Chapter Text
Pain came back before consciousness did.
It settled into his bones first, deep and throbbing, then spread outward like something alive, crawling through muscle and skin until there wasn’t a single place untouched by it.
Dazai let out a low, strained breath, eyes still closed.
…Yeah.
That tracked.
Slowly, he forced his eyes open, the dim light above him still sharp enough to stab straight through his skull. The ceiling blurred for a moment before settling into focus. Familiar. Unfortunately.
He didn’t move at first. Didn’t need to. The pain told him everything.
Arms torn up. Shoulders worse. Ribs probably bruised, maybe cracked. His side burned in a way that suggested something had been stitched back together.
“…Tch.”
His voice came out hoarse, barely more than air.
He shifted slightly. Immediate regret. Pain flared sharp and merciless, dragging a quiet hiss from him before he could stop it.
“Hurts like a bitch…” he muttered under his breath, staring blankly at the ceiling.
A pause.
“…I should just kill myself.”
The words came easily. Naturally. Like they always did.
Another breath. Slower this time.
“…I’ve had worse.”
And that was the truth.
Which was the problem.
His gaze flickered downward, finally taking in the bandages wrapped tightly around him. Clean. Precise. Too precise.
Mori.
Of course.
Dazai let his head fall back fully against the pillow, a quiet, humorless laugh slipping past his lips before he could stop it.
“Patches me up just to throw me back in later…” he murmured. “How thoughtful.”
His body felt heavy. Not just from the injuries, but from something deeper, something that settled into his chest and refused to move.
Exhaustion.
Not the kind sleep fixes.
The kind that stays.
He lifted one arm slightly, watching the way it trembled, not from fear, just strain. Overuse. Damage. Survival.
Still alive.
Unfortunate.
Dazai let it drop back down, eyes drifting shut again, though sleep didn’t come.
It never really did.
Only brief moments of nothingness before the pain dragged him back up again.
“…What a bother,” he whispered.
But he didn’t sound annoyed.
Just tired.
The door clicked open.
Dazai didn’t bother looking.
“Go away,” he muttered, voice flat. “Unless you’re here to finish the job. In that case, at least make it quick.”
A familiar scoff followed.
“You wish.”
Dazai’s eye cracked open slightly, just enough to confirm. “…Ah. chibi. I was hoping for someone a little less annoying.”
stepped further into the room, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click. His gaze swept over Dazai once, sharp, assessing, lingering just a second too long on the bandages.
“Tch. You look like shit.”
Dazai let out a weak breath that almost passed for a laugh. “And you look short as ever. Glad to see neither of us has improved.”
“Say that again and I’ll put you back in the kennels myself.”
“Careful,” Dazai murmured, eyes slipping shut again. “You almost sound like you care.”
Chuuya clicked his tongue, irritation immediate, but it didn’t quite land the way it usually did. “Don’t flatter yourself. Boss just wanted to make sure you didn’t die. Would’ve been inconvenient.”
“Mm, of course,” Dazai said softly. “Wouldn’t want to waste all that effort patching me up.”
Silence stretched for a moment.
Chuuya didn’t leave.
Dazai noticed. Of course he did. He just didn’t comment on it.
“…You didn’t dodge much, did you" Chuuya muttered finally, voice lower now, less bite, more observation.
Dazai hummed faintly. “They were very enthusiastic chibi."
Chuuya’s expression darkened. “You always have something stupid to say, don’t you makarel.”
Dazai let out a quiet breath, something almost like a laugh. “What can I say? It’s a talent.”
“Tch. You’re unbelievable.”
Dazai turned his head slightly, just enough to glance at him. “You came all the way here just to insult me? I’m touched.”
Chuuya frowned, jaw tightening. “I came to see if you were still breathing.”
“And?”
“…Unfortunately.”
Dazai smiled faintly at that.
It didn’t reach his eyes.
Another pause. He shifted again, slower this time, controlled, but the tension in his body gave it away.
Chuuya noticed. His expression darkened slightly, though he said nothing about it.
“…You’re an idiot,” he muttered instead.
“Mm. That’s been established.”
“For letting yourself get caught up like this.”
Dazai’s gaze drifted back to the ceiling. “Ah. That.”
Chuuya crossed his arms. “Those foreigners. You really thought no one would notice?”
Dazai didn’t answer immediately.
When he did, his voice was quieter. “I thought it didn’t matter.”
“It does here,” Chuuya snapped. Then, after a beat, more controlled, “You know that.”
Dazai’s lips curved slightly. “Yes. I do.”
Silence again. He let his eyes close fully this time.
“…You should leave,” Dazai said after a moment. “Wouldn’t want you getting dragged into my tragic downfall.”
Chuuya scoffed. “Like I’d let your mess affect me.”
“Of course not.”
Another pause.
“…Get some rest,” Chuuya muttered, almost like an afterthought, already turning toward the door.
Dazai didn’t respond.
The door opened, then closed again with a quiet click.
The room fell silent once more.
But it didn’t feel quite as empty as before.
The silence lingered after the door shut.
For a moment, Dazai didn’t move.
Then he exhaled quietly and forced his eyes open again, staring at the same dull ceiling.
“…How boring,” he murmured.
Another pause.
He shifted his arm slightly, testing.
Pain answered immediately. Sharp. Unforgiving.
Dazai clicked his tongue.
“Right. Still like that.”
Slowly, he pushed one hand against the mattress, muscles tensing as he tried to lift himself.
Bad idea.
The moment he put weight on his side, something flared violently, dragging a sharp breath from him. His arm gave out halfway, and he dropped back down with a quiet thud.
For a second, he just lay there, staring up, breathing uneven.
“…Pathetic,” he muttered.
Not angry. Just stating it.
He tried again.
This time slower. More careful.
One arm. Then the other. He ignored the way they trembled, ignored the sharp pull in his ribs, the burning in his side. His jaw tightened as he forced himself up inch by inch.
Halfway there, his vision blurred.
He stopped.
Waited.
Counted the seconds in silence until the room settled again.
“…This is getting annoying,” he breathed.
Still, he didn’t stop.
With a final push, he managed to sit up, shoulders tense, breath shallow. The world tilted slightly, but he stayed upright this time.
Barely.
His hand came up to his side without thinking, fingers brushing over the bandages. Even that small touch made him flinch slightly, though he quickly stilled.
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.
Another mistake.
The movement pulled at everything at once, pain flashing through him so suddenly it almost knocked the breath out of him. His grip tightened on the edge of the mattress.
He didn’t stop.
Didn’t hesitate.
Slowly, deliberately, he pushed himself to stand.
For a moment, it almost worked.
Then his balance gave.
The room spun, his legs buckled, and he had just enough time to catch himself against the wall before he hit the floor completely.
A sharp breath escaped him, quieter this time, forced down.
“…Yeah,” he whispered, forehead resting briefly against the cold surface. “That sounds about right.”
He stayed there for a second, hand pressed flat against the wall, grounding himself.
Every part of him hurt.
Every part of him screamed to stop.
Dazai closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.
Then, despite it, despite everything, he pushed himself upright again.
Unsteady. Barely holding.
But standing.
“…Not dead yet,” he murmured.
There was no satisfaction in it.
The hotel room was quiet, shadows clinging to the corners. Blaise, Draco, Hermione, and the twins paced and murmured, the weight of what they were about to do settling over them. Snape stood to the side, arms crossed, eyes flicking over each of them like he was measuring their resolve.
“We don’t have much time,” Blaise said, voice steady but tense. “If he refuses to come willingly, we’ll need to make it happen ourselves.”
Fred grinned, trying to lighten the mood. “Oh, brilliant. So basically, we’re kidnapping him. Sounds fun already.”
George snorted. “Yeah, fun and responsible. Perfect mix.”
Hermione shot them both a look. “It’s serious. He’s… fragile right now. We can’t take any chances.”
Draco leaned against the wall, jaw tight. “Fragile or not, he’s not staying here. We all know it. If he tries to fight, we need a plan.”
Snape finally spoke, his voice low and careful, almost cautious. “We have one. The talismans are prepared. If he resists, we use them. Instant teleport back to Hogwarts. Minimal risk to him, maximum control for us.”
Fred raised an eyebrow. “Control, heh. Sounds like he’s going to hate that.”
George added, “And we get to play magical shepherds. Lovely.”
Snape ignored the jabs, his expression unreadable, but his eyes lingered on the subtle details they all noticed:the faint bruises, the hollowed frame, the way Dazai had carried himself earlier. Concern threaded through his mind, tempered with calculation. He knew exactly how dangerous it would be to let Dazai face Mori alone.
Blaise stepped closer to the center. “Everyone knows their role. Blaise and Draco will handle him if it comes to that. Hermione ensures the talismans are ready. Fred and George… distractions, or lookouts. Clear?”
“Crystal,” George said, grinning. “Though I prefer ‘disaster management’ as a title, personally.”
Fred snorted. “Agreed. Very heroic.”
Snape’s gaze sharpened, and though his tone remained calm, there was an edge of worry beneath it. “This is delicate. One wrong move and he could be seriously hurt, or worse. We succeed, or we fail. No middle ground.”
Draco nodded. “We can do this. We just have to stick to the plan.”
Hermione exhaled, hands clasped together. “Let’s hope he trusts us enough to make this easier than we think.”
Snape finally allowed himself a small, nearly imperceptible nod. “We’ll manage it. But we cannot afford hesitation. He must be brought back safely, no matter what it takes.”
The room went silent, each of them imagining the moment Dazai would walk in, unaware of the net closing around him, of the plan set in motion, of the talismans ready to whisk him away the instant he resisted.
They all knew it was risky. They all knew he might hate them for it. But none of them doubted it had to be done.
The room was tense, each of them moving with purpose, rehearsing the plan in quiet bursts of conversation.
Blaise and Draco went over the distraction strategy. “He won’t go quietly,” Blaise said, frowning. “We need to keep him talking, off-balance. Tease, provoke, whatever it takes. Just don’t hurt him before the talismans are ready.”
Draco nodded. “I know. We make it seem like a conversation, nothing too obvious. He’ll never see the twins coming.”
Fred leaned back against the wall, grinning despite the tension. “And when he’s distracted, we swoop in. Knock him out, talismans ready, boom. Easy-peasy.”
George snorted. “Easy for us, terrifying for him. I love it.”
Hermione’s hands clenched at her sides, her voice quiet but sharp. “It’s morally wrong. He’s our friend. We shouldn’t be doing this to him.”
Snape’s gaze swept the room, sharp and calculating, but with a trace of understanding toward her. “And yet, if we do nothing, he stays where he is. There is no other option.”
Hermione’s eyes flickered to the talismans on the table, then to Blaise and Draco. “I know, but it feels like we’re betraying him. Trick him, tie him down, use magic to take him… it’s wrong.”
Blaise spoke quietly, firm. “It’s wrong, but necessary. If we don’t do this, he’ll never get out. He’ll stay in Mori’s hands. That’s worse.”
Draco nodded, voice low. “We’re not punishing him. We’re saving him. That’s the difference.”
Fred and George exchanged a glance. “Right. Friends or not, we can’t let him rot there.”
Snape’s eyes softened just slightly, but his tone remained precise. “We are not betraying him. We are rescuing him. One wrong move, and he dies or worse. That is the only choice we have. Blaise, Draco, you distract him. Fred, George, you knock him out.
Hermione, talismans ready. Timing must be perfect.”
Hermione swallowed hard, nodding reluctantly. “Fine, but if he ever finds out, I-" She cut herself off, knowing there was no alternative.
Snape’s gaze lingered on the group, then swept over the talismans. “Then the plan is set. We wait for him to appear. The moment he does, we execute. Fast, clean, and precise. He must come back safely. No mistakes.”
The room fell silent, everyone imagining the moment Dazai would walk through the door, unaware of the net closing around him. Hermione’s stomach churned, guilt twisting, but she knew Blaise was right. There was no way around this.
Three days had passed since the plan was set. The hotel was quieter now, the immediate chaos of Dazai’s extraction behind them, but nothing felt easy. They hadn’t moved yet; Dazai wasn’t here, and every hour was spent rehearsing, revising, and anticipating his every reaction.
Blaise and Draco stood by the window, speaking in low tones, testing each distraction strategy again. “If he comes in confident,” Blaise said, “we need to keep him talking long enough for the twins to get into position. Timing has to be flawless.”
Draco nodded. “And we make sure Hermione and Snape are ready with the talismans. One misstep and we’re back to square one...or worse.”
Fred and George were pacing, muttering jokes under their breath, trying to cut the tension with their usual humor. “Imagine his face if he sees us coming at him in unison,” George said, smirking.
Fred laughed quietly. “He’d love it. He’d pretend to be annoyed, but I bet he’d be thinking it’s brilliant.”
Hermione’s fingers pressed tightly to her notebook, notes and talismans spread across the table. “It still feels… wrong,” she murmured. “We’re tricking him, using magic, restraining him. He’s our friend. We shouldn’t-”
Snape, leaning against the wall, sharp eyes on the group, cut in, voice quiet but firm. “You will do what is necessary. Morality will not save him. He is trapped where we cannot reach him otherwise. This is the only way.”
Hermione’s jaw tightened. She knew he was right, but the thought still twisted in her chest. Blaise’s glance met hers, silent, firm. They had no choice.
Draco moved closer to Blaise, whispering, “He won’t make it easy. That’s Dazai for you. Every step has to be perfect.”
Fred snapped his fingers. “Then let’s run it one more time. Every angle. Every line. If he sees a crack, he’ll exploit it.”
George grinned. “And if he gets cheeky with us? He always does.”
Snape’s gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, as he looked at the talismans. “Focus on the outcome. Keep him safe. Timing and precision are all that matter. He must come back with us.”
The group fell silent, each lost in their thoughts. Every scenario, every possible reaction Dazai could throw at them was being considered. There was no room for error. Hermione’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to nod. They were prepared.
And Dazai, unaware of how carefully the net was being woven around him, would walk into it sooner or later.
A day passed without plans, without worry. For the first time since arriving, the group allowed themselves a moment away from strategy and scheming.
The streets of Yokohama buzzed with life, lanterns swaying above narrow alleyways, the scent of street food mixing with the salty tang of the harbour. Blaise and Draco wandered together, keeping an eye on maps while pretending to be absorbed in the city, though every so often their gazes flicked toward the crowds, imagining Dazai appearing around a corner.
Fred and George led the charge toward the ferris wheel, chattering endlessly, teasing each other and anyone who would listen. “Bet Blaise won’t go on it,” George said, tugging at Fred’s sleeve.
“He’d chicken out, and Draco would push him off first chance,” Fred replied, smirking.
Hermione shook her head, laughter soft at the exchange, letting herself enjoy the rare calm. “At least we get one day to act normal,” she said.
Blaise finally allowed himself a faint smile, adjusting his scarf. “Normal is… nice,” he admitted, though the edge never fully left his posture.
Draco nudged him. “Careful, don’t start enjoying it too much. The moment will end.”
Even with the city’s vibrancy surrounding them, the tension lingered. Every joke, every laugh, was underlined with the knowledge that Dazai’s presence, or absence, loomed over them.
They rode the ferris wheel, caught street performances, sampled small dishes of takoyaki, and let themselves get lost in the bustling streets. The twins never stopped teasing each other, Fred pretending to fall off ledges and George loudly declaring himself the world’s greatest navigator.
Hermione quietly checked the talismans from time to time, aware that even in leisure, the plan remained.
But for these few hours, the worry softened. They could act like ordinary tourists, just for a little while. Just enough to recharge, to remind themselves that the world was more than the next step in the rescue.
------------------------
Blaise spotted him first, a flash of familiar movement among the bustling streets. Dazai, moving almost casually, weaving through the crowd, his posture easy but alert.
“Draco,” Blaise murmured, his voice tight. “We need to go. Now.”
Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “I see him. You sure?”
Blaise nodded. They moved together, subtly, keeping their distance but closing the gap. The rest of the group noticed, and, careful not to draw attention, followed from a few steps behind, Hermione clutching the talismans lightly, Fred and George flanking her.
“Dazai,” Blaise called softly as they approached, trying to keep the tone neutral. “We need to talk. Just you and me.”
Dazai’s head tilted, a faint smirk on his lips. “Blaise, Draco. Fancy seeing you here. What brings you to my little sightseeing tour?”
Blaise didn’t answer lightly. His voice carried a sharp edge, “You can’t keep running from this. From them. From everything. And don’t try pretending it’s fine anymore.”
Something flickered in Dazai’s eyes, something raw, almost unguarded. For a moment, the playful smirk faltered.
“You don’t get it,” Dazai muttered, voice low, tight with tension. “I’m fine. I always manage.”
“You’re not fine,” Blaise shot back, stepping closer, his hands clenched. “You’re exhausted. You’re hurt. You’re barely holding it together, and you think you can pretend like it doesn’t matter? Like you’re untouchable?”
Dazai froze, the smirk gone. His jaw tightened. Anger, frustration, exhaustion, they all bled into his stance. For the first time in days, Blaise saw him break, just slightly, before he caught Draco’s gaze. Instantly, the façade returned.
“Somethings wrong, what are you trying to do.” Dazai said, voice smooth again, threatening. “Whatever it is you're trying to do, you'll regret it.”
Blaise’s patience snapped. “I’m sorry, I have no choice.” He moved, swift, precise, an attack.
Dazai reacted instantly, trained reflexes kicking in. His movements were fluid, almost too fast, countering Blaise’s strikes with ease. But the injuries, the stitches along his side and shoulder, strained with every motion. He gritted his teeth, the pain flaring, yet he pushed through, refusing to give ground.
Draco watched, heart racing, calculating angles. He knew Blaise wasn’t careless. The fight wasn’t just physical, it was emotional, dangerous.
From a few paces away, Snape’s eyes widened, panic threading his usual calm. “Stop this! He’s far too skilled! You’ll-”
“He’s already pushed himself too far,” Hermione interrupted sharply. “Sir, trust us. We know what we’re doing.”
Snape’s gaze lingered on Dazai, worried and hesitant. His instincts screamed to intervene, but he saw the resolve in the group’s eyes. Slowly, reluctantly, he let them continue.
Dazai moved with the fluidity of a predator, striking back, dodging, every step measured, but the spells began to land. They weren’t supposed to affect him, not fully, his nullification ability rendered much of the magic ineffective, but the injuries, the exhaustion, made him slower, less precise.
Blasts of magic hit him, ricocheting off with sparks and fire, and he staggered, clutching his side. His body screamed in protest, muscles screaming, stitches splitting painfully. But he refused to stop. Pain was nothing new. He had endured far worse.
Still, there was a limit.
Another spell hit, the force knocking him off balance. His breath hitched sharply. His vision blurred. Then the world fell away.
Dazai collapsed to the ground, unconscious, the city lights flickering around him. Silence swept over the group, heavy and suffocating.
Snape’s hands twitched, panic threading his fingers. “He-he’s not waking, what have you done?”
Blaise knelt, heart racing, hands hovering over Dazai’s form. “He’ll be fine. This was the only way..."
Hermione placed a steadying hand on Snape’s arm. “Sir, he’s strong. He’ll come back. We need to move quickly before anyone notices.”
Snape’s sharp eyes didn’t leave Dazai, worry carved into his features. “The boy… he can’t be treated like a normal student. Every step… he’s fragile in ways none of you understand.”
Blaise glanced at Draco, Fred, and George, their expressions taut with concern, but resolute. Together, they had forced the pause Dazai didn’t want to give himself, and now they had to act, carefully, before anyone, or anything noticed.
The quiet hum of the city carried on around them, but for those few moments, nothing existed outside the group and the unconscious boy at their feet.
Blaise’s hands hovered over Dazai, checking for any sudden movement. Draco crouched beside him, eyes darting to the empty halls, alert. The twins hovered nearby, muttering quietly about timing. Hermione held the talismans, fingers tight around the charms, ready for the moment.
“Ready?” Blaise asked, low and steady.
Hermione nodded. “When I say now. Everyone focused. Don’t panic.”
Snape lingered, watching Dazai with worry etched deep into his features. Silent, controlled, but the concern in his eyes betrayed him.
Blaise lifted Dazai carefully, draping him across his shoulders. His body was light, fragile, a reminder of how close they’d come to losing him.
“Hold tight,” Blaise whispered. “We’re getting you out of here.”
Hermione raised the talismans. The charms glimmered faintly, pulsing with magic. A gentle hum filled the empty hall, vibrating softly against the stone floors.
“Now!” she said.
Light erupted around them, golden and white, folding the walls and floors, the air itself seeming to stretch and bend. The distant summer wind outside, the quiet echo of empty corridors, all disappeared into the surge of magic.
The world folded, twisted, and then stopped.
The light faded. They were in Hogwarts. Silent. Empty. The halls echoed faintly with nothing but the distant hum of magic lingering in the stones. No students, no summer staff, just them. The isolation made the moment feel heavier, sharper, like every step carried a weight.
Blaise gently set Dazai down, careful not to jostle him. Draco stood back, watchful, while the twins exchanged awed whispers. Hermione exhaled, talismans dimming in her hands.
Snape’s gaze swept over Dazai, his lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s alive,” he said softly. Relief, worry, and calculation mixed in the words. “We must keep him stable.”
Fred nudged George. “Look at that. Stole him back, clean as summer air.”
George grinned. “Yeah, just hope he stays asleep long enough to hear the plan.”
Blaise’s hands stayed on Dazai’s shoulders, never relaxing completely. He met Snape’s eyes. “He’s safe. For now.”
Snape’s nod was slow, deliberate. “For now,” he echoed, a warning, both to the boy and to them all.
-
A week passed in a blur of unconsciousness. Dazai slept through the days and nights, only the faint hum of Hogwarts’ magic brushing against him, teasing at the edges of his awareness.
When he finally opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was the warmth of sunlight filtering through tall, curved windows, the soft smell of books and waxed wood, the hum of magic that felt impossibly alive. He was somewhere familiar, yet impossibly strange.
Panic struck before he even fully registered. Hogwarts.
His head turned sharply. Blaise was there, sitting quietly in the nursery, watching him stir. The boy’s calm was a knife to Dazai’s nerves.
“How… how are you feeling?” Blaise asked softly, cautious, careful not to startle him further.
Dazai’s eyes snapped wide, the blood rushing through his veins like fire. “Feeling?! You’ve got no idea what you’ve done! You’re so fucked! You have no idea what happens when Mori finds out about this, about me, about all of it! We’re so screwed, so completely-”
He froze mid-rant, chest heaving, words tripping over themselves. His gaze darted around the room, taking in the high ceilings, the magical wards, the faint shimmer of protective spells hidden in plain sight. He shivered violently, part from adrenaline, part from dread.
Blaise leaned closer, voice steady but firm. “Dazai, breathe. You’re here. You’re safe, for now. Nobody’s coming in. Not Mori, not anyone.”
“Safe?!” Dazai spat, almost laughing in disbelief. “Safe doesn’t exist! You can’t just-just bring me here and think I’m fine! They’ll know! They’ll know! Do you understand what you’ve done?!”
Blaise held his gaze, silent, letting the panic roll off Dazai in waves. The boy’s hands trembled slightly, the reality of what had been done finally hitting him. He wasn’t entirely safe. Not yet.
But for now, Hogwarts’ magic hummed around them, shielding, waiting. Blaise didn’t flinch. He simply said again, softer this time: “You’re alive. That’s what matters. Everything else we’ll handle.”
Dazai’s eyes flickered to him, wide, raw, half fear, half disbelief, and a hint of that old calculating glint peeking through. He shook his head, muttering, “You have no idea. No idea at all…”
And yet, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, he didn’t try to run. He didn’t try to fight. The magic buzzed, insistent, and the nursery’s walls held him in place.
Blaise stepped out of the nursery, closing the door softly behind him. The hallway outside was empty, but in the common room beyond, the others waited, their expressions tight with worry and anticipation. The moment they saw him, it was as if the weight of the last week crashed down all at once.
“He’s awake,” Blaise said quietly, his voice almost breaking.
Hermione’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “I-I can’t believe I didn’t see…” she whispered, voice trembling. “I should have… I should have noticed something was wrong. He’s our friend… I failed him. I failed him.”
Fred and George exchanged a glance, but the usual mischief was gone. Even the twins, who were often light-hearted and teasing, were silent, staring at Blaise like the reality of Dazai’s state had finally hit them.
Pansy stood slightly apart at first, arms crossed, jaw tight, her usual sharpness replaced with a raw, trembling emotion. “Who could do this to a kid?” she said, voice low but cracking. “Who could hurt him like that…? It’s...It’s disgusting.” Her words were barely restrained, the edge of her usual anger gone, replaced by pity, horror, and a quiet rage that made the air heavy.
Draco’s expression was unreadable, but his hands flexed at his sides, a subtle sign of his own helplessness.
Blaise nodded toward the door again. “He’s… wrapped up. Bandages everywhere. Not just to hide the wounds, but the scars too. Fresh and old. It’s… a lot.”
Hermione buried her face in her hands, shoulders shaking. “I should have done more while he was at Hogwarts. I should have helped him. I should have been a real friend.”
Fred finally spoke, voice low, no trace of his usual levity. “You didn’t know. You couldn’t see it. None of us could.”
George put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, quietly. “But we can do something now.”
Pansy’s eyes burned, tears threatening to fall as she looked down the hall toward the nursery. “I… I hate that someone could make him like this. And I hate that I didn’t notice. Poor bastard…” Her voice cracked, soft but heavy, the raw disgust and pity making it impossible to ignore.
Blaise swallowed hard. “We’ll keep him safe now. No one touches him. Not Mori. Not anyone. We’ll make sure he never has to go through that again.”
Hermione peeked through her fingers, face red from crying. “He’s still a child… he’s just a kid. And we let him suffer. I can’t… I can’t forgive myself for not being there.”
Draco finally stepped closer to the group, voice quiet. “We are here now. And we’ll do whatever it takes. He won’t be alone anymore.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It was full of all the guilt, fear, and determination that had been bottled up inside them for so long. Blaise felt it most sharply, this was no longer about plans or missions. This was about protecting someone who had been through hell and still somehow kept walking.
Outside the nursery, the group huddled together, raw emotion spilling over. For the first time in weeks, they let themselves feel it, the anger, the pity, the grief, and the desperate need to shield Dazai from the world that had hurt him so much.
And somewhere inside the nursery, Dazai slept, his toughts eatting him alive. That was a porblem for his future self to fix, right now all he could do was recuperate.