Chapter Text
Dazai was tired.
Not the kind of tired that sleep fixed—the kind that sat behind the eyes and made the world feel slightly too loud, slightly too slow, and entirely too inconvenient.
Mori, of course, seemed to believe Dazai could run endlessly on that same exhaustion and still call it “functional.”
And then, just as he’d finally finished his mission, the summons came.
“Whatever,” Dazai muttered under his breath as he walked down the corridor. “I’ll listen to whatever the old geezer has to say and then pass out for a few hours.”
The wooden door to Mori’s office was exactly as it always was—polished, precise, and irritatingly expensive-looking. Dazai hated it. Not for any logical reason he cared to name. It just annoyed him that something could be so perfect and still belong to someone like Mori.
He pushed it open and stepped inside.
The room was neat in the way only Mori could make it: controlled, deliberate, and quietly suffocating.
“Ah, Dazai-kun,” Mori said pleasantly. “I was beginning to wonder if you received my message.”
“Let’s go with that,” Dazai replied flatly.
Mori sighed, amused more than offended. “As sharp as ever.”
Dazai didn’t answer. He simply stood there, looking bored enough to be insulting.
Then Mori leaned forward slightly.
“Do you remember Hogwarts?”
That got his attention.
It always did.
Something subtle shifted in Dazai’s expression—gone in an instant, but not gone enough.
Hogwarts.
The name pulled up memories he’d long since tried to categorize as irrelevant: vast green grounds, strange spells, broomsticks cutting through cold air, and people he had once stood beside long enough to almost call something like friends.
Almost.
Dazai tilted his head. “Hogwarts? And why exactly should I remember it now?”
A faint smile touched Mori’s lips. “You never fail to surprise me, Dazai-kun. There used to be a time when just hearing that name changed your expression.”
“That was a long time ago.”
“Mm. And now?” Mori studied him carefully. “Do you feel nothing?”
“No,” Dazai said immediately. “Why would I?”
Silence stretched.
Mori’s eyes narrowed slightly—not anger. Calculation.
Emotions are weakness.
That was what he had been taught.
But Dazai no longer believed simple things like that.
Weakness wasn’t emotion. Weakness was attachment without control.
And control… control he had learned.
Mori might still think he was holding the board.
The idea was almost funny.
“The manipulator being manipulated,” Dazai thought absently. “How poetic.”
Mori straightened. “Sentiment aside, I believe leaving certain… useful pieces unused would be wasteful. Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t really care.”
Another pause.
Even Mori looked briefly unsettled by the emptiness in his tone.
Then he recovered.
“I’ve decided,” Mori said smoothly, “you will be returning to Hogwarts this year.”
Dazai had expected it. Still, he let a small flicker of surprise cross his face—just enough to be believable.
“And the questions?” he asked. “A sudden return after years will raise suspicion.”
“Make something up,” Mori said lightly. “Chuuya-kun will handle your workload.”
Dazai exhaled through his nose. “Of course he will. My very loyal dog.”
Mori smiled as if he hadn’t heard that last part. “Your flight is tomorrow. Four a.m.”
Dazai stared at him.
“…You chose four a.m. on purpose.”
“Oh, come now, Dazai-kun.”
“Shut up.”
And with that extremely polite farewell, Dazai left.
Chuuya was already in the hallway.
Of course he was.
“Hey, slug.”
“I can’t believe I ran into you of all people,” Chuuya snapped immediately.
Dazai sighed dramatically. “What a warm welcome. I’ll cherish it.”
“Get to the point before I lose my patience.”
“Fine, fine.” Dazai waved a hand lazily. “I’m going back to Hogwarts.”
That made Chuuya pause.
“Hogwarts?” he repeated.
“Mm. Intelligence job. Long-term stay.”
Chuuya blinked once, then scoffed. “Good. Less of you around will make my life easier.”
Dazai placed a hand over his heart. “You should be sadder. I am your beloved partner, after all.”
“You—!”
Before Chuuya could finish, Kouyou’s voice cut through the corridor
.
“Chuuya.”
And just like that, he was gone—dragged away mid-insult.
Dazai watched them leave, humming softly to himself.
“Still as easy to move around as ever,” he thought.
The apartment he returned to was quiet.
Not warm. Not cold. Just temporary.
Dazai didn’t bother to decorate it. Didn’t bother to make it feel like anything belonged to him. Everything did eventually disappear, after all. People. Places. Even meanings.
Featherbrain stirred in her cage as he set it down.
“You’re lucky,” he murmured. “You get to leave whenever you want.”
He let her out.
A blur of wings, and then she was gone through the window.
Dazai lay back on the bed and stared at the ceiling until sleep finally took him.
The plane was uncomfortable in a very intentional way.
Dazai was convinced aircraft designers secretly hated humanity.
Even first class didn’t fix it.
But then again, it might’ve been his insomnia doing most of the damage.
He leaned his head against the window and closed his eyes anyway.
The Leaky Cauldron was exactly as he remembered.
Noisy. Warm. Hidden in plain sight.
Tom looked up from behind the counter as Dazai entered.
“Hey… do I know you?”
Dazai tilted his head. “Dazai Osamu.”
A pause.
Then recognition lit up Tom’s face. “Blimey—kid, it’s you!”
“Hello, Tom,” Dazai said lightly. “Long time no see.”
Tom laughed, genuinely pleased. “Where’ve you been? You just vanished after school. Didn’t even come by Diagon Alley anymore.”
“Family matters,” Dazai said smoothly. “Took a break.”
“Oh… sorry to hear that.”
“It’s fine.” A pause. “Room?”
“Right, right—sign here.”
Paperwork came and went. Names were written. Coins would be handled later.
Dazai took the key and headed upstairs.
The room was small. Quiet.
Good enough.
Featherbrain settled on the edge of the bed before slipping back out the window again.
Dazai watched her go, then lay down.
For a while, he said nothing.
Did nothing.
Just thought.
Hogwarts.
People he had once known.
People he had left behind without fully deciding he was leaving them at all.
Snape.
That thought lingered longer than the rest.
Did he miss them?
The question irritated him more than it should have.
Because the answer wasn’t simple.
It never was.
Was it affection?
Attachment?
Something weaker pretending to be stronger?
Or something stronger pretending not to exist?
“Am I like Mori?” he wondered.
That one made him exhale softly, almost amused.
He didn’t like not knowing.
But he also didn’t like the idea that he did know.
So he did what he always did when thoughts got too loud.
He stopped following them.
“Ignorance is bliss,” he thought, knowing full well it wasn’t.
And somewhere between memory and nothingness, Dazai Osamu finally fell asleep.