"For even the very wise cannot see all ends."
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring
//
Something strange Kusuo started to notice after a while, long after Felix Potter realised he was also Saiki Kusuo– or rather, when Saiki Kusuo realised he was reborn as a little boy named Felix. After moving to the Dursley household in Little Number Four, Privet Drive, Kusuo began to Dream.
It was difficult to grasp the abstract meanings with the clarity of his adult mind then it would have been if he'd been a child, an age when it had made sense for stones to whisper to him, for rivers to sing, for trees to cradle him and croon welcome and warnings both.
(what little magic he has is potent and cruel and wraps around him like armor. it whispers Secrets in his ears in a voice that's hardly audible and he can't understand. His Magick screams)
Felix found himself spending more time in nature during his waking hours then he ever did as Kusuo. He'd managed to skip years worth of school and yet was still disappointingly unoccupied by the institution of learning. The pre-teens in his class were obnoxious.
To prevent the boredom from overwhelming him during classes spent with children who preferred to pass notes rather than learn geometry, Kusuo found himself having to read library books he had gotten during a class trip pouring over texts on history and war and botany, of all things. Well– Kusuo supported healthy hobbies.
And the history of England, of Britain– it was fascinating. Either that or he was terribly bored and it was truly incredible that this was the best entertainment he could find.
He wondered how the Magical world would have applied similar practices to the Muggle one, or if they already did. How was it enforced? Who decided anything beyond the Ministry of Magic? How did they hold onto power?
He closed his book.
The local playground that Dudley and Harry ruled was edged by an overgrown wooded area. It was recess, and he was bored.
Kusuo wandered amongst the trees in the woods, searching; most were disappointedly young, their ashen grey-brown trunks thin and peeling, their leaves shades of green and orange and brown, but he did find a cluster of trees he recognized as silver birches. Their leaves were green and their trunks were pale.
Kusuo took care to make note of where the glade of silver birches could be found, and next time he visited the woodland he made sure to 'borrow' Vernon's pocket knife, with the intention of carving a face into the trunk of the largest of them.
And the pocket-knife did its job. Kusuo wasn't a master carver by any stretch of the imagination, but his powers certainly helped and the finished face reminded him of the old shrines he used to visit with his Mama in the Before.
Sitting at the foot of the tree, pressing his back against the trunk, Kusuo closed his eyes, listening to the world around him.
It was quiet in the woods. It was something he noticed, considering how much loud it was. The cars, the people, all packed together, all busy– nowhere was truly quiet.
Here, beneath his Tachigi-bori* it was.
And Kusuo doesn't really put his faith in any gods, but this is feels like comfort. It's cultural for him. A connection to his old life. Not religion.
James once said absentmindedly to him that he found the Old Gods through being around nature. He'd never spoken overmuch of them to Kusuo. But he had told him that he never felt closer to them then when he was kneeling in the wood, surrounded by nothing but the natural world.
He didn't get it. And trying made his brain hurt.
So instead, Kusuo let his mind settle, let go of his thoughts, let them drift away as sat there.
(He Dreamed that night. Dreamed of white roots winding around his wrists; around him, void, as unknowable as the space between stars while he hung under a Sugi tree**, the threads of Fate looped ever-tightening around his pale neck.
He Dreamed of a Man with sharp blue eyes and a long face, wearing thick robes as he carved lines into a Wall of ice that towered high above, too high to see, before cutting open his own hand to drip crimson on the runes, letting them sear blindingly bright before fading away)
Kusuo woke with a gasp, frost on his eyelashes, hands fluttering to his neck. He felt fear. He hated it.
Runes.
(they make him think of failure. he had tried using them to save lily and james and he failed. useless.)
He didn't like superstition, ironic considering he is a psychic and living proof of the supernatural, he knows. But regardless of his personal feelings, his only bet was the Magick was trying to say something. What? He did not know. But deep in his bones, where the cold winds swirled, Kusuo knew.
The Runes were important– and somehow, he had to learn more.
(He had to admit, though, he wasn't sure how much luck he was going to have searching for information about Runic languages in his school's library)
Despite the warm blankets covering him, Kusuo shivered, rubbing his wrists as he unwillingly recalled hanging from Sugi roots, how they had bound him; helpless, pinned. He hardly ever felt helpless. There had been something else, too, something vast and abyssal– but he couldn't remember.
He didn't think he was meant to.
Some things were simply beyond mortal comprehension.
(There was always a price for Knowledge)
//
"What are you even looking for?" Dudley complained as Kusuo searched through the public library.
As Kusuo placed another book back on the shelf Dudley idly mentioned that the district council hadn't managed to close the public library yet, though it was probably only a matter of time.
His cousin wasn't known for his optimism.
"Runes," he answered his older cousin, who had insisted to accompany Kusuo.
"Why can't you be interested in normal things, like Harry?" Dudley sighed, incredibly put upon as he leaned against one of the shelves. "I mean, it's ridiculous how he likes running around with dolls like a girl, but at least he likes mud, and football, and rugby."
"Harry can like what he wants," Kusuo chides gently, " And besides, you'd be bored if I was interested in normal things," he said absentmindedly, flicking through a rather ragged book on Egyptian mythology that appeared as if it could be promising.
"Maybe," Dudley admitted. "You're probably the only one around here to actually talk to and not just yell at. I mean you and Harry too. He's great and all, but he's so nice," the blond said the word like it was something horribly distasteful, "that he makes you feel terrible for everything you've ever done in your life."
That wasn't untrue, Kusuo conceded. Harry was still naive in a way that expected the best of people and made you feel as if you'd done the wrong thing if you fell short of those expectations.
Kusuo's relationship with Harry was still... complicated. Kusuo adored his brother. At first, his affection for him had been reluctant. Like salt in the wound that he could never go home.
But it was impossible not to love Harry. He shone so brightly the gods must surely have breathed star-fire into his bones when they created him. Kusuo wasn't certain what role he would play in his life; presently, he hovered somewhere between parent and brother and perhaps when he got older it would lean more toward the latter, but he was unsure. He didn't particularly mind, either way; he just knew that he loved him, like a wolf loved the moon, and he always would. He brought a lightness to hid life.
And Harry– Harry drew people to him, made them love him as easily as he breathed and laughed and loved in return.
(Mikoto had been like that.)
Kusuo loved Mikoto. Perhaps not in the same way she loved him but he did. She was one of His. He loved so much the grief of never being able to see her again still bled in Kusuo's soul. But love– love was complicated. Love was a wild, wild beast with claws and fangs that growled and snarled and tore at you, made you bleed, but then it would lick at your wounds, soothe away the pain, and you would remember why you suffered, why you paid the price for those brief moments.
"You've got a funny look on your face," Dudley observed shrewdly.
"I suppose it's because I'm a rather funny person," he responded.
"Is this about your sudden, very odd obsession? Because in that case; yes, I quite agree, it is funny," Dudley said and Kusuo absolutely did not smile.
"No, I'm still interested in runes," he said. "I'm talking about Harry."
Dudley rolled his eyes, his eyebrow rising.
"Do you want to know what I think, Fae?" Dudley asked. He didn't wait to hear Kusuo reply, of course. He never thought to doubt for a moment that the world would want to hear his opinion– and he would never give it a chance to tell him otherwise.
(And Kusuo loved him for it, knowing what Dudley could have been, how he would not have had this spite and cheek and his ambition if he let canon run it's course, replacing it with stupidity and entitlement and bitterness)
"I think," Dudley said, "the three of us should hang out later and do something we all like. The way you and I like gossiping together."
"We're not gossiping, we're creating an information network," Kusuo protested in his own way.
"You read too many of daddy's old war novels," Dudley sighed. "Yes, fine, we play spies together. And sometimes, sometimes, me and Harry play dolls. "
"Good for you. Enjoy the dolls," Kusuo knew that Dudley loved playing dolls, perhaps more than even Harry did, but he also knew that the little kids were brat's with no filters. And Dudley was malleable. Easy to shape and mold, "Don't let those stupid kids at school stop you. But the last time I saw you and Harry play with dolls, you'd set up some sort of business empire," Kusuo said, "and you were forcing his dolls to sell you their house so you could knock it down to build a new store."
"Just like I said," Dudley said, looked very satisfied with himself, "Harry and I sometimes play with dolls."
Kusuo grabbed his bag of books and rolled his eyes, "Let's go home. Harry is waiting."
A/N
*Tachigi-bori, literally translated as 'standing wood carving', is the traditional Japanese practice of carving sculptures into living trees. The practice is linked with the Shinto belief in the sacred force that resides in all things and is a powerful presence in any large old tree. The carving gives a form to the spirit of the tree, and the artist works with the living tree to avoid damage and accepts the changes that the living tree contributes to the image.
**Sugis are one of Japan's most well-loved sacred trees. Since they grow big and old, there are often near shrines, with a shimenwa tied around them to indicate their home for a kami (spirit).
Next chapter I'll give you guys more Harry since I've focused so much on Dudley recently.
Ku is still shocked that he managed to raise this child into a good person.