Chapter 5
Harry lands in the middle of nowhere.
That is not exactly true. He can see the outline of the Vongola manor from there. He takes a deep breath, pulls out his wand, and casts a Patronus charm to stop himself from losing his mind. With four Guardian bonds to tether his Flames, Prongs is enough to keep him more or less stable. Still, his fingers tremble.
He runs them through his hair, trying to make sense of what just happened.
Maybe he just overreacted.
Renato didn’t look like he’d meant to say what he did. That was the problem, actually.
If the word lackey came to him as easily as the word freak did to the Dursleys, then there is something fundamentally wrong there. He tugs on his hair a little more, and sits down. Prongs gets closer to him, the stag brushing his incorporeal snout on his arm. The sensation is strange and doesn’t distract him from the cold, not exactly, but it’s enough for now.
He doesn’t know why he’s so shocked.
These people are Mafia. Calling people names is surely not the worst thing they’ve ever done. It was easy to forget when his Sun looked at him like he was something precious, but agreeing to have a hitman as an Element isn’t just accepting that he kills.
It means that fundamentally, people don’t matter to him in the way they would to Ron or Hermione. Maybe that was why Fon asked him about it. And Harry thought he was okay with that. He’s a little broken after everything he’s gone through, a little jagged around the edges. He doesn’t have space in his heart to believe in the sanctity of humanity, to love people just for being people. He bears his soul to a select few and he’s okay with that.
Maybe that’s the problem. He mistakenly believed that Renato chose the Arcobaleno as his prospective Guardians because he would have chosen them if he had been a Sky. Because he trusts and loves them the way Ron and Hermione trust him, trust each other.
“But that’s not quite true, is it,” he murmurs.
What has motivated Verde and Renato so far is urgency. Maybe they do trust their former associates more than they would most people, but that didn’t mean much. As far as he’s aware, the only one his Sun cares about right now is him. He blushes at the thought. Maybe not just him, he corrects himself. Renato seemed fond of his former students too, even if that is a different type of care.
He thinks Hermione would be proud of him.
He understands others a little better now. Still, even if he’s mentally correcting the assumptions he’s made about Renato, he can’t accept the way he talked about the Cloud Arcobaleno. Harry doesn’t know much about this man, not even his name, but he doesn’t blame him for leaving.
“Considering what they told me about Skies, I suppose I could tell him to stop calling him that, but…” But that’s not the problem.
The problem is that he’s now scared of getting close to his own Element. Because what makes him different from the Cloud Arcobaleno, really? They’re both civilians as far as the Mafia is concerned, and—
“You’re looking very frowny out there, mister Sky,” exclaims someone, making Harry jump.
He turns around, pointing his wand at the intruder in startlement.
“It is I, the Immortal— shit, a wizard?”
Harry’s eyes widen, and his hand falters a little.
He grips harder at his wand. The stranger is wearing a biker’s leather outfit, his helmet still on. Harry senses strong Flames from him, and guesses he is a Cloud by elimination. It is the only Flame type he hasn’t been close to yet, and he can see edges of purple surrounding him by intermittence.
“Who are you?”
The man in front of him flails.
“Ahem, I am the Immortal Skull de Mort! Bow before the one feared by Death itself!”
He finishes his statement by doing a strange pose. Harry stares.
“The immortal Skull de Mort,” he repeats, carefully enunciating each word like he’s tasting them on his tongue.
And he bursts out laughing, hard enough that tears form in the corner of his eyes. He presses a hand to his face, almost hitting himself with the tip of his wand as the wood brushes his cheek and hunches his back, giggling almost hysterically.
“Mate, what even, are you… what?”
Harry thinks he hasn’t laughed so much since before the war.
The strange man coughs, managing to look embarrassed despite it being impossible to see his face.
“You— you dare mock the great Skull-sama!”
“I’m,” starts Harry, his lips twitching, “really sorry about that, mister,” he pauses shortly, his eyes twinkling in mirth, “Skull de Mort.”
The man looks completely befuddled by his apology. Harry offers him an impish smile, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Thanks for that, mate. It’s been a while since I laughed so much. So. You know about magic, I gathered. Did you choose that name to spite Voldemort? Please tell me you did.”
The Cloud hisses at the name and strides over to Harry. The wizard doesn’t feel ill intent, but he still straightens his back at the approach.
“Why the fuck did you say his name?”
Harry blinks. The man sounded almost British for a second. Considering he’d been speaking with an obnoxious American accent before —the kind you heard in movies—, it was a little jarring.
“There’s no taboo on a dead man’s name. I do what I want,” he retorts.
“... he’s dead?”
Skull sits down in front of him, sounding shaken. His Flames roil within him, hard enough to make Harry back up. The Sky eyes the man warily.
“You didn’t know that.”
Who am I talking to exactly, he thinks, but can’t bring himself to ask.
“No, I didn’t. I haven’t had contact with the magical community in twenty years. Not since Death Eaters killed my older brother.”
That’s at the same time the first war with Voldemort ended, calculates Harry. He watches as the Cloud shudders and takes off his helmet, revealing a shock of purple hair and a painted face covered in piercings.
Harry has the abrupt thought that Sirius would have loved this man.
“I,” he starts, a little choked up at the memories of his godfather that resurface in his mind as he faces this biker with a taste for the drama and way too familiar grief etched onto his features. “My condolences.”
He chuckles mirthlessly.
“Thanks, mate, but it was a long time ago.”
“So you’re a squib?”
Skull shakes his head.
“My brother was muggle-born.”
“That… okay, that explains it. Um. Do you want to know?”
The Cloud looks weirdly fragile, though Harry guesses he’s anything but. He seems to think it over for a moment before nodding.
“Please.”
Harry haltingly explains about the First War and the baby who ended it all.
He tells Skull about the way Voldemort was weakened, and how he came back into power. The rise of the Order of the Phoenix, struggle to fight against him while the Ministry kept its head in the sand, and a Chosen One meant to defeat him. A final battle that culminated in both of their deaths, though the Boy-Who-Lived become Man-Who-Conquered lived to tell the tale.
He keeps the details vague and doesn’t mention anyone by name, especially not himself.
Of course, Skull sees through him.
“And that Man-Who-Conquered,” he says at the end of the story, “were you going to tell me it was you, mister Sky?”
Harry pouts. The Cloud laughs.
“You’re right, by the way. I chose the name based on… Voldemort. It seemed so inconsequential, but I wanted my little revenge. I had no power against that guy, and even when I found out about Flames, I had no way of reaching the magical world.”
His gaze darkens in a way that suggests he would have burnt it all to the ground if he’d had the occasion. Harry approves. He tries to ignore the way his Sky stirs in interest at the thought. Soon after his expression smooths over, turning bright and a little mischievous.
When he speaks up again, it is with a showman’s voice, higher and completely devoid of its previous South London accent. “The Great Skull-sama thanks you!”
The Sky chuckles.
“You’re welcome.”
“No, really. It must have been rough. And now you’ve ended up in the Mafia of all things…”
Harry stiffens at the reminder.
“I didn’t think I’d mind it. The Mafia, you know? I don’t— I’m not the Golden Boy the wizarding world tries to paint me as.”
“But you do? Mind it, I mean.”
“Weirdly enough, it’s not the killing that bothers me.”
He sighs. Glances at Skull, who is playing with Prongs that Harry had totally forgotten about. He hesitates.
In the end, he ends up explaining what went on before he disapparated from the Vongola mansion. While Skull listens to Harry talk about his interaction with his Sun, he makes a face, and his Flames grow increasingly agitated.
“You mean you completely vanished out of your Elements’ range while they were with you in the hospital wing?”
Harry winces. If you put it like that.
“Reborn-senpai is gonna rip off my leg and beat me with the soggy end if I don’t tell him where you are,” screeches Skull, standing up and pacing around, flailing. His voice gets higher and higher as the panic sinks in. Strangely enough, his Flames remain completely calm.
“Wait, you’re—”
“He’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna kill me, he’s gonna— huh? Ah, yes I’m the Cloud Arcobaleno. I thought you knew. Can I tell senpai where you are?”
“Um, sure, but does that mean…” you’re going to leave, he doesn’t say.
His Flames lurch in distress at the thought. Skull stops his dramatics and stares.
“You… want me to stay.”
***
Felix —Skull, he’s Skull now, no matter how much the discussion from before rattled him, he’s still the Immortal Stuntsman, not the lost little boy waiting for his brother to come home from fighting a war he understood nothing about— knows very little about Skies.
Unlike the others, he hadn’t cared for Luce much. He’d stayed with the Arcobaleno because he wanted —needed— to learn about Flames, and because he’d ultimately realised he didn’t have a choice. But the Donna of the Giglio Nero hadn’t appealed to him the way she had to the others. She looked kind, yes, but her eyes held no warmth. He could practically taste the guilt on her every time she looked at him. As the only civilian, the only one who hadn’t killed, she found it harder to justify his sacrifice above the others’.
He’d understood this too late, though.
Skull doesn’t know much about Skies, but he knows the strength of their Flames isn’t the only reason they are feared in the Mafia. It has a lot to do with the fact that they are just so likable. Despite knowing that, when Harry looks at him with flickering amber in his gaze and tries not to look dismayed at the thought of leaving him behind, Skull wants to stay. And that’s dangerous.
Harry looks away.
“I’m not going to lie. I do. But… I’m Reborn’s Sky, and I know what he calls you.”
Harry says “I’m Reborn’s Sky” like he would say “I love this man who has hurt you” and Skull wonders.
He remembers the fire in the Sun’s eyes when he told them his and Verde’s plan to reshape the Sky’s previous Guardians to make them fit again into Harry’s Sky. He remembers the way he had hidden his expression under his hat just how he always did when his eyes betrayed him, but the fact that he hadn’t noticed the faint tremor in his hands. He thinks that maybe he doesn’t know this Reborn who has a Sky, and maybe he would like to know him.
It doesn’t erase the past but. Maybe.
“Skull-sama will stay and hand you over to Reborn-senpai,” he declares after a moment of deliberation.
Harry lights up, likely focusing only on the implication that he isn’t leaving immediately.
He is a little oblivious isn’t he, thinks Skull as he takes his phone out and calls Reborn. He winces at the impending lash-out he’ll have to suffer through. The Sun is prickly at best on a good day, he can’t even begin to imagine what he’s like while separated from his sick Sky.
“Reborn-senpai,” he says nervously.
“Now is not the time, la—,” growls Reborn before he cuts himself off and coughs. “Skull. What do you want?”
Skull blinks in bewilderment.
“Your Sky is with me, senpai. I felt him in my sensing range by all by himself so I went to check up on him.”
That’s not exactly true but not a lie either. All the Arcobaleno are the strongest of their Elements. They don’t like to admit it, but his Flames are the most powerful out of all of them. He knows that for sure, Verde had done tests on them.
He’d deliberately looked for Harry and only felt him at the edge of his sensing range. He’d been curious, sue him.
Still, he doesn’t think Reborn cares about the particulars right now.
“I’ll text you the coordinates.”
He hangs up before Reborn can answer and sends off his location. He’s surprised Verde hasn’t sent drones in the area now that he thinks of it.
“Hey, Skull?”
Harry is standing now, petting his ghost deer or whatever it is he used to keep him company. Skull has the faint memory of his brother using a similar charm in the room to help him sleep. It had the shape of an octopus though.
“Hm?”
The young wizard is looking pensive, and his Flames feel a little cold.
The knowledge that Reborn is on his way is troubling him, realises Skull with a wince. That’s not good at all. He doesn’t like that their disagreement is about him, even if the vindictive part of him thinks that Reborn deserves it a little.
He hopes they’ll figure it out. It’s not good for Guardians to be at odds with their Sky.
“What was your brother’s name?”
Ah. He hadn’t expected that. The Cloud studies Harry’s face for a long moment before looking away.
“Benjy. Benjy Fenwick,” he murmurs.
Harry sucks in a sharp breath.
“I saw a picture of him once. He was in the Order in the First War. Moody told me he fought with my parents.”
Skull has a vague memory of that name, but none of the emotion Harry carries with it when he says it.
Still, his tongue feels like lead as he nods when Harry whispers, “Small world, huh?” And knocks their shoulders together. At this simple gesture, the bond snaps into place.
He hears Harry hiss in shock and feels sudden fondness bring a quirk to his lips. He’d felt the Sky try to reign in his Flames, which were looking to Court him after he’d made him laugh. He’d done it to be polite surely, but Skull had had half a mind to tell him that he wouldn’t mind Harmonising with someone who was simply amused at the persona he presented to the world.
His stunt work was his territory, after all, he’d never match with a Sky who didn’t appreciate that part of him. He hadn’t said it though, all too aware that this was Reborn and Collonnello’s Sky and that he wasn’t sure how well he’d be able to share the person who should be the most important in his life with two people who thought so little of him.
Despite his apprehension at being bound to the Arcobaleno once more, he basks in the warmth of Harmonisation.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” says Harry, sounding frantic.
His Flames stir like he’s trying to burn himself from inside out and the floor starts to freeze beneath them. The ghost deer fades away.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay!” reassures Skull, holding his Sky by his shoulders.
“But I—”
“The Great Skull-sama doesn’t mind! He will graciously allow you to become his Sky! Be glad, for the Immortal Stuntman is now your Guardian!”
Harry laughs a little, but the sound comes out a little strangled.
“Stuntman?”
Skull lights up and starts telling him about his passion. Harry listens to him with awe and asks for a show as soon as possible. The Cloud’s Flames purr in contentment.
His Sky, his Home wants to visit his territory. He’s chosen well, he thinks.
“— Cielo,” Skulls hears from behind him.
He turns to see his Sky’s other Elements looking at them —well, at Harry mostly— with joy and relief tinted with harsh desperation. Harry gazes back warily, but his Flames obviously yearn for the others’ presence close to him.
Skull gulps.
“Hey, senpai. I think we should talk.”
***
Verde and Lal stick to Harry while the others stay behind. They decided to walk back to the mansion, to give themselves time. Harry doesn’t know what it is they talk about exactly, but he can feel the discomfort in Collonnello, Renato, and Skull’s Flames. It makes him want to reach out. But even if he is their Sky, he doesn’t think it’s his place.
“I have eavesdropping devices if you desire it,” says Verde, who senses his disquiet.
Harry shakes his head.
“I think this should be private. It’s about something that happened before I even met all of you, it’s not. It doesn’t concern me.”
“I would argue it concerns you most of all, Harry. You are our Home. When we Harmonised, we made your happiness our main goal.”
The wizard makes a face at that. It’s still hard to wrap his head around it. He’s just Harry, he hasn’t done anything to deserve this.
Lal seems like she can tell what she’s thinking. She shakes her head, looking fond.
“Your Flames are a manifestation of your soul, and it’s beautiful. It’s something most Flame users look for during their whole lives, you know? You bear your soul to us, it’s a priceless gift. The least we could do is pay it back. Not being dicks to each other is a small part of that.” She pauses. “I’ll be talking to him too later, you know. I feel like it’s long overdue. We were very harsh with him and part of that was to shield him from the rest of the Mafia and it worked. As long as we showed we underestimated him, they didn’t look at him too much with his too-strong Flames and his lack of knowledge of how to wield them. It was better if he looked like an idiot but. We should have told him before it became too easy to belittle him.”
“The Mafia world is harsh. It has made us abrasive. We’ve hardened our hearts to protect ourselves and it’s made us less than human in some aspects,” observes Verde clinically before softening. “That’s why we need our Sky.”
They walk in companionable silence while Harry ponders over their words. He can’t imagine being so important to these people they feel like they need him to retain their humanity. But he has to accept that he means something to them he doesn’t quite understand yet.
“So,” says Lal after a long while. “Magic?” she asks with an excited gleam that brutally reminds him of Hermione.
Harry’s shoulder relax. He pulls out his wand, prepared to show off a little.
***
They have dinner together, with Fon waiting at the manor. Dame-Tsuna and his Guardians have Vongola business to attend to for now —paperwork mostly, which makes his student moan and groan his way into the Heir’s office—, so the first formal introduction between the Decimo and Harry will wait until the next day.
No one mentions the outbursts of the day and while the conversation is subdued, the atmosphere isn’t tense. It is Skull and Collonnello who carry most of it, falling back into good-natured bickering that lacks the bite it used to have. Their Sky seems to enjoy the back and forth, and Fon watches him with attentive eyes, gauging him silently. Renato wants to bristle at the way the Storm dissects his Sky, but he knows enough about Courting to understand it is different for everyone. Besides, his mind is a little preoccupied.
Apologising to Skull had been easy, explaining why they had treated the Cloud the way they did had been more like pulling teeth. Renato isn’t proud of it, but he understands others’ emotions better than he does his own. What he had ended up saying after letting Collonnello talk was,
“I don’t know how to be kind. But I will learn.”
It terrifies him that he meant it.
That night, Renato stays in front of his Sky’s door instead of going to the guest room assigned to him. He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t think he has the right. But Harry opens the door and lets him in, watching him silently.
Renato takes off his fedora and painstakingly drops it on the small table positioned next to the window of the spacious room allocated to his Sky.
His hand reaches his tie. He loosens it, finding it hard to breathe.
“I am glad you didn’t get to know me before we Harmonised,” he finally murmurs, his back turned away from his Sky.
His Sun Flames scorch at his insides from the admission, but he soldiers on.
“You would have hated me. I am cocky, cruel, and callous. Worse, I am proud of it. I had to be to survive in this world with a target on my back. I killed a man before I learnt to count to one hundred. I don’t know what it is in my soul that made yours reach out but I’ll forever thank the stars that it’s happened before you were pushed away by who I truly am.”
He feels something shift, footsteps approaching at his back. He doesn’t tense.
His Sky could bring a knife to his throat and he would let him with a smile.
Instead, he forces himself to stay still, even when he feels a sigh in the crook of his spine, the soft thump of a forehead between his shoulder blades. Arms circle him and he lets out a shaky exhale as Flames follow along them to embrace him.
“I would have chosen you. I would have chosen to bask in your Sun even if I had seen you strangle a man in front of me. I don’t know what that says about me, but I don’t particularly care. We know so little of each other, and you seem to believe I am some sort of angel. It’s not true. I am brash and reckless and the Dursleys and Voldemort left so many scars on me I’m not even sure I can be the Home you all want me to be, but you chose me anyway. And I chose you. It doesn’t matter what you are. What matters to me is that you’re mine.”
Their Flames intertwine.
Renato shudders. He turns around, gripping Harry’s wrists. He can feel his own eyes burn gold and his Sky’s respond in kind, glowing with power. Renato wants to kiss him more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life. His tongue feels like lead suddenly.
He lets go.
“Always. I’ll always be yours, mio Cielo,” he whispers.