Disclaimer: there are many miles between the levels of respect I have for Morimoto Kozueko (reigning queen of my heart) and JK Rowling (can go flush her head in a poopy toilet for her TERFdom, anti-Semitism, and pro-slavery rhetoric) but either way, I don't happen to own either of their works. No money is being made from the online publication of this free-to-read fanwork.

Chapter Two

Kuroda Family Mornings

Dudley was coming to recognize that mornings with Yamaguchi were inevitably confusing. It started that first morning in Tokyo that she'd practically yanked him out of bed, and it only got marginally better from there. Ultimately, Dudley was still being surprised by the early dawn, pulled out of bed at a time that didn't quite sit right with his bollixed sleep schedule, and then taken to classes that he had no prayer of following.

Training with Yamaguchi was great, ramen with Yamaguchi was great. Mornings were a befuddled mess. But even having come to expect morning confusion, Dudley woke in the Kuroda family house not quite sure where he was and a little afraid. It was early - even that four a.m. sun was only just on the horizon, but already there was a ruckus going on beyond the sliding doors of the guest room.

"Wha?" Dudley muttered, rolling. There was a slight drop, a change in the give of the surface he was on. Dudley realized he had rolled out of his futon. He swore, then sat up gingerly, feeling the strain of yesterday's misadventure. Long hours on a tour bus could do that to a person, but had a feeling that if he'd gone back to Waseda with the rest of the UEL boxing team, he would not be stiff or sore. But the added stress of getting lost, and the unfamiliarity of Yamaguchi's strange household and family was enough to sap the strength from his body.

The ruckus beyond the doors continued. He strained to hear the voices, searching for some sort of auditory explanation. But try as he might, he couldn't make out the words. Abruptly, Yamaguchi's voice cut above the rest. It sounded angry enough that Dudley automatically conjured the image of Gill stumbling limply out of the boxing ring. And Yamaguchi had done that while cheerful! He would hate to be on the wrong side of her when angry.

It was only then that Dudley realized why he couldn't make out the words. They were speaking Japanese, Dudley didn't speak Japanese, and he was a true idiot for forgetting the language barrier. He swore under his breath again before finding his feet. He was dressed in something he supposed was traditional - one of the younger men had handed it to him the night before and, despite the yards of fabric, the unfamiliarity made Dudley feel naked.

He wasn't going into the ruckus feeling that vulnerable. Nope.

Briefly, Dudley wondered if his curiosity was worth going out there at all. He glanced down at the futon, blankets piled in such a way that he could just slip back under them. The sun was still so low on the horizon. It could hardly be four! And it was Sunday! Boxing practice didn't run until the afternoon on Sunday.

There was a loud clatter outside of the sliding doors. Dudley shucked the borrowed night clothes, pulled his jeans back on. He might not have the bollocks to do it in unfamiliar clothes, but gone with the dementors were the days that Dudley would hide behind good people.

He stepped out of the room, silence descended.

"What's going on?" Dudley asked, eyeing the timid looking group of men standing in front of Yamaguchi's family with their chests puffed out as far as they would go. He belatedly noticed they were dressed as police officers.

And then everyone began yelling at each other. Shinohara cut toward Dudley from his position at the front of the pack. "Get back in the room," he said, accent stronger than it had been the night before. "You're a foreigner. You can't afford to get involved in this."

"What?" Dudley asked. The police officers were gesturing at him with increasing bluster now. Yamaguchi shouted something. With surprising strength, Shinohara guided him back into the room he'd stayed in. "What the hell is going on?"

"Just stay quiet and wait for me or Ojou." Shinohara was firm, and closed the sliding door gently past Dudley's face. His last glimpse of the room over the shoulder of Shinohara's pinstriped suit and through the narrowing gap of the door was Yamaguchi's grandfather placing a hand on her shoulder and stepping resolutely in front of her.

Dudley had thought nothing would ever again surprise him after Harry and his magic school and dementors and Voldemort. But he hadn't expected to see Yamaguchi engage in a shouting match with the police in her own home. Dudley wasn't sure how to handle that one. He stood for a moment behind the sliding doors, shocked and silent. When it occurred to him to look behind him, he saw his futon, warm and inviting. He sat heavily back on it.

For a moment, Dudley wondered just who Ojou was, but then he remembered. Remembered Yamaguchi and the townsfolk that had greeted her with nearly reverent respect.

With that tidbit slotted into place, though Dudley didn't know what Ojou meant or even implied, something about the scene outside made a little more sense.

"Leave the foreigner out of this," said Kumiko, voice rising. "He's a lost exchange student. If you had an ounce of honor between the two of you, you'd be able to see that he has no idea what this house is!"

"Any criminal would look panicked at the sight of the police - that was an afraid face."

"Kumiko, don't go against the Ookami," said Grandpa again. He turned to the officers. "That young foreigner is my granddaughter's friend from university. We are most certainly not engaging in any business with foreigners."

"University?" said the cop, voice incredulous. "What's the daughter of a yakuza clan doing in university?"

Kumiko opened her mouth to retort, but shut it again at her grandfather's quelling look. "Yeah, yeah. Don't go against the ookami," she said resentfully under her breath. "Right." Kumiko settled for glaring at the cop. He was not quite a little man, but she'd bet that he was accustomed to using his midsize body as though it was smaller than it was. Always expecting a larger opponent, he wouldn't know how to counter a smaller one. She could have him on the floor in two seconds flat - nobody got to both judge her yakuza background and threaten her precious teammates in a single conversation!

Shinohara-sensei reappeared from behind her and Kumiko felt a rush of gratitude. Trust Shinohara-sensei to prioritize putting Dursley-kun back out of harm's way. "If we might discuss this down at the station, gentlemen?" said Shinohara-sensei. "I don't believe you've given me any reason that you'd like to arrest any of these men, and certainly sheltering lost foreigners is no crime. Let's discuss your concerns properly."

"I'll go with," said Wakamatsu-san, "if you need someone to arrest."

And that was the bargain. As the ookami loaded a handcuffed Wakamatsu into their car, Shinohara looked to Grandpa. "I'll have him back to his wife before dinner. They really don't have a reason to arrest anybody, this time."

Grandpa nodded, shoulders maintaining a perfect ease. Kumiko swallowed, forcing her own shoulders down and back. If anyone could keep trouble from sticking to Wakamatsu, it was Shinohara-sensei.

It was not long before Dudley found his feet again. He could hear that Kuroda-san had settled Yamaguchi's rising voice. He could hear Shinohara cutting in and out of the conversation smoothly. Dudley could not understand him, but from the tone alone Dudley knew that Shinohara was a master speaker. He could almost see the blush that had probably risen in Yamaguchi's cheeks, vividly remembered from the night before.

No wonder, he thought. Even Mum would swoon, once she'd heard the smoothness of his voice long enough to forget his foreign features. He crouched before the door, put his eye to the crack between the sliding panels just in time to see one of the older men - Wakamatsu, he thought he remembered - being handcuffed, and Shinohara following him and the police out of sight. His tall figure in his sleek suit made him imposing. The cops, who should have all the power in the world with a handcuffed man held firmly between them, looked afraid.

And then it was over. The door to Dudley's room slid open, and Yamaguchi appeared inches in front of his nose in an ensemble similar to the one she'd worn last night. It was an outfit he'd never seen her in at school but would bet was customary - short skirt, graphic tee, arms crossed firmly. He looked down, expecting to see wooden sandals. He did not. She was barefoot, toes splayed widely on the woven flooring. Dudley looked up. There was wrath written in her eyes.

She muttered something disparaging in the direction the cops had disappeared in before her face softened. "Sorry," she said in English, then seemed to search for words.

Dudley then realized that he was almost close enough to look up her skirt. He scuttled backward hastily, reached for his rucksack, pulled out the pocket dictionary. He did not stand from his half-squat, instead raised his arm up to offer her the book. She took it, held it loosely for a long moment.

He was about to take it back from her before she finally lifted it to her nose, began leafing through the pages. After a moment, she said, "Cops."

"Hai," said Dudley, finally stumbling his way to standing.

"Shinohara-sensei is -" she paused as she searched the book again. She squinted at a word, wrinkled her nose, placed her finger on it, thrust into Dudley's line of sight.

Lawyer. Oh. That made a lot of sense. Wait. "Why was he here last night?" Dudley said. "If he's your family's lawyer."

Yamaguchi squinted at him. Dudley could see visible frustration in her eyes when she looked back down at the book. She handed it to him. Dudley sighed, flipped through himself, carefully repeated himself in likely atrocious Japanese. He handed Yamaguchi back the book.

She took it, said after a moment, "I don't know. Family business."

"At night?"

Yamaguchi just shrugged, gestured at Dudley's futon, said something commanding. Dudley remembered that it had been folded in the closet when he'd found it the night before, figured she meant for him to put it away. He meandered over to it, began to fold it back up. Yamaguchi helped him load it into its closet before leading him out of the room.

The assorted men of her family were all seated around the dining room table. Their faces were grim, but Yamaguchi's grandfather gestured warmly at an empty cushion. Dudley took it. Dudley figured that the breakfast spread was common in Japanese households, but it was nothing like a breakfast he'd ever had. Rice and a bowl of miso soup with small mussels that floated still in-shell in the broth. He would not have thought any of it was breakfast food. Comotion aside, Dudley found himself glad to have ended up here.

He wouldn't have had any experience at all with home-style Japanese meals if he'd gotten back on his team's tour bus, and that would have been a tragedy.

The tense atmosphere did not break. Despite it, and despite the unfamiliarity of the food, he enjoyed breakfast tremendously. He'd never experienced anything quite like the tactile sensation of gently working mussel from shell with his tongue and a mouthful of broth. Dudley decided he'd remember the food fondly, when he was back at Hoshien. He'd remember it fondly when he was back in Britain.

Without Shinohara there to translate, conversation was stilted and difficult. Occasionally, someone would ask Dudley a question in surely simple Japanese and he would have no way to understand it or answer. The pocket dictionary was tucked under his thigh, but he needed both hands to eat.

So he shrugged in response, hoping he didn't come off as sullen as his teachers at Smeltings had thought he was.

There was a roasty tea next to his plate, and he drank of it deeply, savoring its odd dry taste. "It's good," he said when someone gestured at their own cup in askance. He racked his brain, added, "Oishii."

Yamaguchi nudged his shoulder with her own, and something in the atmosphere broke again - the family around him still looked angry as anything, but it was now abundantly clear that they weren't angry with him and never had been. Dudley felt suddenly a little silly for ever thinking they might have been. He gave everyone a smile over his teacup, relaxed a little more thoroughly into his cushion.

When breakfast was over and Dudley was sitting in the guestroom, double checking that all his belongings were properly collected, Yamaguchi leaned idly on the door frame. "School?" she said.

"School," said Dudley, gratefully. He still wasn't entirely sure what the hell had gone down that morning, and as much as he'd enjoyed her family and their food, he'd be glad to put this incident behind him. Especially with no Shinohara to translate for him.

She reached out a hand, hauled him to his feet. He slung his rucksack over his shoulder and followed her through the sliding doors.

Grandpa Kuroda was waiting where the living room met the shoe room. Dudley stuck out a hand, and Kuroda-san looked at it only a moment before firmly shaking it. Right, thought Dudley as he took his hand back. I'm supposed to bow. He did, powering through the awkwardness of the motion.

Grandpa Kuroda inclined his head in return, and the small collection of men that had been lounging in the room took notice. Their bows were shallow, but markedly deeper than Kuroda's inclined head. It was plain to see that Grandpa Kuroda was the head of the family, but there was something about how he was watched, respected, mimicked by the household that struck Dudley as unusual.

Nobody had seemed unused to police appearing at the door.

Dudley suppressed a shudder. "Thank you for your hospitality," he said, instead of demanding answers. Kuroda clearly did not understand his words, but the respectful tone and grateful expression crossed the language barrier.

Kuroda responded in measured Japanese, voice friendly but firm. Dudley did not know what he said, but he would bet that it was polite and uncompromising. Pleasure to have you, young man. But please don't come again. Maybe not that exactly, but having foreigners in the house while household members were being arrested had to be uncomfortable at the very least.

The train ride into Tokyo was longer than Dudley had anticipated. Yamaguchi lounged in the seat next to him, some of her homework open on her lap. "I can't believe you do this every day," he said. "Twice!"

Yamaguchi looked up from her work, tilted her head. One of her pigtails fell over her shoulder. "Eh?"

"It's just that it's a long trip," said Dudley as he pulled the dictionary from the front pocket of his rucksack. He found the word. "Long. Nagai."

He watched understanding dawn. Yamaguchi tucked her pencil into the spine of her book, carefully closed it as far as it would go. She took the dictionary, but even before flipping through it, she said, "Many people." After her moment's searching, she added, "travel for school."

In Britain, people didn't drive 45 minutes without packing a lunch. But he and Yamaguchi had been sitting shoulder to shoulder for over an hour now. And they hadn't said a damn word about what had happened earlier that morning. Not that Dudley had the words to say in Japanese. And Yamaguchi's English was only nominally better.

Yamaguchi went back to her studying, and after a moment Dudley put away his dictionary and pulled one of his own assignments from the rucksack. He hated homework, but on this train ride there was nothing better to do.

Word Count: 2637

Date posted: June 23rd, 2022

Hope y'all enjoyed this fourth installment of Dudley in Tokyo! As usual, concrit is very much appreciated. Let me know what you thought in the comments! Thanks for reading.