Hello and welcome to Dudley in Tokyo! Somehow this fic has gotten teased in just about every one of the comments sections on my Gokusen fics on AO3 but I don't think I've mentioned it here on FFN. Suffice it to say, I've been working on it a while. Just love it when 5k oneshots turn into multi-chapter novellas. It's my favorite. It might be an oddball crossover, but I hope you all enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own Morimoto Kozueko's Gokusen. I also don't own Harry Potter. All my love and respect to Morimoto, Rowling can suck my ass.

Dudley in Tokyo

Chapter One

Fear of Flying

Dudley really, truly, had no idea how he'd gotten here or why he'd thought it would be a good idea. It had been four years since his awful year in hiding and Dudley was a junior at the University of East London. He was about to ascend in a plane for the very first time.

Never in his life did he think that he would go to uni. But he'd been scouted for his boxing skills and somehow, suddenly, it had been on the table. Study abroad was another thing he never thought he'd do. And to be fair, this was just a summer exchange through the boxing team.

No, Dudley would never have qualified for study abroad (or university at all) on the merit of his grades alone. But he had a strong body, good form, and relentless dedication. He'd always found fighting better than having to think - and that made him one of the best athletes on the team.

Once at school, he found true what he already knew: he was awful at literature. Maths was hardly better. Sciences. Well. Suffice it to say he'd struggled with those requirements, even if the labs had been fun. His boxing success and patient hours spent in office hours were quite possibly the only reasons he hadn't flunked out.

In fact, the only thing he was worse at than English was History - not even attending office hours had saved his grade there - and study abroad waived that requirement. This trip might be sport-oriented, but it still counted.

But even with the mighty carrot of waiving terrible degree requirements, while Dudley sat in his seat, clutching his armrests as the plane angled into the air, all he could think was, This was a mistake. University was a mistake!

"Are you afraid of heights, Dud?" said the teammate next to him, named Gill.

"Flying," Dudley said automatically. "Heights are fine. But I've had a few bad experiences."

"Thought you said you'd never been on a plane?" The spot of concern on his Gill's face was both touching and damning.

How could Dudley possibly explain?

Mostly, the wizards had shuffled his family by expanded car or by teleportation. But there had been one night where he'd been plopped on something invisible, arms wrapped around the waist of an authoritative witch who told him to hold on, no matter what.

The invisible thing felt like a horse. Sounded like a horse.

The witch did not cry out when a blast of green light glanced her, but she'd slumped unmistakably and Dudley let go. She's dead, he'd thought numbly, watching her slide sideways off the flying invisible horse and falling down through the air. "She's dead," he said. With the words came the weight of understanding and suddenly Dudley could see what he was riding.

Horses and bats were an unholy combination.

He didn't know her very well, and he had to slide forward and take control of the reins too quickly to really mourn her in the moment. But he'd never forget the sight of a person plummeting dead to the ground.

The angle increased, pushing Dudley back into his seat. It was all he could do to keep himself from gripping the wrists of his teammates to keep them from falling. They did not fall.

When the plane leveled and Dudley could breathe again, he answered. "It wasn't a plane."

"A helicopter then?"

Dudley hesitated, perhaps a moment too long. "Landed wrong from a zipline. Nothing serious, but for a mo' I thought my boxing career was over."

"Woulda hated not to meet you," said the boy on Dudley's other side. "You're a machine, Dud!"

Dudley gave them both a shaky grin. "Thanks, lads. I'm glad I met you guys too."

But honestly he would do anything right now not to have agreed to this trip. His parents told him not to go. He'd begged, coming just short of reenacting his childhood tantrums, and they'd reluctantly helped him pay the fee. Now he almost wished he'd listened. But Dudley had come so far since freshman year - he wanted to graduate! He couldn't let one measly history credit keep him from the degree he never knew he wanted.

No matter how much he feared flying. No matter what his parents said about foreigners. No matter what they said about the evils of the orient turning his good British mind to mush. He knew that was a load of shite, and he'd gotten better at telling them to go hang.

All Dudley needed to was to survive this flight. Everyone said JAL was an excellent airline. The food was great, and the entertainment system was even better. Even in economy!

They also praised the seat spacing, but 'roomy seating' clearly did not anticipate the sheer bulk of a boxing team. Or. Actually just Dudley's sheer bulk. Boxers were as often flyweight as they were heavyweight and he was the largest one on the team by far.

His seat number had been matched with the skinniest ones on the team for this misadventure and Dudley could only thank his coach's practicality. It would have been cramped, otherwise.

With his lukewarm feelings on the seat spacing, Dudley was pleasantly surprised when the meal carts came around. And he was pleasantly surprised by the entertainment system, too, once the boys on either side of him lapsed into a gentle doze. Dudley put on the provided headphones and watched his first ever Japanese film.

There were some English-language options, and Dudley could barely read quick enough for subtitles, but with his phrasebook forgotten in his checked luggage, he needed to prepare himself somehow.

At least this way, he would land at Narita airport having felt the language wash over and around him. Might temper the already strong culture shock.

(The five hundred yen coins burned in his pocket where five pound bills would normally be, and he thought back to that year where coin was the only currency he watched exchanged. Yen aren't galleons, he told himself.)

He didn't really understand what played out on the screen but with fifteen hours to kill, he watched several movies.

The movies began and ended and began again as the plane conveyed him further and further from UEL and Newham. Further away from New Beckton Park and further from his running paths along the northern bank of the River Thames.

He listened to Japanese wash over him, and hoped that he'd remember ohayou gozaimas, konnichiwa, konbanwa, and arigatou gozaimas. Onegai shimas. Toire wa doko des ka? Sore wa nan des ka?

Bollocks.

The phrases might be conveniently scrawled on his hand, but Dudley had neglected to include their English translations. He only had the vaguest notion that konnichiwa might be hello. Or perhaps good afternoon.

He really needed that phrasebook.

Gill, who'd always been a bit of a swot, woke just in time to laugh at him. He took Dudley's hand and penned in the English.

"Thanks," Dudley said. "I was worried there."

Gill waved off the thanks. "If you want to flip through my phrasebook, feel free." Dudley took him up on that in the last hour of the flight. He didn't absorb any of it, though.

When the plane landed and he went hunting for a cup of tea in Narita airport, he could only say, "Er. Tea. Please." He glanced hastily at his hand. "Er. Onegai shimas."

Gill rolled his eyes, corrected him. "Kochya ni shimas." But Japanese airport workers knew Dudley's sort, so a steaming cup of black tea was pushed into his hands almost before Gill opened his mouth.

Dudley glanced back at his hand. "Er. Arigatou."

The woman at the stand gave him a Customer Service Smile and said, "You're welcome! Enjoy!" in very capable English before directing her attention to the next boxer in line.

"Bloody hell this is a disaster," Dudley said, steeled himself. He had a month in Japan. He'd get the hang of communicating eventually.

Yamaguchi Kumiko, meanwhile, was fielding her latest sports request. "Pleaaase, Yamaguch-senpai," said Tanaka. "We need to impress these guys."

"But the baseball team wants me for practice this week!" she said. "They need to test out the first years."

Tanaka gave her a dry look. "You don't even like baseball."

"Baseball is the crowning jewel of Yankee achievement! Of course I like baseball."

"You don't like it as much as you like boxing though."

That... was true. "Why do you need me, again?"

"We're joint practicing for the next month with some Brits."

"Brits," she said. "Why? Our boxing team isn't even that good."

This time last year, Tanaka would have been offended by that statement. Kumiko was proud to see that he wasn't anymore. "Exactly!" he said. "Having you fill our ranks at regionals buffed our stats! We need you."

Kumiko loved sports and she loved fighting, but maybe it had been a mistake to unofficially join every single Waseda University women's and men's team.

They were just so pathetic. What kind of aspiring teacher would she be if she didn't help raise boys to men?

She didn't know much about raising girls to women, so she spared the women's teams her maternal lens, just lent them her strength. But men? Brotherhood? Teamwork? Honor? Those were the things Kumiko knew. And sports was one of the more legal ways she knew how to transmit that knowledge. She looked at Tanaka consideringly.

"I need to give women's baseball at least three practices this month."

"Fine," Tanaka said. "What else?"

"Wrestling team takes every priority," she added. "But their practices don't intersect with yours."

"Right."

"Do you want me to pretend to be a man for this one?" She'd need to borrow a wig from Wakamatsu, if so.

Tanaka paused. "We aren't having any official bouts, but. Do you think the British team would be offended if you beat their asses as a girl?"

Kumiko considered that. "I'll get a wig," she said. "A young one needs to be confident in his manhood, foreigner or no."

Tanaka gave her a strange look, and Kumiko realized what verb endings she'd used. Whoops. But Tanaka shook it off. "You say the strangest things Yamaguchi-senpai. Must be all those yakuza movies."

Kumiko put on her best giggle. "Must be, Tanaka-kun! When do you need me?"

"Do you want to be part of the welcoming committee or just come to practice?"

Kumiko didn't know much about foreigners, but decided that this was a story she'd want to share with her future precious students. "Welcoming committee!"

Tanaka grinned at her. "We're meeting them at the library tonight!"

... Shit. Kumiko hoisted Tanaka by the collar and growled. "What time?"

He yelped the answer, and she dashed off. She only had two hours to track down that wig. Yasue-anesan and Wakamatsu, in the Kuroda compound way north of Tokyo proper, were too far away just now. But the theatre kids would probably have something. Probably.

The shuttle bus dropped the UEL boxers off at the Waseda library. Dudley wanted to cry with the unfairness of it. He hadn't slept on the plane. How could he? And he'd only dozed on the bus.

And now they were going to have to walk God knows how long before finding their beds. Dudley stifled the incoming tantrum, and walked off the bus.

But you know what? It was nice. The Waseda boxing team had come to meet them, and were waving. Dudley nudged Gill, who nudged him back. Their coach, Professor Peterson, shook hands with the Waseda coach, then bowed.

Dudley was dead tired, but these students were enthusiastic and ready to say hello. Their energy alone was enough to make up for the collective UEL exhaustion.

He was too busy grinning at the Waseda boys to notice the coaches counting heads until the Waseda coach said, in English, "Pair up! Try to find a partner you wouldn't end up fighting in the ring!"

Well. Dudley knew what that meant. He was the heaviest UEL boxer, so he scanned the Waseda crowd for the smallest and saw him.

His hair was awkwardly askew, something about it registering as fake, and he was among the smallest boxers Dudley had ever seen. 5 foot 2 and probably somewhere between a flyweight and a junior lightweight. Their eyes caught, and the little bloke smiled and waved, then turned to the person on their right.

Dudley couldn't really hear what they said, something in Japanese and incomprehensible, probably. Dudley glanced at his hand, but that was no help at all. The larger bloke - closer to Dudley's weight class - grinned and replied something slyly. The little one socked him in the shoulder and turned back to Dudley. He waved again, marched up.

"Hajimemashtia! Ore wa Yamaguchi des!" Next to Dudley, Gill choked on his tea and spluttered.

"Ore? Seriously?"

Dudley didn't get the significance and didn't even know what the boy had said. He looked at Gill desperately.

"Says he's Yamaguchi," Gill said. "Like he thinks he's a big man."

Dudley decided to ignore the commentary. "I'm Dudley," he said.

Again, Gill intervened, patting Dudley's shoulder. "Kono hito wa Dursley des. Zenzen nihingo o hanasemasen. Ganbatte." With that, Gill sent a significant glance at Yamaguchi's companion, breaking off into a surely rudimentary conversation in Japanese. They shuffled off to do their own introductions, leaving Dudley alone with this small Japanese boy who looked as horrified as he did.

"I," the boy tried. "I am. Bad at English." And that was more than Dudley could do in Japanese.

Bollocks.

Dudley cast a desperate glance around the crowd - partners weren't exactly assigned, maybe they could reshuffle a bit - before sighing. He pointed at his chest. "Dudley Dursley. Er. Dursley Dudley."

"Yamaguchi," said the Japanese boxer, pointing at himself.

"Yamaguchi," tried Dudley, sure he botched it completely. He stuck out a hand, and Yamaguchi stared at it a moment before taking it and giving him the firmest handshake of his life. That included the handshakes of Grunnings executives, who thought a good handshake was the foundation of a man's character and proof of a big dick.

Dudley returned it with as much enthusiasm as his exhausted self could manage. Yamaguchi grinned at him, said something in Japanese, and whacked him lightly on the shoulder. Dudley decided that it might turn out all right after all - they didn't really need much language in common, did they?

When the coaches spoke again, the Waseda coach in Japanese and Professor Peterson translating, it was to direct them down the street in twos. Dudley and Yamaguchi both nodded gravely and followed the line.

They brought Dudley and the rest of the UEL team to their Hoshien Guest House dorms. After finding his room and his bed, Dudley fell asleep even more promptly than he thought he would.

When he woke up, it was to sunlight streaming in through his window. He panicked until he saw the digital clock on his bedside table reading 4:30 a.m. and swore.

Japan didn't do Summer Time, did they? Grumbling into the truly hideous quilt his room had come with, Dudley turned over for that last hour of sleep. He tucked his face away from the light streaming through the window and proceeded to sleep through his alarm. When he finally woke, it was to a pounding at his door.

Chapter Word Count: 2,568

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