfiguration Mistress and Alastor 'Mad-Eye' Moody walked, or in Moody's case, stumped in.

The werewolf brushed back graying brown hair, looking somewhat distracted. "I'm sorry we're late, Headmaster, there-" Remus blinked, belatedly realising the somewhat full office. Frowning, the Defense professor shot the Headmaster a puzzled look. Why wasn't he told that they decided to allow Harry admittance into this part of the meeting? "Are we intruding?" he asked cautiously. Heightened senses warned of the tension, an uncomfortable prickling sensation over his skin. He could smell too, the roiling emotions bleeding into the air and it made his nose twitch.

Before anyone could answer him, Harry pushed past Takashi who reluctantly gave way, stopping before a shadowed armchair that the werewolf realised contained the one they had come here for: Shiozaki. Takashi's mate.

"I know that it's not always about me," Harry said quietly, ignoring the fact that he and Kyo were the center of attention. He knelt before the seated figure, his smaller hands clenching Shiozaki's lax ones tightly. "You taught me that. But I don't want to step back when it's convenient and close my eyes when it gets too ugly. I want to be there for you. And Hisoka," he added, slanting an unreadable glance to the boy's way. Hisoka and Harry locked stares, seeming to share a conversation none in the room was privy to. "If," Harry continued softly, "the both of you would let me."

He didn't know what just happened but, he blinked rapidly, needing to look away and get his bearings back. Harry had grown up so well, and he had missed it. Again. Just like he had missed all those years when the only son of a Marauder had to grow up in a loveless home and discover his own heritage through books and friends.

The lycanthrope shook his head, forcibly putting a halt on such melancholic thoughts. There would be a time later for such maudlin activity.

With a rustle of cloth, Shiozaki leaned forwards, losing the concealment of shadows and Remus flinched, grimacing at the almost palpable aura of Darkness around the boy. This was different than the 'taint' that had seen Severus advocating their ejection from the school. This was a Darkness that was beyond the balance to Light. It was a corruption.

Takashi's young partner murmured, "I'm sorry, Harry-kun. But I can't. Not this time. Because if I let in anyone else, I might as well start selling tickets. Two for the price of one perhaps?" Shiozaki's bitter, twisted smile was something unexpected in such a young face and Remus caught Kurosaki stiffening, looking almost ashamed until a quick, reproving glance from Shiozaki himself made the boy gather his usual stoic composure.

What Takashi's partner said next made the hairs at the back of his neck rise, a wave of goose bumps prickling his skin. The lycanthrope blamed his recent transformation for the ominous warning that twisted his insides, for the baseless fear that Shiozaki's words were a warning. Or a prophecy.

"There will be plenty more chances for you to prove your friendship, Harry-kun."

He shook himself again, mouth dry. Takashi had said that they were here to help.

Right?

---

If there was one thing that Kurosaki Hisoka hated more than insane albino doctors, crimson moons and Tsuzuki on a sugar rush, it was crowds.

Enma, how he hated crowds.

It wasn't just the physical proximity of too many individuals but the constant bombardment on his empathy. A mortal alone was easy enough, provided he or she wasn't panicking fit to be tied. Two was uncomfortable. Three could make him twitch, and more than that. . .Tsuzuki had learned what that particular ferocity of his glare meant and always took the appropriate evasive manoeuvres.

The headmaster's circular office was in danger of overcrowding – it was already hard enough to maintain a pleasant (well, blank, to be truthful) countenance with the headmaster radiating a nauseating mix of concern and suspicion, and Snape, of distrust and pity. And all of this underscored by the low-level dread emanating from all of his friends, Takashi especially, and it threatened to cause nausea.

Distracted from his discomfort by Takashi's quiet gratitude for resolving the. . .'issues' he had with Kyo earlier, it took Dumbledore's calm greeting for him to realise that Harry and his friends had decided to add on to his threatening migraine.

As the drama unfolded, the seemingly young empath kept his gaze trained on the stubborn boy whom he knew without a doubt, thanks to his empathy with a mild dose of telepathic skills, had chosen to sit in the narrowest, hardest armchair the office had, precisely because his back ached something fierce. The dark haired Shinigami needed something firm to rest it against and a cramp was twisting his thigh muscles painfully. It was unlike Kyo to get cramps so easily, Shinigami healing factor aside, and it made Hisoka uneasy as to the implications it held. He shifted in his seat, the velvet upholstery getting uncomfortably warm to his sensitized skin but stilled in annoyance when he sensed the unnerving eye of that man, Alastor Moody, settle on him.

He couldn't deny that his mood currently wasn't the best. A large part of it was irritation; an unhealthy amount directed inwards, mixed with near-equal parts fury, shame and a determination to see things through. Kyo might have forgiven him, might even treasure what had passed between them in some perverse way, but that would have no bearing on just how painful dealing with the reactions of everyone else was going to be. He was a Kurosaki, and Kurosaki do not beg, nor admit to failure, he reminded himself his family's credo firmly.

As though sensing the rather ominous turn his thoughts were taking, Kyo swivelled his head around, the once winter-sky eyes locking with his. The two of them ignored the others, even as the Shinigami empath ignored the swirls of emotions that ran the gamut from pride, to envy, to resentment and even love; most of it directed at or caused by the young wizard who had proclaimed his determination to stand by friend's side so staunchly. Still refusing to break the eye contact, Kyo lifted a thin eyebrow, an unspoken question in his feverishly bright eyes.

Hisoka glared, a wordless reprimand shining clear for Kyo's rather thoughtless warning to Harry. Was Kyo trying to blow their cover or something? Unrepentant, the black haired Shinigami shrugged slightly, ignoring the intense scrutiny he was held under by the very same wizard they were discussing silently.

Kyo was going to say something, the empath knew with annoyed certainty. Possibly along the lines of, 'Stop brooding you stupid idiot', as Kyo had always been fond of ignoring tact when the mood struck but as fickle luck had it, Takashi inadvertently intervened. The former sensei crouched on the floor by his koi's side, murmuring into the younger man's ear.

Scowling, Kyo shook his head once, twice, before finally getting exasperated enough to jab his mate in the ribs.

"Kyo," he was reprimanded by the auburn-haired Shinigami.

"Taka," Kyo mocked, but relented under the stern gaze levelled at him. "Fine, I'll rest," he groused but quickly added, "But not sleep. I've slept enough to last me three lifetimes," he grumbled.

"All right," Takashi acquiesced. "Harry-kun? Will you make sure he does that?"

The mentioned wizard nodded slowly, looking not at the sensei who had made the request, but at Dumbledore who returned his gaze serenely.

"We will keep you apprised of our progress with the curse-breaking, Harry," the old wizard iterated gently. "And do not think that we would ignore your council for the Order's plans for the future. But for now, as Mr. Shiozaki has requested. . ."

Expressive green eyes widening, Harry shot a quick glance around the office. Hisoka frowned; that look implied surprise, as did a clear shot of that very emotion zapping the surface of his shields. Harry hadn't expected the headmaster to. . .?

"Yes, our guests are aware of the Order's existence."

Ah.

The aged, canny wizard smiled at the flustered Boy-Who-Lived, bright blue eyes twinkling madly. "And yes, we're aware that you kept the Order's confidence remarkably well, Harry."

Seemingly ignorant of the derisive snort from a certain Potions Master's corner, the young wizard ducked his head, a faint blush reddening the tips of his ears. With Kyo grumbling under his breath, and struggling to get to his feet, Harry quickly abandoned his embarrassment, helping the taller Japanese to rise. Kyo winced when he put pressure on his left leg, the one with the cramp, and Hisoka forcibly held back the urge to stand by his friend's side and help. Kyo was probably exaggerating anyway – his best friend of thirty years would descend to much lower in his schemes to make Hisoka do as he wanted.

"Kyo?" Takashi asked quietly.

His partner's answer was short and abrupt; Hisoka managed to restrain a wince. His empathy clearly picked up on the beginnings of a bright, frazzled sort of pain starting to leak through the dark haired Shinigami's shields.

All right, so Kyo probably wasn't exaggerating.

But he wouldn't back out from the Pensieve-viewing, dammit.

"I'm fine." Somehow, Kyo managed to make it look as though he chose to hold on to Harry, rather than needing the support lest he fell on his face. At that very familiar, mulish attitude reasserting itself, the blond Shinigami's lips quirked in a faint smile. Tsuzuki too, was clearly amused if the laughing quip delivered in Japanese was any indication. Kyo's infantile reaction – sticking out his tongue – only made Hisoka's partner laugh harder.

"Mr. and Ms. Weasley, Ms. Granger," Dumbledore nodded to the students. "If you would excuse us?"

Flushing under the combined scrutiny of the adults in the office, the Hogwarts' students gathered around their leader, though Hermione made the mistake of crowding too close to Kyo, eliciting a very pointed comment. Sniping at each other back and forth, Kyo only ceased fire when he reached the once again glaring-at-the-world-for-existing empath.

"'Soka. . .?" Head cocked to the side, Hisoka tried not to flush himself under the weight of those darkened eyes. Arms crossed over his chest, the fair haired Shinigami stared defiantly back.

A slow blinking, answered by a deeper scowl and Kyo sighed, resigned. His friend nodded and before leaving, gave a polite bow of the head to everyone in the room. The door closed shut behind the small entourage, silence gripping the occupants of the office – human, Shinigami and paintings alike – before Fawkes, the phoenix, trilled softly.

"For the sake of our guests, I will explain how a Pensieve works."

The empath gathered himself, straightening up. Years of practice made it easy for him to blank his face of emotions and he did so. Takashi who was by his side visibly squared his shoulders, expressive lips now a thin, white line. The jolt through his chest then was guilt, and Hisoka did not deny it. He had failed more than Kyo; he had failed Takashi as well.

Dumbledore tapped the grey, stone bowl on his desk with a wand, the white mist contained inside softly agitated. "This is a magical device used to store and view memories. It allows one to review an incident or a recollection from a distance, as the Pensieve muffles the emotions within. It is particularly useful when used to study stressful or highly charged memories."

The frank and candid explanation was an unexpected comfort and before he could help himself, Hisoka was leaning forwards, trying to make out of the incised runes circling the stone bowl. The swirled patterns of arcane alphabets didn't make sense – he could only recognise one or two from his recent readings. Feh, he shrugged. What use trying to read it anyway, when he didn't know jack shit about Western runes?

But what the headmaster said about muffled emotions. . .would it work the same for his empathy? He frowned; that would require telling these gaikokujin of his abilities and he worried about the ramifications of that particular revelation. It didn't help that Takashi had inadvertently slipped his hand, going so far as to threaten the Headmaster with his own ability to manipulate magic.

What would these wizards say, when they discover that his friend, cursed by the Dark Lord, was one who could control the four basic elements of life? Kyo had confided that Snape's reaction had been less than pleased. What of the werewolf? That suspicious ex-Auror, Moody?

A voice at the back of his head, sounding suspiciously like Tatsumi, pointed out matter-of-factly: would it matter? The choice was out of his hands. The only real secret they had left to themselves were their real identities (oh yeah, did we mention that we're not human?) and their real purpose here.

Before he could ask, the Headmaster was gently ordering everyone else to stand up and step back from his large, mahogany desk. The wizards and Shinigami complied uneasily, trepidation over the upcoming viewing evident in their strained posture, and even Snape's usual sneer had lost some of its edge. They gathered together before the closed office door, Dumbledore going around his desk and waving his wand in a lazy arc over his head. The sudden rumbling of stone alarmed most of them, Hisoka and the others instinctively going for their 'fuda, but it only turned out to be an enlargement spell; the circular office expanding to five times its previous size.

"Think of the renovation costs we could save on, if we use this spell back home," Takashi murmured under his breath and Hisoka had to crack a smile at that. True, the fearsome Shokan Secretary would gladly embrace Western wizardry if it meant cutting back on their budget.

"Tatsumi would get an orgasm right on the spot," he returned and only after the words left his lips did he feel the urge to hit himself over the head. Great job there, you idiot. Remind the man of what he's going to witness.

But the former sensei shot him a warm smile. Too warm, because he didn't deserve it.

A whisper of awareness skimmed the bare surfaces of his shields – unerringly, the empath caught his husband's gaze.

Unnaturally colored eyes were hooded, that cheerful face fallen in a carefully schooled expression of neutrality, mirrored in like by the higher than normal shields. But more than thirty years of partnership allowed him to look past surface impressions when his gift failed and what he saw was this: the way Tsuzuki had his fist in the pocket of his slacks, clenched around a handful of his ofudas, how tension straightened his shoulders from his usual slouch and how just the faintest lines marred the corners of a forever twenty-six year old man's eyes.

His husband didn't want him here. Plain and simple.

Well, tough, he snarled silently and he broke off the staring contest. Dammit, the man knew why he was here, why he would. . .willingly subject himself to the memory viewing. He owed Kyo that much. Never mind what the pale-looking Shinigami had said of imagined sins, he would pay his penance in full.

"Severus, Remus, Minerva and Alastor," Dumbledore broke into his thoughts. "You know what to do. Take note of what you can as we will need your expertise in formulating a counter-curse. My friends," he nodded his white head to the Japanese, "Mr. Kurosaki, any help you can provide would be most appreciated."

At their murmured assent, the old wizard nodded his head again, Fawkes the phoenix singing a short tune. Braced somewhat by the magical bird's help, the assembled wizards, witch and onmyouji waited.

"Amplificare!" Dumbledore cried out and blue-white sparks arced out from his wand, striking the roiling surface of the Pensieve with a fizzle of magic. The contents of the bowl shot up in a geyser of white fog-like substance and spilled over the sides, pouring over the desk to splash on to the stone and carpeted floor. Before long, the entire office was covered, their feet lost in the soupy mist.

Tense, Hisoka eyed the substance warily, unsure of what would happen next. As though answering his trepidation, the contents of the Pensieve started to churn, a small whirlpool forming in the center.

Dumbledore raised his wand again and intoned, "Begin."

White mist exploded.

Blinking the afterimages away rapidly, Hisoka raised his head, absently astonished to find himself somewhere beyond the ancient walls of Hogwarts and back in a cavernous room of marble and gold. He flinched automatically, stepping back and an arm half-raised in self-defense before he remembered.

Pensieve. All, just that – a remembrance.

"Enma," Tsuzuki by his side muttered in awe. "An amazing spell. Did you feel that?" his husband asked no one and everyone. "We're actually in our own pocket dimension."

"Yes, precisely," Dumbledore's congenial tones was laced with faint pride. "The Pensieve when used in this format literally carves its own dimension in time and space, thus allowing for the manipulation of the memories it contains."

"Shall we leave the classroom explanation to some other time, Headmaster?" Snape asked waspishly. Hisoka glanced aside; the man was crouched by the outer edge of a familiar construct, a floating roll of parchment and a quill by his side. The dark man resumed his low mutterings, the quill rapidly skimming the surface of the parchment, taking down his observations faithfully.

The glint of gold, overlaying the warm tones of honey-amber and pristine white marble snagged his attention with morbid, horrified fascination. The last time he had been in this room, physically, he had been too terrified and in too much pain to take everything in save as hurried snatches. Now, with his husband by his side a warm, comforting presence, the various wizards and witch huddling together and taking notes, he could afford to detach himself and study his surroundings.

Thirteen gold pillars were ranged around them, elaborately woven tapestries depicting astrological symbols hanging between, with a large, stained glass window taking place of pride. He tore his eyes away from the mesmerising pattern of roses and dragons, to the gold-worked runes, Norse, his mind supplied, etched into the floor.

He recognised several, and the implications of the few that he was familiar with were enough to take his breath away.

Uruz; the rune for strength. But this squared-off 'U' was inverted, its meaning turned opposite. Weakness. To sap the strength from a person, to drain their will and leave them open.

Ansuz; Odin's symbol. Also inverted, the rune was used to draw out the darkness within the spirit, to let it consume ones thoughts. Coupled with the reversed Uruz, anyone caught in their power would be drained of all will and strength, susceptible to any influence pressed upon them.

Wunjo; possession.

The rest were meaningless jumbles but just the bare few he could identify was enough to turn his stomach. Kyo was right, the empath realised with dawning terror. Voldemort meant to turn his friend into a weapon, but only after totally destroying the dark haired Shinigami.

"Headmaster."

McGonagall's clipped, precise voice snapped him out of his dark reverie and he shuddered, thankful for it. Enough that when Tsuzuki surreptitiously placed an arm around his thin shoulders, he accepted it, drawing strength from the man's presence gratefully.

The Transfigurations Mistress was inside the construct itself, standing by memory-Kyo's side, the young man oblivious to the future spectators, slumped and miserable in his ensorcelled net of hairs. McGonagall ignored the boy, though Hisoka could detect the faint horror in her eyes. She gestured to Kyo's bare feet, pinked he guessed, by the coldness of the marble. He ought to know. He had lain naked on it himself.

"Do you see this, Albus?" the deputy Headmistress pointed. The rest drawing closer, they could see what it was that drew her attention. Right under Kyo's feet was a single, dominating rune – a jagged, angular 'H'.

"Hagalaz," Dumbledore identified it softly.

The brush of robes, thick cotton, against his side brought Hisoka's attention to the previously silent figure of Takashi. In the cold light of the burning torches from the golden pillars, the older man looked too pale, his hair a disturbingly vivid shade of old, dried blood.

"What does it mean?" he asked quietly, though his eyes were fixed on his mate's form, ignoring everything else.

Dumbledore sighed. "Hagalaz is the rune of annihilation. Specifically, the destructive powers of nature." The old wizard sighed again, a wrinkled hand stealing under his half-moon glasses to rub his eyes wearily. "When Severus told me about your partner's ability, I had hoped that he was mistaken." A snort answered him and he sent the affronted wizard an apologetic smile. "Think of it as an old man's reluctance, Severus, nothing more."

"Shiozaki's ability, Albus?" Moody snapped. His peg leg thumped the marble floor once and Hisoka was distantly perturbed to hear the faint ringing; as though they really were there, with memory-Kyo who was undoubtedly drowning in fear, if his hunched shoulders and too-wide pupils were anything to go by.

The shock of his realization then was enough to almost drown out the Headmaster's reply.Dumbledore was right; the Pensieve did muffle emotions, specifically, emotions of the one whose memory the vision originated from. He hadn't really believed the old man when he said it but the proof was there. He could just barely feel Kyo's despair and, more than slightly ashamed, he was grateful for it. The young blond had enough to deal with from the others.

"Forgive me," Dumbledore murmured. "The excitement and the need for haste did not allow me to share this new information with all of you." He nodded to the werewolf, the ex-Auror and the frowning witch. He took out his wand again and did a little jiggle and wave – the memory froze.

He pressed the 'pause' button, Hisoka was almost amused to note.

His wide gesture encompassed the gold pillars, the tapestries, the slate lab bench cluttered with Potion paraphernalia, the rune-covered floor and the boy hanging immobile. "Shiozaki informed Severus that the ritual was to dedicate himself as the Vessel of the Four Elements, using Shiozaki's own prima materia. This rune lends credence to it."

Lupin edged closer, shooting the once-again silent Takashi a worried frown. "Vessel of the Four Elements?" he repeated dubiously. "Why?"

"Use your head, werewolf!" Snape barked. The professor was by the lab bench, noting by hand each glass and ceramic piece of equipment with another parchment and quill while the first enchanted feather faithfully sketched the construct in elaborate detail. "To judge by the pattern and order of the runes," he continued in a less irate tone, "The Dark Lord is using either Ruland's or Maier's theory on subjugating the mortal's spirit. Even his setup here shows the workings for a contricio phasmatis, possibly to supplement the Quinta Essentia. The Dark Lord means to own Shiozaki, spirit and body, and yes, precisely because the idiot boy is an Elemental Mage!"

Caught bemused by the Potions Master's sudden plunge into ire again, Lupin blinked as the incensed man jabbed a quill in his direction. "Creating a counter for his curse will be hard enough without your ceaseless nattering, werewolf! Relying on the victim's memory is always notoriously difficult; we have to depend on Shiozaki's ability to recall as much detail as possible and considering the foolish boy is too lost in misery—"

The accusing feather made a wide sweep of the black slate lab bench. Now that it was brought to their attention, Hisoka frowned to realise that despite the initial impression, the edges and some of the details of the memory were fuzzy, lacking complete detail. What had caused such irritation on the Potions Master's part was that not only was the alchemical setup too far from where Kyo was held for him to memorize the apparatus and materials, what he remembered were hazy and indistinct. The same went for the incised marble flooring and the tapestries. Oddly enough, the stained glass window directly facing his friend was startlingly complete and richly detailed.

Morbidly pleased, the former Death Eater continued his tirade against a rather bemused lycanthrope. "Now cease your peasant's ignorance and use what little mind you have left that has yet to disintegrate and take note! Do not leave out anything! The construct and the potions are mine, yours are to note the exact position of the stars and planets. Do not miss a single alignment change, Lupin or I will have werewolf pelt to place before my hearth!

"Minerva! The tapestries and glass, they are of particular importance to the ritual. Try to find out why," Snape continued and his sneer deepened upon locking eyes with the grizzled ex-Auror. "And you, try to stay out of our way."

"Severus." He was reprimanded by the Headmaster gently. "Calm yourself."

"And who says I'm not, Albus?"

From then on, the scene became something like that of a lab study. Dumbledore did his magic trick again, and the frozen scene resumed its interrupted play, though Kyo did nothing more than to sag into the deadly embrace of the ensorcelled hair. Muffled emotions aside, something inside the young empath rebelled at seeing his best friend brought down so low, and there was nothing he could do about it because the past had been set.

His friend would be, was struck down even further. And he had helped.

The wizards and lone witch were busy conferring together, the werewolf performing a past tempus spell at intervals. But the spell was different than the usual; instead of just the time, it showed in ghostly arrangements the constellations that rode the nadirs, the vaporous pictures twisting and changing as the stars changed position. Squinting, Hisoka could make out what appeared to bePerseus.

Catching the empath's eye, Remus smiled absently, still jotting down notes on a conjured parchment. "My affliction allows me greater intimacy and familiarity with moon phases and the various movements of the heavenly bodies," he explained gently. The tone was comfortingly classroom reminiscent, and it brought some measure of consolation that something so mundane could still take place there and then.

"Minerva," Moody called out gruffly. The aged wizard dropped to his one good knee, the wooden stump that was his other leg expertly stretched out for better balance. The man's magical eye was fixed unerringly on the etched construct, his wand tapping the floor thoughtfully. "The Hagalaz; is it on its side?"

The Scottish witch frowned, quill hovering over her own notes and sketches. "The Hagalaz is an absolute. It cannot be reversed, you know that Alastor. . ." trailing off, they watched as she sidled closer to the memory-Kyo, crouching delicately by his feet. With a sharp gasp, the witch announced, "Whatever your suspicions are, Alastor, you're possibly correct. The rune is on its side and. . .Albus! Do you see this?"

The summoned Headmaster hurried by her side, both studying the floor keenly before the white head nodded grimly. "Yes, the border is inscribed with reversed Kenaz, four of them. Alastor, what do you think? Is Tom doing what I think he is? It would fit with the arrangement of the circle and triangle. Orthodox alchemy would have seen the circle of eternity encompassing the triangle, the sign of absolute femininity but. . ." Getting to his feet with a speed that belied his aged appearance, the Headmaster quickly backed out of the construct to take in the entirety before nodding. "Yes, it all points to him imposing his will upon young Shiozaki—"

"And he used Thurisaz to anchor it," Moody added gruffly. Brushing off his robes, the scarred face was pulled into a ferocious scowl. "Old Tommy boy's a genius in alchemy, that can't be doubted. I've seen ritual-based works that would give you nightmares for sheer horror but this wins hands down. It's not enough that he's imposing his will upon the boy, Albus, but he's doing it in such a way that Shiozaki will be forced to expend his entire life force should Riddle want it. He's turned the boy into a ticking time bomb and he expects us to play the good Samaritan and rescue him."

The air felt heavy. Thick and suffocating before Lupin reluctantly said, "Their escape. . .it was planned, wasn't it? He wanted us to rescue them." The werewolf nodded to Hisoka who stared stonily back, amber eyes filled with sorrow. "He wants us to destroy ourselves even as we try to save Kyo."

An uncomfortable silence befell them, the shuffling of feet and robes inhumanely loud. Only Snape seemed oblivious, muttering feverishly under his breath as he prowled the perimeters of the memory, religiously taking in every hazy feature. When none of the Shinigami, even Takashi, appeared inclined to say anything, the mortals exchanged inscrutable looks before resuming their study of the memory.

Inscrutable, that is, for anyone not an empath.

Since the Pensieve muffled only the emotions of the memory's originator, he could still sense clearly those of the others and their pity grated on his nerves, their suspicions curdling his stomach and their dread icing his blood. Already, one of them was seriously debating the benefit of this so-called alliance between the Japanese and British wizards.

Moody's thoughts were clear – why should they save this Asian boy when it would mean sacrificing important time, resources, exposing more of the Order to danger and ultimately, possibly sacrificing themselves to save one boy?

Could he blame the ex-Auror for thinking that? After all, it was easy to ignore something you do not care about save through the basic compassion all humans were born with. Easy to ignore that the trapped boy before them would face something that had the power to seed horror in previously cheerful light blue eyes when Dumbledore and McGonagall was busy discussing the ramifications of modified transfiguration circles and whether Geber's methods with the alembic formed the basis for creating the Quinta Essentia.

But reality reminded them of its presence when a figure in black drifted through the room.

Fear spiked in his guts and Hisoka had to force himself to not look away, to not whimper in shared dread as the Dark Lord so obviously toyed with his bound prisoner, Kyo's deceiving youthfulness seemingly real for the stark terror it portrayed.

"Enma," his husband whispered, unconsciously tightening his hold. "Is that. . .him?"

"Aa," for once, he did not bother to scowl at his voice's annoying tendency to break at embarrassing moments. "That's him."

He felt all too clearly the powerful shudder than ran through the senior Shinigami's taller frame, even as his abilities picked up the same sheer dread he had felt upon coming face to face with that abomination upon Enma. Only, this was nothing, a small part of his mind scoffed lightly in bravado. A mere memory of the monster was nothing compared to the real thing.

Tsuzuki hissed, anger and revulsion coloring his tone even as he took an unthinking step back, dragging Hisoka with him. "Dear Kannon and Kariteimo, what have the Tuatha done? How could they allow this. . this thing to spiral so out of their control?" He pointed a trembling hand to the Dark Lord, "His attempt at immortality is an affront to the gods!"

"What's done is done, Tsuzuki," he snapped back and at the familiar ire, Tsuzuki shook himself like a wet dog, breaking the insidious hold that Voldemort seemed to exert over all Shinigami.

"Aa. . .you're right," the man replied shakily, shooting his partner a tremulous smile before the effort dropped, turning pale and sickly. "I should have been there for you. It shouldn't have happened in the first place!"

"What's done is done," Hisoka repeated stoically. Why couldn't Tsuzuki understand? This wasn't about him. It was about Kyo and Takashi and how he had failed utterly at protecting them, his friends.

He thought his control had slipped then, and his husband had caught the tail end of his private recriminations because a shadow darkened the mobile face, turning violet eyes into deep indigo. But a guttural curse from Moody halted what his partner had to say.

"Malfoy!"

Whirling around so fast, he gave himself vertigo, Hisoka'sheart was in his throat as the pale, blond wizard strolled casually into the memory, as easily as taking a walk on a sunny day in a park. His entire bearing dismissed the young Shinigami bound in cursed hairs as inconsequential, his low murmur brought to clarity by Dumbledore's quick jab and whispered "Amplus."

". . .doesn't look much like an Elemental Mage, let alone the first one to control all four Elements in centuries."

Every inch the rightful aristocrat, Lucius Malfoy would not have looked out of place in any high society gathering, if it weren't for the obvious signs of past tortures shown in the crisscrossed and raised flesh, the mutilated hands and the deep scar that pulled his mouth down in a permanent sneer. Oh, how well the empath knew that look. The pale demon was considering his next move, wondering what could be used to bring his victim the most pain and still keep him conscious so that the entertainment wouldn't be cut short.

Enma forgive him for the black rage and fear that threatened to consume him then, but this was one mortal he could willingly kill.

"No, Hisoka." A rough shaking jarred him from the darker turns his thoughts had taken and he blinked, slightly disoriented. But Tsuzuki said nothing more, merely enfolding him in the warm embrace of his robes, ignoring his muttered complaints that he wasn't a child who needs coddling, you baka.

Memory-Lucius looked annoyingly bored as he twirled his wand in one hand, slouched in a conjured chair. "Do you think it possible to create the Quinta Essentia and use it to destroy Hogwarts?"

He flinched; Kyo, and Lupin were right. Not that he doubted the older teen or the lycanthrope in the first place but such stark assurance was a slap to the face. Would the gokaikujin wizards allow them to stay on, when they knew, somewhat, of Voldemort's plans for his friend? From what he saw, Moody held enough sway with this Order of the Phoenix. Possibly enough to force the Headmaster to retract his pledge to help and painful as it was, the Shinigami would not begrudge the man for it. They understood what it meant to sacrifice for the greater good but the Shinigami had invested too much to accept being thrown out, not now. The ones who held the fate of their mission in their hands were discussing the conversation between Dark Lord and favored Lieutenant excitedly, even Snape who was carefully making sure that Voldemort was always in his peripheral vision, despite the fact that this was all just a memory.

Their talk was over and above him, the terms too technical and too complex for him to understand. Judging by Tsuzuki's low growl, the man was just as frustrated by the utter feeling of helplessness. This was Western magic. Not Eastern. Not Shinigami. Not onmyoujitsu. They were in the mercy of these robe-wearing, wand-waving mortals and it galled bitterly to know that their friend's salvation lay in these people and they could do nothing but stand aside and watch.

Speaking of helplessness. . .Hisoka tried to surreptitiously study the too-still figure who kept himself apart from the proceedings, even from his friends. Takashi had taken a spot just inside the first circle, the tips of his shoes brushing the obscenely large rune that took centre stage. He took notice of no one but his koi, not even stirring when Malfoy jerked at Kyo's bonds brutally, whispering maliciously into his ear.

Hisoka tensed – it didn't bode well, this strange inaction by a man who was fiercely protective of his life partner. Tentatively, he tried to reach out with his gift but where Takashi was, only a low-pitched hum on the psychic plane could be heard.

The empath frowned – it was a shield worthy of Tatsumi himself, and those were because the Kagetsukai had the training to do so. For a non Shadow Master, and a non-empath, it was pretty impressive. He shifted restlessly. This was good, right? Having Takashi in control was surely better than having him bleed, emotionally, all over the place. . .

If only he could convince the goosebumps dotting his skin of that.

After Lucius left, all was quiet in the marble-laid chamber, Voldemort seemingly content to putter around the lab bench. Snape appeared to have finished his part, talking quietly with McGonagall who listened to her usually waspish colleague with a serious air. Moody himself was listening in and judging by his occasional growls and the lack of insults traded, he was actually 'making himself useful', as the dour Potions Master had sneeringly requested.

It was Lupin who heard it first, raising a hand to halt whatever it was that Dumbledore was explaining to him.

"What is he saying?" he asked, head cocked to the side. At the Headmaster's enquiry, he nodded towards Kyo who had his head down. "Shiozaki; he's saying something."

New tension tightened his muscles and Hisoka shot Tsuzuki an alarmed look. Takashi was the one nearest to Kyo, and should have been able to hear whatever it was that had caught Lupin's attention, but his current lack of reaction wasn't a good enough indicator. Trapped, drained of his powers and caught in the will-sapping presence of the Dark Lord, who knew what had passed through the dark haired Shinigami's mind? Hisoka made to stop them, already slipping free from his husband's embrace but he was too late. Again, the Headmaster performed the audio enhancement spell, amplus.

"Grant me the salvation of your mercy, for I have been given death. Grant me the peace denied in life, for I have been given death. . ."

Oh. . .crap. Kyo was reciting one of the few prayers of the Shinigami, something they all learned after enough years of service. A prayer from a guardian of death was potent; bonded to Enma himself, this particular entreaty was one made by a Shinigami when it seemed all hope was lost, and final death beckoned.

And the mortal wizards could clearly feel its power, to judge by the spooked faces and suspicious frowns.

It didn't help the fine hairs tingling onthe back of their necks when Kyo muttered, in between lines, "Taka, Taka where are you? Please, I'm scared."

And like a broken record, the helpless appeal from a damned soul kept on. "But if none may be granted, then grant me this. . .Taka, where are you?" A whimpering sigh, and then, "Grant me the power to seek vengeance, for I have been given death, oh god, Taka, so scared. . ." A choked off sob- "And death shall seek due redemption for the wrongs done."

---

Tapping the end of his eagle feather quill against his teeth absently, Remus tried to make sense of his readings. The past tempus showed that the next constellation to reach ascendancy in the night sky would be Orion, the Great Hunter. He was familiar with the legend of the Hunter whose lust made him an enemy of the gods; all Hogwarts alumni graduated with a healthy grounding in astronomy and the myths associated with it whether they wanted to or not, evidence of Sinistra's quiet, but forceful desire to see every one of her students as knowledgeable as her.

By his calculations, the apex of the Quinta Essentia should occur within the next half hour or so, when Orion was brightest. There should be a significance to it, if only he could figure out what. . .

"Remus?" the Headmaster asked quietly. "What do you think?"

The question was too general in nature but the werewolf knew the Headmaster well enough, knew what the old wizard asked of specifically. He sighed, shaking his head. He was not a man prone to giving up at the first sign of trouble but this. . .he readily acknowledged that in the end, it might be kinder to let the boy, Kyo, die.

"It's horrendous, what You-Know-Who has done, Albus," he replied quietly. He met Dumbledore's tired blue eyes. "I barely know where to begin," he admitted. "While I may have the proper credentials to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, it does not leave me equipped with in-depth knowledge of the Arts itself. And this is Darkness at its worst, Albus." He sidled a glance to Severus, who stood with head bowed together with Minerva and Alastor, any animosity forgotten in scholarly and academic intrigue. "I fear Severus may be Kyo's only hope, if not for a counter, then at least, for an easy—" The rest of what he was going to say died as his sensitive ears caught a low murmuring that tugged something deep inside.

At the Headmaster's quiet inquiry, he held up a hand, asking, "What is he saying? Kyo," he clarified to the Headmaster, "He's saying something."

What the headmaster's amplus spell revealed however, wasn't anything enlightening in the least, though it did send a right shiver down his spine. It sounded like a prayer, what Kyo was chanting over and over again, and it didn't help that it seems as though the boy was praying to a god who would grant its supplicants vengeance, and to his own mate who watched it all with dead eyes.

He left the tempus spell on, enchanting his quill to record any changes and came to stand by Takashi's side, his friend never once giving recognition of his presence. "Takashi," he touched the man's elbow gently but it failed to provoke any reaction. "Takashi," he tried again. "Are you alright?"

The redhead shuddered forcibly, staggering back and the lycanthrope quickly caught him in his arms, easily shouldering the man's weight. The former doctor was a dead mass in his arms, breathing rapidly as though he had been running.

"Takashi?" he asked, worried.

"Oh, leave him, Lupin."

He shot the Potions Master a frown. "Really, Severus," he scolded. "I would think you could be kinder, considering the situation."

The dark man snorted disdainfully, throwing the man in his arms a contemptuous glare. "If the weakling cannot stomach the sight of his. . .beloved," he sneered, "treated so, then he should leave, and allow the rest of us to work in peace."

"Severus!"

"Gryffindor sentimentality, Minerva? It nauseates me. Kindly desist."

Sighing, Remus tried to pull Takashi away, thinking to help him to an out of the way spot. He couldn't blame the man for caving in; he had expected his friend to do so long ago and could only admire Takashi's strength for holding up all this time.

"Yes, it's a good idea to let him rest."

Bemused, Remus silently followed the young blond's gesture to lay Takashi down at one of the blurred corners of the memory, the marble floor disappearing into a featureless grey wall. It was a bit unnerving, how Hisoka could read his intentions so easily but. . .he shrugged it off. There were too many questions already.

After they had made Takashi as comfortable as they could, the werewolf taking off his outer robes and rolling it up to serve as a pillow for the unconscious man, Hisoka made no move to leave. Instead, he sat back on his heels, his hands straying a careful path just over Takashi's form. The boy's actions looked deliberate, and the Defense professor took note of how the boy was careful to not touch Takashi.

"What are you doing?" he asked quietly, looking back over his shoulders to see the rest resuming their work, with Tsuzuki standing midway and watching him, and his mate, with inscrutable eyes.

"This doesn't feel right," Hisoka said, frustration evident in his voice. "Something's wrong but I can't tell what."

"How can you?" Remus frowned. "Are you a Healer, like Takashi or-"

The boy's remarkable perceptiveness, the way his eyes could pierce right through you like the Headmaster's - only his struck right to your soul and left you feeling wanting. How he hated being around other people save for the other Japanese, how even now, he did not dare touch Takashi directly.

"You're not a Legilimens," he said slowly, as his mind furiously worked out the clues. "It's something more. . .something you can't control with a spell. . ."

He must have hit a nerve. Wide, sea green eyes turned to him, looking so young and innocent despite the carnage he and his friend, Kyo, had so easily sown among the Death Eaters just a few days ago.

"You're an empath," the werewolf concluded with wonder.

---

He didn't have time to do more than give Lupin a wide-eyed look of surprise – how, in the name of the Seven Hells, had the werewolf figured that out?

Swearing, Hisoka turned his attention back to Takashi, the unconscious man's breathing starting to speed up again. The psychic void that was Takashi was starting to fizzle, for lack of a better description, as though it was building up a charge.

"Kurosaki?"

"Later!" he snapped. "I have my hands full right now."

It was an understatement. With a sudden whistling gasp that arched his body into a bow, Takashi started to convulse, the back of his head striking the floor hard and Hisoka winced in sympathy. "Dammit! Help me!"

The lycanthrope's superior strength easily held Takashi down but it wasn't the physical damage that got the empath worried. It was the needle-sharp blows of surfacing memories that leached past a weakening Seal and drove through his own defenses.

-I am sorry Kyo. Aki must be stopped. She must be killed. There is no other way-

Takashi was trying to remember.

The prayer was the last straw. Pushed over the edge by his koi's desperation, even though the older man knew this was in the past, that his husband was a mere memory away and safe within the bastions of Hogwarts, the reality was now. Here. Staring at him in the face and whispering its entreaty in his ear.

The empath caught a fleeting impression of golden eyes, and a Death Seal flickering wildly before the half-formed memories crashed on him like a breaking wave.

-Aki is unique in that sense. Her birth was made possible by a ritual Hanagawa Ayame enacted upon your capture. Using blood magic and physical consummation of the rite, a demon's seed was given life within her. Any other ritual would have produced a demon in its true form. But what Ayame had done ensured that Aki has the soul of a demon, the flesh of a human, and the power of a Shinigami.-

-She's my child, Taka! They're asking me to kill her!-

-Then let me die. But not before I save Kyo from complete destruction.-

-The Spear was never meant for a mortal to wield. And he knew it, even as his flesh was flayed from his bones just by touching it. And he knew too, that he was more than mortal. That he was a Vessel and the Dark Lord would know the true wrath of those who once wielded the power of the Gods—

With a sob wrenched deep from his guts – No, I watched you die once! I won't let you leave us again, Takashi! – Hisoka forced the memories of pain and sorrow away, pushed them out and back to where it came from because it was a burden he could not, would not bear. His desperate need to save his friend tore his empathy out of him in a visible arc of lightning that jumped from his hands to Takashi, striking the man in heart and mind.

He heard a racket of confused yelling and Lupin shouting something to him but all he could see and hear was Takashi's blank, staring eyes, the gold within receding and the last cry of a broken mind. With a deep shudder, he laid one shaking hand over Takashi's open eyes.

"Sleep," he ordered hoarsely. "Sleep Takashi, and ignore the dreams."

With the last, twisted construct of the Seal falling into place, the tortured mind beneath his hand quietened into the dark blankness of forced slumber – beyond the reach of dreams or memories.

"Sleep my friend."

---

Hermione made sure to keep a good enough distance away from the surprisingly snappish Kyo, though she couldn't help but give him little glances every few minutes, as though to make sure that the older Japanese boy hadn't disappeared while she wasn't looking. Seemingly ignorant of her scrutiny, Kyo leaned heavily on Harry who bore his friend's weight easily, whispering in the taller boy's ear as they rode the revolving staircase down.

She couldn't catch what Harry was saying; his voice was too low and nothing in Kyo's expression gave it away. The Japanese proved almost as adept as Hisoka at maintaining a blank face.

Even before the gargoyle hissed shut, Kyo had waved off Harry's support, determined as all boys were to show no weakness in public. Hermione only shook her unruly curls, muttering something about stubborn idiots and men under her breath which Kyo ignored as well. All five of them took off down an adjacent hallway, Kyo leading the way with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his trousers and if the witch hadn't known any better, she would have been hard pressed to say that this young man was once recently a prisoner of Voldermort.

"Kyo?" she asked, hesitant.

She found herself the recipient of a blank stare, and backed by the weight of curiously dark, almost sapphire blue eyes, she relented. Especially when the young man sighed deeply, saying in a low murmur, "Takashi has graciously extended an open invitation for the three of you," here, he nodded to her as well as Ron and Ginny, "to visit his guest quarters here at Hogwarts."

The smart young witch noticed that Harry was not included but to guess by the calm acceptance on her best friend's face, it was presumable that Harry had a standing invitation for just about anything with the Japanese couple.

The silent progress was broken only by Harry's occasional, low voiced comments to Kyo who listened gravely to the shorter boy. They went past the tapestry of Barnaby the Barmy and up several flights of stairs which, oddly enough, brought them back to the seventh floor and down deeper passageways that gave the impression of leading right into the heart of the stone castle. The last turn brought them facing a long corridor, lit by torches whose steady flame shone on oaken doors, scarred and heavy.

Kyo stopped before the third, his hand on the doorknob and he waved vaguely at another which was several feet down. "Tsuzuki's," he said quietly. "And by default, Hisoka's. Please do not bother them there unless it is important." The door swung in on silent hinges at his touch and just as he crossed the threshold, he turned, frowning. "Please take off your shoes inside, and wear the slippers provided."

Ron and Ginny shot him odd looks but Harry and Hermione nodded agreeably, following inside quickly. Sure enough, just beyond the door was a small, squared off space of stone with a low shoe rack on the left (she guessed by the smartly-buffed leather loafers that most of the contents were Takashi's, though a dark tan pair seemed like something Kyo would wear, to judge by the smaller size) and a line of fuzzy blue house slippers waiting.

"Japanese homes usually have wooden floors," she clarified to Ron and Ginny who were eyeing the slippers in mild confusion. Sure enough, the rest of the apartment's floor was wood, done in a pleasingly warm, dark tone that set off the cream colored couches and chairs nicely. Harry had already set his own shoes aside neatly and after donning a pair of the slippers, had followed Kyo into what they could see as an attached kitchen on the right.

Still explaining, she urged Ron into his own pair, scolding the redhead when he protested that his socks weren't darned. "They prize cleanliness and it's considered rude, and dirty, to wear shoes inside the house."

Feet properly clad, the three of them wandered over to the couch and stuffed armchairs, which Hermione noted with approval were the Muggle, cotton cover types instead of the velvet upholstery favoured by wizard-kind. Unabashedly, they studied each nook and cranny, but all from the comfort of the Muggle-style seating. The entire apartment that they could see, which was basically just the living room and the open kitchen, was done in a spare fashion, but little touches here and there alleviated the starkness; a muted art print hanging on a wall, the jumble of books on the mantelpiece and a desk by the window littered with notes and more leather-bound titles.

"It's different, isn't it?"

She jumped; Harry had sneaked up on her as usual and flopped down by her side on the couch in a loose-limbed sprawl. Half-amused, she pushed his leg out of the way – was it a requirement for all boys to sit like that?

"What is?" she frowned and quick as a snake, snapped, "Ronald Weasley! It's rude to touch other people's belongings without their permission!"

The reprimanded redhead flushed, the color clashing with his carrot-bright hair. "Stuff it," he growled half-heartedly. The tall, gangly boy was in a deep armchair by the fire, feet curled under him as he studied a chequered board on a small side table. "What's this?" he asked out loud, holding up an oddly shaped playing piece which had a Chinese or Japanese character painted on the wooden counter.

"Shogi," Kyo announced as he joined them, bearing a tray of a stout little teapot and small cups. Ginny helped him set the tea things down, clearing off some of the magazines scattered on the low table before the fireplace. Seeing that Ron's confusion hadn't cleared, he explained, "Japanese chess. Takashi likes to play."

"Chess?" The freckled face brightened, his eyes turning speculative. "Can you teach me how?"

Kyo paused in mid-serve. "I suck at shogi," he said blandly. "Takashi knows that too which is why he keeps that board out. He uses it to place ridiculous wagers on games with me and I always, of course, end up losing. And somehow, always wind up naked and tied and sometimes even covered with—"

"Kyo!"

"Maa, Harry-kun," the Japanese pouted, thanking Ginny absently. "It's a part of growing up, learning to love your body and other's as well."

Hermione avidly studied the older boy, her preoccupation with the ongoing mystery that were the four Japanese allowing her to record the indecent banter and mentally file it away for later mortification. She noted how despite the light hearted teasing that had the younger students red-faced with embarrassment, the hint of bitterness in his tone was clear.

"I've made you uncomfortable." Suddenly contrite, the young Japanese had a wonderfully mournful look on his face and he solicitously offered the youngest Weasley a cup of thin, greenish liquid. "Shall I stop airing out my and Takashi's sex life? Though, I haven't even mentioned about our visits to Soapland. Have you been to a Soapland? Amazing, the services they offer and all at such a good—"

"Kyo!" she reprimanded the unabashed boy automatically. "I have no idea what a Soapland is and since it came from your recommendation, I don't want to." Yes, the dark emotion in darker colored eyes was clear. The Japanese might outwardly show such flippant disregard for what was going on in the Headmaster's office even as they spoke, but he could not hide it completely from someone who had been Harry Potter's best friend for over five years.

"Such disrespect from young ones," Kyo murmured to himself. He took a cup for himself, his left hand cradling the bottom while the right curled delicately around the rim. Instead of taking a seat for himself, he chose to settle on the floor, feet neatly tucked in beneath him. With a start, Hermione realised what felt odd – the previously bare floor now had flat cushions on which Kyo sat primly on, and that the couch and armchairs were lower than standard height. Low enough that the table was in comfortable reach.

There was only the clicking of porcelain and the crackle of a low fire burning for a while. Harry, as she expected, chose to join Kyo on the floor, knees touching. She hesitated, finger tracing the rim of her teacup. Screwing up her courage, she blurted out, "What did he do to you?"

A long silence, where Kyo merely kept on playing with a lock of Harry's hair that he had twined around his fingers. Was it coincidence, that his touch traced the lightning bolt scar lightly, eliciting a shudder from the Boy Who Lived? Just when she was about to open her mouth, hair frizzing in irritation, Kyo spoke.

"The tea's cold," he said quietly and he got to his feet in one unhurried movement. Oblivious to their stares, he took the squat teapot and left their little cluster before the fire for the kitchen.

"Hermione!"

Startled, she turned to lock eyes with a furious Harry. Tired, jaded eyes sparking with anger, the boy twisted around his own cushion to spear the witch with a livid glare. "Why the hell did you have to bring that up!" he hissed. The sharp hand motion he made stopped her protest short. "I know you don't trust them but at least show s—"

Whatever it was that Harry meant to say, she would never know. A crash sounded and all four of them jumped to their feet, wands in hand, only to find that the source of the noise was a Kyo flat on the floor in a puddle of cool tea and broken shards of porcelain.

"Kyo!"

With Seeker dexterity, Harry jumped over the couch, practically skidding to the Japanese' boy's side. The rest of them hurried after, mouths tightened in grim lines. Kyo was lying on his side, limbs sprawled gracelessly and by some miracle, his fall had missed the jagged pieces of broken crockery but the longish, black hair was in danger of getting wetted with tea.

Even as Harry and Ron gently turned the unconscious Kyo on his side, Hermione and Ginny spelled the mess away and dried the floor. Unknown to the witch, she mimicked Remus and shrugged out of her robes to roll it into a makeshift pillow which she gently slid under the boy's head. Kyo's eyes were half-lidded, staring at nothing and she barely repressed a shudder, unnerved. The older boy looked dead.

"What's wrong with him?"

Harry's anxious voice cut short the dark turn her fancy took and the girl squared herself visibly. "Ginny," she rapped out. "Make a Floo call to Madam Pomfrey please. Ron, get a bowl of cool water and a small, clean towel. There should be some in one of the kitchen drawers." The apartment's Muggle setup indicated that Takashi and Kyo eschewed wizarding style and every good Muggle kitchen would have a dishtowel handy.

The two mentioned nodded, looking relieved to be receiving instructions while Harry gently clasped the larger, but just as thin wrist in his hand, two fingers pressed on the pale skin of the underside. "His pulse is too fast," he said, clipped and terse.

She smoothed the wayward bangs aside, marvelling vaguely how sleek theyfelt, especially when compared to her own. "He doesn't have a fever," she noted. Steeling herself, she pried open first one eyelid, then the other. Frowning, she said, "His pupils are dilated. It could mean he's in shock or. . ."

Impatient, Harry prodded, "Or what?"

"I don't know, all right?" she snapped back. "I'm not a mediwitch." She bit her bottom lip, thinking fast. "Professor Matsumada said earlier that his immune system is weakened, and his magical core is disrupted. This could be due t—"

There was a pop and whoosh, followed by a trill of unidentified song that calmed her nerves.

"Fawkes!"

Indeed, the Headmaster's phoenix had appeared, staying aloft in midair effortlessly and at the sight of the magical bird, Ginny abandoned the fireplace, saying, "Pomfrey's not answering."

Ron hurried out of the kitchen, the bowl and towel dangling form his hands. "What's that he's carrying?"

The phoenix trilled again and descended lower, one, golden clawed leg extended out to Harry. The bird's burden was a wrapped, square parchment and the instant he relieved Fawkes of it, the phoenix disappeared in another whoosh of magical flames.

The parchment covered something small and hard which turned out to be a one-dose vial of. . .

"Dreamless Sleep," Harry said, clearly surprised.

"Is there a note?" she asked, restraining herself from snatching the parchment from Harry's hand.

"Yeah. . ." he trailed off, reading. A frown creased his forehead and absent-mindedly, he pushed his glasses up. "It's from Dumbledore. He says we're to make sure that Kyo drinks the potion and that they're sending Takashi along in a bit. And that we have to make sure that Kyo's sleeping before they do."

The teens stared at one another, confused

"How did Dumbledore find out about this?" Ginny gestured vaguely at the unconscious Kyo. "Did he write as though we were supposed to slip Kyo the potion without him knowing, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, pushing back his fringe and exposing the red curse scar briefly. "No. He just wrote to give the potion, as if he knew Kyo won't be protesting." The young wizard fingered the one-dose vial hesitantly. "Kyo can't take sleeping potions because his dreams get out of control sometimes," he muttered uneasily. "So Dreamless Sleep means. . ."

"That they're afraid he would dream, and lose control," Hermione finished grimly.

The silence that gripped the teens were uneasy but shrugging off his discomfort, Harry instructed Hermione to keep Kyo's head still while with one hand, he pried the boy's jaws open and tipped the entire contents of the glass vial in. When natural reflexes failed to kick in, Harry, mouth dry, gently stroked his throat. It took a minute or two but the unsettling, blank-eyed stare was finally veiled in magical sleep. Hermione was just about to cast a mobilicorpus to settle Kyo somewhere more comfortable when there was another telltale whoosh of phoenix flame.

"Have you given him the potion?"

"Hisoka! Kyo collapsed all of the sud—what happened to Takashi?" Bewildered, Harry nevertheless hurried to help the frowning blond with his burden, the taller man hanging limply between them. Fawkes watched them avidly from his perch on the back of the couch, singing a reassuring note or two as the use of two levitating spells had both Kyo and Takashi in the bedroom and tucked under the covers.

Seeing the both of them in bed was one thing, but seeing the both of them in bed and appearing dead to the world was another, Hermione decided queasily.

"What happened, Hisoka?" Harry was quizzing the blond intently, fists clenched and body practically vibrating from tension.

The young Japanese merely quirked an eyebrow, saying smoothly, "Just old injuries making trouble for them." He shrugged delicately, smoothing down the covers with his two friends tucked underneath, lifelike dolls. If she squinted just right, she could make out the same sort of repressed force held back by the thin frame. Whatever it was that had happened wasn't something pleasant, that much she could tell.

"Hey, Hermione?" Ginny, sounding a bit cautious at setting foot into a practically unknown couple's bedroom, poked her head around the door left ajar. "You got an owl. It's from your parents I think." She held out a thin envelope, the Muggle kind and the frizzy-haired witch's heart skipped a beat in excitement. Had her Da come through when even Hogwarts' famed library had failed?

Hermione missed the sudden, sharp glance Hisoka threw her way, but Harry didn't. She was only marginally aware of the way Harry shifted, putting most of his weight on the balls of his feet, ready to move at a moment's notice. What held the girl's attention was the white envelope bearing Granger & Granger at the upper left-hand corner, almost tearing the letter within in her haste.

Inside, there was a single sheet of paper folded neatly around a second envelope. Recognising her father's looping script, Hermoine squelched the urge to jump straight to the other, shaking out the letter instead.

Dearest 'Mione,(it read)

I confess I had quite a laugh when your request came that I play research assistant. I suppose that this means that there are things that we poor, ordinary folk are better at? At any rate, I was quite astonished when a reply came from the British Museum's Asian Studies office, of all places. It does seem a bit odd that your school should fail to have the materials that you needed for your project, but it gave your old Da a chance to shine, so there'll be no more complaints.

I've enclosed the missive from the Museum, as per your request, love. Oh, and the next time you have a free day to romp in that village, do take the time to telephone your mother. She's more than a little out of sorts that you haven't written since the beginning of term.

Your obedient (and loving) servant,

Da

Sure enough, when opened, the other was a curt reply from said Museum and despite the cold, almost huffy inquiry as to why she would be interested in such an obscure, if noble family, their answer confirmed her own suspicions.

She raised wary eyes to meet suddenly blank jade green ones.

"Harry might think I'm too nosy for my own good," she started casually but in her other hand, her wand slipped into her white-knuckled grasp under the cover of her voluminous robe sleeve. Ron and Ginny had overcome their reluctance and were standing just inside the door, watching with keen interest."But I'm his friend, and to do any less would be a breach of our friendship." She swallowed, gathering her courage. "I don't trust any of you," she said bluntly, and ignored Harry's outraged protest. It was interesting though, that it was Hisoka who waved at the furious boy to quiet down.

"Yes, you've helped us and sacrificed much," she continued grimly, "But who's to say that you won't turn around and sacrifice us in return for whatever it is that you're really here for?" She held up the missive. "You've been lying to us from the start and allies or friends, lies are a very poor foundation for trust."

"What are you talking about, Hermione?" Ron asked, the tall, gangly redhead pushing off from the wall he was leaning against to stand by her side, fingering his own wand.

"Kurosaki Hisoka," she said distinctly, "died over thirty years ago. And before you say that there's a lot of Kurosaki Hisokas out there," she added sarcastically, "I have your picture right here."

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To be continued

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A/N: Yo. (adjusts Kakashi-style face mask) How was it? Not much action, physically, but more emotionally-heavy. Hope that didn't disappoint anyone. I am so. . .relieved that I finally got this out. Now you can put away all those voodoo dolls and pins! Please!

Angel-san; do I get another fanart? Please? (puppy eyes)

Note: WDCAK is not HBP compliant. The werewolves joining Voldemortwere written about. . .wow, last year. The packs, Moonlight Potion, Akela o'Meara etc were Lisa's creation. Bow to her.

The Doppelganger Draft is my own and if you want to hear me spin fantastic lies about it, just ask (grin). Lisa praised me for my logic on how a Pensieve works! And yes, that was also written before HBP. Dear god. . .I neglected this story for a long time, didn't I. . .

Do review and feed this starving author cookies.

Bibliography:

Lisa: The idea of reversing runes is Victorian or modern – since they were often originally cast by tossing down on the shoat (white ritual cloth), where they could land face up or down, or cocked at an angle. http / www . sunnyway . com / runes / meanings . html includes reversed meanings, but they aren't quite the same as Kelly's.

Kelly: I'm a lazy bum. That, and dear god, I just want this done cries. http / www . lost-civilizations . net / runes-celtic-runes . html

Contricio Phasmatis: Crushing the spirit (okay, I don't know how accurate this online translator is but it sounds cool anyway sweatdrop) http // freeonlinetranslators.php?fromEnglish&toLatin