Chapter One: Arrivals

"The world is large."

The Autobiography of Yukichi Fukuzawa by Yukichi Fukuzawa

"We're going to lose the war," the headmaster said, his voice grave. His frail, knobby fingers were laced under his chin as he stared off into the distance, looking at something Severus couldn't see. His blackened hand, most of which was hidden by his sleeve, seemed to absorb all the light in the room. Severus's gaze was drawn, inexorably, to it. He waited, patiently, for the older man to continue. He couldn't possibly be giving up, not Albus.

Albus's gaze slid to him, the deep blue of the sky seeming to pierce through his very being. The sunlight filtering in through the window was tepid and the silence only interrupted by the clack and whir of the headmaster's many baubles, but his eyes were so bright. "We need help."

"From whom?" Severus shot back, his own voice biting. "The ICW will treat this as internal struggle, a mere power grab by a discontent. They have no jurisdiction in civil wars. It's what they did before."

Severus knew he was right, and so did the man in front of him. He let out a heavy sigh. "Yes," he agreed. "But I did not mean the ICW."

"Then who?" Severus demanded. "The European mainland has its own issues right now, what with the tenuous nature of France's diplomatic relationship with Spain. MACUSA will not send aid, occupied as they are with Muggle-Magic tensions."

"I was thinking we look further afield."

"Spit it out, Albus."

The headmaster let out a sigh. "From information you have given me and his own past actions, Voldemort's forces act as guerrilla squads and infiltrators. It's a war entirely fought in the shadows until he knows his forces can overwhelm us entirely, his targets being Hogwarts, the Ministry, and St. Mungo's. To fight a guerilla war, we need guerilla fighters."

"From where?" Severus asked, thinking up and discarding potential allies.

Albus's lips curled into a knowing, careful smile. "I heard Yokohama is very nice this time of year."

[The scenery has changed. Severus is no longer inside Dumbledore's office and it is no longer late afternoon. Rather, it is bright and sunny, and the sky is a brilliant blue.]

The two wizards stood on the side of a road, just outside of an airport. The wind whipped around them, ruffling their distinctly Muggle attire. Severus, having lived among them for the majority of his formative years, wore a dark collared shirt and pants. Albus, on the other hand, was wearing a very flashy blue ensemble. A light blue polo shirt and dark blue pants, with a rainbow tie around his neck. Severus wished to strangle him, as they were getting rather a lot of unwanted attention from passersby.

"Well then, Severus," Albus said, his voice cheerful. "Onwards and upwards?"

Severus sneered. "Upwards, Albus? I seem to have found myself at the top of a hill."

He watched as the headmaster glanced down, seeming to realize that they were, indeed, on top of a hill. The street sloped downwards into the city of Yokohama, Japan. "Onwards and downwards implies we're descending into hell, not ascending to heaven," Albus pointed out.

Severus rolled his eyes and started walking, heedless if his mentor was coming with him or not. "You're so boring, Severus!" Albus called.

"Existence is hell," Severus yelled over his shoulder. "And when one is in hell, the best thing you can do is to keep walking."

[Out of Severus's line of sight, a young man wearing a pale brown trench coat and trailing white bandages chuckles. "A man after my own heart," he murmurs, before turning and walking away.]

Severus was still ahead of the bearded Headmaster. "You don't even know where we're going," Albus pointed out, infuriatingly correct. "Perhaps not," Severus said, begrudgingly, and slowed slightly to walk abreast of his companion. He eyed Albus, whose blackened hand was concealed inside a long navy blue sleeve. He looked exceedingly eccentric. "And why aren't we apparating there?"

Albus shrugged. "To enjoy the view," he said. His tone was light, airy even, but Severus was not fooled. Behind the glint of his half-moon glasses, Albus's eyes were darting from side to side. He was wary, and Severus noticed his wand hand twitch slightly. "Are we being watched?" Severus asked in an undertone. Albus laughed, but it was a short and forced thing. "In this city," Albus said quietly, the movement of his lips hidden behind his beard, "we are always being watched." He flashed Severus a brilliant smile. "It's such a nice day!" he said brightly.

The other man let out a noncommittal grunt. Inwardly, Severus cursed Albus's love for keeping his cards so close to his chest. Perhaps it was how he had survived so long, as with such an incredibly annoying persona it was a miracle he hadn't been offed yet. But, being a spy, there were few things Severus hated more than being kept out of the loop. "All in good time," Albus murmured, and Severus didn't stiffen or inhale sharply. He prided himself on keeping his body language under tight control. But he couldn't stop the twitch of his lips into a wry grin. It was always "all in good time" with the headmaster. "I find," he drawled, while putting one hand into the pocket of his coat to grasp his wand, "that it's far too sunny for my taste."

Albus snorted. "You, Severus, are a vampire."

"I'm afraid it's an incurable affliction."

Albus's next laugh was delighted. "Severus! You do have a sense of humor!"

Severus slid his gaze over to look at his mentor. "On occasion," he allowed, and Albus twinkled at him. "Onwards and upwards," he said gaily, and Severus realized with consternation that they were walking up a slope.

It took a half hour of walking, and another half hour of hitching a ride on public transit, before the headmaster dragged the two of them to a small park. It had many medium-sized trees creating a canopy overhead, and the light that filtered through was dappled and slightly fainter. Severus was glad of it, as during the walk over, it had been warm enough he'd felt the urge to remove his coat. But his coat was the only article of clothing he had with a large enough pocket for his wand, and so he suffered.

Albus led them to a secluded part of the park, where there was a low stone table and two benches. He eased himself onto one of them and gestured for Severus to sit next to him. "And now we wait," he said cheerfully, and produced a bottle of water out of seemingly nowhere. He offered it to Severus, who grasped it and took a long swig. The headmaster produced another, and took a drink as well. The two of them waited quietly for twenty minutes. Severus was getting progressively more antsy, but Albus was as placid and calm as he ever was.

"How do you do it?" he asked.

"Mm?"

Severus gestured at him. "I put the clothes on this morning," said Albus. "They came from my closet. Surely, Severus, you could have surmised as much?"

Severus gaped at him for a second before he saw the beginnings of Albus's smirk. "That was not what I meant," he said stiffly, "and you know it."

"Enlighten me, my dear boy."

Severus only huffed and turned away from him, staring out into the expanse of the park. There was a young woman with blonde hair in an updo taking a walk. Quite a fast one, too, Severus noticed. She probably had somewhere important to be. Another woman was walking her dog. She passed a little girl wearing a brown poncho.

Severus was jolted out of his musings when Albus shifted beside him to stand. "Ah, Fukuzawa," he greeted, and Severus whipped his head back around. An older man with silvery hair and dressed in a traditional Japanese yukata was striding towards them. He looked very tired, with eyebags to rival Severus's own, but had an aura about him. This was not someone he should upset, Severus realized, his well-trained preservation instinct kicking in. He stood as well.

The man—Fukuzawa—came to a halt in front of them. He inclined his head. "Dumbledore," he said, in a gravelly, heavily accented voice. The conversation that followed was entirely in Japanese, and unluckily for Severus, he had never had any cause to either learn the language or the appropriate translation charm. He could only stand in silence, watching the conversation and trying to understand what he could. Severus caught the few English words—names, mostly, like "Hogwarts". Fukuzawa's countenance was implacable, and Albus's own was stern.

After a few minutes of this, Severus reluctantly gave up and instead waited—more waiting, really, Albus?—for them to finish. Eventually, Fukuzawa's metallic blue eyes slid to him. "You are?" he asked.

"Severus Snape," he replied, inclining his head the way Fukuzawa had originally. The man nodded. "You are his subordinate," he said. It was not a question, more of a statement. Albus's own blue eyes were sharp. "Yes, sir," Severus said stiffly, and was more than relieved when Fukuzawa nodded again and turned that gaze back onto Albus. It felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders when the man finally left, handing Albus a piece of paper before he went. Severus dropped back into his seat with an exhale. "Who was that man?" he asked.

"An old friend," Albus said cryptically, and Severus resisted the urge to strangle him. "And what did you talk about?" he prodded.

"A mutual hobby of ours."

"Which would be?" he said leadingly, far too tired and annoyed to employ any subtlety. Albus smiled at him. "Protecting those who cannot protect themselves," he replied, and Severus went silent. "When the day comes," he said finally, dusting himself off, "that you tell me what's going on, I do believe we'll both be dead and in the afterlife."

Albus's smile widened. "You'll have the details you so wish for soon," he promised. "But the day is not over yet."

Severus raised an eyebrow. "I thought we were going to our hotel after this," he said.

"Yes," Albus agreed, and Severus waited for him to elaborate. When he didn't, Severus threw his hands up into the air and walked away. "I will leave you behind," he said sharply over his shoulder.

"You can't speak Japanese," Albus called after him, and Severus pointedly ignored him. Through a combination of luck, sheer stubbornness, and righteous fury, Severus made it to the hotel before Albus did. Outside the door was an old man, older than Fukuzawa had been, smoking a cigarette. Of all curious things, he had a monocle on one eye and held a zippo lighter in his gloved hand. The other hand took the cigarette out of his mouth, and he blew a plume of smoke into the cooling air.

Severus ignored him and trooped inside the hotel, drawing an air of menace about himself. He promptly realized their booking had been in Albus's name and that, indeed, he did not know how to ask the clerk about it. He resigned himself for an uncomfortable wait on one of the benches in the lobby, cursing Albus inside his head.

It seemed to be an eternity before Albus swept into the hotel, ridiculous blue outfit and trademark grandfatherly smile and all. Severus bit his tongue to keep the acidic words—you took forever, Albus—from escaping, and came up behind him to stand at his shoulder. In completely fluent Japanese, Albus conversed with the clerk and procured the room key. "We're on the second floor," he said, and went for the stairs. It was a few more minutes of cursed, cursed walking before Albus stopped in front of their hotel room and unlocked the door.

The inside of the hotel room was dark, so Severus reached across Albus and flicked on the light. It was a normal enough room, with two beds, a table and chair, and a plushy-looking armchair. There was a door to their left that Severus assumed was the bathroom. But none of that concerned him at the moment. His gaze fixed on the man sitting in the armchair. It was the same man from outside the hotel, Severus was sure. His hand flexed around his wand.

Albus looked unconcerned, which was just like Albus, he must have expected this. Severus retained his white-knuckled grip on his wand as Albus walked further into the room, pulled the chair out from the desk, and sat in it. "You would be the mafia representative, then," he said, and Severus's eyes nearly bugged out. Mafia representative? Albus was dealing with organized crime? Had he gone mad?

"Indeed," said the old man with the monocle. His English was faintly accented, but he spoke fluently. "My name is Hirotsu Ryuurou. Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Albus, absolutely senile man he was, stuck out his hand. "Albus Dumbledore. The man behind me is my subordinate, Severus Snape."

Severus felt the oddest urge to give a tiny wave, and ruthlessly shoved it down. He settled for glaring at the monocled intruder.

Ryuurou's eyes, a startling, almost inhuman violet, met his own before sliding away. They had been dismissive, as if he weren't a threat. Severus's hackles rose, but he said nothing. Ryuurou shook Albus's hand.

"It is my understanding you're looking for an ability user to assist you in Britain," Ryuurou said, leaving his hands on the table. In full view, Severus realized, to make it clear that he wasn't going to do something violent and decidedly ill-advised. But what did he mean by ability user? That couldn't possibly by the same thing as magic user, unless the Japanese had very different terminology in their magical culture.

Albus nodded in confirmation. "I assume you were watching the park?"

Ryuurou's mouth curved into a smile. "We have eyes all over the city," he said vaguely, and a shiver went up Severus's spine. This was why Albus had warned that they were being watched. And not just at the park, either, he realized. All over the city, the man had said. They had probably been watched since the airport, or tailed at some point. The fact that Severus, whose danger-sense was honed to a razor's edge, hadn't noticed...it made him very, very nervous. He kept his mouth shut, watching the exchange, and his hand on his wand.

"Let us cut to the chase and speak frankly, shall we?" said Albus suddenly, barrelling on before Ryuurou could respond. "You're offering the mafia's services. In exchange, you'll want compensation."

Ryuurou tilted his head. "Certainly, money is always a compelling argument for the Port Mafia. However, we are looking for something else."

Albus leaned back, steepling his fingers. "Influence then. Ties to European magical society. Our existence is news to your organization?"

Albus, Severus realized faintly, had just broken about three dozen laws relating to the Statute of Secrecy.

"Not quite," Ryuurou said. "We've heard rumors, and we have a working relationship with Japanese magical society. It is the international playing field where we are lacking any sort of advantage."

Albus nodded sharply. "Britain is going to have a power vacuum, very soon. If all goes well, whoever fills it will be someone willing to reach out to the ability users of Japan, and Yokohama's in particular."

Ryuurou's answering smile was dark and cruel. It was the sort of smile Severus had seen before, on men like Thoros Nott and Evan Rosier. It was the smile of a man accustomed to violence, and who often used it to achieve his goals. "We can draw up terms another day," he said, standing from the armchair. "Thank you for your hospitality. We will send another representative soon."

Albus nodded again, and watched, hawklike, as the man walked out of the room and shut it behind him. Severus looked as he slumped into his chair, aging a decade in an instant. "I miss my lemon drops," he said mournfully.

"Then we should have Portkeyed," Severus said sharply. "One can't take magical sweets onto a Muggle airplane. Answers, Albus."

The headmaster let out a gusty sigh and took two miniature suitcases out of his pocket. He laid them on the ground, one by each bed, and resized them with a flick of his wand. "This hotel," he said wearily, "is owned by the Port Mafia. They are a sprawling, violent organization that is, nevertheless, mostly legal and untouchable by the government. As the delightful Mr. Ryuurou stated, they have eyes all over Yokohama. I was expecting to be observed, if not followed."

Severus's eyebrows rose to his hairline.

Albus continued. "There is a Japanese magical society, as you know, and a magical school a good distance from the main body of the country. However, Japan is also home to ability users. These people are a close relative to us magical folk, but they are different in that they have one supernatural or superhuman ability."

"How has nobody heard of this before?" Severus demanded.

"It's well-known to the Muggles," Albus said, shrugging. "Their existence is highly contested in magical society and they are rarely spoken about. Regardless, Yokohama is a particular hotspot for ability users. My old friend, Yukichi Fukuzawa, is one of them. And if I'm not mistaken, the mafia representative is one as well."

"What are the nature of these abilities?" Severus pressed. "Are they a threat?"

Albus took off his glasses and polished them with his sleeve. "They vary. I knew of a man who could conjure flame and manipulate it with a terrifying degree, and a woman with Legilimency-like abilities to rival my own. Fukuzawa's own ability allows his subordinates to control their own abilities with greater dexterity. I do not know Mr. Ryuurou's ability, though I suspect it is more combat-oriented than Fukuzawa's. The gloves are a dead giveaway. And as for if they're a threat...again, it varies."

Severus sneered. "These ability users are far less flexible if they're confined to what amounts to a single spell," he pointed out.

"Perhaps," the headmaster said. "But their specialization means their 'one spell', as you say, can have a large amount of power behind it."

Severus shrugged then, and took a seat on one of the beds to take off his shoes. "So we are here for a mafia ability user?" he asked. "This is the aid you were referring to?"

Albus's smile was quiet and knowing. "Fukuzawa runs a detective agency, and he owes me a favor. We're here for one of his subordinates to help us back in Britain, and to talk to another. Fukuzawa speaks highly of his intelligence. The mafia...is an unavoidable, and yet fortuitous, side effect."

"We're here for two," Severus realized.

"Two," Albus agreed. "One from the Port Mafia, bought with the promise of ties to the British ministry. One from Fukuzawa's Armed Detective Agency."

"Why not both from his agency, or both from the mafia?"

Albus's smile widened. "I've been told good things about these two," he said, and Severus gave up the questioning. He would get no more out of his mentor tonight, though he knew there was far more to Albus's plans than that. There remained the mystery of why they had travelled to Yokohama on a Muggle aeroplane, rather than via Portkey, for one—and why Albus was so willing to make deals with Yokohama's criminal organization. And Severus could tell Albus had yet more secrets up his sleeve. The man always did, Severus thought, his exasperation tinged with the slightest bit of fondness.

"We have a meeting with Fukuzawa tomorrow," Albus said suddenly, and rummaged through his luggage. He took out a slim booklet and placed it on the nightstand. "Translation spells, my boy," he said, beaming.

"You could not have given me this earlier? Or, better yet, cast the spell yourself?" Severus snapped.

"Ah, but Severus. Your suffering is so amusing to watch." Albus twinkled at him.

Severus turned away from the infuriating man. He knew that there was probably a sadistic part of Albus that giggled when Severus couldn't understand the language, but it was more likely that he wanted to keep his conversation with Fukuzawa private. Which, he supposed, was something he could respect. Nevertheless, he took the booklet from the nightstand and began reading through it, practicing the wand movements as he did. Albus fell asleep in his clothes, the doddery old codger, and Severus sighed when he realized he had dropped off. With a sort of resigned sense of duty, Severus magicked Albus's shoes off and levitated him under the covers. He would fall asleep an hour or so later, having read the booklet cover to cover.