Thank you so much everyone, for your love and support of the first chapter. I hope you are equally as pleased with the second one.
Also very much hope you are all staying safe.
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Chapter Two
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Harry's first encounter with an unhappy tenant happens at exactly two fifty nine in the morning accompanied by loud banging on his front door. As the saying goes, Death never sleeps, but Harry liked sleep. On occasion he would do so for pleasure. This night being such an occasion, Harry is woken from his extravagant King-sized plump bed and stalked to his door. Hair askew over eyes, draped in a black silken nightgown and beanie the world forgot about somewhere along evolution, he opened the door and has to look down at his complainer.
The twenty-something year old man in nothing but Naruto boxer-shorts, was unimpressively short and hollow cheeked. Only serving to making his snarl more evident. This snarl and fury stalled when the door opened. Eyes doing a scandelous once-over.
"Landlord Potter?" He ruffed.
"That I am," Harry rubbed his crusted eyes, parting his fringe. "What seems to be the issue, Hayashi?"
"You know me?" He asked in surprising offence and suspicion.
"I introduced myself three days ago, don't worry about remembering. You looked a bit strung on some puff," he mimed a gesture and waggled his eyebrows.
Hayashi, too shocked to respond to that accusation went on with something more familiar; complaining. "A pipe in my bathroom blew and is drowning my apartment."
"Well we can't have that!" Harry objected and all but ran back into his apartment. Hayashi stood. Uncertain then bewildered when Harry returned wearing pointed Persian slippers. "Room thirty four, am I correct? Don't answer, I always am."
.
When Shota goes to relieve himself in the middle of the night, the flush on his toilet stalls and dribbles pathetically. A second try earns him nothing but the toilet gasping in what appeared to be pain.
In a resigned sigh, Shota made his way to his landlord's apartment three floors down. It did occur to him just before leaving, that he was wearing nothing but boxers and proceeded to dress himself in something slightly less embarrassing. Jeans, t-shirt and flip flops did it and minutes later the elevator doors ding open to an outrageous sight.
His land-Lord, dressed as Ebenezer Scrooge in pointed slippers, grinned ear to ear in excitement next to an intensely unhappy short man in boxer shorts.
"Aizawa! How wonderful," Harry bounded into the elevator with unnatural cheer at this time of night.
"Mr Potter."
"You live under Hayashi don't you?" While Shota grunted in affirmation Harry gestured for the assumed Hayashi to follow forwards. The young man dithered, arms hugging his boney chest in sudden self-consciousness at Shota's clothed body. "You noticed a leak, did you? Don't worry, I'll clean everything up in a jiffy."
Shota hadn't heard the word 'jiffy' since his grandmother passed away.
"Up we go, Hayashi!" Harry nodded. Hayshi sighed and did as told.
.
While Hayashi fell asleep on the couch, Shota leaned in the doorway of the puddled bathroom. Staring curiously at Harry, who was now sodden to the niles, bobbed beanie still hanging on, crouched under the sink inspecting the spurting leak. Thankfully, his nightgown hid his ass. He wasn't so sure about his front and resolved to keep it a mystery. As absurd as a person could get, Harry was it.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Shota asked. Pausing to question Harry's qualifications when it came to matters of plumbing.
Rather than treating this as a serious matter, his landlord appeared to enjoy it.
"Oh none at all," Harry shook his head. "Quite a mess, Hayashi made. Wonder what he was doing - oh then again, maybe its best I don't."
"Shouldn't you call a plumber then, someone who actually knows what they're doing?" Shota suggested.
"I really should," he confessed guiltily. "I'm being a little naughty aren't I?"
"Think so," said Shota vaguely.
"It's my first burst pipe you see, I want to experience the full extent of it," Harry said lovingly.
Shota stared at him.
There was a little bloop, gurgle gurgle gurgle and Harry is punched back by a firehose blast of water. Shota swoops under and catches him in the chest.
"That's it," Shota decides after a significant pause. "I'm calling a plumber." Wet and thoroughly annoyed when he catches sight of Harry's lofty smile. "You did this deliberately didn't you."
"Did what, my dear fellow?"
"No way!" Hayashi, woken from the bang, stood frozen where Shota was seconds ago. Eyebrows dancing in confusion.
Harry giggled, "Way."
For a moment Shota was afraid Hayashi would start crying.
. -
Harry drops both tenants back at his cosey apartment on the promise of fixing everything before sunrise.
Hayashi threatens to sue him.
Understandable.
. -
The door between worlds is exactly that; a door. Any one would be just fine.
All Harry has to do is want, turn the knob and bing, bada, boom.
Still in his nighty and beanie (magically dry) he opens his apartment door and steps into his eldest child's kitchen.
Three steps in - closing the door behind him, last time he left it open some poor pigeon got terribly confused - he bellowed a greeting to his shocked son seated at the dinner table, holding a piece of jammy toast to his mouth.
Timezones, Harry blinked at the sun streaming in through kitchen windows. Timezones are dastardly.
"The fuck are you doing here?" James demanded through toast. "And what in the blazing shit are you wearing?"
Harry levelled a fatherly stare stare on him. "What have I told you about cursing, young man?"
"I'm turning thirty two tomorrow you moronic fucker." He had put a teacup down for Harry at the seat next to him. The teapot, recognising it had work to do, floated about and filled the cup. Following studiously behind was the milk jug. After that sugar cubes hoofed out of their bowl and bobbed themselves across the table to their sacrificial dunk. Harry sat down, crossed his legs and waved off the third eager sugar cube.
"I knew that," he fibbed. Sipping his tea, he took a moment to observe his son. Last time he had seen him, James was only twenty six and fresh from his promotion to Deputy Headmaster at Hogwarts. Now he was a lean, scruffy man who looked like he hasn't showered in weeks. "Why else would I be here, hmm?"
"Don't give me that crap, Dad," James warned. "What do you want?"
Picking at a recent jam stain on the kitchen table, Harry avoided James' accusatory eyes. "Where are the children?"
James slammed his fist on the table. Harry kept very still. "Shut up. Don't you ever mention them or go near them. As far as they and the rest of the world are concerned, you died on the job more than two decades ago. So don't you dare."
"James," Harry looked up at his son. There were wrinkles around his eyes, and a tiredness to him that seemed to leak out of every pore. "When did you and Vanessa divorce?"
All fight left. James sagged and rubbed his face with a hand, the other still holding his half-bitten jammed toast. "Three years ago. Same time I became an auror."
"You what," Harry demanded. "Do you have any idea how dangerous - "
"Seriously?" James laughed. For a long second, neither said anything. "You didn't come here to bugger me about my life or wish a happy birthday, Dad."
Harry gave up, "I need my house elves for a bit."
James bit into his toast, stood up and walked out the door Harry had come in through. "Do what you like. It's your house, dead or alive." Unlike the apartment Harry had come from, what laid behind the door were slabs of green countryside.
. -
House Elves from Potter Mansion wore red, tiny bell-boy outfits one would see from the Hilton hotels. Harry didn't choose the uniform, they did themselves and he had to admit, they looked rather snazzy.
Not wanting to intrude on his son any further, Harry rounded them up and sent them through the door in quick marching order to fix up whatever they could in his apartment building.
Without being seen, was strongly advised.
. -
Harry's apartment was splashed in the style of old-school (if old-school lived in the 1800s), and Shota wondered how somebody could decorate so thoroughly in a single week without anybody noticing. What stood out most to him, apart from the Persian rugs, gas lamps, fireplace (connected to a chimney that shouldn't by all means exist), exotic nick-necks scattered about and the diamond chandelier - was the pipe organ.
It was huge.
It's metallic, spotless pipes were woven, installed and expanding on every section of the bedroom wall it could find. Snaking around the gas lamps, paintings of foreigners (most likely family or lovers) and round the headboard of a kingsize bed. A bed that had a broad curved canopy and linen curtains.
Given the nature of the not so soundproofed apartment building coupled with the time Harry has been here (a week), this entire set up was improbable.
Shota stared fixedly at it.
"Right," he said to himself. Metallic pipes stared back at him. "Of -course." He closed the door and walked calmly back to the living room where Hayashi lay sprawled in front of the glowing fire.
Shota stared fixedly at it.
At last, he decided to not concern himself about this place and sat down on one of the plush chairs facing the fire.
He slept.
Around him, an invisible house elf cleaned their master's apartment.
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Shota jerked awake at the sound of a door closing. In a matter of two seconds he recalled every dreadful moment leading up to now and made sure to glare at the man shuffling inside.
"You have a pipe organ in your room."
"Yes," confirmed Harry in his pointed beanie hat. As thought owning a pipe organ was a common instrument Shota was previously unaware of.
"And you play it?"
"Every night."
Has he been so wrapped up in his work to not notice his landlord playing the pipe organ, Shota wondered.
Harry claped his hands, startling Hayashi out of his snoring sleep. "I've got beautiful news that you will love to hear, everything's fixed." He spread his arms in a dazzling smile. "Both of you can return to your apartments. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience."
"Damn straight," Hayashi all but virtually ran/stumbled out in a fitful of curses about this place giving him the heebie jeebies.
Shota follows, at a more sedate pace and eyeing his landlord. "Is your apartment fitted with soundproofing in the walls?"
Harry blinked. "Sorry, what?"
Shota repeats his question and grew more and more resigned as Harry's head cocked slowly to one side.
"Where on earth could I have found the time to do that without anyone knowing!?" He snorted a friendly chuckle. "Funny man, wait here I'll make you some tea."
. -
"How long has it been for you?" James asked moments after Harry dropped off his elves. The band of little creatures marched onwards in single file through dimensions. Passing his son who was once again, seated at the table but this time he was in his Auror uniform. A grey, civil war flair Wizards had picked up on and never let go.
Harry noticed his son's hair was shorter than last. He smelt blood, didn't see any.
"I don't follow," he said after a lengthy pause.
James sighed, "For me it's been at least a week since you last came - but before that three years. How long for you?"
"I," Harry stared at his stone-faced son, "I'm not sure."
"That long, huh?"
. -
"I'm in a bit of a pickle, you see Mai," Harry confessed that evening to his companion as they strolled through a barren carpark. Dusk was falling and Harry looked up at the cotton candy coloured sky. "My eldest son hates me and I just don't know what to do about it."
"Apologise," she suggested.
"You see, I thought of that but what exactly should I apologise for?"
Mai sighed and stopped walking to look at her Lord. "Please explain it to me, Lord."
Harry tapped his fingers on the hilt of his katana, "Er. Well. This is a bit embarrassing to admit…"
There was a moments pause where Mai noticed her Lord was fidgeting. This was her creator, the very Lord who breathed life and death into her spirit. Gave her a name. A meaning, a purpose. Whatever was troubling him, it must be something beyond imagination. Was she, a single Reaper, about to listen to a secret that could burn stars? She shivered in expectancy.
"I died. Unglamorously."
"What?" Breathed Mai.
"For the third time and it just -" he shrugged helplessly, "happened to stick."
"You died - no - you're Death."
"Third times the charm, you know," Harry went on. "And it all went bugger downhill from there. People actually thought I had died for good when there I am, roaming around without a body I was only able to get back into after my predecessor beat me at a match of Uno."
Mai didn't dare blink.
"He cheated, you know." Harry said blithely. "Contemptuous old creep had me chasing after him all evening. It's always out of three but whoosh, off he went after the first round."
"My Lord, what -?"
"Oh well, I managed to zip back into my body. Blasted my way out of the grave and when I returned to my family, my wife was dead. My eldest was twenty, youngest had just graduated from Hogwarts, and godson had eloped with a frenchman! I was gone for almost a decade. Timezones," Harry said grimly. "Timezones are bloody bonkers."
"I…I'm at a loss, my Lord," Mai admitted.
Harry patted Mai on the head. Much like one would do to a puppy who lost their stick. "I understand." This relieved Mai, because at least one of them did. "Perhaps you could go around and ask whether our reapers could offer advice. I'll make posters. A questionnaire. This could be fun."
"I'll do that, my Lord."
"Fantastic," he smiled. Clapping and returning to his jaunty stroll. Mai pattered after him. "So, this warehouse?" He pointed to the decrepit looking monstrosity on the corner street.
"The one, my Lord."
"Every week you say, you come here to reap these poor creatures?"
"Not necessarily creatures," corrected Mai, "we've recently discovered that they are in fact modified humans."
"Like Frankensteins' monster?" Harry grinned. An honest, wide grin that gave Mai a nervous shudder.
"I would agree, my Lord, if I knew what that was - but they do have a name. We found out during a he recent reaping of its mutated soul. One of the people in charge of it called it something."
"Tell me."
"Nomu."
. -
"I don't know what happened, exactly," Shota confided in Hizashi that day at lunch. They were seated at chairs in the staff room's kitchen, isolated from the rest of the bundled staff. "When I got back to my apartment everything was tidied. Bedsheets smelling like perky roses. Sink sparkling. Bathroom spotless. The entire collection of books I owned organised by genre." Shota leant back, shook his head and sipped his americano. Expression disdainful."This guy. He's either jumping over the rainbow gay or coo coo for coco puffs. Maybe both. Maybe neither. He's fucking bizarre."
Hizashi stared at him with widening eyes. "You don't think you're being a little unreasonable with all this suspicion?"
"Shut up and drink your damn coffee," Shota unfairly grumbled.
"You shut up and - " Hizashi hedged, "drink your damn…coffee…"
Shota stared, "Pathetic."
.
Shota is a handful of meters from his house when he spots a familiar face waving at him from the outside seating quarters of cafe Gravely Delicious.
A vivacious, grinning face that could overpower a light bulb.
"Aizawa! Aizawa - hey, are you avoiding me?" Shota damn near springs up the entrance steps. "I think you're avoiding me."
Face burning behind his scarf at the immediate attention he gets from customers - he risked a side glance and panics at Harry's skittering lithe form blundering through people.
Despite how tired he is, Shota hauled ass.
He threw open the glass doors and punched the elevator button. In his pocket his phone pinged once, twice, he hissed and took it out to see what the devil the problem was now -
Unknown
Hey ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
"What?" He whispered.
Unknown
Behind you (づ。◕‿‿◕。)づ
Shota turned and stared at Harry, more resigned than anything. "You got my number from the file you have on me as a tenant, didn't you?"
"Look, I got a phone," Harry waved the mobile device in his hand and trotted over. He never simply walked. No, that would be too pedestrian. "Apparently it's the latest model. I got it in rose gold. hah, who knew gold had a rose or rose had a gold?" His nose wrinkled in enthusiasm. Shota wondered what was taking the lift. Harry leaned over a tapped the tip of Shota's dated flip phone. "Add me." He encouraged.
"Why should I?" Shota knew, if you fed a stray once they always came back for seconds. He also knew it was pointless to fight. The man was his landlord, and Shota liked his apartment. "Fine. I'll add you, is that all?"
"How did your students like the cake?"
Shota sighed, relenting. For all his senselessness, the man hasn't done anything to offend him. By all means, he's been absolutely pleasant. A damn doll.
The man's capacity for happiness is what irked Shota the most, he realised. It was absurd. It must be a personality problem that, surely, went beyond the dreams of psychologists.
"They loved it, thank you," Shota said. Itching for the elevator's beautiful cry of 'ding'.
Harry rocked on his heels then tapped the soles loudly. "Wonderful. Hey, Shota - "
"Hmm, what?"
"Would you like some tea?"
The elevator dinged and Shota hurled himself inside with the same form and style a soldier would perform when ducking enemy fire. "Busy."
. -
"You're soft on 'im, ain't you?" A reaper wearing the sticker 'Hello, my name is: PATRICK' asked just as the elevator closed and zoomed away. He was a white haired, middle-aged looming fellow wearing a permanent disinterested look.
"Ahh," Harry shrugged, "maybe a little. A lonely, damaged introverted hero always pokes at my soft spots. I'm actually a seriously sensitive person you know."
"Hah," Patrick snorted. Eyeing the phone Harry busies himself with. "Last I was 'ere them phones had cords on 'em. Make you won'er, doesn't i'? Wha' else these human's be capable of."
"Patrick," Harry asked, "would you like one?" He smiled at the sudden child-like look of wonder Patrick gave him. "There you go, I knew you were capable of more than one emotion."
. -
Being a night of sleeplessness, Harry taped awkwardly on the laptop he had recently purchased. Resealing a cry of "ha ha!" when clicking on the lonely fan page of Eraserhead. Body jiggling slightly on his bed in excitement.
He clicked the 'Anonymous Tips' title.
In a droned mutter, Harry read the small segmented description underneath.
"All tips related to criminal activity will be sent to Eraserhead anonymously blah blah blah basic law shit, got it. Wow Shota, you really need to lighten up this website. It's dull."
He clicked the 'Make an Anonymous tip' and began typing.
[Dear Eraserhead,
I've come across some startling information and found myself compelled to notify you in advance that some dastardly, no doubt illegal organisation has been cooking up a storm of dead bodies right under your nose! They are called Nomu, and I'm sure somewhere underneath all that decay and evil intentions there is a soft soul just waiting someone to find and nurture. Maybe after therapy, this creature might take up some baking! Make us all lovely homemade cookies (~˘▾˘)~ So when you find them, please don't kill it.]
Harry is reminded of the stench when he reaped the recent creature. Soiled earth, barren intestines and melting, poisonous skin.
[It's only the decent thing to do. Humane, even. I'm not aware of any law stating people aren't allowed to do this, but surely there must be. Some, human rights thing, you know?]
After linking the address of the warehouse using Google Earth, Harry sat back, sighed a satisfied sigh, and played his pipe organ.
. -
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