Approximately 6:00 PM, at the Yukawa home. It's rather cozy, but not cramped.  Bookshelves everywhere, a record player and rather cushiony seats. Family photos litter the walls, none of them moving. Most of them are of her and her brother together, with a few older ones with their parents included. It's homey and clean, very well lived in.

---

There were few things Maiko enjoyed more than having company over—despite Kohaku’s protests. Cleanup of the house hadn’t taken as long as she expected—though there were still a couple piles of books laying around in the living room. Maslow, the resident bear-dog of the Yukawa household was napping next to a large window facing the street, taking in what little sunshine he could, and snoring softly.

From the kitchen, came the pure, blissful, warm, almost indescribable timbre of Norah Jones—Maiko swayed to the music as she set the table and sang along. Unlike Norah Jones, however, the witch’s voice was anything but pleasing. In fact, her voice didn’t just butcher the song, it mugged and beat it in an alleyway. She wasn’t tone-deaf, or even singing out of tune—the awful quality was all in her tone.

It had always been that way.

And so Kohaku wasn’t in the kitchen—he was in the living room, awaiting the company and dying a bit inside whenever his sister sounded particularly atrocious. There was no use in asking her to stop, she’d just shake her finger at him and sing louder.

The timer buzzed at the exact same time that Kohaku heard a knock on the door. He so grudgingly got up from his cozy position on the couch and let the company in. Maslow didn’t even budge.

“Hello.” He greeted, his accent held no hints of a French lilt—it was a pure and proper brogue.  “Kohaku.” He introduced himself, closing the door behind Peter.

“Sunriiiiise, sunriiiiiise~” Maiko caterwauled.

“I’m so sorry.” Kohaku whispered, cringing. “She has no shame.”
 

Peter Thackeray wore his tan shirtsleeves and matching trousers without fail, like a uniform... clothes that belonged to his father an aeon ago. They were still redolent of spiced tobacco. With a hand in his pocket, he could detect shreds of dried leaf and burnt matchsticks. Formality wasn't a concern: he had only thought to sleekly  comb back his hair before approaching the porch. Somewhere inside the strange house the wizard suspected a cat was being strangled.

The door opened. He was relieved to realise that no felines were harmed in the production of this meal.

"Ça va," Peter replied to the young gentleman, casting his bright blue gaze around the living space. The alarmingly large dog took a moment to register as something besides a stuffed animal. "All the best of us are, my dear fellow. Shameless, I mean, not sorry. Peter Thackeray, by the by - it's very good to meet you."

He might have extended a hand if they weren't preoccupied, and so Peter offered his other host the immense plate of baklava he had carried all the way from Edgware; bringing into their house a perfume of milky sugars and candied pistachios.

"Care to sneak a sweetie before the lady of the hour is upon us?" he suggested kindly, a smile pulling at the uneven corners of his lips. "It's worth the trouble, I promise."

He crossed his arms over his chest, “Hn, that could be right.” Kohaku looked at the kitchen through the corner of his eyes. In the kitchen, Maiko was swaying to the music while pulling the turkey pot pies out of the oven. That definitely wasn’t safe.

The nutty, sweet smell of baklava was too difficult for Haku to resist. He didn’t even want to think about how much butter was in it. As much as he enjoyed indulging in food, he did his best to practice restraint. “Why not?” He said, almost curtly—though he didn’t intend on sounding so short. He gave the guest a small smile and picked one of the smaller squares of baklava. “Thank you.” He nodded his head politely and took a bite.

“Surpriiiise, surprise, never some—" The music and the singing (a loose interpretation of what her voice was doing, really) stopped abruptly when she realized that Peter was here. She peeked her head out of the kitchen, eyes darting between the plate of sweets and her brother, and back again. Kohaku immediately put the rest of his share of baklava in his mouth and swallowed quickly, coughing a bit as he did so.

Apparently that wasn’t even necessary. Mai’s only reaction to him eating sweets before dinner was a shrug. She looked directly at Peter, a rather mischievous glint in her eyes. “If it isn't the crocodile hunter! You've got perfect timing!"  Kohaku snorted-laughed at that, but then tried his best to look serious.

On the round kitchen table, were several serving dishes—one with some pot pies, one with a fairly basic salad, and one with brown rice. Large serveware was placed next to each of those dishes, and it was evident that people were meant to serve themselves once they were seated.

"You can come eat, whenever you're ready-- I've got some tea made, and we have some water and ginger ale as well. What would you like?"

He must have missed a cultural reference - Peter was neither a hunter of crocodiles nor a former crocodile who hunts, so that was the best he could assume at present. It didn't bother him to let those things fly right over his head.

"I say!" he brought the baklava dish to the table, setting it down on a free space by the main dishes. "This all looks rather maader! [1] Rice and pies, you'll absolutely spoil me." The wizard stood, hands on the back of his chair as he took in the kitchen.

Without realizing it he was putting off sitting down before the hostess herself was at rest. His mind was much too preoccupied with the business of Maiko's home. In the living room his gaze danced on the spines of a piled books, and the pictures that replayed moments in time. Now at the dinner table he delighted in his other senses. The warmth, the scents.

"Water, if you would please." Peter replied after a moment and drummed his fingers cheerfully. "I noticed the record player in your lounge," he continued while courteously avoiding the subject of her singing voice, "May we be entertained by music, afterwords? I'm rather keen on these new tunes."

If you could label anything in the last fifty years as 'new'.

1.	Indian South African slang, nice/good.

She briefly wondered what he meant by maader. It sounded like a compliment! “Very few meals are complete without rice~“ She liked to put her pot pie on top of her rice and let it soak up the sauce. "And thank you for bringing dessert. I adore baklava!" Mai beamed at her guest and brought him some water.

“I also keep a turntable in here—“ She motioned towards one of her kitchen counters, presumably where Norah Jones’ music had been coming from. “My brother has this thing called—what is it? It’s like an MP3 player..”

“Ipod.” Kohaku replied dully, shaking his head. He took a seat at the kitchen table and began to serve food up for himself.

“Ipod!” Mai repeated, “Oui! But I find they are too sensitive when it comes to using magic.” Like most electronics. There was an area upstairs with a television and small seating area. The second floor of the house was a no-magic zone, as Kohaku had plenty of expensive muggle technology up there, such as his multiple gaming consoles and his computer. Mai was not in the mood to buy him a new X-Box for the sake of being able to use wingardium leviosa.

“I’d be more than happy to show you some of my music!” Mai tended towards the voices of Billy  Joel, Phil Collins, and Norah Jones or other similar musicians. She did appreciate most kinds of music, and was especially fond of jazz and classical. “But only if you’re willing to dance.”

Kohaku groaned and dramatically smacked his head on the table.  Maiko paid him no mind.

He was proud to know what his hosts meant by MP3 and iPods. It was the benefit of having muggleborn neighbours - correction, muggleborn neighbours with children. Being a great appreciator of music, these advances were the most obvious to him.

"I would be delighted," Peter took a cue from Kohaku and moved around to take a place at the table. He did not think too deeply on the boy's disdain for rhythmic recreation. "Dancing is ichor of life. I apply myself to an education of modern tunes, daily-- ah merci." Consistently clear water from the tap; somehow always a wonder to him. "Thats very kind of you'."

Sadly, he was only now catching up on the first decade after his 'disappearance'. The availability of music today was... stunning. So much so that it was no picnic to see how anyone could take it for granted. Peter began to serve himself with some confusion: his plate turned out to feature neat borders between the pie, rice and greens.

"I'm not familiar with new dancing," he continued conversationally while trying to decide where to start. Rice, he typically ate with his hands, but the presence of pastry forbid it. "An odd mix of foxtrots and swing, I'm afraid. The contemporary form - I may have this wrong - is called breakdancing? Hayibo,[1] a funny business."

Peter picked up his cutlery in resignation.

1.	South African exclamation, meaning wow or definitely not.

“De rien, mon ami.”  She replied easily, bringing her cup of green tea to the table and taking a seat. Mai served herself—putting her pot pie on top of the rice and pushing the salad to a separate side of the plate. Kohaku, on the other hand, served up salad first and would presumably eat it before getting some rice and pie. He rather hated it when foods touched that weren’t meant to touch. That had made for several petty arguments over the last decade.

As a silent, subtle example, Mai broke open her pie with her fork and took a bite, with a bit of pastry, turkey, carrot, and rice on it. Kohaku was oblivious to Peter’s confusion, though he had no reason to believe the old soul would be confused. He knew next to nothing about the blue eyed man, except that he was foreign and apparently liked to read. 

“Oh, dancing! I love dancing!” She exclaimed.

“She used to teach dancing. The worst years of my life.” Kohaku said grimly, though there was a sparkle in his eyes. "No one wants to be the weird boy in tights."

Mai kicked him gently under the table.

“Yes, I taught. Ballet, jazz, and tap mostly. Sometimes waltz. The basic stuff.” She took a sip of tea, “I’m passable when it comes to  swing, but I’m fond of Salsa and… I tried my hand at bellydancing. Back before I had a belly." This wasn't said self-critically either, but almost with amusement. Mai was much more self-confident at this point in her life than she ever had been. " Breakdancing, though... It’s interesting and admirable, but not for me.” There were several styles of dance that were not for her, and she respected most of them.

She looked down at her plate of food as if processing what she was about to say, “I—dancing is my first passion. The work I do is second.” Mai loved both dearly, but sometimes she wished that she was able to pursue dance as a career.

"A dance teacher!" he exclaimed, cutting into the pie and unconsciously carving it into miniscule pieces. "You must be drawn to those in need of education. There is a saying, I believe - even the ants in their holes and the fishes in their waters, bless the good teachers of mankind[1]. Moreso with dance, I insist, being a pleasurable art."

Peter liked that quote. It thrummed with his beliefs alongside good music in the dead of night. He took his first bite, pausing only to murmur a polite Bismillah, and failed utterly at suppressing a smile. The pie was lekkar, for certain. The wizard crossed his legs effeminately underneath the table and leaned into the conversation.

"Oryantal dans, that's what we call belly-dancing in Istanbul," he remarked helpfully while trying a bit of the rice. "I courted a gentlewoman of the dans once. Hungarian, I believe." Or one of the eastern European sovereignties one could never wrap a tongue around. "I understand she married a count."

Maiko's vitality dimmed for a shade and, tentatively nibbling on a leaf, he glanced at Kohaku - the young man's deprecation for sock hopping didn't strike him as a genuine aversion. An obstacle? La. "Might I ask what keeps you?" Peter thought better of conjecturing. "It is, from what I read, a less disreputable calling in this century?"

Not that ballet dancers of his era fell into disrepute but there had always been an acknowledged aura of glamour and scandal associating famous danseurs of the stage with their wealthy patrons; parlous traditions that carried differently in this future.

1.	Popular saying attributed to the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him.

Mai supposed she was drawn to those in need of education—or those in need of help, in general. Maiko wouldn’t say that she was a ‘fixer’ as much as she was a helper, a healer? A giver? A mix of all three. Mai was the sort to give as much as she reasonably could to others, the sort who would rather help people learn how to do things instead of doing things for them. She wiggled in her seat like an excited child when he expressed his approval when it came to dancing in general.

“Oryantal dans.” She repeated to herself—at first at a speaking volume, but then a couple times quietly, to herself. She wanted to hold that term to memory. The bits and pieces that Peter had let slip about his history, his life, was incredibly interesting. Worthwhile to listen to. He was a fascinating man, and it wasn't just because he was a relic or a memory of a time so long ago. No. He was more than that.

 “She must’ve been lovely.” Mai mused. Truly, she thought all dancers were lovely—the way that they flowed, the way that their movements conveyed feelings too deep for words. Feelings that there weren’t words for in any one language.  “I wouldn’t mind trying to learn again.” She gave Peter a wry look, “You should join me.”

Kohaku cleared his throat uncomfortably when Peter asked what kept Mai from dancing. In fact, he made a move to kick Peter’s leg, but ended up gently rubbing the time traveler’s foot with his big toe.

Mai, however, wasn’t bothered by the question. “It’s not viewed as a professional job, by most people. But that’s not why.” She replied smoothly, “I’ve got une maladie chronique. Lupus érythémateux disséminé ”[1]  She explained.

 “Potions manage it quite well, better than any muggle medicine. Most days I don’t notice, but quelquefois, c’est accablant.[2]” Maiko shrugged. What she didn't mention was it was the same illness that had killed her muggle mother.

 “It’s not stable enough for me to have a career in dance.” Oh, it stressed her joints and her muscles would ache from the fatigue. Most of the time it was worth it-- dancing brought her to the present. The best way she could describe it was some sort of meditative state, though that wasn't quite right either.  “It's stable enough to be a hobby. A passion separate from my work. I'm thankful for that.” 

1.	A chronic illness
2.	Sometimes, it's overwhelming

He did not know if Kohaku's unexplained affection for his right foot was in truth a subtle kick or some new mannerism of this new age.

Ah, but lupus he recollected by name. Peter paused in his dinner only to nurse the cool water as he listened intently to Maiko; over the rim of the glass his bright blue eyes took in her off-the-cuff conduct, descrying  a controlled faculty underneath the speech. It reminded him of something maternal - not in his own mother but in the very idea of mallie everywhere. Something you couldn't touch.

What was it? He thought: maybe an instinctive acknowledgement that we could not go to pieces at the cards the Great One deals us.

The notion played in his mind without falling from his mouth. "It is enough that we enjoy the things we enjoy?" Peter's lips pulled into a mirthless smile that was softened by an untroubled, oblique gaze. "Maiko Biladeu-Yukawa. Why, I sense that dancing must be a release from the work of a counselor." He paused for a moment to set aside his fork and lean back in the dining chair. "It is my custom to travel, as a hobby, and that is a release from living in libraries."

Peter's idea of Jannah[1] was moving from one hall of books to another, with the promise of a ruin to be explored at the end of each hall when he wearied.

"I daresay that I may be off travelling to ruins in the meantime," he quipped indulgently. "But there is a wealth of new edifices for me to enjoy now. My compliments by the by-" the librarian added and tapped the table appreciatively. "- this is a most... toothsome amalgam of foods."

From anyone else it would not have been a compliment.

1.	Heaven, arabic

“Dancing takes me home.” She replied, “It brings me to now. I find that left unchecked, I focus on past troubles, future plans—it’s easy to neglect what’s going on here.” Mai rested her open hand on her chest, her heartbeat slow and steady. Strong. She tended to feel from there, or from her gut. Mai found it funny that feelings, while they came from the mind, were often felt elsewhere in the body—in a tight chest, a twisty stomach, a mysterious ache. Fatigue.

“It makes me aware, awake. “ She had stopped eating at this point, focused more on the conversations and her own thoughts than the food. Her appetite was mostly gone, though not for any particular negative reasons. “Les grandes vérités viennent du présent.”[1] A phrase that her mother said from time to time, and Maiko found some accuracy in it as an adult more than she ever did as a child.

"And nothing delights me more than having someone to be in the present with." She had once dated a woman who played piano-- she would dance, and the musician would play. It was from the heart, and although it wasn't quite the same as dancing together, it was unifying in a unique way; an understanding between two human beings.

Peter liked to travel. That… Didn’t strike her as a surprise. He seemed the sort. Mai gave him a familiar smile—his nomadic spirit reminded her of a dear friend, someone who was practically her brother. Every time he visited, he had so many stories to tell about his adventures. Some were fascinating—others were pitiable. But, c’est la vie.

Kohaku spoke up, “You like to travel. Sounds like Cal, huh?” Mai nodded in agreement, “He’s our non-biological brother.” He was excited—Cal was due for a visit tomorrow, as it was Kohaku’s birthday.

Her brother’s birthday was… Difficult. And it wasn’t Haku’s fault at all. His birthday was the very same day as Remembering day, and sometimes it made it more difficult to celebrate him when the world was forcing her to remember a less fortunate time.

“Travelling is a commendable release.” She said slowly, genuinely. “To the ruins? Where? I would love to hear all about them, when you’re back.” Mai paused, “If you want to, of course!

She appreciated his compliments to the food, though Mai wasn’t sure what to think of it! It was a praise of sorts, but none she had ever heard before. “Well, thank you!” The counselor laughed exuberantly, her eyes meeting his freely. “It’s—probably different than what you’re used to eating. What is your favorite meal, for next time?”

“Maiko, stop assuming he wants to see you again.” Kohaku quipped.

"Merde." She groaned, remembering her enthusiasm wasn't always shared, "I'm sorry, Peter. I get carried away sometimes."

1.	The greatest truths are found in the 'now'

He could feel himself retreating, cognitively, from the conversation.

It was a symptom of his circumstance - time shock. Peter was constantly taking in new information, through daily interaction and then more consciously through his personal pursuit of contemporary literacy. His mind went reeling towards the end of the day, when he was least expecting it. A dismayingly focused witch from the Ministry told him they called this sensation depersonalisation. He fancied that it felt like having had a potent puff of gillyweed from the hookah.

"The present is immensely enjoyable." Peter's lackadaisical smile smoothened out as he forced himself to concentrate on Maiko's speech. Bladdy hell. He felt his heart hammering in his chest, ears - oblivious to the external calm. "If... sorry. It makes travelling ruins such jolly good fun. We need a present to... admire the past. And acknowledge a future."

Observing from a perch only slightly higher than his crown, Peter watched himself move to drink more water. He wondered at the colours of the kitchen and surreality of it. The glowing digits of a microwave (which he still didn't trust) and the novel accent of his hostess. He saw himself lower the glass, imagined his tongue rolling thoughtfully over the insides of his teeth.

"Nafisahu,[1]" he poked at his food with the fork he didn't remember picking up, his other arm resting lazily on the back of the chair. "I get carried away as well, sadiqai,[2]. It is what brought me here, that and the the most Merciful, I mean."

But that wasn't they were talking about, surely? He cleared his throat.

"For next time, I simply must fix something for you-" Peter raised his blonde brow at Maiko before turning those intense eyes on to Kohaku. "And you, if you like peri peri and that sort of thing. I understand that it is, ah, popular nowadays." His hammering heart relaxed a smidgen; he reached for the water again.

1.	Arabic (نفسه) for "same."
2.	Arabic (صديقي) for "my friend."

It seemed like he was missing bits and pieces of the conversation. Maiko had a tendency to chatter on, and she had forgotten that the nuances of conversation could’ve been lost on him. It could’ve been overwhelming. He had only been in this time for a year, but that certainly did not make up for fifty years that were missed. He still had a lot of catching up to do—and while humans were adaptable, resilient creatures, that didn’t mean that they were immune to the consequences of culture shock. Time shock.

Her eyes lit up and she bounced a bit in her seat at the mention of peri peri. Maiko had a deep seated love for all things curry, anything resembling curry. To be fair, she liked most things pepper related.  “I would love to. On one condition.” She leaned forward, “I get to bring a dessert.” Her first instinct told her to bring wine—but that would be a rather inconsiderate thing to bring, considering it wasn’t something that would be shared with a teetotaler like Peter.

Kohaku, however, wasn’t quite so sure about tasting the cooking of someone he barely knew. He was picky in that way, and while he and Maiko had some similar tastes in food, he was much less adventurous than his sister. Besides, Peter was acting… Weird. Like most wizards did. It always took a bit of time for him to warm up to Maiko’s friends. Akiva and Callum were close to his heart—but Callum was like a brother and Akiva was so sweet and loveable, and actually knew stuff about muggles. Carrying a normal conversation with her wasn’t difficult. He finished his plate and responded to Peter with a noncommittal nod.

Mai opened her mouth as if to say something—to ask if the man before her was okay, but she hesitated, mouth forming into a line and brow furrowing with silent concern. She had never been good at hiding her emotions—it was easier at work than it was at home. At work her mind was in a different place, on a different setting. At home, she had space for feelings. Mai wore her heart on her sleeve, whether she wanted to or not.

Kohaku squinted his eyes at her, as if it would give him mind reading powers. Alas, he was no legilimens.
“Peter.” She inquired slowly, “Are you… Okay? Comment ça va?”

Haku’s eyes widened, and he was so suddenly and suspiciously interested in his flatware.

He could hear the water run down his throat, a minuscule torrent that sounded like a waterfall in his ears. But through that sound he still heard - and saw - Maiko ask, "Comment ça va?" What a first-rate question, from a first-rate witch no doubt.

Peter wished he could thank her for this perceptiveness but the disconnect between what he thought and what he said would have made the phrasing exceedingly awkward. Instead, he nodded and then shook his head before scratching the back of his head in some internal wonderment. What a mystifying sensation this was, this depersonalisation.

In the soundness of his own home it might have been easy to surrender to the siren of reveries, to float in surreality until the feeling passed. At present, he had to struggle to stay present.

"It's a... manifestation-" Peter felt himself grimace and forced this into a faint, vaguely intellectual smile. "- of my circumstance. Désolé, I... I'm coming down from it. Dépersonnalisation, oui? Ce n'est pas grave." Already he could feel his consciousness sinking back where it belonged: between his shoulders. He noticed, with a trace of humour, that he had eaten most of his meal without thinking about it.

The wizard blinked languidly and focussed on Maiko with a relaxed brow. His heartbeat no longer thumped in his ears as a euphoric calm took over. It was a more agreeable sensation.

"I alarmed you," he unfolded his legs, sat straight with gentlemanly comportment - not altogether recovered and yet responsive enough to speak with alacrity. "How extraordinarily rude of me. There can be no question about my cooking for you now, Miss Biladeau-Yukawa."

Depersonalization. That explained it—it was one of the most common psychological symptoms, yet the attention drawn to it by those outside her field was minimal compared to the focus on feelings of depression or anxiety. All of which were direct effects of stress and outside situations, combined of course with a biological predisposition. Depersonalization was closely linked to all sorts of different mental and emotional states.

It was common, something she had seen before in multiple clients—something she had experienced before, though not chronically—and not in quite some time. There were plenty of people she knew who actively went out of their way to experience this mental state by using certain substances.

At least he was able to put a name to it, that was more than many. When things were nameless, they were often much more… Frightening. Nerve wracking. While Peter didn’t think it was serious, Maiko certainly took it seriously—but respected his wishes. He wanted to move on, and she accepted it.

“I was not alarmed, “ Maiko replied, “Concerned. Un peu inquiet.”[1] It was in her nature. But she shook her head in staunch  disagreement. He was absolutely, not being impolite. “Non, not rude. Just human.” She stated firmly, though her expression was soft.

“I’m glad to try your cooking.” As long as he didn’t poison her, she thought to herself with a dry humor.
Kohaku dropped his fork on the plate with a loud clattering noise. “Oi, sorry.” He said automatically. He had felt quite uncomfortable over this whole exchange, but Peter taking it lightly was making it a bit easier on the teenager. He didn’t do too well when it came to serious feelings. “Soooooo….” He said uncomfortably. “That baklava, huh?”

1.	Just a bit concerned.