Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Tokyo Ghoul, I am simply playing with the ideas and characters within those universes. Ishida Sui and J.K. Rowling own the ideas and characters associated with their stories.

Chapter Four | The Mask I Wear

I throw my few shirts and other articles into my bag, layered over top of a couple of books I've nabbed from the library, running my fingers over the coarse denim that the rucksack is made out of, the rough alloy of the zipper flitting across my fingers. My sense of touch has gotten much stronger since I was turned. I can almost feel disturbances in the air, a mosquito flitting past my hand leaves a mark, a slight one, but a mark all the same. The air in its wake lets me know its there, as long as it flies past bared skin. To be quite honest, it's incredibly overwhelming, although it is a phenomenal help in my spars with Danny. I just know when he's attacking me, be it a lunge or a jab, I can feel it coming before it connects.

Speaking of Danny, the skinny ghoul has been on edge, fidgeting and worried. We ran into another ghoul the other night, hunting in our territory. The information we… coerced out of him wasn't relieving in the slightest.

-::-

"Do you smell that?" Danny whispers, his hand held up in the air, stopping me in place. I sniff tentatively, searching for whatever has him worried. All I can pick up is the musty scent of garbage, rotten food, and mildew that lines this district. Our own combined scent is mixed up in that, marking this area as ours, not that there's any other ghouls in Leicester for us to worry about.

"No, I don't," I reply, shaking my head. "I can't track things the way you do, I'm all hearing and touch."

"Just… watch your back. I think I smell another ghoul," he continues, looking around warily. I guess I spoke to soon. Great job Zoe. Should've knocked on wood.

"Another ghoul? Here?"

"As far as I can tell."

We crouch, flitting and leaping across the rooftops, moonlit shadows blurring over incandescent street lights, our steps silent as we hunt. Danny grabs my shoulder suddenly, pulling me back as I prepare to jump over the next building.

"Stop," he murmurs, nose flared. "They're here… nearby, whoever it is."

I perk up my ears, listening for any sign of what has him worried. The blaring honk of a car two blocks down, a couple having drinks in the apartment below us, the familiar wet squelch of crushed liver. "I hear them," I say pointing down and to my left. "They're in this alley, already eating. What do we do?"

Danny peers over the edge, beckoning for me to come with him. I look down and see the ghoul that's encroached on our territory. A messy looking man, a scraggly unkempt beard hanging limp from his chin, his lips soaked in blood and small bits of meat clinging to his face, the blood blending in with the red of his hair. He's engrossed in his meal, a young lady, most likely in her mid twenties, his eyes focused on nothing but the corpse in front of him.

"We have to send a message, let him and any others know that this is our territory, our land," Danny exclaims quietly. "Otherwise we'd be looking at someone hunting us down to take what's ours."

I nod. I've become more familiar with the beast-like laws that ghouls function under. Food is everything, and land equals food. If you can hold onto that land, you have strength, power over other ghouls that want to pass through or require food of their own. It makes me feel like a cannibalistic baroness. If I ever get discovered, named as a ghoul like the famous One-Eyed Owl of Japan, I hope they call me Bathory.

I jump from the roof, kagune bursting from the small of my back and grinding across the walls as I slow my fall. The ghoul below stumbles, glancing up to see his two attackers. "Was zur Hölle?" he growls, the sound echoing off the alley walls as his kagune, a koukaku, flares out, deep purple curved forward in a deadly sweep and wrapping around his right arm like a scythe. He lashes out, punching towards me as I dodge, pushing off the wall and sweeping his feet out from under him.

He raises his arm defensively, the flat end of his kagune held out like a shield as a wave of bullets from Danny impact it, the steeled muscle shuddering under the impact. I kick hard against the shield, sending the man crashing into the wall behind him, the brick crunching, long spiderwebbed cracks forming underneath him. Before he can even react, I've impaled him. Thick tendrils driven through his arms and legs, holding him flush against the wall. I can feel his muscles twitching through my kagune, struggling to break free from my grip. I contort it, the sections of the kagune plugging his limbs morphing and twisting, spreading out and folding over him, clamping down hard and reinforcing my hold on the man. He hisses in pain as his bones snap under the pressure, his limbs crushed against the wall.

"What are you doing here?" I growl threateningly, my face hidden by the hooded cloak I'm wearing, a single eerie red light shining out from underneath. Danny stands behind me, arms crossed as he leers at the man, his ukaku raised above his head and tight feathered spears aimed towards him, waiting for any sign of movement. "What are you doing hunting in our territory?"

The man glares at me, spitting a glob of blood at my face. I smack it away reflexively, grimacing as it spatters across my hand. "That wasn't very clever of you, was it?" I comment, looking down at the red-handed mark of disrespect dripping from my fingers. I punch the man in the stomach, watching as he sputters and coughs from the strike, a bit of his own blood leaking out of the corner of his mouth and dribbling down his chin.

"You heard the lady, 'mein freund.' What are you doing here?" Danny asks, his voice calm and controlled. Good cop bad cop huh? "Just tell us honestly and we'll let you go."

The man stares incredulously, eyes flitting back and forth nervously between the two of us trying to work out what kind of trap he's landed himself in. He chews nervously at his bottom lip, tongue flicking out and licking up the errant trail of blood that trickles slowly from his mouth. "I was just passing through," he rasps, his voice coarse and gravelled, reminding me of a blues singer I heard on the radio once before- Tim Waits I think. "Just wanted some food… been on the run from verdammt doves, couldn't hunt anywhere with them on my tail."

"Doves? You brought fucking doves here? You stupid son-of-a-bitch!" Danny swears, striking the man heavily across the jaw, a pearled chunk of tooth flying out of sight and clinking quietly as it skitters across the ground. "How many? How many were after you?"

The man chuckles dryly, even his laugh sounding worn out and burnt, like the crackle and spit of a campfire. "Scheiße… two of them, standard team. Tracked me from Frankfurt to Calais where I hopped the channel on a ferry. Those arschgesichts have been following me like blood hounds," he explains, still eyeing us warily underneath his calm façade.

"What the hell are doves doing in Britain?" I angrily ask Danny. "They're supposed to be in Asia, only a couple in Germany. I could see some being in London, but to make their way this far up north? Something is going on."

"We are all fleeing Deutschland, little girl. Berlin, Frankfurt, even Leipzig has fallen to the doves," the man interjects sardonically. "They cleansed the cities of our kind, dozens of the white cloaks with their Sheißaktentasche, sweeping through the sewers and slaughtering everything."

Me and Danny both pale considerably at this. If the doves managed to clear out whole cities… well we're bloody well fucked if they've tracked this guy up here. "We have to leave Leicester," I say, turning to Danny for confirmation. He nods contritely, obviously not pleased at the situation. "What do we do with him?" I continue, gesturing at the refugee in front of me.

Danny doesn't even hesitate. He slits the mans throat from ear to ear, a gushing smile appearing below his chin. The mans eyes widen and he gurgles desperately, moving to clutch at his naked throat, straining feebly against my hold on him, his arms sliding forward slightly before I tear them off of him, the limbs falling to the ground. His head slumps over and Danny presses his fingers up to the crook of the mans neck, checking for a pulse.

"He's dead, let's head back and start packing, we leave tomorrow," he states with finality, and I turn to follow, leaving the body behind.

-::-

"Any ideas on where we should go?" I ask, Danny fiddling with his hair, dirty blonde curled around his finger as he thinks. He lifts his head, broken out of his thoughts.

"Haven't a clue, but we need to move. North is the best option, somewhere small where we can lay low for a while," he says, brow furrowed. "We could cut through Nottingham and head up to Sheffield. Maybe go further up into Scotland? Glasgow is large and there's no shortage of gangs we can prey on. We'd probably have to worry about running into other ghouls there, seeing as though ghouls are fleeing over here."

"Glasgow is damned far. Let's get to Sheffield, maybe Yorkshire and see what happens. If we find it safe there, we stay. Otherwise we should trek up to Scotland."

"Then let's go," I reply, throwing my bag over my shoulder and beckoning for Danny to follow. We leap from the window, checking his compass to make sure we're on the right track before heading north. As we walk the city sights slowly turns to suburban, the incandescent streetlights becoming more subdued, quaint houses dotting the roads instead of towering apartments. The houses soon turn to open grassland, forests and farms littered sparsely across the long winding highway. We keep walking through the night, watching as the sun glimmers on the horizon, slowly making its journey upwards and lighting our path.

By noon we've reached Nottingham, crossing the River Trent and into the outskirts of the city. I look around at the rows of houses, uniform in every way, well kept hedgerows and roses growing tidily out front. It reminds me of Number 4, too prim and perfect. I grimace as I remember how I tore into Petunia, eviscerating the poor woman. She was a right bitch, but I don't think it warranted me eating her.

I shrug mentally as we meander further in, old brickwork buildings standing cozily, nestled tightly amongst each other while brutalist office buildings stand opposite, in stark contrast to the century old pubs and apartments. We soon enter into the bustling downtown, thick with frustrated locals attempting to make their way through crowds of starry-eyed, clueless tourists. I throw the hood up on my jumper, ignoring the oppressing heat as I hide my face. I don't want to hear of any ghost sightings around Nottingham.

I pick up the smells of the city, what used to be the tantalizing scent of fresh bread now carries the tepid odour of a used sponge. A butcher's shop emanates the rank stench of bile and rotten cheese. It doesn't make much sense to me how I can correlate these new smells to the old, how they resemble one thing- how I know they're one thing, yet they smell so wrong. Suddenly I perk up, the pleasant musk of bitter dark chocolate flitting across my senses.

I pause, grabbing Danny and directing him towards it, lacing through the throngs of oblivious tourists until we find ourselves in front of a tiny little café, a smattering of tables shaded by blue umbrellas resting on the sidewalk in front of it, people laughing and talking as they drink from steaming mugs or ice filled cups of tea and coffee. I smile widely as I direct Danny in, ordering myself a small cup of black coffee, as I've always been more partial to the stronger, more bitter flavours in life. It probably reflects something about me.

Danny laughs loudly as I take a tentative sip, grinning widely when it tastes just as I expect it to. Black coffee. "This is incredible!" I gasp, excitedly gulping down another mouthful and burning my tongue. I ignore the mild stinging pain and instead marvel at how amazing such a simple thing could be. "We can taste coffee?" I ask, hope in my eyes. "It doesn't make us… you know, sick?"

"No, not at all," Danny smiles, slowly nursing his own cup. He cradles it in his hands, allowing the heat to suffuse him even on such a hot and stifling day. "It's probably the one thing apart from water we can truly enjoy that… others can."

"Well, even if its just coffee I'm bloody happy about it," I announce, happily gulping down the rest of my drink before ordering another, drinking it at a more sedate pace as the caffeine buzzes noisily through my body. I lean back in my seat, letting my tense muscles relax. I've been a bit on edge during our trip over here, jumping at shadows and expecting men in white trench coats to come streaming out of the trees. Its nice to finally be able to sit back and just relax, to not worry about the world around me for a few minutes and just have a blessed moment of silence.

-::-

We decided to stay in Nottingham and set up camp in a derelict apartment building, where I ward an abandoned two-bedroom suite to hell and back, lacing and layering protection after protection over it. I look at my handiwork, four rune stones placed at each corner of the apartment with a binding ward stone resting buried under the floorboards, set dead centre in the apartment. I would know, I measured the bloody thing and made absolutely sure that it was placed exactly there. Augments the wards and all that.

I admire the amalgamation of withering hexes, assorted deadly curses, muggle-repelling wards, and notice-me-nots. To the best of my knowledge, doves aren't magical, so this should make this apartment damn near impenetrable. I knock on the wooden coffee table we nabbed from a gangbanger two floors down. Wouldn't do to invite bad luck to my doorstep, considering naming something impenetrable, unbreakable, impregnable and other synonyms never works out. Case in point: the Titanic.

I've managed to pick up another job to keep myself busy, working at the counter in a local used bookstore. I convinced the elderly owner that I'm of age and should only be paid in cash with the aid of a few confundus charms and a doe eyed smile. The gig is nice, and the shop is quite slow, which allows me to spend a lot of my time reading and catching up on books that I never had the chance to pick up. I'm convinced that the only reason this place is still open is because the owner has nothing better to spend his money on. The plights of being a bored retiree I guess.

I've borrowed a copy of The Fellowship of the Ring, already engrossed in the tale of Frodo's journey towards Mordor and the rag-tag group of adventurers that accompany him. Funnily enough, Frodo reminds me a little of myself. A young and unassuming boy thrown into a world he never could have imagined in even his wildest dreams, fighting for his life and warring against a powerful force of evil. It parallels my trials with Voldemort quite nicely. How I came from admittedly humble roots, scared and unsure of myself in the new world I found myself in, with Ron and Hermione accompanying me on my adventure as my own little personal fellowship. I wouldn't say I'm quite as heroic as the young Hobbit that I'm such a big fan of, but I think I've done some dangerously heroic things. I certainly stood up to a troll in the same way that he did, although it did involve a bit more snot than his altercation in the mines of Moria.

The month has rolled by quickly here in Nottingham. It's dare I say it… peaceful. Of course, October has to be my most hated month, if only for the fact that it harbors the thrice-damned holiday known as Halloween. It doesn't matter how much I love autumn. The sun-kissed leaves taking their rest until their return next spring, the pleasant chill in the air that accompanies their fall. I adore it completely, but it doesn't change the fact that the thirty first of October should not exist on any calendar. If I had the choice it would be stricken away as a national holiday.

Seriously, it's like the world comes together to make my life a misery on the thirty first. Murder, trolls, basilisks, foolish godfathers with a penchant for bad decisions involving revenge. Life just finds a way to make things erratic and unstable come Halloween, and I'm not looking forward to figuring out what pile of shit that it'll land me in this year.

I close my book, marking my page and tucking it into my bag as I begin to close up the shop, ushering out a couple of undecided stragglers and then helping the few who have a stack pay for their novels. I sigh in relief when the last of them are out, grabbing my key and locking up before heading my way home.

I catch shining orange lights out of the corner of my eye as I wander towards the apartment, turning to look at the garish display that's caught my attention; an offensively bright holiday shop, covered in inanimate and mechanical Halloween decorations that are either hanging there eerily or cackling and hissing in robotic tones. I hate Halloween, but I absolutely love costumes.

I walk into the shop, the door creaking ominously as I open it. They have to have done that on purpose. I meander through the small aisles, gazing upon the cheap and tattered plastic outfits displayed along the walls. Renditions of Frankenstein's monster, Dracula, and the creature from the black lagoon, amongst other classic horrors stare back at me with empty eyes and feral grins.

"Are you looking for anything specific?" a voice asks from behind me.

I turn around, spying the clerk. A tall girl with strong blue eyes and messy black hair, falling in frizzy ringlets to her shoulders. "I was wondering if you had anything less…"

"Cheap?" she interjects, laughing quietly. "This is our discount section for costumes, for families that have a harder time affording something for their children," she explains, gesturing at the wall in front of me. She looks at me pointedly and beckons for me to follow, leading me to a grander area of the shop. Impressively made masks are arrayed across the wall here, obviously made of much finer materials. I notice a slew of classic venetian masks, the hooked beak of a plague doctor, the sly grin of a jester, or the grim mouthless façade of a traditional bauta.

I stop in front of a triple faced harlequin mask, a furious expression sandwiched between the sock and buskin, one face crying out in fear and sadness while the other silently screams in laughter, ignoring his partners apparent foul mood. The bottom of the mask is cut out, meant to end just below the nose and frame the wearers mouth so as to leave it open if they need to eat or drink.

From the eyes and above the mask is lined with what was once gleaming gold paint that has been sanded down to a dull bronze, the bottom half smooth and etched like fine marble. I pick it up, marvelling at the weight and texture of the solid, hardened plastic in my hands, flipping it over to look at the interior which is lined with a breathable silk and a series of small, yet sturdy straps. I'm assuming those are meant to hold it in place no matter how inebriated the wearer is while still being discrete and not detracting from their costume.

"I love it," I whisper, running my hands over the work of art as it leers hideously back at me. "How much is this?" I ask, looking up at the clerk inquisitively.

"About a hundred quid before tax," she replies, thumbing her cheek thoughtfully. "But we have had that one for a couple years, no one ever really buys these fancy ones," she smiles, pointing at the incredible masks laid out in front of me. "I think we could do eighty-five on that, but I'll have to ask my boss first."

"That sounds fantastic!" I exclaim, already rummaging around looking for my wallet. I grin triumphantly as I pull out a hundred pounds in assorted notes and march up to the till with my eminent purchase in hand. The lady smiles at me and briskly walks off to the backroom to negotiate with her manager on the pricing. She comes back after a few minutes with a triumphant gleam in her eyes.

"Looks like you're getting that for eighty-five then," she says, ringing through my purchase before wrapping and bagging it, along with handing me my change. "Now, that there is as nice of a mask as you'll ever get, but just in case anything happens to it we do have someone on hand who can do repairs," she offers.

"I'll make sure to treat it well, but if its beyond my means I'll be sure to bring it back," I smile, practically skipping out of the shop with my impulse buy. I happily jog back to the apartment, popping in with an incredibly domestic 'Hey! I'm home!' before immediately plopping down onto the couch and drawing out my book. What can I say? I really enjoy Tolkien.

"Welcome back!" Danny calls, striding into the spartan living room, dusting his hands off on his pants and cocking his head inquisitively at the shopping bag resting next to me. "What'd you get?" he asks, sitting down next to me and rifling through the bag.

"The most incredible mask you've ever seen, now get your hands off!" I order, smacking his greedy fingers away and laughing as he pouts mockingly. "I just saw it and I had to have it," I explain, pulling the mask out of the bag and putting it on, smiling broadly as he exclaims his approval.

"That looks fantastic!" he crows, poking the mask to check what kind of material was used. "Wow! You really went all out on this," he whistles. "That's made out of sculpted resin, that's the stuff they use to make the good masks in movies. Were you taking a page out of the Japanese ghoul communities book with this?"

"What?"

"Well, they wear masks to hide their identities instead of just hoods like we do," he explains, remembering how little knowledge I have of the ghoul world.

"So, there's a whole bunch of bloodthirsty monsters just like us running around Tokyo with very fashionable masks?" I inquire, taking off my new purchase and rolling it over in my hands.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that. Although, I doubt any of their masks are as cool as yours unless they're some higher up like a Kommandant, or whatever they call those over there," he says, looking down at the mask with a slight bit of jealousy. "I think I'm going to have to get myself one of those."

"Well, the shop is just fifteen minutes away. We could go there tomorrow if you'd like?"

"Sounds like a plan! Might as well get one with Halloween coming up anyways."

I scoff quietly, placing the mask back in its box and resting my feet on the table. "Not a huge fan of Halloween. Makes it a bit of an ironic kick in the arse considering I like fancy dress," I admit, arms held out as if to say, 'what can ya' do?' "I was orphaned on Halloween, and shit just tends to go wrong for me on that day ever since," I explain at Danny's questioning look.

"Ah, sorry about that," he apologises, placing his hand on my arm. "I know what it's like to not know your family, so if you ever need to chat, let me know."

"Why thank you, oh bloodthirsty ghoulish monster," I jibe, smirking slightly.

"It's no problem, masked wonder," he snaps back, cackling as I push him away.

I go back to my book, enjoying the companionable silence that we have going as I push through the story. Who knows, maybe this year I'll have a normal Halloween for once?

Look forward to Hogwarts in the next chapter! Tri-wizard Tournament here we go!

Terror Demon: My idea is that ghouls probably end up a bit unstable when the kakuja isn't completely formed. There'll be a short stint of instability later to add some spice to this story.

eragon13579: So yeah, ghouls in this universe aren't completely confined to Japan, although even canon is a bit shaky on that considering Matsuri spent time in Germany, specifically in Bremen where he wiped out the Rosewalds.
I'm going to do the Goblet forcing her to Hogwarts in a bit of a different way. No temporal distortion or teleportation here.
Trust me! I'm going to do my best to avoid Mary Sue'ing Zoe. Nobody is perfect, especially not a witch turned ghoul.

ClearSilver: Yes, Zoe is going to be in the tournament, and it's going to be fucking wild.