Author's Notes: Chapter was getting super long and had to cut it in half.

Japanese is in Italiics

Thank you for your kind review! It's been years since I've used FF so I'm not quite sure how to reply but it really made my day and helped me to write this chapter faster. Expect the next chapter soon.

Also I update faster on AO3, but I still update on here after fighting the system on here. Thanks again!


A steady thrum of rain pelts the room as the prime minister sits in his office attempting to digest what Fudge had told him the night before. If a bridge collapsing and the rise in violent crimes was any indication of what the ensuing 'magical' war to come, it did not paint a pretty picture for the whole of England. Doing some digging into the archives after the little meeting the same trend appeared roughly thirty years ago, only stopping maybe fifteen ago. He would've extended a helping hand, considering this issue was affecting both the magical and non-magical world but with Fudge's dismissal when they first met and even to last night it wasn't promising. It didn't help that he didn't even know how to contact said Minister of Magic. He'd tried asking one of the portraits to contact Fudge again, but after several minutes felt ridiculous for speaking to what in all in purposes was a painting.

He was half tempted to scrub at his eyes, the late night taking its toll on him. A gentle knock sounded at his door and made a somewhat attempt to not look as if he only slept for three hours the night before. "Sir?" A young man with brown popped his head in. "Are you busy? Ambassador Koji Tsuruoka would like a word."

"Of course." He answers sliding other paperwork over the old reports.

The door snaps shut before opening again, permitting an older Japanese gentleman with black hair and glasses to enter the office. "Ah thank you for letting me speak
with you on such short notice." He lightly bows his head.

"It's no problem at all." He says standing from his desk to shake Tsuruoka's hand. "Please come in." He motions to a chair and they both sit in. "So tell me Mr Tsuruoka what can I help with you today?"

"I have some- news" he says glancing around as if trying to spot something. "Something of great importance to be honest."

Intrigued he leans slightly towards as Tsuruoka continues "The Diet as well as the Public Safety Community has been in turmoil since the end of May considering an issue that has arisen in Tokyo."

"I'm not sure I follow Mr. Tsuruoka."

"I am not allowed to disclose much of the situation to anyone outside of the Japanese government or certain communities but considering what is happening I find that this type of secrecy will be devastating to the relations between Japan and England if not shared. Not including how much danger your citizens could be in."

"So this is of national security importance then?"

"I'm afraid so."

A tiny stressed laugh comes out as he mutters "Another one then?"

"Another one?"

He sighs. "You aren't the first person to come to me in the last twenty-four hours bringing news like this." He digs out some of the files hidden underneath. Purcuring the ones pertaining to the recent skyrocketing crime rates and bridge collapse he sets them before Tsuruoka.

"I don't understand Minister." He says as he flips through the files. "Why are you sharing these with me?"

"Something terrible is already going on in England Mr Tsuruoka. Best to be informed about it right?" A pained smile crosses his face. "Your news wouldn't have anything pertaining to death eaters would it?"

"Death Eaters?" He asks startled.

"Ah forgive me. I thought-"

"What do you know about Death Eaters?" He asks urgently. If before the older gentleman had appeared calm now he seemed overly worried.

"Death Eaters have been responsible for all these actions." The minister says slowly, anxiety prickling at his words.

"That explains why they're on the move then." The diplomat says more to himself than the minister slowly getting up from his chair to pace.

Standing as well he comes from behind the desk to stand near the other man, "Who?"

The man stops glancing at the minster uncertainty before a determined look passes. "Tell me minister do you know what a Kosei is?" At the confused shake, he brings his fingers together before snapping. A bolt of electricity comes out arcing around his hand in a wild show of blue and white. He releases his fingers, the electricity sputtering till dying out. The air feels lively almost as if the very molecules around have been energized. At the impressive feat, the prime minister leans against his desk in equal portions of awe and trepidation.

"In Japan we call them Kosei but in America they call them quirks. They're often passed down biologically but sometimes they just simply show up."

"Much like magic then." The man wheezes.

"I believe it's not quite like magic but..." he trailed off looking at the bewildered look of a man whose world has been turned upside down. "I suppose for this explanation magic would be a decent analogy."

"Can you do anything else then?" He moves his hands a bit almost as if holding a wand.

"My Kosei only allows me to wield electricity created naturally from my body. I am unable to do anything else, like setting things on fire. I can't do something like a warlock can."

"Ah you don't know about wizards then?" At the question the ambassador studies him expedicantly. "I'm not one. If you were expecting me to display some type of magic, but just last night I was visited by Fudge, ah, that would be the minister of magic." He answers the unasked question.

"Fudge? I believe there was talk of another minister that's been ignoring any type of meetings with the HKI. Is there a way to contact them?"

"Afraid not. The man is hard enough talking to when he's actually here, trying to contact him when he doesn't want to talk is nearly impossible. Trust me, I've been trying all night and day. Unless you know how to teleport through fireplaces"

"I have never heard such a thing but I'm not surprised." At this the minister looks at him. "Kosei are very strange. Some people can do some of the bizarrist things with them. "

"I suppose I shouldn't be surprised considering magic is real." He huffs while the silence sits a little. "Can I ask who you were referring to 'being on the move'.?"

"Ah yes. They call themselves Viran Rengō,"

"Viran Rengo?"

"Villain Coalition. Or what has been popularized as The League of Villains . They're a group of terrorists to be honest. Mostly attacking students and the Yakuza, but recently they've set their sights on these Death Eaters."

"That's a big change in targets."

"Yes. Yes it is. The terrifying thing is nobody knows why. They've always been content with staying in Japan and mostly flashy in their acts. But now they're slinking around Europe. If Death Eaters come from here it's only a matter of time before they're here causing chaos."

"With all the racket the Death Eaters are doing the more the merrier I suppose" The minster simply massage his temples with the incoming stress headache he can feel coming on. "I'm guessing by you coming to me, I can't let the public know what's about to happen can I?"

"I'm sorry Minister."

"Well better to know I guess. I don't suppose the Diet or the Safety Commission have any possible solutions do they?"

"The Public Safety doesn't but the Hero Commission does."

"The Hero Commission?" He asks with a playful tilt, "playing the whole superhero thing to its fullest then?"

"I can't help what they named themselves." He gives a little smile "I'm impartial to calling ourselves the X-Men."

At this the minister huguffs.

"The Commission apparently has a mole within the league. Or at least that's what they say."

"I guess that's how you all know they left the country."

"Actually it was a random airport attendant that reported a suspicious character. It ended up being one of the members in disguise"

"Should I be expecting the mole to seek me out then?"

"Honestly I don't know. But what I do know is that one of the top heroes wasn't happy when they said they wouldn't do anything. Said he would come even if it was on his own dime."

"Sounds serious. Any help would be appreciated. Know their name for I can at least keep a lookout for them?"

"I don't know what his name actually is but he goes by Hawks."

"Hawks? Don't tell me he shoots arrows." He says with mirth.

"What he throws is a little more dangerous." The earlier set of stress and gloom in the room fading at the comradity. The prime minister glances at the clock before turning to his guest.

"Well. Thank you Mr. Tsuruoka for the information. I need to get ready for a meeting but please come visit again when you get any more information."

"Of course minister. I'll see to it that the files about the League get to your office as soon as I can." He gave a slight bow again before shaking the minister's hand again. With little fanfare Mr Tsuruoka leaves.

Moving slowly, the prime minister scoops up the discarded reports, neatly depositing them onto his desk. Despite the earlier mention of a meeting, he sits in his leather chair his fingers combing through his fading hair. National and International terrorists. An undercover agent and a public hero. Death Eaters and Viran Rengō. He takes a deep breath before promising himself a drink later tonight as he leaves for the meeting. This year he's fairly sure, is one for the history books if it doesn't kill them all first.


It's mid afternoon but it looks closer to evening as he readjusts his hood, the rain hasn't started to fall but it's only a matter of time. Glancing at the large clock stationed on the street he's still fairly early; fifteen to be exact. Drawing the cloak closer he steps across the empty industrial street to an off white garage door. It's seen better days if the rust eating and layers of dried dirt and grime were any indication. A crinkle of paper has him pulling out a wrinkly crease ridden paper with hastily scribbled directions. The writing's snugged, nearly illegible as he squints his eyes almost rubbing his own face into the paper. Ripping his eyes from the print he looks at the dinghy number.

Swallowing he raises his hand to the doorbell, his hand tentatively hovering over the button. Taking a deep breath he pushes it.

Nothing.

Nothing happens.

He releases the breath he didn't even know he was holding. Perhaps it was better that there was no answer. He closes his eyes taking another breath letting his nerves settle before opening them again. A large muscular Japanese man with purple hair eyes him. Jumping he tries fidgeting with his cloak trying to appear more calm than his growing anxiety.

"Password?" The man grunts in a thick accent.

"Uh-" he elegantly answers. Taking another study of the paper he skims down till almost the bottom and answering "paso-wado?"

The giant man sniffs in amusement muttering something unintelligible under his breath before walking straight into the concrete wall disappearing from sight. Intrigued he walks over to the wall placing his hand on it expectantly. When it doesn't yield he tries again placing more force upon it.

"Psttt" another man this time lanky with long green hair curled up in a strange way, motions with his head to the door he's currently standing out of.

As steadily as possible he makes his way over to the door. Taking one final peek behind himself he steps inside the dark warehouse. It takes a few minutes but his eyes adjust revealing the man with green hair has disappeared, leaving him in the cramped warehouse alone. There's a single dim light shining through some of the cracks of the large containers and much like a moth he follows till he's in a semi-open area.

Old oil and dirt is smeared across the decaying concrete while large rusty storage containers of red and blue fence off a majority of the warehouse. A few spaces in between are heavily shadowed in darkness and even squinting doesn't reveal anything. He stands there, unsure what to do when a scuffling comes from behind him making him spin around and aim his wand at the largest man he's seen. If he were to guess as tall as a one story building.

The man doesn't say anything but he quickly hides his wand away again, cursing himself for revealing his trump card. There's a hard edged smile from the man and he can feel himself swallow at the imposing figure.

"Young man, do you plan on staring all day or do you plan on addressing our leader today?" Much like the man from earlier he has a thick accent.

Spinning he finds once was an empty space is filled with at least a hundred different people varying in looks and builds. Multiple colors dress some while others are in simple black and white. They crowd around the edges of the light, the crevices between crates, on top of said crates and in the middle he spots who he supposes spoke to him.

A man in a sharp gray pinstripe suit stands on the other side of the overhead light. Then again everything about the man is sharp. From his long pointed nose to his strong chin to his oddly pointed orange hair to his black eyes watching the young man in the cloak. His posture is odd, almost as if he were a baby gazelle learning to first walk. Even with the obvious disability, something about him screams a shrewd businessman with dangerous power. His hands are clasped together, patiently waiting upon a reply.

Taking a step forward, and then another till he's in the middle of the light, he gives a polite bow, one that his parents had taught him when he was younger. "I apologize. I wasn't expecting such a- large crowd."

The gentlemen nods. "That is expected. You did call upon the Paranormal Liberation Front did you not?"

He swallows and tentatively nods before stopping himself to answer in a thick voice. "Yes. Yes I did."

"Shall we begin then?"

"Yes." He fidgets a little at the intense stares. He takes a deep breath to settle himself but the nerves still linger. It was all or nothing now. Either he was successful or this was the end of him. EIther way this was a choice he made, nobody else. He wasn't going to follow his father's script any longer.

"I have contacted you in hopes of joining your… army. " he says.

The gentleman from before opens his mouth but an unknown language spills from his lips. For a moment, he thinks he's already messed up when a voice replies to the man. Even in the din of the warehouse, something about it rattles to his bones. If dementors had voices he could easily imagine them having it. If he squints a faint outline of a man can be seen. Everything is pitched in darkness but almost like a blurry image of a ghost, there's a shade of gray for his face and hair. The only thing defined is the blood colored eyes that steadily watch him.

"He asks what help you would be?"

"I could work as a spy in Hogwarts" He suggests weakly.

There's a snort as the redhead relays the message and he can feel his heart pulmet. "There is no need. We already have that covered." The interper waves his hand. "Is there something else?"

"I-I have insider information on death eaters."

"Again something we already have someone for. Anything else?"

His breathing picks up and he's unsure what else he could give. The few things he could give were things that would endanger his mother. At his lack of silence he can see the wraith of the boss nearly sigh. He raises his hand. Before turning, the whole room shifting at the clear dismissal of the leader. A spike of fear courses through him. No! He can't fail. He would become the puppet his father wanted.

"Please!" A watery shout comes out of him, his desperation oozing out.

The man stops. His hair barely visible over whatever was on his back. Everything in the warehouse freezes, the audience of people watching and waiting for judgement. The man's red eye peers over his shoulder, his movements jerky as he turns entering into the ring of light.

The young man takes a shuddering gasp at the other. Long messy gray-white hair frames his face and eyes. He's heavy lidded, creases and wrinkles adorn his sharp crimson eyes. Two distinctive scars lay on his face, one over his right eye and the other over the left side of his lips. A tiny mole under and left to the long lip scar. It's not because he recognizes the man from the papers, no it's the smile across his face. If the man opened his lips he imagines a set of sharp teeth. He feels more predator than man.

The man stops before the other, eyeing the young man with an almost hungry look. With a quick motion the hood is ripped off revealing the silver blond hair and frightened eyes underneath. Slightly leaning over her studies his face, red into gray. "Why is a death eater's son here?" The man croons in barely accented English.

"I don't want to be part of them" The young man answers honestly. "I don't want to be a tool for my father to use anymore."

The man laughs as he straightens out. "Is that so?" The teen tries not to flinch at the curling in the man's voice. "Shake on it?" He offers a hand.

"That's it?" He asks, nervous. "I just need to shake your hand? And you'll let me join?"

"No cheats." The man tilts his head as if directing him to grab his hand.

"Okay." He responds raising his own hand and gripping the offered hand. It only takes a second to realize his mistake but by then it's too late. The man quickly releases his hand watching as he cries out toppling to the ground gripping his arm as his body spasms. A millisecond at most was the exposure, but a festering of cracks ring up his arms. Red and purple surround the split flesh while blood pools at the contact marks, pieces of muscle and joints visible as a loud keening sound comes from hurt teen.

"Desperate then?" A smirk crawls across his face. "Good. You'll fit here perfectly." Whistling huffs are his only reply. Moving away, he kicks the knife jutting from the concrete. "Toga." He calls.

A girl with blond hair pulled up in messy buns comes into the clearing.

"Since the brat apparently means so much to you, get him out of here and fixed up." He turns his back leaving Toga to gently cradle the boy as she picks up his shivering ashen form. "And Toga." He brushes down some of the white fur of his coat,obscuring his vision. "Have Twice measure him. No doubt the 'Dark Lord' will try to mark him. Too bad for him he's already in my party." He cracks a smile.

"If he can do it, why can't I?"

Cackling he leaves the circle of light back into the inky darkness. At the departure majority of the other people leave only a long haired blonde woman with a brown coat approaches the boy and Toga. She shrugs off the long thick coat draping it over the now, still, shallow breathing teen. His lips tinged blue and his eyes closed.

"You know where Dabi is?" Toga asks the other as she attempts to wrap the boy in the warm coat.

"I imagine he's still looking for his friend."

"Still?" The woman gently places the now sluggishly bleeding hand and arm on top of the coat. Lightly ghosting her fingers over the wounds, a thin layer of frost coats the boy's skin.

"Must be some great friend if he's still sniffing around for them."

"It has been two months since he's received any letters." Toga states watching as another layer of frost being applied.

"I guess Frankenstein's monster isn't as much of a lone wolf as says he is."

"Well at least he has better medical expertise." She winks sticking her tongue out.

"That's the only thing he's better at kitten." The lady winks back. "Come on, let's find those stupid potions that creepy old man left us earlier."

"Awe! What don't want to go call the doc?"

"Hell no. Even if Eggman is five thousand miles away, I rather chance what the snake gives than that creepy fucker any day."


Several miles away where the dark storm clouds were dropping buckets, a woman in a similarly dark cloak edged around pools of light and swatches of darkness. Occasionally there was a shout from a parent calling their children in or the scuffle of an animal attempting to get out of the downpour. This woman unlike the others refused to take shelter, but unlike the others her cloak and hair stayed inconspicuously dry. Weaving from cubby to cranny, her movement appears more random than anything else but anyone following it obviously was a pattern to throw off pursuers. Glancing back and forth of the deserted street does she finally dart forward to a decrepit porch and rickety door. Her knocking isn't frantic but closer to urgent.

"Narcissa?" A man with long stringy black hair and hooked nose answers the door.

"Severus let me in" the woman lowers her hood revealing near platinum hair and blue eyes.

Stepping aside he gestures her inside which she instantly does. The front door closes with a click.

"Is there a reason you're visiting me today in such-" he motions to her more than rumpled appearance, "a state?"

"I-" she starts before looking around. "Is this place...safe?"

"Safe?" He asks. "Narcissa what's going on?"

She's looking out windows; dashing about in a sort of frenzy. She pulls out her wand flicking at random objects and casting several notice-me-not along with various other spells. Only once the last charm confirms that they are indeed safe and secure does she finally calm. Almost as if all the energy in her has been sucked out of her she plops herself upon an old weathered armchair.

"Drink?" A glass filled with fine dessert wine is offered to her. Without preamble she gulps it down.

"Now Narcissa." He sits on adjestiant couch equality worn down, a glass of scotch in his hand,"What's going on?"

She bumps the glass between her fingers, the residue of the wine barely swirling. "It's about Draco."

Taking a sip, he leans forward.

"And the Dark Lord."

Snape gives a sigh. "Is this w-"

"And the Killing Blow."

At the mention of the name, Snape stops, his face stretched taunt.

"You know I can't change the Dark Lord's mind. He's determined to have Draco."

"Severus they're hunting death eaters. They're slaughtering them. Draco is only a sixteen year old boy. He doesn't deserve to die because his father supported it."

"Narcissa my hands are tied." He stands leaving his glass forgotten on a side table. "Don't think I haven't tried to suggest an alternative. He's losing people left and right and grappling at any potential death eaters he can." He faces away from her his hand in a fist as he sets it upon the top of the fireplace. "If the situation was different I might have been able to but at this point he's getting desperate. It doesn't help that the Auors are taking advantage of these attacks when they can. We're fighting a double sided war. While one side we know." He turns his eyes staring into hers, "The other side is completely unknown."

At the look of her face, he wasn't sure if she was about to burst into tears or to start shouting at him. Both seemed like extremely unpleasant outcomes for him. He was saved from either fate when the door started to rattle.

In an instant both have their wands pulled out aiming at the door. The chair Narcissa had previously sat in had nearly flown with how quick she had dismounted and aimed her wand. He would've been impressed if there weren't currently an unknown threat outside his very breakable front door. It rattles again, Sending them both into defensive positions prepared to hex the holy heck out of the invader. It stops for a second. The threat either waiting or leaving before a voice cuts over the din of the pouring rain.

"Uh? Severus? You home?"

In an instant his wand is down and silently cursing under his breath. At his sudden drop of guard, Narcissa sends him an angry questioning look. A look of betrayal crosses her face as he easily snaps the door open revealing a strange looking man. Everything about him is drenched from his blond hair and equally yellow eyes, to the gray coat, his casual black shirt, and baggy pants. If it weren't for the sharpness in his eyes and almost lazy predatory gaze, Narcissa would've taken him for a strangely colored muggle.

"Oh. Hi." The man gives a cheery smile with his uptone beat of voice.

"Keigo." Snape's tone smooth and close to dangerous says, "What are you doing at my house."

"Uh. It's raining?"

"And?"

"And it's raining really hard."

"So?"

"Can I come in?" The stranger asks. His voice ernest as he tilts his head spotting Narcissa still aiming her wand at him.

"No. I have a guest." He grits, aggravation growing as he moves to block his view.

"Another person can make a party right?" He says somehow worming himself between the minimal space that is between Severus and the door. He's in the sitting room proper before Severus can drag him back out. Avoiding his grasping hand, Keigo walks up to Narcissa with a pep in his step. Behind him he can hear Severus grumble oh yes, please do come in as he slams the front door just barely within proper Etiquette.

"Severus?" Narcissa asks, her voice holding a guarded tint to it, his name asking who THIS was.

"This is Keigo Takami-" Severus starts.

"Hi!" Keigo interrupts giving a dazzling smile and tiny wave.

"-he's acting as my courier the duration of the summer and his stay in England."

"It's cloudy and rains a lot here." He adds on.

"Yes we know. We live here." Severus rubs his temples trying to will his starting-to-take-form headache. At his exasperation, she lowers her wand finally, placing it back into it's holster on her arm.

"Narcissa Malfoy." She says tartly, though Keigo doesn't even seem phased at her treatment. If anything it makes his smile wider. "So Mr. Takami-"

"Keigo is fine." He says accepting the towel Severus was offering him. Scrubbing his head, she gives him a snooty look as if he were below her.

"Mr. Takami what exactly are you?"

"Hmm?" He asks his golden eyes peering from beneath the black towel and his mussed hair.

She scrowls at him. "I won't ask again." Her voice dangerous.

"Oh." There's a sharpness in his smile, something dangerous prowling in his eyes. It startles her for a second, her face faltering a little when his mouth shifts into something a little friendlier. The earlier face a warning to her tone. She decides it best to be civil.

Almost as if ignoring her question he instead turns to Severus who seems almost resigned "Don't knock anything over and don't shed everywhere."

Giving a smile and a thanks at the response, Keigo goes to remove the dripping wet jacket, it slumping off as he pulls his arms and shoulders out, it hanging in the air at the junction of his back. With an odd maneuver it's off revealing the largest soaking wet red wings Narcissa has ever seen.

"To answer your question I'm part firebird." His wings give a little flap before several towels floating in the air descend upon them, quickly scrubbing in all directions. A little squawk comes out of his lips, his wings quickly squishing to his back to head off the towels. "I could have dried them myself."He gives a little pout at Severus.

"Is that before or after my carpet was soaked?" Severus deadpans.

"You ruined my dramatic moment."

"And do I look like I care?"

At the response he sticks his tongue out while Severus only returns the gesture with a single eyebrow raised. Pouting at the lack of further response he snatches one of the floating towels and carefully curls his wing open, gently brushing down the feathers while muttering under his breath.

"University students" Severus clicks his tongue, "almost as bad as grade schoolers."

"Act about the same too." Severus adds after Keigo sends him a thumbs down.

"So he's not part of the Killing Blow then?" Narcissa's voice low and near inaudible as she stands beside him.

"The Killing Blow?" Keigo asks his towel stopping as his head tilts at the question.

"I believe in America they're called the league of villains?" Severus supplies.

"The Viran Rengo." Keigo snorts. "I wouldn't join a bunch of terrorists."

"Not even for money?" Narcissia shoots off.

"Why do you think I'm going to college here and not in Japan?" His eyebrow quirks.

"Why do you have a job for being a courier then?"

"I get bored easily?" His head tilts. "And I make bad decisions when I'm bored?"

"You make bad decisions when you are not bored too." Severus adds dryly.

"Hey that was one time. And I got twenty euros drinking that bottle of hot sauce." He points his towel at the man.

"And the time you ate three jars of manayose on top of a pizza was a good one?" He sends a trademark "am I wrong" eyebrow quirk at him, his tone still flat.

"Uh well-"

"Or perhaps the time you thought pepto bismol would make a suitable sauce for your wings." At the comment Keigo's cheeks tint red.

"Okay maybe not the best ones then."he admits laughing.

At his prattle, Narcissa relaxes even more.

If Severus is comfortable joking with the boy, then maybe he's not so bad after all.

She finds herself sitting on Severus's dusty couches, Idly listening in on the conversation. The earlier discussion of Draco will have to wait, even if Keigo wasn't particularly dangerous right now, this wasn't the type of talk she would want a stranger to know. Besides, the rain was coming down even harder now.

"A college student really?" He asks once the lady has been long gone.

"You're twenty three are you not?" Severus shoots back, an empty glass of wine and a barely touched scotch in hand.

"Yeah but calling me a college student just really plays down my capabilities." He snags the scotch from severus's hand sitting himself on one of the armchairs. His wings drip over the low back of the chair.

"Would you rather me tell her that you're Hawks, number two hero of Japan?" He sets Narcissa's glass on an end table before sitting across from Hawks.

"I highly doubt she would even know what that meant if you told her. Wizards of Britain are really short sighted when it comes to things not directly magically related to England." He takes a sip of the drink sending a pointed stare at Severus.

"The same can be said about the Quirk community in Japan in relation to its magical community or even other magical communities."

"Exactly. Which makes our jobs a little bit easier."

"Did you come drink my alcohol and do idle chit chat or did you actually have a reason to be inside my house right now? Because if it's the former you could've waited a few days until our meeting."

Hawks pouts, giving the dark night sky through Severus's window a longing look. "A new recruit was dumb enough to grab Shigaraki's hand"

A visible shutter goes through Severus.

"Luckily it was only for a few seconds but his arm was pretty messed up."

"What? Want me to play doctor?" Severus growls.

"Nah." He waves his hand nonchalantly at the other's aggravation. "Two of the army's commanders were able to stabilize him but they used all the potion stock trying to heal him."

"I gave at least twenty potions when I was there last. Are you telling me to heal all the damage it required all of them?"

"Not quite." He sets the glass on the table before leaning forward, his hands poised in front of his face. "It's possible the kid will forever have nerve damage in his hand and a nasty scar that crawls up his arm. Honestly he's lucky that it didn't completely dust or that it had to be amputated."

"So he's gotten stronger than that first time then." Severus says so quietly that even Hawks has trouble hearing it.

"You've met Shigraki before?" Sharp yellow eyes zero in.

"He's been in England before… Nearly seventeen years ago. It was under some- very interesting circumstances."

"Care to share them?"

"Not particularly."

"Shame. And here I thought we were bonding."

"Where's your shadow Hawks? I'm surprised he hasn't come looking for you." A twitch of a smile appears as the other grows uncomfortable at the mention. Normally he's more subtle about switching topics but even simply mentioning the man's significant other was a quick and easy way to derail the other's thoughts.

"He's still looking for his missing friend. Tried his house and possible other haunts but he's had no luck. At this point I'm a little worried that he's going to start setting fires out of frustration."

"Doesn't seem out of his character to do that."

"Hey wait!" Hawk's exclaims sitting up, his posture eager. " You're part of the Order of the Phoenix right?"

A single pointed eyebrow raises. "Yes what about it?"

"His friend was part of it! And it's a relatively small group."

"Yes yes. Get on with it. What is it that you want to know?"

"You wouldn't happen to know where Sirius Black is would you?"

At the name drop a cruel laugh fills the air. "Sirius Black? That's your boyfriend's friend then? Well that's unfortunate for him then. Sirius Black is dead."

"W-what?"

"He died two months ago. Was in a battle with death eaters and was shoved through the veil. Nobody knows where it goes or what it does when people enter it. But they don't come back from wherever it leads."

"N-no joke?"

He simply responds by raising his eyebrows.

"Shit." Hawk's drags a hand through his hair. "Dabi is going to have a literal fit when he finds out. Probably burn a neighborhood down if I don't stop him." He stands up abruptly, making the chair's feet clatter as he grabs his coat.

"Thanks for telling me." Hawk's says as he awkwardly gets the gray coat back on, his brightly red wings once again concealed. "Just send the finished potions to the same place or just text me and I can pick them up."

"You act as if I actually have a cellphone"

"Ha ha real funny. Except I know that I gave you one the last time we had a talk. You're only 36, not 86. Charge it and at least try to use it." With the last statement he leaves, closing the door quickly behind him.

Severus huffs at the statement, grabbing the empty wine glass and barely sipped scotch. He gives it a look before swallowing the glass in one go, a burn rolling down to his stomach. There's a chime from within his robe just as he's drying off the glasses. Wiping his hands on a towel he pulls it out, a single message in his notifications. Taping the white bar has it load up, displaying a text from KING.

King

: Is the bird at your house?

Me: Just left.

King: Good. I need you to come over. This thing needs to be identical before we let it out

Me: Ah yes. Spot the difference, exactly what I wanted to do with my few free weeks left.

Me: It's not as if I needed to brew more potions because of someone.

King: Not my fault someone is an idiot

Pinching his nose and sighing he goes to reply.

Me: Are you all still in the same place?

King: For right now

Me: With all that money you have and you decide an old decrypted building is the best hideout.

King: It was on sale

King: And it reminds me of home

Me: Well that's depressing.

King: You're one to talk

King: Your house looks on the verge collapsing

Me: At least mine isn't a pile of rubble.

King: …

King: Get your ass over here

Me: A fight of wits isn't exactly your forte is it?

King: Fuck you. English isn't my first language

Me: And yet I don't think it's the language barrier inhibiting you.

King: Severus Tobias Snape

Me: That is indeed my name. Yes?

King: If you're not coming through my fireplace within the next 30 seconds I'm going to come over to your house and throttle you with my two bare hands

Me: …

Me: Sounds kinky.

Me: ….

Me: You better not have the grate up again or I'll hex you

King: I might if you don't hurry

Rolling his eyes, Snape pockets the old phone, and aims his wand at the soft yellow lights in his house. They quickly go out as he re-enters his Living room. Nabbing
some floo powder from a bowl, he sends a few protection spells and reactive the Safety wards as he walks to his office. Throwing the dust into the cold fireplace has an instant reaction; blue-green flames flicker up awaiting a destination. Giving his office a once over, he turns to the flame, giving an address and walking through. The flames quickly die out, leaving the house empty.


He knows it probably pointless at this point but he's still upset. Probably not for the reasons everyone would think he was but still, Harry James Potter was pretty sure either everyone, himself or both had gone insane. It'd been almost a week since the whole thing with Bellatrix had happened. And he was sure it had been a week considering he had been keeping track with the fridge calendar. Even putting the tiniest of black dots in the highest right corner for then nobody would notice. He still didn't feel bad for leaving Bellatrix to whatever her fate was, more at that he let his own morals slide when he got angry. That and well, whatever that slipping burning sensation from his hands at the time had felt absolutely godsend. Like pleasure, as if he'd taken off a pair of gloves he'd been wearing his whole life. Now that he knew how it felt without them on, he was highly conscious about it.

The strange heat would ebb and flow but it couldn't break past like it did that night. As soon as he got close, his hands would grow unbearably hot until it rubber banded itself back to coolness. Occasionally if he tried holding something while doing this, there was almost something like a sharp pinch forcing him to either drop or let go of said object. If it was something hard, splinters of said object stuck to his clammy hands. If it was soft, gray powder would cling instead. Sometimes he didn't even have to force the heat, sometimes it just came and went as it pleased. He wasn't sure if this was completely in his mind or not. A part of him worried that it was.

Another thing that had him questioning his sanity was that he felt… taller? Which okay, maybe being taller wasn't something too out of ordinary but, he was fairly sure someone doesn't just grow 6 inches over a single night (fifteen and half centimeters). He'd even checked when everything seemed off heightwise to him with one of his aunts rulers. Almost clipping your head on the closet trim when there used to be enough clearance was a big red flag. That and one of the only pairs of pants that actually fit were now too short, the bottoms ending way before his ankle now. Actually all the hand-me downs he owned were too short now. The shirts weren't too bad as long as he didn't completely raise his arms. The pants… well… they were still absolutely too wide of course, but his ankles were constantly peaking out much to his annoyance. Even rolling his socks up didn't help with the draft going up his legs. Which compounded with his sight just ramped up his annoyance.

It's true that while making his escape, he'd forgotten his glasses somewhere in the gravel. His mind was a little more preoccupied with other thoughts at the time. But it wasn't the fact he left his glasses that frustrated him. It was that he was pretty sure that his eyesight had gotten better. What use to be huge blocky shapes of fuzzy color that would often melt into another shape were now still fuzzy-edged but defined objects. Reading was still a chore for small print but instead of stumbling around like a blind man he was mostly a functional human being. Which was the problem. People's eyesights didn't just drastically get better without some type of intervention. It was why he was out a bit before his traditional walk and nap time. Seeing other people beyond the occasional night owls or early birds was of said people avoided him.

It was ten o'clock on a Friday night and he probably looked like a druggy with his oily long hair, ill fitting clothes, and tired demeanor. Hedwig wasn't making matters any better with her deciding that she needed to tag along. Her sharp nails dug into his thin hoodie every time he joustled her too much. Earlier he had tried shooing her off but she just reperch herself on his shoulder, occasionally nibbling at his hood. Eventually he pulled it down, giving her less temptation to tear a hole in his clothes. She just started to nibble at his hair instead. He resigned himself to his fate.

An Occasional few other nightly pedestrians would send weird looks at Hedwig, which Harry didn't blame them. Having a two foot snowy owl kinda made it hard to blend into the semi-crowded street. What concerned him more was that people weren't just looking at Hedwig but at Harry himself. A nervous sweat crawled down his back. The eyes that lingered on him the longest were the oddest, purple, neon green, pink, yellow. Unnatural colors, otherworldly colors. Hermione's distant talks about active rights about supernatural creatures come to his mind's forefront. Is that what was happening? Was something going that was summoning all these things out? Or was it just because he felt more conscious about the stares?

He's pulled out of his thoughts when someone suddenly stops in front of him, forcing him to stop as well unless he planned on plowing over them. He was half tempted to. Keyword half. The person in front of him couldn't have been more than in his early twenties, only reaching to his shoulders, with wild orange hair, and golden brown eyes. He most definitely wasn't English considering the first words were in a heavily accented Sorry.

Harry knew his face probably wasn't the most enthused, he could feel the frown that marred his face. Which just made the adult in front of him freeze and tumble over his attempt at words. He looked close to hyperventilating and Harry was sure he himself was on verge for a panic attack if the guy didn't calm down. Wracking his brain for something he repeats something Hermione did for him in fourth year.

Perhaps placing a steady hand on the man's shoulder was the wrong course of action since Harry can tell the exact moment the man eternally screams at said contact before his soul leaves his body. Patting a few times, Harry asks in his most level toned and concerned voice, "Are you okay sir?"

There's a slightly garbled spittering from the man and with an inhale, the color that had instantly left comes rushing back. His eyes are as wide as saucers and it reminds Harry of Colin when they first met. That is if Colin was older than him, with some really unnatural natural colorings, and wasn't British.

"Y-yes!" The man exclaims, his body nearly vibrating. "Yes I am."

"O-Kay then." Harry says retracting his hand from the man's shoulder feeling put-out. The man is practically jittering in place and the longer the man just stands there the more embarrassing it feels. Harry's sure his ears are absolutely cherry right now. "I'm going to go now okay?"

He's barely taken a step when the guy steps in front of him again. A few unkind words are almost out of his throat when the guy asks in his most hopeful puppy dog voice, "Can I give you a hug?". When Harry's answer isn't an automatic yes he barrels forward with "I've been following your work for a while and! Well, I think you're really amazing. To stand up to the government like that despite them saying your completely wrong is really inspiring. You're kinda like my hero so-" The man's voice died down, as if his confidence had run out.

The confession was like a breath of fresh air. Everyone talked and praised him for "killing" Voldemort when he was a baby. Anything he did was always overshadowed by an accomplishment that was really more of his mother's magic than himself. For someone to actually look at the things he himself had done, especially stuff he'd said when practically nobody would believe him about Voldemort felt really good. For the first time, instead of the blanket of unfeelingness, he felt happy. He could feel his lips tug and even if it'd been a few months, even if it was slightly rusty from misuse, even if this stranger didn't understand the importance of it, Harry smiled.

"I did it! I talked with Tomura Shigaraki!"

"No fucking way. He didn't even threaten to kill you?

"Nope! He even gave me a hug! He's way nicer in person than his public persona would suggest."

"I don't believe you. Maybe he wouldn't kill you, but a hug too? Are you sure you weren't drunk and hugged some stranger?"

"No I'm 100 percent positive it was him."

"Sure sure."

"See look! There he is!"

"Sure he i-. Holy shit that's him."

"Yeah it is!"

"What the hell is he doing in Surrey Britain? Isn't he supposed to be in Japan?"

"I don't know but I'm really glad I met him."

"Stop waving! He isn't- … He just waved back."

"See he's really nice."

"I don't know if this is a sign that I need to stop drinking or to drink more. Seeing Shigaraki smile is not something I ever expected to see ."

"I'm going to text Yamada, he's not going to believe this."

"I'm going to go buy myself a bottle of wine and drown myself."

"Sounds cool, I'll be right here."

It's around three in the morning and the joyful ness he'd been feeling at full force earlier in the night had simmered down. Almost to a trickle at this point. He's aggravated, tired, and almost to his limit. Hedwig had left three hours ago, after nipping at his hair and neck for a constant five minutes. Apparently whatever the reason she kept harassing him about, she gave up on, practically huffing as she took off to wherever she planned on going. He's sure that he'd figure it out eventually. Though he did miss her comforting presence as he searched another street. The more questionable people of the night thought twice about messing with a guy with a huge bird of prey casually sitting on his shoulder. They didn't need to know that Hedwig was a real sweetheart and wouldn't attack till actual physical blows were to happen but that wasn't a secret he would want to divulge.

The street much like the several previous ones, for the last hour were devoid of life, most average citizens asleep and cozy in their beds. He'd found his way back to the lower income area, the houses less cookie cuter and more diverse. It reminded him of the burrow in some aspects. Turning down another road has him spotting an alleyway of sorts and despite it not looking exactly how he imagined the original one, he goes through the opening anyways.

It turns out it was a good call when he spots something sharp and metallic sticking out the concrete. Nudging it yeilds no results, that sucker is wedged in. Bending down to get a closer reveals it to be a kitchen knife rammed halfway in the crumbling asphalt. He'd be worried if there was even a slight chance of someone pulling it out, but after testing it himself, he doubts it would be going anywhere. Looking around some more reveals several large black soot circles that lead further into the alley. Following them isn't too hard till they suddenly disappear. A few good searches around the area, and him climbing a less than sturdy ladder reveals that they pick up again in an adjacent alleyway. This continues for a while.

Right when he's sure he's going to start pulling his hair, he drops into the last alleyway. Nothing indicates that the trail continues, but something else has him picking up pace. A crossway. Turning around he backs up into the other side of the opening, the scenery and walls with their graffiti very recognizable. He nearly cheers. Now knowing he's in the correct area, he goes around, searching the ground for a tale-tale glint. When there isn't one, he goes searching again, this time for the shape of his frames. When that doesn't turn up anything, he starts to carefully search the ground, in hopes of spotting anything.

Angry, his nails bite into his wrist as he paces back and forth. The itch resurfacing from its dormancy. His palms hot, exceedingly so, as he makes another circuit around the alleyway. There's absolutely nothing beyond gravel and weeds, no signs of plastic or glass to even indicate if his glasses broke. It was unlikely that rain washed them away since a summer drought was in effect. Which left two worrying conclusions; a random stranger picked them up or someone from that group found them. Frustrated with how much his palms itched he rubs them along the rough concrete wall, his mind still racing.

There was a group that was going after Bellatrix for some reason. Two girls and two guys if he included "The Boss", maybe more. They were magical, considering Belltrix tried to claim him as a muggle. They weren't from around Britain with the thick accents they had. And didn't stay up with magical Britain's news since none of them recognized him. Which probably was a blessing in disguise. One smoked and another with a brown coat and blond hair. It really wasn't much to go on. He could think of several reasons for someone to go after Bellatrix or even the Lestrange family in general. They were a fairly dark family with terrible acts to their name. It was completely possible that they'd pissed off someone they shouldn't of and the group was smart enough to separate the crazy bitch from the rest of Voldemort's flock. What would happen if they went after him because he saw them?

Even though he was still angry at Dumbledore for last year's silence and even bitter at his friend's current silence he might actually be in danger. Did he really care he was in danger though? For a little over a week now he'd been wandering around Surrey and London at the dead of night, perfect Potter killing time for death eaters. Every single time without his wand too. He was probably physically weak considering he'd barely eaten anything since the department of mysteries. (A cup of tea and a fourth of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich was almost too much for him now.{All given to him Dudley.}) If they found him in just the right state of mind, he might even thank them. Another part of him felt sick at the idea, leaving all his friends and everyone to the devices of Voldemort. A small portion of him really questioned why defeating Voldemort was his duty while there were other more talented witches and wizards that could defeat him instead. The thought of being a normal kid who was able to spend time with his friends and found family and not some strange rich celebrity child had grown super enticing during the triwizard tournament.

With his mind swirling in circles, he hadn't even noticed that he started to itch his neck in irritation while his other hand kept being dragged along the uneven bricks. His turns in his pacing grew faster as did his lazy moments into frantic steps. What to do? What to do? What to do? His mind kept repeating over and over. The walks really helped calming him down, it was some type of activity that wasn't just sitting in his room, his mind grating itself on a metaphysical cheese grater. Just being near Privet Drive made his nerves feel electric and jumpy.

Napping on the tube felt really amazing at times when he was able to sleep, even if it was in an uncomfortable position. And if sleep eluded him, watching the people within each his cart provided some type of entertainment. Especially if it was the guy with faded lavender hair who caught him watching once and decided to make it a game of who could stare the longest before blinking. It was a surprisingly hard thing to do. He really didn't want to lose that. He didn't want to lose that freedom to decide when he stayed out, or his exploration of London. It might have not been very long since he got this freedom, but if he was forced to choose between this and sitting in his room, slowly going mad; he'd take homelessness before being locked in his room. Coming to a satisfactory conclusion, he slows to a stop, his arm dropping away from his neck.

"Oh are you done then?"

At the voice, Harry jumps, backing into the brick wall. Standing a few feet from him is a man dressed in a long leather coat with large silver sleeve cuffs that end half on his forearm. Silver stitches decorate the neck and part of the shoulder of the coat that cover over a highly ragged white shirt that hangs loose at the neckline revealing his prevalent collarbones and the beginning of his pecs. Tight black pants cling to his legs as simple black boots hug his calves. Sharp ebony hair spikes out on top of his head as even sharper cerulean eyes take him in. The limited light highlights the silver gleam of piercings that dot the side of his nose and higher portion of his ears. The man's face is Asian, good looking, with high cheekbones and sharp chin, his eyes hang low, lazy even, a type of confident predator look about them. Something about the man feels familiar, as if he's seen him before, but nothing in Harry's panicking mind is putting the pieces together.

"Saw you looking around," the man's voice drawls, a heavy accent apparent, "I'm guessing these are yours then?" He pulls out something of glass and plastic from his coat pocket and a feeling of relief rushes through Harry at the sight of his round glasses.

The relief is quickly shadowed with suspicion. "Why are you out at this time of night?"

"Jet lag." He responds as if it's a dumb question. At Harry's questioning raised eyebrow he elberates , "It's about 1 in the afternoon in Tokyo right now. It's a little hard to turn off my internal clock that's telling me it's lunchtime."

Nodding at the acceptable answer, Harry removes himself from the wall. His arms and hands surprisingly covered in thick gray dust as he nabs the glasses from the man's outstretched hands.

"And what about you?" The man asks as Harry wipes the lenses of his glasses.

"Hmm?" Harry hums as he reapplies his glasses to his face; everything gaining sharp boundaries. So his sight hadn't changed, his eyes had just gotten used to seeing without help. He felt a little more sane.

"What are you doing out at four in the morning?" He crosses his arms looking almost smug. The prominent black lashes on the bottom of his eyes make them look charming. "People will think you're up to something if they see you prowling around empty alleyways."

"Uh. Well." Harry responds, not expecting the quick reversal question. By all accounts, he's the more suspicious of the two. The guy was most likely a tourist that got lost. And he was some creepy lanky kid that was pacing an alleyway at four in the morning. He's a little surprised the guy even approached him with how he looked. "I haven't been able to sleep well for the past two months." He ends sheepishly. Honesty seemed like the best policy.

"So you decided to go searching for your lost glasses?" There's a touch of mirth mixed in. At Harry's lack of answer he smirks till it suddenly drops.

"I didn't want my aunt or uncle to catch me."

The man's demeanor didn't change. But Harry could almost feel the ora from the man change. His eyes take in Harry as if he's searching for something. It makes Harry uncomfortable. "Sorry." He says, the fragile air of scrutiny over. He's back to having a casual demeanor. "It was the same for me, but it was my father instead."

An owlish blink is the only response.

The easy smile is back, less shark-like, and more genuine. "Care to join me for breakfast?"

"I'm not really that hungry", he says giving his best apologetic face. It would've been more convincing if his stomach didn't grumble at that exact moment, his face burning in mortification.

"It'll be my treat." His arm swings out latching onto Harry's shoulder. The touch is highly casual, friend-like as he gently pulls Harry beside him. The man is several inches taller and despite them just meeting something about the man puts him at ease. It's easy to fall in step with the man, his movements are long and sleek, liquid or even cat-like. Even if he's a couple centimeters more than Harry himself, his pace is slower, taking his time, as if there was no reason to rush. It's a different type of pace than what he's used to. Always rushing, always with a set destination; languid walking just wasn't something Harry got to experience outside of his current walks. It was nice.

"-abi ."

"Huh?" Harry blinks looking at his walking companion.

"Said we should introduce ourselves."

"O-oh." A blue eye rises in expectation. Harry's tongue feels like it's stuck in his throat.

"Ah it's fine Harry. I already know who you are." He pats his shoulders comfortingly. It doesn't help the cold that washes over Harry.

"H-How do you-?" As if the man could sense it, his grip on Harry's shoulder tightens. Trapping him before he can even think about bolting.

"Oh relax." His shoulder feels hot from the touch, but it's not from Harry himself but the man. "I know you from somewhere else; I don't even read the British news. Your Padfoot's god son right? He's told me a lot about you."

"Padfoot?" Harry says distantly, "You knew Sirius?" He can't help how his voice hitches at saying Sirius's name. Isn't he supposed to be over his death by now? Or at least that's how it should be right? Everyone else has gotten over it but him.

"Well yeah that's kinda the reason I'm out here. Came out to see his house-arrested ass before he did something stu...pid." His words falter off at the sight of Harry's tears.

"You don't know, do you?" He breaks out of the man's hold, turning to face him. More tears trail down his face unbidden. He can't help it.

"Know what?"

"Sirius is dead. He- He died protecting me. It's my fault he's dead." A sob racks through him. He knows it's too late to stop the torrent of tears from past experience.

"Fuck. I knew something was off but…" He seems angry, turning away as if not sure how to handle it. "Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

Another shutter goes through Harry and he clamps his teeth and lips. He knows if he attempts to deeply breath now, he'll go into a full breakdown. Harry's not sure when he closed his eyes, but there's a sudden warmth hugging him. He belatedly realizes it's the guy. "Shhhhh." He can hear his soothing voice say, "It's alright kid. Let it out." There's a gentle hand carding through his hair and an arm holding him close. His coat smells like smoke both natural and chemical in nature with something spicy underneath. It calms him only a little.

"I. I-" Harry starts attempting words. At any words but his throat refuses.

"It's alright. I got you."

At the words, Harry breaks.