Chapter Text
It’s a nice evening, late in the day. The birds are presumably singing, flowers are… well, dead. It is still winter break after all.. They have all just eaten dinner. Well, really just the Weasleys. Dazai hadn’t eaten a single bite, he couldn’t afford to, and Blaise isn’t here at Hogwarts to beckon him into eating.
In any case… The idea is, it’s just another day, right? False.
There was something strange about today. It seemed almost as if his body instinctively knew what was about to happen. What that was had been the only issue left.
He had been sure to take the day by the reins and keep things together. He had taken time to rehearse his words and consider his thoughts, even more so than usual, before speaking. Every move he made was premeditated, along with its potential outcomes. Dazai would not, no, could not, take a fall. He would not succumb, he was not willing to sacrifice a single thing.
But, that hadn’t made a difference. Ultimately, the letter still arrived.
Tick– Tick– Tick. The small clock hand moves, little by little every second. Dazai and the Weasleys are in the gryfinddor common room. Ron and Dazai sit together in front of the warm, comforting fireplace. They both sit in absolute peace as they let the slow, chittering flames lay over their skin softly. Fred and George lie just behind them, barking out disorderly laughter occasionally. Previously having accompanied the younger two, the twins seem to have a joint conversation telepathically. The youngest Weasley, Ginny is nowhere to be seen, having went to bed much earlier than the others. Percy was in a similar boat. He could not be found lounging lazily in the common rooms, but instead in the hallways, casually monitoring anything and everything.
Always willing to work and keep things in order, a perfect example of a hard-worker. Dazai should really take some notes on how Hogwarts manages to enslave such people. Or even just how they train such people. Dazai’s subordinates should take notes too, not on Hogwarts but more so on Percy.
“Dazai, mate I’m really starting to wonder how you’ve been mugged. Is your hometown that unsafe?” Ron asked with an uncertain frown, effectively ruining the peaceful almost-silence. The twins stopped their telepathic prank planning to join in the conversation. Their eyes flitted over to the redhead and brunette.
Dazai sighed, raising his arms and shaking his head. He let out a, “Ah, I was just walking through a dangerous neighborhood, nothing more!” He attempted to make a tale and cover up this ‘incident’. The three redheads stared at him with a disbelieving expression. Their smiles crooked and forced, their eyebrows furrowed ever so slightly.
"Aww… don’t give me that look. Yokohama isn’t that bad of a city, don’t worry too much!” Dazai stated with a sly grin, he really needs to train his subordinates better. Couldn’t they just believe his lies?
“… No offense, mate, but you really ought to try keeping yourself out of trouble. It’s almost like you attract such a thing!” Ron sighed and gave a big grin. The twins blinked together before joining the act.
“Haha! Yeah snakey, what Ron said!” George lets out with a laugh. His twin, Fred, pulls Dazai into a side hug while giggling ever so slightly. Long, chubby fingers reach up into brown, fluffy hair and ruffle the strands, side to side.
“Hey! You guys can’t talk, you get into just as many messes as me!” The mafioso returns the hug before leaning his head down in a feeble attempt to get away from Fred’s hand. No way he’d mess up his hair any more!
Ron leaned back, away from Dazai in order to not be snatched up into the group hug as well. He slowly started crawling away before, “Oh no you don’t!” A tall, redheaded boy who was obviously his brother grabbed him from behind. George had gotten him.
Dazai giggled at the sight. How interesting, even with just one eye he can still enjoy such meaningless moments. Mori was right, he’s getting too soft and too attached. His gang shouldn’t be any more than just that, a gang. Doing pranks, finding out Hogwarts secrets, studying late in the library. Those are things they should be doing, not cuddling in a dormitory common room!
His attention was taken away by a sharp noise radiating from the window. Who could it be, an intruder perhaps? He quickly turned his head to the noise.
Uh… what.
The sight that greeted his eye was a… strange one for sure. Laughter immediately could be heard from the small cuddle pile. “BAHAAAHA! What is Featherbrain doing???” Fred laughs at the rather stupid sight.
His bird, Dazai regrets ever having gotten that thing, was pecking at the window with much fervor. Typically, the beast would wait until he was in the secret room before giving him his letters, this one must be important.
Dazai's eye squinted in interest. He looked intensely at the letter in his bird's beak, examining every curve with a sharp stare.
"Hey! Let me out, I need that beast to give me my letter," Dazai yelped out as one of the twins pulled him roughly into the pile again. They're pretty lucky to have not hit the fireplace yet… Or not, maybe he could burn in it, though that would be a painful death…
His, rather suicidal, thinking was cut off gently by George patting his back and letting him run off, "Sigh… our snakey is growing up… I guess we have to let him out of our nest."
"I'll miss him so much George… after we raised him from such a young child too…" Fred continues the act, pulling out a few fake tears.
"We aren't even birds! Aren't we supposed to be lions? And let Dazai have a moment to breathe…" Ron defends Dazai, jokingly trying to let the twins release him.
"Ah, thank you. See, Ron has some sense here!" Dazai pouts with a smirk slightly showing at the edges of his lips. He lets out a proud shout and makes a show out of walking up to the window a few steps away, grabbing open the handle dramatically, and letting his annoying bird in. He guided Featherbrain to the nearest seat and pulled off the letter from her clutches.
A beige letter with a familiar red stamp meets his gaze. Mori. He had sent this letter, would it be okay for him to open this now..? Surely he could, they would typically write in code anyways and he was too tired to really care… His hands picked at the sides of the paper and pulled it open.
A gasp.
The twins and Ron, while he threw on his dramatic play, had walked over to the seat he was sitting in. They rested on the back of the soft couch, leaning onto its cushions and looking towards the… photos now on the floor.
Dazai's brain shut off, he could no longer think. Nothing was worth it. How could this happen? He was floating through space. He was there but, at the same time, not. Dazai couldn't physically, mentally, or emotionally handle this. No matter what, he could not have prepared for this. He hadn't believed that man would go through so much trouble. Spite ran through his veins, along with a familiar emptiness and pure adrenaline.
Photos, probably around four or five of them, not even a lot, had caused so much panic. He didn't even want to describe what they had pictured. A young, brown haired child was featured in each and every one. Ah, like a show, just for him… A show he had surely put on.
He couldn't focus much longer, all that ran through his head was run. His flight or fight obviously triggered, leaving behind a very convincing urge to flee.
And flee is what he did. He could faintly recognize his legs pulling, pushing forward, leaving, running. Anywhere but there, just get away. He had happened to pull along the letter on the way, but with his urgency he had left the photographs.
Dazai had really ought to have anticipated this. How would the gang see him at this point? Dazai softly pondered to himself. A beige letter was tightly clasped in his hands. It had a faint stamp indicating that it was, in fact, from Mori.
"This is stupid... so stupid.," Within his head, he whispered. He is beginning to get hysterical now.
Giggles could be heard throughout the long corridor. He’s laughing, really laughing. His boss just sent him photos of himself being fucked , and he is laughing!?
Footsteps – tap – tap – tap . They’re fast, pounding against the floor. He’ll soon be at his destination.
“Haha, pounding,” he thought out loud,”just like somebody in a certain picture…”
That is awful. How could he possibly think or even utter such a thing? He is crazy. Outrageously insane.
He let his legs carry him out to whatever destination they had decided fit.
Pain blossoms in his every last joint, searing and burning hot. He’s in the bathroom, Dazai faintly noticed. Each piece of flimsy skin burns, it burns. He’s aching all over, it hurts.
“Will this ever end?” He asks himself, to no avail, there’ll never be an answer. It seems he doesn’t know, he never will anyway. Nothing ever matters though, he just needs to follow orders.
Another heap of air through his scorching throat, it leaves just as fast. The door to the bathroom is locked, nobody will find his body for a while. His lungs are starting to get tired. Perhaps they will choose to end his suffering. Of course they won’t, he doesn’t deserve such an easy way out.
Adding to his pain, another strike goes through his brain. Dazai's new migraine makes itself evident. A flash lapses behind his eyes. It aches, it aches .
The blade he had gathered up finally met the unwrapped, pale skin of his arm. It fits right into place. Even amongst the glaring white and mangled skin. He decided to run a practice stroke, just a small and quick slice. Blood pooled up before seeping out quickly. Guaranteed to stop soon. It’s almost sad to see how little blood will fall from such sweet wounds. Almost , he doesn’t have emotions.
He picked up the blade once more before trailing his slim fingers up his forearm. Little chipped fingernails with faded black polish-- Hermione had painted them once when he was feeling particularly feminine-- search for an artery. He’s decided to claw high up on his arm today, he’ll make sure it’s deep.
He had found the perfect spot. Right above his elbow, but below it on the side. Once more picking up his trusted sharp tool, he hovered it just above the local artery. It would be so perfect. Beautiful even. Dazai could already feel the rush and beauty from the cute little slices he’d soon find engraved in his skin. He could just imagine the blood spilling in heaps onto the floor. His thighs pulled together, slowly rubbing for more friction. So excited, huh?
SPLAT!
Dazai's blood runs cold. He shivers, a sly grin coming up, he had managed to rip into his skin without consciously thinking of it. Maybe he’ll pull out a chunk of it this time. Blood is even spilling at such a rapid rate, it’s mesmerizing. It’s guiding him and lulling him into a sleep, one that he quickly shakes himself out of. He still wants more, how greedy.
Dazai pulls the bloody metal blade out of skin, letting it catch a small break. A very small break as he almost immediately digs it right back in, on a different side of course.
These three cuts were already bleeding so much. His head was starting to spin, vision blurring. They were too deep for continued survival, these injuries could be fatal. But that is what he wanted, right? He wanted this to be over. An end to the pain, perhaps this is it. Blood gushing, he could hear his heart pound and grow weaker in his ears. It was calming.
This may be the end, he supposes that's what he wanted.
It’s too late to panic, he might as well enjoy it. He slides the blade once more down his elbow. Warmth starts to pile in his abdomen. His kneeling legs twitch together, rubbing, hoping for any sort of friction. They won’t find it, he doesn’t have enough meat on the thighs for much muscle to grow. Mori liked him that way .
It’s good, it’s beautiful. The blood gushes out of his arm once more giving him worth. He can, and will, escape this prison called a ‘body’.
Mori, Father, they can’t do any more here. He’ll disobey for the final time.
As he lifts his shaking arm, he leads the blade back to his already leaking limb. Something stops him, however. Something warm. Something baggy, smooth even. What?..
It’s holding him.
His vision is going in and out, all bleary-like. Just barely, Dazai can make out the blurry figure in front of him. From the dark, ruffled hair-- not a Weasley-- to the large body-- not a student.
It’s Snape, Dazai realizes with a start.
How could that be? Why is he here, of all people? What a problem this has turned into. See, if it was nearly anybody else he would be dying here. If it were Ron or even Blaise, they would have to go call a teacher, then the teacher wouldn’t make it in time, and he would be dead on the cold, hard floor of Hogwarts. It’d be easy enough to just die right here, right now, IF anybody else had found him. He isn’t dying here, not today at least.
Snape'll make sure he’s healed up. He will most likely bring Dazai to the infirmary and let nurse Pomfrey bandage his wounds. They may even bring him to St. Mungos. Hopefully, that doesn’t happen. If it does, Mori and Father will know, of course.
Perhaps, if he awakes in the infirmary he can put Snape’s little fake story to good use. He can say that he’s being abused or something and let him stay at Hogwarts. Sure, this might lead to more problems, but at least Mori or Father shouldn’t find out. Snape wouldn’t let them, right??
Of course, that’s it!
He could even use Snapes’s worry to his advantage. Say he were to need a distraction later on, he could waltz his way over to Snapes’s office and keep him busy. All Dazai would need to do is threaten Snape and say he was going to attempt to hurt, or, even worse, kill himself once more. Snape would have no choice but to believe him after all.
He should rest now, however. His eyelids have become much too heavy. He can’t hold up his body any longer. The sharp stings, the aching limbs, the tired lungs, they all become background noise. Unnecessary. He’s no longer feeling, no longer hurting, no longer human.
Gentle, but rough hands lull him into a dreamless sleep. Faded shouts and yells could’ve been heard if Dazai had cared enough to listen. Warmth finally envelops him.
.