Chapter 1
Harry’s Flames activate for the first time when he is eleven.
Orange fire spreads from his palms to Quirrell’s face as he struggles against the man and the possessed Death Eater is soon engulfed in them. The last thing Harry remembers beyond his professor’s screams is the warmth of a fire that doesn’t burn him but consumes everything else.
Later, the headmaster will tell him about his mother’s protection and the young wizard will nod, despite the something in his gut screaming that he’s wrong. Besides, he likes the idea that the warmth comes from Lily Potter. It heals the part of him that still believes what Aunt Petunia said about his parents.
After the chase for the Stone, Hermione, Ron and Harry get closer than ever.
Ron jokes that near-death experiences are the best way to deepen a friendship. He's not wrong but he also doesn’t know about Flames, or that Harry has finally started courting his Elements. Ron and Hermione aren’t Flame-active, but they are Harry’s Storm and Lightning. They haven't achieved full Harmonisation, but the fledgling Guardian bond soothes something in them that they can’t quite name.
The next Elements Harry subconsciously Courts come in a pair. Fred and George never do anything without the other, it’s thus naturally that Harry would seek his twin Mists together. They shield him from other students, redirect attention and always, always have his back. The Heir of Slytherin debacle is the most notable example of this, but it is not the last. Nobody but Harry notices the indigo that colours some of their pranking items and he doesn't know enough about the wizarding world to mention it.
The others don’t come as easily.
Friendship is not enough to make someone a Sky’s Guardian, and it is only when the war starts that Harry starts cultivating his other bonds. He finds a Rain in the quiet Neville, a Cloud in the fiercely independent Ginny and another Misty Rain in the whimsical but tranquil Luna while the Defence Association is at war with Dolores Umbridge and the Ministry's Inquisition. Harry is a leader now, and they are the ones he trusts to watch his back.
But before that, there was Cedric.
He was a beautiful Sun. Admired by many, he would have even made a wondrous Sky. If Harry had dared, he would have asked him to the Yule Ball. But he didn’t know yet that it was something that he could do, and the occasion slipped away.
Their tentative bond formed as they both wrapped their hand on the Goblet of Fire, intent on sharing their victory. Harry basked in the warmth of his upperclassman, marvelling at the faint yellow glow he emitted. Their bond snapped only a moment later.
It broke something in Harry’s heart that left him bereft of any warmth for months. His other bonds were made brittle in response as Harry was made a war general and his soul a battleground when his Sky meant he was supposed to be a home.
Harry has never had a home for himself.
He only had Hogwarts, but it was a school where he only was granted a temporary shelter. Sirius had promised him one, but then he lost him. The only thing he had left was fighting. So Harry assumed his role as leader and forgot about his dreams of family. His only family was dead, and he had a war to win.
When it came time to walk to his death, he had regrets. He would have wanted to find somewhere he truly belonged. He would have wanted to be a good godfather for the son Remus had left behind, a better friend to Ron, Hermione and the others. He would have wanted the chance to be Harry, just Harry. But his Guardians and the Wizarding World were counting on him to end this war. They didn’t need him to be a home. So Harry faced death and greeted it like an old friend. He died and the fledgling bonds he had made snapped, one after the other.
He still took the chance to come back when it was offered to him. He awoke on the ground with orange fire nobody else seemed to see enveloping him and faced Voldemort again. He became the Man-Who-Conquered, the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice.
Hermione and Ron hugged him hard enough to bruise, relieved not to have lost him. Ginny, Neville and Luna followed suit. Harry then kneeled next to George and pressed a last kiss on Fred’s forehead, holding his almost-brother as he cried for his lost twin. He went around, embracing his fellow soldiers, mourning for those they lost, and relishing the end of that interminable war. Days passed, people healed. The Wizarding World slowly recovered. Funerals were held, laws were abolished, and other, fairer edicts were implemented.
People grieved and moved on.
They went back to school to pass their NEWTs. Harry spent that year focused on helping repair his only home along with studying for his exams.
Then comes graduation, and summer.
Harry spends time with Teddy and his friends, trying to ignore how cold he feels inside. It doesn’t work as well as it did at Hogwarts, where there was so much to do he could forget the gaping hole in his chest.
He watches as his friends get their lives back together. George finally went back to his and Fred’s joke shop, after a year of depression. Ron accepted an offer to join the Aurors’ training program. Hermione got a proposition from the Department of Care and Regulation of Magical Creatures. She was determined to participate in the making of a better system. Ginny was considering an offer from the Holyhead Harpies. She would become their reserve chaser. Neville and Luna left England to chase after rare plants and rarer magical creatures.
(His Flames reach out to recreate the Bonds he made with his Guardians and the warmth he meets is too feeble. No longer stifled by the horcrux his body hosted, his Flames are too big to Harmonise with his friends’ Flames. But they keep reaching out and grasping at nothing, and he feels cold, cold cold.)
Before she left, Luna kissed his cheek and told him he needed to leave and find his Rainbow.
“You’re still mourning the Sky you were before. But it didn’t have the right climate. Our winds weren’t strong enough to sustain it and there wasn't enough light to brighten you up. We still love you, even if we can't make you warm anymore. Go find the colours that suit you.”
He talks about it with Hermione. She suggests he try traveling to find those colours Luna mentioned. She doesn't consider she was being literal. When he mentions the cold he feels constantly, she theorises it comes from his recent brush with death. That it will fade away with time.
“Maybe you were cold the first time it happened too. Nobody can tell what secondary effects surviving the killing curse would have on you.”
Like the time Dumbledore told him about his mother’s protection, he instinctively knows it’s not quite right. This time he listens to his instincts and decides to make it a project. He’ll research all kinds of obscure spells as he travels the world. Hopefully it will help him find out why he feels so cold. It might help him figure out this orange fire too.
He says his goodbyes and promises to write and come back at least once a year.
His first stop is the Goblin Nation, where he pays his reparations for the damage he did to the bank by giving away all the goblin made artefacts there are in the Potter and Black vaults. Then he gives them the ones found in the vaults he was bequeathed by strangers and orders the given money to be given to charity. It still baffles him that people gave him so much without ever having met him.
Once it’s done, he takes what he needs from his own accounts and leaves. By the end of it, the goblins still don’t like him very much but they no longer look like they want to kill him on sight.
He starts with France.
The magical district of Paris is beautiful, and he stays there a week before moving on. He visits the muggle parts of the country, then stops at a wizarding city in the Pyrenees where there is a gigantic library and plenty of researchers. He’s still not as interested in learning as Hermione, but he has fun looking through old tomes and bothering the researchers in exchange for some of his own stories. He reads about curses and healing, asks about spells and strange magical occurrences, but finds nothing about orange flames or side effects of coming back from the dead.
Far from his friends, he feels even colder.
He perseveres.
He goes to Spain, then Morocco, Algeria, Libya and Egypt. He meets many fascinating people and learns new spells and rituals he would have never been taught at Hogwarts. But despite the North African heat, he finds himself shivering. Even crossing the Sahara does little to soothe him. In fact, it makes it even worse: the temperature difference makes him feverish.
Harry takes a boat from Alexandria to Napoli, intent on going East. He doesn’t plan to spend more than a few days in Italy. He wrote a letter to Viktor Krum, who has agreed to host him in his home in Bulgaria when he gets there.
There is no magical district in Italy. It is too close to the Vatican, which makes wizards twitchy. The magical community lives in Atlantis, an island East of Sicily, thought lost to the world by Muggles. When his strange condition starts getting worse, Harry resigns himself to making a stop there before taking a portkey to Sofia. He doesn’t make it this far. He collapses on his way to the port and bursts into orange flames in the middle of a high street.
***
Renato has never had a Sky.
He’d fooled everyone into thinking he never wanted one too. He was the World’s Greatest Hitman and he would be tied down by no Famiglia, they said. And they were partially right. He had no desire to cater to the whims of any random Mafia families.
But a Sky was home and belonging, and he desperately yearned for that. After Luce’s betrayal —she was the only Sky strong enough to possibly Attract him— and the curse inflicted upon him however, he buried that longing deep within himself.
Teaching Pipsqueak-Dino and No-Good Tsuna reawakened it somewhat as he engineered situations to help them bond with their own Guardians. He usually smothered it again by shooting at his students, ignoring the envy in his gut. And then No-Good Tsuna accomplishes the impossible: he frees him and his fellow Arcobaleno from his curse. They are still stuck as infants but permitted to grow. Two years later, Viper comes to them with a medicine meant to help them grow back to their adult form in a few months as opposed to several years. When asked, they charge an exorbitant price for the ingredient list. Only Verde takes them up on the offer, which prompts him into a research frenzy.
Renato knows better than to ask.
And now he is free from the curse, twenty-two in body and much older in mind, walking down the streets of Napoli. His no-good student doesn’t require as much supervision and he is free to take hits again. He likes knowing that he hasn’t lost his touch. The hit doesn’t take him long, and he has a free evening before he must go to the airport and take a plane back to his student.
He’s whistling to Leon and enjoying the Italian summer when it happens. A staggering wave of Sky Flames erupts, coming from a block away. Renato sucks in a breath and picks up his pace. He would like to say it’s simply curiosity that guides his steps, but that would be a rather blatant lie.
He can’t just ignore a distressed Sky.
As he finally reaches the right street and gets a better idea of what he’s looking at, he can’t bite back a curse. There is a young man collapsed in the middle of the road, completely engulfed in Orange Flames. People are surrounding him, mostly passersby trying to help. They keep their distance, unable to see the Flames but subconsciously minding them.
Among them, he sees a Storm and a Rain from a local Famiglia. They are pretty insignificant, but he keeps a close eye on them anyway as he makes his way to the Sky, keeping a nonchalant expression as he tries to ignore the slight trembling of his hands in his pockets. He is truly rattled by the sensation of this stranger’ Flames, but he can’t let it cloud his judgement. The two Mafiosos seem to recognise him as he crouches down to observe the young Sky and hastily back away.
Good. They at least have some sense.
The Sky is very young. Probably not even twenty yet. And Unbonded. Renato ignores his own Flames stirring in interest at this observation and puts one hand on his forehead, the other on his shoulder.
He curses.
Despite the Flames surrounding him, he is so very cold. Some kind of Discordance then. But nothing he’s seen before. He might need Shamal’s help with this.
Suddenly, the young man opens his eyes. A lesser man than Renato would have been startled, but he only reaffirms his grip on the Sky’s shoulder. His eyes are blazing ambers that flicker to emerald green when his Flames move too sharply. He is unfocused for a few seconds, before settling on Renato’s face. He searches for something in the hitman’s expression and his face breaks into the saddest smile the Italian has ever seen. The young Sky raises a trembling hand to Renato’s cheek and whispers.
“Found it.”
“What did you find?”
Renato’s tone is a little breathless, but he can’t help it. He can feel the stranger’s Flames coaxing his out. The cold hand on his cheek is somewhat grounding, reminding him of their current situation, which is far from ideal for a Harmonization. He doesn’t even know this man. But that doesn’t stop his Sun Flames from reaching out, absurdly pleased at being courted by a Sky strong enough to hold them up. Renato has to use every ounce of self-control he possesses to keep his composure.
“Home,” his Sky replies, eyes glazing over.
Oh well.
At least he tried.
***
Harry wakes up feeling warm for the first time in months. Though the cold emptiness isn’t completely gone, he can tell that something has changed. He tries to remember what happened, but the only memory he has is of a silhouette bathed in gold yellow leaning toward him. He can’t tell if he hallucinated it.
He opens his eyes slowly and finds himself in what is clearly a hotel room. An expensive one, he thinks, staring at the silk sheets he is currently draped in —fully clothed, thanks Merlin— and the lavish decorations. He should be more wary than he is at the realisation that he has been kidnapped by a rich muggle but for some reason he doesn’t feel in danger. He hears noise outside the door and reaches for his wand, silently grateful that whoever put him in bed didn’t feel the holster strapped to his forearm. It is invisible to muggles, but it doesn’t mean they can’t touch it.
The two voices he hears are speaking in Italian, which makes him hope he is still in Napoli. He watches the door as it opens, ready to bolt at the first sign of danger. He’s fighting his instincts that tell him he’s safe, as he’s willing to trust his gut but still feels the need to verify.
“Ah, you’re awake.”
Harry relaxes immediately as he hears the man’s voice, which makes him tense back just as fast. The man in front of him is wearing an all-black suit, with a yellow long-sleeved shirt, a black necktie, and a black fedora with an orange stripe. He looks genuinely happy to see Harry, which puzzles the wizard. Behind him is a scruffy brown-haired man in a white suit and a black shirt who simply looks bored.
He keeps his attention on the first man who glows with a soft golden halo that makes something in Harry want to reach out.
"Ciaossu. I’m Reborn. And that’s Trident Shamal.”
“Yo.”
“Er, hi?”
The man smirks as he steps inside the room, his friend dogging his steps. They pull up two chairs to sit beside his bed.
“Normally that’s when you tell me your name.”
“Right. Sorry. I’m Harry Potter,” he says cautiously. No reaction. Definitely a muggle then. A glowy muggle, though? Maybe Italy doesn’t care as much about British news? The other places he visited did, so he finds it a bit surprising. “Just Harry is fine, though.”
“Nice to meet you, mio Cielo. Do you remember anything from yesterday?”
“I was supposed to go to—” he pauses. It’s not like he can tell them he was planning to take a boat to a lost island to be looked at by mediwizards. “to the hospital,” he settles. “I suppose I didn’t make it there? So you found me when I fainted and decided to take me to your hotel room instead of calling an ambulance,” he finishes, raising an eyebrow.
Reborn snorts.
“It’s not like they would have been able to do anything. I, however, brought you a doctor that can actually help,” he adds while gesturing at Shamal —what kind of name was that—, looking very pleased with himself.
Now it’s Harry’s turn to snort.
“Your doctor looks a little shady.”
“You really are a civilian, aren’t you?” says the aforementioned doctor, looking at him disbelievingly.
Harry wants to bristle, but the way he says civilian sounds very similar to how his community says the word muggle, so he pauses again and looks at the shady doctor with keen eyes.
“As opposed to what?” he asks sharply.
“Mafia.”
The young wizard shakes his head, disbelieving.
“Mafia. Of course. Just my luck. And what does the mafia want with me?”
“Anything you’re willing to give, mio Cielo,” purrs Reborn.
Harry can feel himself blushing but he ignores it in favour of glaring at the man. The Italian chuckles, visibly pleased with himself.
“Don’t worry, we’re not here to steal your virtue,” he adds with a roguish grin.
Harry would like to pretend he doesn’t find it attractive, but even he’s never been one for entertaining his own delusions. And the fact that despite what he says, this guy seems to be perfectly willing to “steal his virtue” is definitely not helping.
“We just want to talk to you about what happened when we found you.”
Harry feels himself straighten. The orange fire was a muggle thing then. He would never have guessed.
“You know why I’m like this, then?”
The doctor hums in agreement.
“I do. I don’t know how much you know about it, though. When was the first time you manifested your flames?”
“I was eleven.”
Shamal makes a choked noise and Reborn blinks.
“What?”
“You were eleven? And we’ve never heard of you before?”
“Why would you have heard of me?”
“Right. Explanations first, I suppose. The flames you produce are called Dying Will Flames. They are a manifestation of your resolve. Not everyone has them and they generally activate when you are put in a situation of grave danger. There are seven types of flames, all named after atmospheric phenomenons: Sky, Sun, Rain, Mist, Storm, Lightning, Cloud. Your flames are orange, which means you are a Sky. I myself am a Mist and Reborn here is a Sun.”
The two men show their Flames to him as Harry tries to process the information given to him. The yellow glow in Reborn’s palm seems to be calling to him, and the sensation of warmth he gets from it makes him want to reach out. He clenches his fist to stop himself from cradling the man’s hand on his cheek.
“Flame Users are generally found within the Mafia, and civilians who activate theirs are brought into the fold as quickly as they are found. Skies are especially sought after. That’s why we were so surprised that you had never heard of this before.”
“I’m from the suburbs in Surrey and went to a boarding school in Scotland during the school year. I didn’t have many occasions to bump into a lot of mafioso,” he snarks. “I grew up pretty isolated.”
The two men raise an eyebrow at that, clearly noticing that there was more to his story than simple isolation, but they don’t push.
“Why are Skies sought after?” he asks after a pause.
“A Sky’s attribute is Harmony,” answers Reborn. “It attracts other Elements to them. Elements who have harmonised are called Guardians, and they are loyal to their Sky above anyone else in return for being given a home. You can imagine why that would be attractive to a Famiglia.”
Harry grimaces. He had an inkling, yes. And the idea that he potentially could have such a power over others makes him uncomfortable. But a little part of him seems thrilled by the implications.
“I see. Wait. You called me “my Sky” earlier.”
The man smirks.
“We Harmonised, yes. What normally takes months of Courtship to others, you did in a handful of seconds while half-delirious,” he says, sounding awed. “And you did it to me, who has rejected more Skies than I can count.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Don’t worry, mio Cielo, it wouldn’t have happened if I didn’t want it to.”
Harry stares at him, trying to make sense of what he said. The man just announced he’d been unintentionally claimed by a manifestation of Harry’s soul and yet he looked like the cat who got the canary. Reborn stares back and the intensity of it makes Harry blush again.
Shamal coughs.
“Yeah, well, that’s not the only thing that happened yesterday. Seeing a Sky and his new Guardian interact is always fascinating, but I’d rather discuss the reason for your collapse if you won’t mind. You can catch up on the Flame Courting you should have had later.”
“As much as I hate to cut this short, he’s right. Now that you have more information, do you have an idea why you went into Discord yesterday?”
“Discord?”
“Ah, it’s usually what happens to Skies when one of their Guardians dies, or to a Guardian who loses their Sky. But the Discordance in your Flames seems like it was progressive, which doesn’t really happen. It’s honestly quite puzzling.”
Harry flinches and looks down at his lap.
“I think I know what happened. I— well. I used to have Guardians? I didn’t know that’s what it was but now that I know about Flames, it kind of makes sense. I don’t think they were Flame-Active, though so it was more like a one-way bond. I’m not sure about the right terminology for this. There was an incident at my school, and I died for a few minutes— it’s a long story,” he hastily adds as he sees Reborn opening his mouth. “But yeah. After I was er, not dead, I just felt so cold all the time,” he finishes miserably. “My friend suggested it was because of the after-effect of what happened but I knew it wasn’t this.”
He wants to expand on what it was like to feel the bonds snap without being aware of what they were, tell them about his confusion when he reached out to his friends and didn’t find the warmth he was used to, but it feels too intimate in Shamal’s presence.
He chances a look at Reborn and winces at the expression on his face. It seems like his attempt to gloss over the details didn’t really help.
Without thinking, he reaches out.
***
Renato tries to come to terms with the fact that he could have lost his Sky without ever having met him, but the panic at the thought is enough to choke him up. He feels nothing but pure terror at the picture Harry is depicting with his vague words.
Unable to help himself, he clasps the young man’s hand tightly. The warmth that floods him helps a lot to calm him down, but the exhaustion, guilt and wistfulness he can feel through their bond make him very aware that they have more to discuss.
It’s a very odd sort of grief, that of a Sky who has lost his Elements without truly losing them.
He didn’t think it was possible. There is some information missing in Harry’s tale, something vital to their understanding of the situation that he seems to be withholding for some obscure reason. He doesn’t feel distrustful of them, so there must be something more to it. Would his Sky be mad if he tried to find out through other means? Probably.
He sighs. Better not.
“So your Flames became incompatible?” muses Shamal aloud. Renato has known the man for years, and he can tell the man is curious, but Shamal also has enough sense not to push. “Hmm, so bonding with Reborn was almost a matter of survival in the end. Well, you’re definitely not Discordant anymore and apart from bedrest, I can’t exactly recommend anything to help settle your Flames.” The doctor turns to his colleague. “I’m going to take my leave then, unless you have another male patient to blackmail me into examining. I told you I only treat women.”
Renato snorts, both at his Sky’s disgusted expression and at Shamal’s blatant lie. The hitman has never had to resort to blackmail to get what he wanted from him. The doctor felt stupidly indebted to him even after all these years and took every opportunity to do him favours.
“You might want to call Verde if this happens again. He’s the specialist on this.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Shamal snorts.
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Just Harry.”
“Right. Nice to meet you too, shady doctor.”
“So,” says Renato after Shamal has left. “Would you be willing to tell me more about what happened to you now that he’s gone?”
Harry winces. He visibly hesitates before nodding.
“I technically shouldn’t but considering our bond, I think they’ll make an exception,” he mumbles.
Then he takes a deep breath and proceeds to tell him the wildest tale Renato has ever heard.
His Sky talks about a little boy invited into a world of magic, pursued by a madman, and forced to fight a war that should have been left to adults.
He spoke of sacrificing himself for a world that gave him nothing and waking up to a society that slowly healed while he stayed stagnant.
He spoke of Guardians who gave comfort but no warmth, of being desperate for somewhere to belong, of searching for answers in popular libraries and the most obscure places.
Chasing leads, freezing in a desert, and collapsing in a city he never truly meant to stay in.
Renato doesn’t know when he’s moved from his chair, but at the end of the tale, he’s laying on the bed with his arms wrapped around his Sky as Harry takes shuddering breaths. He murmurs nonsense to him in Italian, sending out his Sun Flames through the bond in a show of comfort and acceptance. His Sky falls asleep soon after, and Renato is left alone to think.
Despite the rush of possessiveness, he feels while thinking about his Sky’s previous Guardians, he can’t help but be grateful to them. It seems obvious to him that without them, Harry would have never had the will to come back from death. His fingers itch for his gun, wishing to ease his restlessness on some of the people who have wronged his newfound but oh, so precious Sky.
But Harry’s war is over, and the only demon dogging his steps is trauma. The only thing he can do for him is helping him recover, protect him from the Mafia until he’s figured out what he wants, and figure out what to do about the cold that is still periodically stifling his Flames. He has a feeling that he’s going to need to get his Sky a full set of Elements to resolve the issue.
Ugh.
Shamal is right, he’s going to have to call Verde.