Chapter Text
Mori Ōgai's office smelled of disinfectant and well-organized death.
Every object had its place: scalpels, jars with Latin labels, classified documents, a yellow lamp that barely broke the surgical silence of the room. It seemed more like an operating room for the mind than a mafia boss's office.
Dazai Osamu entered without knocking, as always.
His shirt was wrinkled, his coat hung off one shoulder, and he wore that smile that never reached his eyes.
"Did you know I've considered faking my death again?" Dazai said, dropping onto the armchair across from Mori's desk. "But more creatively this time. Maybe throwing myself off Tokyo Tower with fireworks in the background."
Mori, as if Dazai's presence were no more annoying than the faint hum of a lamp, finally looked up.
"You'll have your chance to die farther away this time. England, to be precise."
Dazai blinked. Then he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.
"Ah. Fog, strange people, and food that seems like punishment. How romantic."
"There's a magical world. Literally."
Dazai blinked.
"Excuse me?"
That made Dazai stare at him for the first time.
Then he burst into laughter.
"Magic! Finally! Are you going to tell me goblins exist too? Unicorns, wands, talking hats?"
Mori took out a parchment sealed with red wax and tossed it to him.
"It's not a joke. All of it is real."
Dazai held the parchment between his fingers with theatrical amazement. He stood up as if he were in a play, raising his arm as if proclaiming a spell.
"Oh my God! Does that mean I can die... magically? I want a mystical lightning bolt to split me in two while I recite Shakespeare!"
"Dazai."
Mori's tone was as dry as a scalpel cutting through living skin.
Dazai lowered his arms with a weary smile.
"...You're serious?.."
"Dumbledore asked me for a favor. One that, strategically, I couldn't refuse."
"Why ask the Port Mafia for help?"
"Because we keep our promises, and because I have something he needs. In return, he asked me to send someone trustworthy for a delicate mission. Only I... and he... know your identity."
Dazai blinked. Then he tilted his head, raising an eyebrow.
"International tourism? How kind, boss."
"Yes." —Mori slid a dossier towards him— "I received a request from Albus Dumbledore. He needs protection for a boy named Harry Potter."
"Who?"
"The 'Chosen One,' according to some."
"The what?"
"A young wizard. Important for a war in their world. You don't need to understand everything right now. Just that there are two essential things: you must protect him... and you must infiltrate."
Dazai flipped through the file, with no real interest at first. Then he looked up, eyes narrowing.
"High school student...? What kind of infiltration is this? You want to put me in a school?"
"Hogwarts. School of witchcraft and wizardry. You'll live as one of them. You'll use an existing identity: Osamu Greengrass, the youngest son of an influential pure-blood family. He died years ago in secret. They agreed to pretend he's still alive... and that you are him."
Dazai flipped through the file in silence for a few seconds.
"Did you know I always wanted to have an imaginary brother? Turns out I am one."
"Wonderful," Dazai murmured, resting his chin on his hand. "Impersonating a dead person, going back to the education system, surrounded by hormonal teenagers... can I at least curse someone?"
Mori leaned forward, his voice low but relentless.
"You cannot reveal your true identity. To anyone. Not even in an emergency. Not if you're cornered. Not if you're dying."
He handed him a letter sealed with emerald green wax—. "Hogwarts awaits you this year."
"And what do we gain?" Dazai asked, still looking at the portrait.
"Access to magical information. To certain prophecies that could alter our world. And... a favor that will be returned to us, when we need it."
Dazai sighed, let his head fall back.
"And during the year?"
"No contact with the Mafia. You can only report during vacations. And only if you survive."
The silence grew heavier. Mori watched him with his usual chilling serenity. Dazai, for his part, smiled, without joy.
"You can't use your ability against them. Only observe, interact, and act if the target is in danger."
Dazai let out a long sigh.
Dazai closed the dossier with a clack. He got up, walking with his hands in his pockets.
"What if they deny me access to their magical circle? What if I'm... weird?"
Mori didn't look at him, but replied in his usual voice of a doctor delivering bad news without flinching.
"Adapt. Seduce. Manipulate. Make yourself useful. But never, ever, reveal who you are."
"Not even if I'm dying?"
"Especially if you're dying."
Dazai let out a low, hollow laugh.
"How romantic."
Then, like a little kid who just understood the gift he'd received, Dazai let out an exaggerated gasp:
"Can I use magic?! Can I fly on a broom? Shoot lightning? Turn someone into a toad?"
"Controlled, yes."
"Oh! I'm going to find the most dramatic way to die in style! Maybe fall from a burning broom while shouting a prophecy! Do you think they'd accept me if I throw myself into the arms of a basilisk?"
Mori ignored him completely.
"You leave in two days. The train to Hogwarts leaves from platform 9¾ at 11:00 AM. Be careful what you say. Your accent, your habits, your way of speaking... they'll have to change. You're playing someone you never were."
Dazai nodded slowly, the smile returning to his face like a well-practiced mask.
"So I'm a dead person... taking the place of another dead person."
"Exactly."
"I don't know anymore if that's a prize or a burden."
He took the dossier, the sealed parchment, and the dark medallion with the Greengrass family emblem.
"Well... Hogwarts, here I come. If I end up dead, at least it'll be in an enchanted castle. Nice place to die."
"Don't die," Mori said coldly, opening a new file. "You're still useful."
Dazai stopped at the door.
He looked over his shoulder, smiling with the weariness of someone who has lived too long.
"How reassuring, boss. I feel so loved."
And he left.
------------------------------------
"Could you move that carefully? It's expensive whisky!" Dazai shouted without looking away from his handheld console.
Hiratsua, the Port Mafia logistics agent, was sweating as he arranged suitcases in the back of the private jet. He huffed while lifting a box of classified documents and carefully packed magical clothing.
"Do you really need three suitcases for an undercover mission?"
"Just the necessities to maintain my image of an internationally attractive magical aristocrat," Dazai replied without looking up.
Sitting on one of the steps, he swung his legs like a bored child while playing on his handheld console, completely indifferent to the logistical chaos.
"And the bottle?"
Dazai paused the game and lazily stretched out his hand.
"Ah, right. Would you be so kind as to open it for me? It would be tragic to die of dehydration mid-flight."
Hiratsua stopped for a moment, glanced at him sideways, then pulled out a small corkscrew he always carried. He opened the bottle without saying anything more, like someone who had already lived through this ritual many times.
Dazai took the whisky with a mocking bow.
"Bless you. I'll die drunk and beautiful."
He stood up, grabbed his light backpack, and leisurely boarded the jet, with the carefree gait of someone who knows that all eyes—even invisible ones—will eventually be on him.
Once in the air, with the world shrinking to gray clouds and blue sky, Dazai took off his shoes, settled into the black leather seat, and laid out a metal tray in front of him with a pile of carefully classified files.
He put his console to sleep, swiveled his chair, and opened the folder of documents Mori had left him before departure. Everything was there.
Names. Dates. Relationships. Risks.
"Let's see..." he murmured, flipping through the key people section.
A blurry portrait of a boy with round glasses and unruly hair stared back at him with an expression of perpetual astonishment.
Harry Potter. The Boy Who Lived.
"Hmm... famous, tragic, carrying a prophecy, orphan... How can you not love constant attention, huh?"
Then he saw a girl with a stern expression and a freckled red-haired boy.
Hermione Granger. Ron Weasley.
"Ah, the know-it-all friend and the loyal, short-tempered companion. Such endearing clichés. And so easy to manipulate."
He poured himself some whisky and opened the first dossier. It had a tab that said: "Influential Magical Families." He flipped through it leisurely, like someone analyzing a play's cast before choosing their role.
📁 Zabini Family
Blaise Zabini. Only child. Mother widowed seven times. Mysterious. Neutral. Elegant.
"Hmm... a silent, dark boy with a possibly homicidal mother. I like him already."
📁 Malfoy Family
Lucius, Narcissa and Draco Malfoy.
Pure-blood. Aristocratic pride. Allies of old ideals.
"Arrogant, rich, and white as marble. Classic antagonists, could be useful."
📁 Weasley Family
Arthur and Molly. Seven children.
Extremely warm, pro-Muggle, considered blood traitors by the purists.
"Adorable. Exploitable. Potential for emotional alliances. Though too... 'noisy'."
📁 Longbottom Family
Neville. Son of Aurors tortured by Death Eaters.
Reserved, but brave. Untapped potential.
"A diamond in the rough. I like him."
📁 Parkinson Family
Pansy. Friends with the Malfoys. Conservative.
Skilled with minor spells.
"A salon harpy. She'll have useful information if given attention... or drama."
📁 Nott Family
Theodore. Reserved, intelligent.
Father with dark connections.
"Intelligent silence. There's power there."
📁 Black Family
Officially disappeared. Only Sirius Black, fugitive.
Ancient, powerful, stained by madness.
"Tragic, elegant, dangerous. What more could you ask for?"
Dazai let out a long sigh.
"Magical gods... This place is full of potential for theatrical tragedies."
At the end of the folder, a sealed envelope awaited his attention. He opened it, finding a handwritten letter in violet ink.
Dear Mr. Osamu Greengrass,
Upon your arrival in London, I will meet you at King's Cross station. I will personally accompany you to Diagon Alley, where you can acquire your school supplies, your wand, regulation robes, books, and other necessary items.
Classes begin in three days. I recommend that your presence at Hogwarts go as unnoticed as possible... except for those with whom you must form bonds.
Discretion will be your best wand.
—Sincerely,
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
Dazai raised an eyebrow, read the signature several times, and murmured:
"Wow... and I thought 'Ogai' was already a pretentious name?"
When he finished reading, Dazai let out a long sigh and rested his head against the window.
He closed the documents and pulled out the sheet of school subjects:
Transfiguration
Potions
Charms
Defense Against the Dark Arts
Astronomy
Herbology
History of Magic
And electives:
Ancient Runes
Arithmancy
Care of Magical Creatures
"Ha! Runes and magical math. Sounds like elegant torture. Mori would know how to use that for interrogation."
Finally, he opened a small box at the bottom of the briefcase. Inside, there were keys with labels:
Private cellar – Wiltshire
Vault 386 – Gringotts
Family access – Greengrass Library
There was also a small black card. On the back, handwritten by Mori:
"Remember: you are not Dazai Osamu. You are Osamu Greengrass.
Do not fail, you are not allowed to die and if you do, you will do it here and not exactly in the way you enjoy."
Dazai laughed quietly, and took another sip of whisky.
"Oh, boss... always so encouraging. You almost make me feel loved."
As the plane crossed the European sky, Dazai rested his head against the window and closed his eyes.
A school of magic.
An invisible war.
A stolen identity.
And a group of children... whom he would have to approach, protect, or manipulate.
The smile on his face wasn't fake.
It was real.
For the first time in a long time...
He felt amused.
--------------------
The jet landed on the outskirts of Wiltshire, England. A black car with tinted windows waited on the private airstrip. The driver said nothing. He just opened the rear door and waited.
Dazai settled into the seat with a half-full glass still in his hand, his head resting against the window and a mocking smile on his lips.
"Destination?" he asked out loud, not addressing anyone in particular.
"Greengrass residence," said a voice from outside the car, as the door was firmly closed. Then he leaned down to look through the window. His expression remained just as stern.
Then he looked at the car roof and sighed deeply.
"And here we go... off to play happy family."
The place was imposing. Old, elegant, absolutely cold. Gothic towers rose above a misty field, and the breeze carried dry leaves through the main entrance. The doors opened without anyone touching them.
At the threshold, the Lord and Lady Greengrass awaited them.
Him: sharp face, dark hair, eyes hard as stone.
Her: frozen beauty, thin lips, and an icy aura.
Dazai smiled, charming as always.
"Father. Mother. What a lovely place to die of hypothermia," he said, feigning a perfect bow.
Lady Greengrass barely pursed her lips, as if resisting the urge to wrinkle her face. Lord Greengrass didn't even look directly at him.
"Osamu. Your room is ready. We will not cause scandals. You know what is expected of you," said the Lord, dry as paper.
"Of course. I'll be the perfect forgotten son resurrected out of convenience. How touching."
No one replied. A house-elf appeared silently, bowing and guiding him through the hallways.
But before he could go up, a small voice interrupted him:
"Are you Osamu?"
Dazai turned his head. A girl with dark hair and a curious gaze watched him from the stairs. She was dressed plainly, with a book in her hands. Astoria Greengrass, the youngest.
Dazai smiled gently. There was no mockery, only a strangely authentic kindness.
"Yes. And you're my little sister, I suppose?"
"Are you going to study at Hogwarts?"
"It seems so."
"Will you sit next to me in class?"
"If you'll let me, of course."
Astoria nodded with the same seriousness one would use to accept a blood pact. Then she looked down and walked away down the hall. Dazai watched her go, with a slight smile.
"At least one person with human expressions in this house."
------------------
The next morning, Dazai sneaked away with a special transport portkey provided by Mori, and appeared in a damp, brick alley in the middle of London. In front of him, the wall of the Leaky Cauldron opened like a revealed secret.
And there was Albus Dumbledore.
Standing, in purple robes adorned with silver stars, watching him with a mix of amusement and weary wisdom. His beard moved in the wind, and his blue eyes twinkled behind his half-moon spectacles.
"Ah, Mr. Greengrass... or, I should say, Mr. Dazai. Welcome to London," he greeted courteously.
Dazai stretched his arms as if just waking from a long sleep.
"Magic! Robes! Secrets hidden behind brick walls! This is better than Disneyland!"
Dumbledore let out a short laugh.
"Your enthusiasm is refreshing, although... you look about thirteen."
Dazai glared at him, exaggeratedly offended.
"I'm fifteen! And I'm tall for my age! Measure me yourself!"
Dumbledore raised both hands with a smile.
"Very well, very well. I suppose the wand will choose you despite your... compact physique."
Dazai huffed, crossing his arms. But his annoyance didn't last long. His eyes were already scanning the Alley with poorly concealed wonder.
"Is this where you buy magical things? Where are the dragons? Can I buy one?"
"First you need a wand. Then we'll talk about dangerous beasts. Come, we must keep a low profile. Remember: you are Osamu Greengrass. No unnecessary jokes, at least not in front of acquaintances."
Dazai sighed dramatically.
"Being discreet... What a boring way to save the world."
"You're not here to save it. You're here to protect one person," said Dumbledore, more serious now.
Dazai stood still for a moment. He looked down at the letter still in his coat.
"Harry Potter, huh? I still don't understand why he's so important."
"You will know soon."
"I hope at least he's worth dying for," Dazai murmured, as he followed him through the magical crowd.
And so, under a borrowed identity, surrounded by spells, robes, and ancient books, began Dazai Osamu's first foray into the magical world.
Diagon Alley was a sensory spectacle: shop windows with steaming cauldrons, books that shrieked, cats with multiple tails, and witches haggling over impossible-to-pronounce ingredients. The air smelled of old parchment, burnt caramel, and alchemy.
And in the midst of that bustle appeared Albus Dumbledore, as imposing as ever, in his brilliant purple robes and his gaze that seemed to see everything. By his side, a strange young man with brown hair, a distracted smile, and a relaxed gait. An outsider with eyes that didn't quite belong anywhere.
People noticed them immediately.
"Is that... Dumbledore?"
"But he hasn't left the castle for years!"
"And that boy? Could he be his grandson?"
"An apprentice?"
"Who's with him?"
Dazai heard them all. He turned towards one of the groups of witches staring openly at him, raised his hand, and smiled mischievously.
"Hello. Am I famous yet?"
"Shh," Dumbledore whispered to him, hiding a smile. "Discretion, remember."
"But they're looking at me like I'm the chosen one..."
"You are, in fact, quite peculiar."
"That I already know," Dazai said, crossing his arms with false modesty.
Dazai walked like a kid let loose in a forbidden museum. He observed everything with bright eyes, but without dropping his usual mocking tone.
"And that? A quill that writes by itself? Wonderful, now I can continue not doing homework like in Japan."
"That quill takes on a life of its own if you write lies," Dumbledore replied, with a slight smile.
Dazai stepped back.
"Okay, I don't want that one."
They walked among the shop windows, leaving the stares behind. It was then that Albus lowered his voice slightly.
"Osamu... tell me something honestly. Did you ever know your parents?"
Dazai was silent for a second. Then he shrugged with feigned indifference.
"No. No photos, no names. To be honest, I don't need them."
Dumbledore nodded gravely.
"And yet... you can see this place. You can walk here. That means something."
"That I have good taste?"
"That you have magic."
Dazai looked at him, curious.
"It's curious. Did you know that only people with magic can see this place? For Muggles—non-magical people—all of this is invisible. They cannot enter, or buy, or understand."
"So..."
"So, although you have your ability... you also have magic. You were not born as an ordinary human. Perhaps you are not pure-blood, perhaps you have no lineage... but you have magic within you. You are a wizard."
Dazai didn't answer immediately. He looked at his reflection in the shop window. A tall boy, in borrowed clothes, with a fake smile and eyes that hid too much.
"What if I'm just a lucky Muggle?"
"Lucky Muggles don't walk through this alley. And they are not called by a wand."
Dazai looked down at his hands. For a second, he seemed confused. Then he smiled.
"Great. Means I can die in more creative ways now."
"I'd prefer you avoid that, if possible."
"I make no promises," Dazai murmured.
"So now I have to get a magical twig with a soulmate complex?" he asked with feigned drama.
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, and pointed to a narrow shop at the end of a cobbled curve.
A dusty shop window, and above it, faded gold letters:
OLLIVANDERS:
The shop was shadowy. A thin, sharp bell marked their entrance, as if the place itself were alive.
Mountains of wand boxes were stacked in impossible columns, crooked and suspended by sheer magical will. A smell of old wood, dried ink, and something electrical permeated the air.
And then... Garrick Ollivander emerged from the darkness.
"Albus Dumbledore..." he said in a raspy, reverent voice. "It's an honor. Not every day you enter my shop."
"Good morning, Garrick. Today I am here as an escort," said Albus, and stepped back to gesture towards Dazai.
Ollivander fixed his pale eyes on him, barely blinking. He took a step forward, with the expression of someone seeing a mythical creature for the first time.
"Fascinating... absolutely fascinating."
Dazai tilted his head.
"In love with me already? That was fast..."
"Your energy... is unstable. Dark and luminous at the same time. Who are you, young Greengrass?"
"Aren't you supposed to know everything about wizards?"
"The wands tell me. The right one hasn't chosen you yet," he said, and turned towards the boxes. "But she is looking for you. And she is rarely wrong."
The first attempt was with a cherry wand.
"Just try," said Ollivander.
Dazai raised it, but before he could move it, the wand snapped in his hand.
"Wow, that was quick."
"It's not her," murmured Ollivander.
He took out a box and opened it carefully. Inside, a slender wand, dark mahogany with silver veins.
"Black pine. Dragon heartstring. Try to move it."
Dazai raised it. As soon as he held it, a current ran through him, as if magic itself recognized him... and then, BAM! An entire shelf exploded with sparks.
"Oof... passionate," Dazai commented, stepping back.
"Not that one," said Ollivander, unfazed, and already had another box in his hand.
He tried a second. Then a third. One made Dazai sneeze. Another shot black sparks. None worked.
Until, finally, Ollivander stopped. He went to the back of the aisle, where a box covered in black cloth rested.
"This one... is very old. It shouldn't have resonated. But it did."
He opened the box. Inside was a wand of pale walnut, with fine spiral carvings. The handle seemed to turn on itself, like an inward spiral.
"Twenty-eight centimeters. Phoenix feather core. Very flexible. Capricious. It hasn't chosen anyone... until now."
Dazai took it.
Silence fell over the shop.
A warm current ran through his fingers. The air changed. The light became clearer. A soft hum filled the room. The wand glowed for a second with a violet flash.
"Oh..." whispered Ollivander. "She has accepted you. How wonderful... and how dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Dazai asked, raising an eyebrow.
"Wands with phoenix feather are the most independent. And this one in particular... only resonated with very ancient sources of energy. Dark. But also pure."
Dazai twirled it in his fingers, comfortable.
"I like her. I'll call her 'suicidal companion'."
Dumbledore sighed.
"Better just 'wand'."
"Very uncreative, Professor."
Ollivander didn't look away.
"Whoever you are, young Greengrass... you are not what you seem. But this wand... has recognized you. Take care of it. Because if you betray it... it will know."
Dazai smiled.
"Fortunately, I'm also quite loyal to my mysteries."