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Ichigo work up early, trying not to disturb the Lady Yoruichi where she slept in her cat form, curled into a tight ball of black fur at the foot of his bed.
Yuruichi had showed up in Diagon Alley when Karin and Professor McGonagall had gone into that animal shop full of even more splintered souls.
Rather than tell the professor how creepy he found it all, Ichigo had argued that he couldn’t possibly take responsibility for a pet, especially since they’d be returning to Japan in a year. He was just starting to make inroads with the professor when Karin got all googily-eyed for some toad she found ‘super-cute!’ The two of them had disappeared into the shop to buy it while he’d fumed in the street. Just then, Yoruichi twinned around his feet and told him she’d act as ‘the subsitute familiar for the subsitute soul reaper.’ Professor McGonagall didn’t even bat an eye when she saw Ichigo suddenly had a black cat, and they’d finished their shopping trip without further incident. Well, no incidents beyond all the people who kept running up to Ichigo thinking he was either Fred or George Weasley from the back.
Ichigo had hoped that having Yoruichi around would mean he could finally have a chance to ask her what the hell was going on with these British ‘wizards’ and why they thought he and Karin were like them, but they hadn’t had hardly a moment alone since returning.
The second his foot touched the creaky English hardwood, a single yellow eye cracked open. “Where are you going at this hour?” she asked in the deep masculine voice she sported in feline form. “Today is the day you leave for your new school.”
Smoothing out the front of his striped pajama top guiltily, Ichigo frowned at her. “I’m not going to Hogwarts. Anyway, I have a letter I want to deliver to Rukia.”
“Not going to school?” Yoruichi yawned, showing off sharp teeth and a curled pink tongue. She stretched her paws out in front of her while arching her back. “Why not?”
“It’s a boarding school, Yoruichi-san,” he hunted through the moving boxes for a shirt and a pair of jeans. “I can’t leave Yuzu here alone, unprotected. I can’t leave London. There might not have been many Hollows yet, but the fact there was even one means I’m needed—“
“—at school,” Yoruichi said, sitting up primly on the bed and wrapping her thin tail around her legs. “Why do you think I came all this way? Kisuke knows so much better how to treat a person than this family of yours who only has soy milk and no cream. And there’s no decent fish that’s not breaded to death for miles of this place. Do you think I left all the comforts of home just for your scintillating company, boy?”
“No, sir—I mean, ma’am, but how can I go? They won’t even tell me where this Hogwarts is, and it sounds like a locked-down campus. You need some kind of written permission to even go to some dumb tourist town nearby. What am I going to do at the end of the year when it’s—“ the anniversary of Mom’s death. He’d never missed a single one since the day she died. He felt a little less strongly about this now that he knew that it wasn’t his fault and that a Hollow had killed her, but it was still important to him, to the family. Ichigo put his hands on his hips, “Listen, the point is, I’m not what you’d call big on regular attendance. I need a school that doesn’t lock me in.”
“I can speak to Albus-kun about whatever this thing is that happens at the end of the year. I’m sure, if it’s important, he can give you a pass. It’s not like you can’t get back to London quickly on your own between shunpō and that broom-contraption you bought.”
‘Albus-kun’? Ichigo supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that, between Yoruichi and Urahara, one of them knew the headmaster at Hogwarts. “Fine, but what about Yuzu? Who’s going to take care of her? Of London?”
She flicked her tail so hard that it thumped on the mattress. “I know you don’t like to remember this about such an annoying person, but Kon is a mod soul. He was designed to fight Hollows.”
Kon.
Ichigo had tried, six times, to ‘accidentally’ lose the soul-animated stuffed animal during the chaos of their move from Japan. How Kon managed to outwit him each time still bothered Ichigo on a profoundly deep level. When Yuzu spotted Ichigo trying to stuff Kon into a dumpster, she’d adopted Kon completely. The stupid stuffed lion was still so mad at Ichigo he hadn’t even tried to sneak back into his bedroom, despite all the dresses Yuzu put him into.
“If Kon stays here,” Ichigo said, still desperately trying to make his case for not going to Hogwarts, “What am I supposed to do with my body when I transform into soul form?”
Lifting a paw, she cleaned the spaces between each digit. “Do you think you’re going to do a lot of that at the new school?”
He shrugged, feeling defeated, “I dunno. Maybe.”
“I can defend your body or hide it, if need be. I’ve carried you before.”
That was true enough. Besides, knowing Yoruichi, she probably had some hidden underground cavern already set up somewhere under Hogwarts.
“Fine,” he grumped, still hating the idea of a school that seemed more like a prison than anything else. Tucking the bundle of clothes he’d found under his arm, Ichigo headed toward the bathroom down the hall. There was no way he was changing in front of Yoruichi, even though the perverted old lady clearly didn’t mind nakedness, his or hers. “I’m still going to the temple,” he called over his shoulder. “You can tag along if you want.”
#
Only a couple of pedestrians gave them a double-take as Yoruichi followed Ichigo from the tube station. The attendant was only a little taken-aback at the sight of a black cat at his heels; she was getting used to the strange things Ichigo did at the temple. He’d been coming by, a lot, actually. The reistsu of the place reminded him of Urahara Shoten, and so he’d volunteered to take care of the altar and do a few other chores to keep the place in order and ‘feeling’ right. In fact, under Ichigo’s care the spiritual energy seemed to have increased. He’d even started meditating a little, though he didn’t have much patience for it. The only thing that kept him trying was that Ichigo found that mediating with the London group actually helped keep the ‘other’ from surfacing quite so much.
The ‘other’ still seemed to be taking over more than Ichigo would like to admit, however. That yellow-eyed creep pretty much owned Ichigo’s dreams these days. He’d wake up on the floor, in the middle of the night, having tried to fight off that thing. As the dream faded, he’d hear its maniacal laughter echoing in his inner ear.
The attendant fetched cream for Yoruichi, while Ichigo slipped into the room with the altar for the dead. He started his now familiar ritual of lighting incense and burning the letter to Rukia.
Dear Rukia,
I have no idea how time passes in the Soul Society, but I hope you’ve been getting these and I hope the stories about my adventures here have been making you laugh.
Gods, how he missed her smile, her laugh. Ichigo couldn’t find a way to tell her that in the letter that wasn’t ridiculously mushy sounding. She probably already thought he was mooning over her. Even if it was true, he didn’t want her to think he was nearly as smitten as all that. She’d totally make fun of him.
You won’t believe how wizards travel. By broom! Seriously, just like in some kind of fairy tale. I didn’t think I’d be able to work one, but it turns out that they’re like Ishida’s bow – made at least partly out of reishi, spirit particles. If I concentrate, I can kind of bounce my energy off the broom and get some lift.
It’s weird as shit, though, to do this in my body. It’s disconcerting to know that I could actually fall off the skinny stick and crash to my doom. It would be so much easier to just use the subsitute soul reaper pendant and fly in spirit form, but I guess that would leave my body drooling in the dirt and the people here would think I was passed out. I’m not sure I could play this Quidditch game as a soul reaper, anyway, since I’d be invisible to anyone who can’t see the dead. That’s probably considered cheating. Though Zangetsu would make an awesome beater club.
Speaking of frustrating and weird things, it’s clear my dad and Yuruichi-sama are lying to me. I asked dummo-Dad why the English-lady professor thought he was “a registered magical” and he blustered unconvincingly about how difficult work visas are to fill out in English and how he must have made a mistake. Yoruichi is much better at lying, but the fact that she told a similar story makes me think they’re in collusion. You never met my dad, but I think they’re trying to protect me from the fact he’s some kind of oni . He’s as hairy as a goat, so it makes sense. I guess that means I’m half-ogre, but I never was that impressed to be related to him, anyway.
This has turned into a long letter, so I have to say good-bye. If I end up at Hogwarts, I’ll have to make my own altar, I guess. Otherwise maybe Yoruichi-sama has another way to get letters to you.
--Love, Ichigo.
-
He’d started signing off like that a few days ago. It had happened the first time so naturally that it felt awkward to go back on it.
Ichigo’s fingers burned before he could let go again.
Sometimes he thought that was how he’d end up going back to the Soul Society, slowly rematerializing from the tiny flakes of his burned skin.
#
Yoruichi was sitting on top of Ichigo’s trunk, hissing at him.
“I don’t care,” Ichigo said for the third time. “You’re supposed to go in the carrier.”
“I am the heir of the noble house of Shihōin, one of the Four True Fist families. I do not get kenneled.”
Ichigo sighed. “Think of it as a palanquin, then. Only with a handle instead of bearers. I put a nice pillow in there for you. Besides, if you don’t get in it, I can’t go to school. That would work out for me just fine.”
She tisked and, with her tail up in the air, marched proudly into the kitty carrier.
#
Dad and Yuzu accompanied Ichigo and Karin to the train station. Ichigo had never seen Karin this excited about anything that wasn’t a sport. To be fair, she talked non-stop about this Quidditch game, and how she couldn’t wait to play it.
Dad, of course, was starting to sniffle at the thought of the family being separated. Yuzu was full-on crying, clutching Kon to her chest for comfort. Kon, for his part, kept casting meaningful glances over his shoulder at Ichigo when he thought no one could see him. It was serious creepy to get glared at by a stuffed lion.
Ichigo was trying to just get through this and figure out where the hell the three-quarter’s platform could be.
Luckily, he spotted some boys about his age with bright orange-red hair. Actually, it seemed to be an entire family with the same colored hair, but there was something about them that made Ichigo sense they were the famous Weasleys twins he kept being mistaken for.
So Ichigo led the family several steps behind them and watched as they helped a kid with glasses figure out how to pass through an invisible barrier. After they’d gone, he put his hand on the wall. It felt solid. Maybe a little tingly with some reistsu, but it was a real wall.
“Take a run at it, son,” Dad suggested, giving Ichigo a robust slap on the back.
Ichigo was about to tell his dad exactly where he could stick that idea, when Karin shouted a battle cry and ran full speed at the wall. She passed through, baggage cart and all.
Steeling himself, Ichigo did the same, putting the cart in front of himself as a barrier. He secretly hoped that Ms. Yoruichi would try some kidō or something if this didn’t work.
The pressure of hitting the wall felt exactly like the sudden, intense push of the subsitute soul reaper pendant. So he wasn’t at all surprised to watch his body hit the floor and find himself standing in full shihakushô, with Zangetsu strapped to his back.
They had, at least, made it to the other side. An old-fashioned, bright red locomotive sat at the platform, chugging out huge puffs of steam.
Karin ran over to Ichigo’s body, “Onii-Chan!”
Her shout caused a bunch of other students to turn curious heads and a few to rush over to see what had happened. He found himself pushed away from his own body by the throng. “Did he faint?” asked one. “Is he dead?”
Most people seemed focused on his body, except one girl. She couldn’t have been more than ten, and her hair was straw-blond. She held a pile newspapers tucked in her arms and seemed to be trying to pass them out to students who mostly ignored her. She was looking right at him. “Yes, very dead, dead as a doornail,” she said plainly, “A shinigami.”
“You can see me? You know what I am?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. Then she started digging through her pockets for something, “Though I never expected a shinigami to be going to Hogwarts! This is wonderful. My father will be thrilled to hear about you. Do you think you would be willing to do an interview for The Quibbler?”
“Uh…”
“Oh, but first we need get you to school, don’t we? Let him through,” she said a little snappishly to the people trying to check Ichigo’s body for a pulse and other signs of life. “He needs to get back in there.”
She pushed through the gathered crowd, giving Ichigo a chance to follow behind, and laid a business card on his body’s back. “There you go,” she said, turning to look at him. “Go ahead, uh,---?”
“Kurosaki. Kurosaki Ichigo.”
“I’m Luna Lovegood. Nice to meet you, Ichigo. Oh! I suppose that’s not polite. Would you rather I used your surname? Kurosaki-san or something like that?”
It always sounded a little weird to hear the English try to do honorifics, so he shrugged. “Doesn’t matter,” he said, settling himself back into his body. His limbs always felt heavy and clumsy after even a short time in spirit form. He pulled himself upright with a groan. “You can call me Ichigo.”
“‘Ichigo’? Isn’t that Japanese for strawberry?” asked another little girl to no one in particular. Her hair was a tangled mess of dirty blond and she had very pronounced front teeth. “I thought you were dead. I checked for a pulse.”
Luna turned to her and said admonishingly, “He was only just a little dead. He’s better now though! Aren’t you, Ichigo?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a blush blooming across his nose at all this unwanted attention. It didn’t help that people had started backing away from him and Luna, like they were both crazy. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
Karin bopped him on the head, and said in Japanese, “Quit scaring me, you big idiot!”
“Hey,” Ichigo said in English. He gave her a stern look. She knew better than to be so impolite as to speak in a language no one else knew. He couldn’t believe he was the one admonishing someone for rude behavior, though. “Anyway, we’d better hurry. We’re going to miss the train.”
#
Apparently, it was unusual to want to sit with his sister, a first year, but Ichigo stayed resolutely at Karin’s side.
A fox-faced kid with white-blond hair swept back from an aristocratic forehead stuck his head into their car to stare at Ichigo. “Aren’t you a little old to be hanging out with the first years?” he sniffed.
“Aren’t you a little bit of an asshole for barging in unannounced?” Ichigo asked.
Karin stuck her tongue out. “He’s my big brother,” she said with a shrug, as though that explained everything. Ichigo didn’t think the English understood what she was trying to explain. They didn’t seem to have an analog to the responsibility and duties of an onii-san.
“Aren’t you the one that fainted?” the arrogant kid asked, as if no one had insulted him. “Are you some kind of girly, shrinking violet?”
“Are you looking to get punched?” Ichigo asked, slowly standing up to his full height. Normally, he wouldn’t dream of bullying someone this much younger than him, but he was willing to make an exception for this annoying brat. Luckily, the kid’s eyes widened at the intent in Ichigo’s steady gaze, and he scurried away quickly. No doubt off to harass someone else.
He’d just settled back into his seat when the door swung open again. A nervous, chubby brown-haired boy looked around the car frantically. “Have you seen my toad? I’ve lost him!”
There was something desperate in the boy’s tone that made Ichigo sigh. Clearly, this one needed an onii-san much more than Karin did at the moment. He stood up, dusting off his jeans, “What’s your name?”
“Neville Longbottom,” he stuttered.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Ichigo Kurosaki, I’m your substitute onii-chan. Now, let’s find this toad of yours.”
#
It astounded Ichigo how few people offered to help Neville. The girl with the funny front teeth and the messy hair volunteered, as did a few others, but he found it irritating just how many people either ignored the pathos in Neville voice or actively harassed him.
By the time they started searching the cars occupied by the upperclassmen, Ichigo was getting steamed. He spotted the two lanky boys he was constantly being mistaken for, Fred and George Weasley. They were hard to miss with their bright hair and the fact that looked so much alike. They lounged in the hallway of the train, joking around with some others.
When they blew off Neville’s stammered plea, Ichigo stepped forward. “What’s wrong with you people? Why won’t you help?”
“It’s his own fault, the silly git,” said one of them, Ichigo wasn’t sure which.
The other nodded, as though adding to his brother’s thought, “He’s the one who lost it.”
“The only thing truly lost here is honor. Yours.”
They stared at Ichigo so blankly that he thought for a moment that he’d spoken in Japanese.
Then they started to laugh. “Honor? What’s he talking about?”
Ichigo frowned. What was he talking about? It wasn’t that long ago that he’d felt the same way… sort of. He’d told Rukia he didn’t want to be a soul reaper because it wasn’t his problem if Hollows devoured the souls of people that weren’t his friends or his family. But, he quickly realized the truth about himself. There was no way he could walk away when someone—anyone—needed him. “How about duty? Do you idiot Englishmen understand the word ‘duty’?”
“Oi, what did you call us?”
“Idiots,” Ichigo said slowly, drawing the word out. “Because you must be defective if you have no understanding of honor or duty.”
#
Ichigo wasn’t sure who threw the first punch, but it had ended up in an all-out brawl. The fight mostly consisting of Ichigo taking on both brothers as well as the unruly pack of friends they referred to as “fellow Gryffindors.”
Even though the people calling themselves “perfects” threatened to toss the lot of them off the train, the worst that happened was that Ichigo’s name was added to the list that would be turned into to Hogwarts’ administration as soon as the train debarked. In the meantime, they were separated, with a perfect watching over each of them in a separate car.
“Who’s your head of house?” asked Percy, clearly one of the Weasley clan, though his hair was slightly less brassy.
Ichigo held an icepack to his eye, though his entire face hurt. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Your house,” Percy insisted, speaking slower as though to a child, “Remember? Where you were sorted.”
“I’m a transfer student. I haven’t been sorted yet.”
“Slytherin,” he said, with a nod of his head.
Ichigo had a sense he’d just been insulted, but he had no idea why. “Are you making a guess? What are you saying about me?”
“Slytherins are natural enemies to Gryffindors,” Percy explained. “Plus you have a mean face.”
“And you have a judge-y one,” Ichigo said in the same tone. “Is that a Gryffindor quality?”
“No, we’re about bravery and chivalry.”
“Chivalry? Are you being serious?”
“Quite,” Percy sniffed.
Ichigo thought he understood the Western concept, but now he wasn’t sure. “I’m confused. Isn’t one of the tenets of chivalry protecting those weaker than you?”
“Yes.”
Ichigo shifted the ice pack to the other side of his face. He shook his head in confusion. Apparently, this was some kind of disconnect between the East and the West. He would have thought offering to help Neville would be a no-brainer to someone who valued chivalry. But, maybe it was deeper somehow. Maybe people wouldn’t help because they didn’t see Neville as weak, in need of protection? Perhaps Ichigo had been the one to insult the boy, by assuming he couldn’t take care of himself, fix his own problems?
Ichigo head hurt from more than the physical injuries. This was why Ichigo tried not to think about these things so hard. You just did what felt right, no matter what people told you that you ‘ought’ to be doing.
But you never backed away from a fight, especially not when it meant protecting your friends.
This year at Hogwarts was going to be interminable.