A/N: Thank you so very much to Darthclaire for the German, and to my dearest darlingest daddy for the French and for polishing my Spanish--without asking why! I expect this to be somewhat epic. And somewhat soap-operatic. Also, I refuse to read Harry Potter fic. I'm not even entirely sure why I'm writing it, other than for the wonderful situational comedy.
(PS. No, Ryoma will NOT be killing Voldemort, nor will any of the other Princes. God. Have some faith in me, would ya?)

---

"Lemon drop, Ojii-san?" asked Albus, already sucking on one of his own as they waited for the match to begin. It was a lovely day for a little leisurely spectating, and Albus fully intended to enjoy it.

"Thank you," Ojii replied shakily.

"I must say, I'm very excited. How many years has it been?" Albus paused, began counting on his fingers, then gave up. "Quite a few. I hope my Japanese hasn't gotten too rusty in its misuse?"

"No," said Ojii.

"Ah, thank you. Such nice summers you have here. Last year I took my vacation in South Peru. Completely slipped my mind that it was winter."

"South of the equator."

"Exactly, dear boy. So you coach a tennis team now?"

Ojii nodded.

"Are they the ones playing today? No?"

"Hyoutei," Ojii said, slowly pointing a bony finger to one end of the court, "And Rikkaidai."

Albus studied them, savoring his lemon drop thoughtfully, then pointed to another group assembled a few rows in front of them. "Who are the loud children? In the uniforms."

"Seigaku."

"Ahh."

"Fudomine," Ojii added, pointing across the courts to the other bleachers. One of the loud, uniformed young men in the rows in front of them shouted and waved to them.

"Where's yours?"

"Not here."

Albus nodded sagely.

The announcement system buzzed across the courts: "Rikkaidai Fuzoku Chuu versus Hyoutei Gakuen matches will now begin."

"Doubles two!" called the referee. "Jackal-Marui pair versus Oshitari-Gakuto!"

Albus sat back in his seat, popped another lemon drop into his mouth, and relaxed in the knowledge that his vacation would be uneventful and deliciously free from work.

Not only that, but his outfit was utterly fabulous.

---

It was not every day, Yukimura reflected, that spry old men with long beards and bright purple kimonos (with enormous pink-green-and-white butterflies on) approached him and eagerly asked which academy he was attending.

His team, being well trained, gave the man a strange look.

"Weren't you listening?" Sanada asked.

"We're Rikkai. The winners," Yanagi added.

"Therefore we go to Rikkai," Yukimura said slowly, because the man was elderly and foreign and probably didn't understand very well.

"Yes, yes, I know," he said, "But which magic school do you go to? I'm the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Dumbledore Albus. I'm sure you've heard of us? We've been Voldemort's main target for years...?"

The team looked at each other helplessly. "Sir, what are you talking about?" Yagyuu asked.

"Crazy talk!" said Niou. "Don't bother with him, Niou. He's just a weirdo, doesn't know the language."

"That's not funny, Niou-kun. I'm not you; please make a better attempt to remember that." Yagyuu bowed to the strange old man. "My apologies, Dumbaladoru-san," he said very, very slowly. "We believe we've misunderstood you. Would you be more comfortable speaking in English?"

"No, no, that's alright, I'm fluent."

Yagyuu glanced at Yukimura, who shrugged, and then to Yanagi, who shook his head the very slightest bit.

"As you say, Dumbaladoru-san."

"You all have a very interesting technique," Dumbaladoru-san was saying, as cheerful as if the air around him wasn't as thick as bread pudding with silent conversations. "I didn't know the Japanese National Academy of Magic was making such innovations. Are you sure you're allowed to display your skills in front of all these Muggles?"

"Mug-gu-lus?" Marui whispered to Jackal.

Yagyuu opened and closed his mouth a few times. "Sir, I'm terribly sorry, but I really don't understand your meaning."

"Schools of magic!" Dumbaladoru-san said in English. Yagyuu blinked again. The old man looked troubled and twisted the end of his beard. "Is there any other common language between us?" he asked, again in Japanese.

"I speak French," Marui volunteered.

"Trés bien! Assistez-vous quelle école de magie?"

"He can't be asking what I think he's asking," Marui muttered. "Jackal parle espagnol. Il est meilleur que mon Français."

"Ahh, oui. Apenás quiero saber á cual escuela mágica ustedes assisten."

"¿Escuela mágica?" Jackal asked. "¿Usted es seguro?"

"Sí, sí!"

"Pero señor, magia no existe."

Dumbaladoru-san looked shocked. "¿No existe? Pero ustedes realizararón magia¿verdad?"

Yukimura slipped away from the group, crossed the courts, and smiled at Hyoutei and Seigaku, who were bonding over their mutual humiliation, Yukimura assumed. He smiled at them.

"I need Atobe and Tezuka, please. We're having a communication problem across the court. So far we've gone through four languages and we're still not sure whether we're getting the correct interpretation."

"What do you need us for?" Tezuka asked, blank and neutral as ever.

"German," Yukimura said. "And Atobe-san's magnificent prowess."

---

"Verstehen wir richtig?"

"Ich denke ja. Warum sind alle verwirrt?" Dumbaladoru-san asked. The poor man's cheerful attitude hadn't wavered in the slightest.

"His accent on the whole isn't too bad," said Atobe under his breath.

"He must have studied when he was younger," Tezuka answered.

"But did he say sauber or Zauber?"

"Schule von Zauber doesn't make any sense."

"Very true. What's a magic school?"

"But 'sauber' is 'clean'--why would he ask us which school of cleanliness we attend? That doesn't make sense either."

"I think he's crazy and we should all run away," Niou said.

"Thank god Akaya-kun doesn't join high school until spring."

"Lemon drop, anyone?"

"Well, I like him," Marui slurred around his lemon drop. "Je ne pense pas que vous êtes fou."

"Merci."

"Mais vos vêtements... Ou la la."

Dumbaladoru-san only smiled at Marui and offered him another lemon drop.

"Ore-sama doesn't know what to do with this!"

"Try Italian?" Tezuka offered.

"I don't speak Italian, Tezuka!" Atobe snapped. "I speak Greek! And German!"

"Sorry."

"Listen," Dumbaladoru-san said. "I find myself highly impressed by your linguistic skills, but I only want to know whether you go to the Japanese National Academy of Magic or the Emperor's School of Sorcery."

"Dumbaladoru-san," Yukimura began, "There's no such thing as magic. We don't go to a... a magic school. We just play tennis." His eyes turned wistful and the sudden breeze ruffled his hair. "Without tennis, I'd be noth--"

"Ah-hah!" said Dumbaladoru-san. "You're doing it right now!"

Rikkai looked vaguely offended. "He didn't!" Niou said. "That's just how buchou is."

"Manipulative of the weather?" Dumbaladoru-san's eyes twinkled at them, and everyone started edging away from him.

Marui sat down next to him and took another lemon drop.

---

Dear Minerva,

I trust you are enjoying Switzerland. Getting away from work for a few weeks is terribly revitalizing, isn't it? Japan is lovely; I got together with a few old friends and went to see a tennis match! I forgot how much I enjoy Muggle sports. (If you've never seen tennis, it's very simple. Just like Quidditch, really, except there's only two or four players on the court at once, one ball, no goal posts, and the referee doesn't get Portkeyed to the Sahara. Oh, and they play with racquets and there's no broomsticks. But other than that, exactly the same.)

But what I thought was going to be a day of entertaining Muggle-sport spectating turned out to drag me back into work mode. Again. Just like when I was in Peru last year, remember?

These high school boys--mere children, but astoundingly gifted--they'd never even heard of magic! They hadn't the foggiest idea what they were doing during those matches. How, I asked myself, could such shining talent have been overlooked by the local schools?

I investigated and found a very simple answer: In recent years, their enrollment numbers have skyrocketed. More children than ever are showing magical ability, and the schools don't have the resources to educate all of them. According to Yamaguchi-sensei, headmaster of the National Academy, all twelve major schools in Asia are over-enrolled--they've been trading students off and shifting them around thousands of miles and still they're overlooking a shocking amount of the local talent.

What do you think, Minerva? Do we have room to take in some of these boys? I've sent owls off to the Inca Academy of Wizardry and the Salem Witches' Institute to request their assistance as well.

Much affection,
Albus

PS. Be sure to take the yodeling class I recommended!

---

"Buchou, run," Niou hissed.

"What? Why?"

"He's here--"

"Hello again!"

Yukimura froze, then turned around with a smile. "Dumbaladoru-san, how lovely to see you again."

"Thank god Kirihara's not here to scream about stalkers," mumbled Niou.

"I would like to apologize for any confusion I caused," Dumbaladoru-san said with a small bow. "I'm here to clear things up."

Yukimura had years of practice dealing with people of questionable sanity: His pleasant expression didn't shift in the slightest. "Quite unnecessary, sir."

"Actually, I think it might be."

---

Translations:

French and Spanish:
"I speak French."
"Very good! Which school of magic do you attend?"
"Jackal speaks Spanish. It's better than my French."
"Ah, yes. I just want to know which magic school all of you go to."
"Magic school? Are you sure?"
"Yes, yes."
"But sir, magic doesn't exist."
"Doesn't exist? But you were doing magic just now, right?"
...

German:

"Do we understand correctly?"
"I think so. Why is everyone confused?"

French again:
"Well, I like him," Marui slurred around his lemon drop. "I don't think you're crazy."
"Thank you."
"But your clothes... Whoo."