Chapter Text
Dazai was getting a bit fed up with everyone.
Professor Severus Snape had developed a habit of pulling him aside after class.
A hand at the back of his shoulder followed by a quiet, “A word.”
Then those eyes that dragged over Dazai’s sleeves, his wrists, the way he held himself, as if there was something to catch, as if there was something Dazai would allow him to see.
“And I assume no letters have arrived since the last one?” Snape would ask.
As if asking would make it appear.
As if asking would make Dazai hand it over.
Dazai always smiled and shook his head easily.
It was almost insulting, really.
Then there was Blaise.
Blaise didn’t ask questions, that would’ve been simpler, more predictably Blaise-like.
Instead, he started playing Dazai's game.
Dazai didn't like that very much.
He'd stare across the Slytherin table, over untouched food, when Dazai rested his head against folded arms halfway through class, or when he lingered too long in doorways like he’d forgotten where he meant to go.
Dazai never ate anyway, so what was the problem? Dazai always gets lost, and what if he just liked napping? People nap, it’s a perfectly normal, healthy activity.
The fact that he hadn’t slept properly in days was completely irrelevant.
The rest of Slytherin was easier to understand.
The 6 foot distance, the whispers, the occasional shove in corridors, or the trashing of his personal belongings. It was nothing new.
Fine.
Dazai didn’t need them.
He wasn’t avoiding anyone, he just happened to end up alone more often. His homework just so happened to be done because he turned over a new leaf and wanted to become a diligent student of Hogwarts!
… Who was he kidding.
But he wasn’t stressed.
Not about the Boggart.
Not about the stack of unopened letters piling up beneath his pillow in the Hell Hounds’ office where he’d been sleeping for the past week.
None of that mattered.
Still, it would’ve been nice to have someone to sit with, someone who didn’t look at him like they were trying to solve something.
Dazai paused in the corridor, shifting direction without thinking.
Ah.
If nothing else, Madam Pomfrey never asked questions she didn’t intend to answer herself.
—
For as long as she had been matron of Hogwarts, Madam Pomfrey prided herself on patterns. But one particular student, Dazai Osamu did not follow any logic she liked.
And for his entire stay at Hogwarts, Dazai Osamu has found himself time and time again to be a regular at the Hospital Wing.
Yet, never in his entire enrollment had he had to go to the Hospital Wing in intervals as short as the following visits.
The first time that week, he came in just after dinner.
He lingered at the entrance before stepping in.
Pomfrey looked up from her desk. “Mr. Dazai,” she spoke up, setting her quill aside. “What seems to be the problem?”
He approached slowly, pressing two fingers to his temple. “I have a headache.”
Pomfrey studied him. His complexion was normal, no fever, no visible distress beyond what he was presenting.
“A headache…” she repeated. “Have you been drinking enough water?”
Dazai tilted his head, as if considering it for the first time. “Maybe not.”
“Hm.” She rose from her stool, already reaching for a vial. “Nothing serious, then. This will help. Drink it before sleeping tonight.”
She handed it to him along with a brief, gentle pat to the side of his head.
Dazai accepted the vial.
Then he pouted.
Pomfrey blinked, was the boy expecting something? “...Is there anything else?”
Dazai glanced at the floor, then back up at Pomfrey, then back down at the floor again.
“…No.” Dazai eventually replied.
Pomfrey could only give him a smile and add another gentle pat to his head.
“You’ll feel better after rest, head to your dorm and get to bed early tonight, okay?” she added, gesturing toward the door.
He looked at the beds for just a moment too long before turning away. “Okay…”
He left without protest.
Pomfrey frowned faintly.
Dazai's never wanted to stay the night before.
—
The second time, Dazai arrived with a hand pressed beneath his nose, blood staining his sleeve.
Pomfrey moved immediately. “Oh, dear– Come, sit down quickly.”
He obeyed without resistance, tilting his head back as she searched for her wand.
“What happened?”
“I fell,” Dazai replied not a second later.
“From where?”
“Off my broom.”
Pomfrey paused.
“…Your broom,” she repeated.
“Yes.”
She resumed her work, though her brows knit slightly.
She did not remember Dazai owning a broom. More importantly, she did not remember ever treating him for broom-related injuries before.
Dazai blinked at her, wide-eyed and unbothered. He only smiled faintly, like he’d been caught in something small and harmless.
“Hold still.”
Pomfrey sighed under her breath and lifted her wand.
“Episkey.”
The magic sealed the broken vessels cleanly and the bleeding stopped almost at once, leaving only a faint trace behind.
Dazai exhaled, shoulders loosening.
“…I feel tired,” he murmured after a moment.
Pomfrey glanced at him. “From the spell?”
He nodded, already looking as though he might slide sideways off the bed. “A little.”
She supposed Dazai's hypersensitivity to magic would have caused that.
“…Very well,” she said at last. “You may lie down for a short while. Just until you feel better.”
Dazai’s head lifted immediately, way too perked up for a tired student.
“Really?”
Madam Pomfrey's eyes narrowed.
“Yes, really. One hour.”
He was already shifting under the covers before she finished speaking, settling in with a small, satisfied sigh.
Pomfrey pretended not to notice how quickly he moved.
—
By the third visit, Pomfrey was no longer uncertain.
Dazai arrived with a reddened palm, the skin slightly blistered.
“A burn,” she said, taking his hand in her own. “Potions class?”
“Yes,” he replied.
“What happened?”
“I touched something hot.”
She gave him a look.
“Yes, Mr. Dazai.” she responded dryly, “that is generally how burns occur.” Pomfrey finished the bandaging.
Dazai swung his legs lightly over the edge of the bed.
“Madam Pomfrey,” he started.
“Yes?”
“Do you ever get bored here?”
She glanced at him. “Bored?”
“Mhm. It’s quiet.”
“It is meant to be,” she replied.
Dazai rested his chin on his unscathed hand. “I think I like it.”
Pomfrey paused.
He wasn’t looking at her now. His gaze had drifted across the room, the neat rows of beds, the drawn curtains.
Pomfrey straightened slowly.
“You’ve been here rather often this week.”
Dazai’s attention returned to her, bright and easy. “Have I?”
“Yes.”
Dazai only gave her a smile.
“Hogwarts is dangerous.”
Dazai decided that he wouldn’t be visiting the Hospital Wing anymore.
Dazai had seen it, the pauses before she spoke and the way her eyes lingered, searching him whenever he entered.
She'd figured it out by now.
The Hospital Wing had worked because it didn’t ask anything of him, because it wouldn't interrogate him.
Now it would, so he will stop going. A simple thing really.
Well, that was that.
The corridor outside the dungeons stretched long and dim. Dazai walked it without much thought, his steps slower than usual but steady enough.
Snape assigned Dazai detention immediately after the incident in Potions. Along with burning his hand he'd spilled the cauldron.
Still, Dazai had the faint impression that the detention wasn’t entirely about the potion.
Lately, Dazai had made himself scarce through missed corridors, a few altered routines, a tendency to disappear into places where professors didn’t linger.
Dazai exhaled softly through his nose, gaze drifting along the uneven line of the stone floor as he walked.
It didn’t matter, detention would pass and Snape would lose interest eventually.
A sudden rush of wind cut through the corridor.
Dazai looked up just as a small shape slipped through an open window, wings beating sharply against the still air.
“Ah.”
Featherbrain landed neatly on his shoulder, familiar and unbothered by the distance she’d traveled. Her weight was light, grounding in a way that felt almost deliberate.
Dazai’s expression softened without effort.
“There you are,” he said quietly, lifting his uninjured hand to pat her head. He knew the exact pressure she liked.
She leaned into it for half a second before straightening, efficient as ever.
The envelope dropped into his hand.
Dazai went still.
He didn’t need to check the seal.
Still, his fingers moved, slow and automatic, bringing it into view.
From Mori O.
The corridor seemed quieter all at once. The distant sounds of the castle, voices, footsteps, doors opening and closing, fell away.
Dazai stared at the envelope.
Open it.
Don’t.
Later.
Dazai inhaled, but it didn’t feel like it reached his lungs.
Give it to Snape?
Featherbrain shifted once on his shoulder, then took off again, disappearing back through the window she’d come from.
Dazai didn’t watch her go.
Dazai pushed open the door allowing the hinges to screech as he stepped inside. The room was dim, lit only by the flickering torchlight along the stone walls.
“Snaaapeee.” Dazai called out.
He moved toward the front, where the usual desk had been pushed aside for this particular detention setup. The professor was already there.
Huh, he didn't even correct Dazai into calling him professor.
Dazai held out the envelope with a grin. “Your dearly awaited mail has arrived."
Snape took it, eyes narrowing just slightly as they flicked over the paper. The envelope was still sealed.
He raised an eyebrow, and Dazai met the look without flinching, tilting his head just a fraction, as if to say 'See? perfectly normal.’
Snape examined Dazai briefly. The boy looked fine. Nothing visibly off beyond a slight stiffness. “Hm.”
Snape set the letter aside carefully and looked back at him. “Pomfrey requested your presence,” he informed.
Dazai froze, a small crease forming on his forehead. Then a cringe escaped Dazai's usually controlled facial expression. “Ah… really?” he murmured, scratching the back of his neck.
Snape raised an eyebrow at that reaction.
Madam Pomfrey probably wanted to talk. Dazai’s stomach sank slightly, he hadn’t planned for this conversation today.
“What about detention?”
Snape gave it a few seconds of thought. “We can move your detention to another day.”
He drew in a breath and nodded. “Right,” he exhaled softly. “I’ll… head to her then.”
Dazai stepped into the Hospital Wing, the familiar scent of herbs and disinfectant washing over him like a quiet reassurance.
“I heard from Snape that I was called?” he asked, his voice carrying the faint lilt of hesitation.
There was that edge of mischief he always wore when trying to mask just how nervous he could feel.
Madam Pomfrey, ever efficient, gave a small nod and gestured toward the bed instead of the usual chair. “Come sit down, Dazai.”
He eased himself down onto the mattress, knees pulled up slightly, hands fiddling with the hem of his sleeve.
Pomfrey’s sharp eyes softened just a fraction at the sight, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she reached for a small takeout style box she had waiting on a nearby counter.
Dazai glanced at it warily.
“You need to eat something,” she said simply. “I know you don’t always...”
He grimaced, already knowing the rest of that sentence. “I know,” he murmured with a pout, but when he saw the contents, seeing carefully arranged bits of bread, a small mound of meat, some fruit, he felt a tug of gratitude.
Slowly, he picked up the little fork Pomfrey had tucked inside the box and began eating.
Pomfrey watched him, not rushing. That was enough for Dazai to relax just a little, though his posture remained tense.
When he had eaten enough to settle the gnawing in his stomach, Pomfrey knelt beside him, gathering bandages and ointments with careful hands.
Madam Pomfrey set the tray of supplies down on the counter beside the bed and turned to Dazai with a careful, measured expression.
“Would you like me to change your bandages?” she asked. Her voice was soft, almost coaxing.
Dazai hesitated for a moment before nodding. “…Okay,”
He shifted slightly, making room on the bed. He wasn’t particularly proud of needing help with this, but Pomfrey was better at bandaging than he was.
Pomfrey let out a small sigh of relief.
If he’d been hiding something he probably would have protested. That was… good. Very good.
Dazai tucked his knees close to his chest, his fingers brushing the hem of his robe.
Pomfrey began to unwrap the old bandages carefully.
“Did anything happen today in class?” she asked. It would probably be easier for Dazai to have a distraction. "Anything interesting?”
The question sparked something in Dazai. His posture shifted imperceptibly; his fingers unclenched.
“Ah! Yes!” he said, a little too quickly, a flicker of excitement in his eyes. “In Potions, Professor Snape— well, you know how he can be— but today he demonstrated the Engorgement charm and it makes stuff bigger! So we can have more ingredients when we collected less. We can even increase the volume of a potion!”
Pomfrey smiled, letting her hands continue their work while her attention stayed on him. “I see. And you managed to follow the steps?”
“Nah,” Dazai admitted, “Snape wouldn't let me do any incantations..."
Pomfrey watched, noting the shift in him. The usual mischief or guardedness that masked deeper things was gone for this moment. Here he was, just a student who loved magic, who loved Hogwarts.
Pomfrey finished securing the last strip of bandage around Dazai’s forearm, the neat tension pressing just enough to stay in place without cutting off circulation.
Dazai stared at the bandage with quiet fascination, his fingers flexing experimentally as if testing the new fit. “Hm,” he murmured, “I like this.”
Pomfrey raised an eyebrow at the faint note of approval in his tone. “That's good,” she said, her voice clipped but gentle. “Ever since you left Mr. Mori’s… care, your bandaging technique left a lot to be desired.”
She made a small adjustment to a loose edge, pressing it into a clean fold. “You’ve been struggling to wrap them tightly, haven’t you?”
Dazai’s lips curved into a small, secretive smile. “Maybe a little.” He flexed his wrist once more.
Pomfrey stepped back, brushing her hands together, and sighed lightly. “I want to make something very clear today, Dazai.”
Dazai froze mid-motion, the words sinking in slower than they should have. His expression flickered with something guilty. Ah, so this was it.
She fixed him with a measured gaze that felt firm yet not unkind. “You don’t need to wait for an injury to come into the Hospital Wing. You can come whenever you like.”
Busted.
Pomfrey’s eyes softened slightly at the subtle shift in his expression, but she didn’t back down. “That being said,” she continued, “you will not, under any circumstances, deliberately injure yourself to get here. Do I make myself clear?”
Dazai’s lips pressed together, a faint tension in his shoulders. It was the look of a kid caught red-handed.
Dazai exhales softly through his nose, gaze dropping to the sheets beneath him. His fingers trace a faint, idle pattern against the fabric, as though the answer might be written there if he looks long enough.
“Well,” he murmurs, “when you put it like that…”
Pomfrey steps closer again “You are not as subtle as you believe, Mr. Dazai.”
That earns a small huff of amusement from him, barely there. “I’m usually very subtle.”
“Not where this is concerned.”
He doesn’t argue.
“Yes, ma’am,” Dazai responded with an uncharacteristic quietness.
Pomfrey sighed at Dazai's meekness. “My point is, you can come here whenever you like, Dazai,” she said, voice softer this time “To rest, to talk. If you need someone to just be there for you, I’m here.”
Dazai blinked at her, the faintest flush warming his cheeks.
Dazai leaned back against the edge of the hospital bed, the springs creaking faintly under his weight.
He looked down at his hands, flexing them slowly, appreciating the way they felt without the usual tension of hasty bandaging.
“I suppose…” he started, then paused, looking up at her, “I suppose it’s nice to know I don’t have to sneak around to get a quiet spot.”
Pomfrey watched him for a long moment, weighing the sincerity in his tone. Finally, she offered him the smallest of nods, as though acknowledging an unspoken truce. “Good,” she said quietly. “And if you need anything, anything at all, you’ll let me know.”
Dazai let out a faint, humorless laugh that was more relief than amusement. “Of course, of course,” he started. "Wouldn’t want to inconvenience you with my antics.”
Pomfrey made a small noise in the back of her throat that could have been a laugh. “Oh hon, your antics aren’t the problem,” she said, adjusting her hands and standing straighter. “It’s your health I’m concerned about.”
For a moment, Dazai simply looked at her, the faint hint of mischief returning to his gaze, though tempered by something softer.
The boy smiled often, but this one seemed specially authentic, made for Madam Pomfrey alone. “Then I'll be here tomorrow.”
Pomfrey’s expression softened again, and she allowed herself one last gesture, a small pat on his shoulder. “Of course.”