Carry On

Chapter 17

Harry used his wand to edge the cupboard door shut after noticing the shape of Reborn in the kitchen, and a swift spell vanished the rotting potatoes. Harry debated for a moment if he wanted to do a bubble charm against the lingering smell, but in the end decided not to. He had vanished the mess, and it wasn’t the most awful thing he had ever smelt (or drank—potions were rather terrible, really).

Instead, Harry cast a few silencing charms on his space—and then pulled out his phone.

He didn’t even have to think about the number.

When Reborn picked up, Harry relaxed against the side of the cupboard.

The silence stretched out for one long yawn before Harry spoke.

“Why can’t I remember you being nice to me?” Well, that hadn’t been what he had been intending to start with but it was best to just roll with it. Might as well, as Harry couldn’t actually say he had been intending to say anything in particular. Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the relative safety of the small space and waited for Reborn to speak.

The silence stretched for a moment, “I… am not a nice man.” Reborn murmured.

The pause after that lasted too long. Harry understood that Reborn was going to draw out the conversation as much as he could to try and locate Harry with the phone call. Harry also knew that that tactic would be in vain. For however great Reborn was, Reborn would not expect Harry as he was now. Wouldn’t expect ‘Skull’ as he was now.

“What makes you keep trying, senpai?” Harry hummed, the foreign word slipping out without a stutter from changing language. Harry paused and focused his thoughts on that word. ‘Senpai’. A prodding of his own memory eventually had a string of consciousness push against the back of his eyes in words that were initially gibberish to Harry—that warped in to something he could make sense of in the same way that when one cupped a hand full of water. Some water would remain in the palm and the rest would dribble through the cracks between fingers.

Harry minutely searched his memory for some concrete translation for that word. It was almost like a spell—it had weight to it. It had meaning. And Harry could almost put his thumb on it. Almost.

Almost—he needed to work harder to change that state of existence for himself. Nothing in half measures, not anymore.

Harry waited for a moment, “… do you even know why? Why you keep at this?”

“Because….” Reborn trailed.

Silence. Long, drawn out. Harry could hear the tiny, faint footsteps Reborn was taking through the phone Harry had pressed to his ear. Reborn was searching, with a fast clip to his steps. It was audible due to those dress shoes that Reborn always insisted on wearing (and would always rage if there was the slightest speck of dirt or scuff on them).

“Just because?” Harry rolled his eyes at the continued delaying tactic. Not gunna work, mate.

“Just because is all you’re going to hear until we are face to face.” Reborn answered with a finality, and then didn’t hang up at the suitably most dramatic moment that he could of.

Harry cocked his head to the side. “… you’re not hanging up, are you?”

“No, I am not.” Reborn answered immediately.

“… so hey, I’ve looked around. Where are the stairs?” Harry grinned to himself when he heard that rather familiar ominous creak of Reborn gripping his cell phone too tight. It was amusing now to get such a reaction, even more so from this place of safety. Heckling Reborn had to be his new favorite past time (since all his other ones were gone—).

Reborn let out a slow breath. “… how did you even make it here?”

“… Sheer dumb luck?” Harry asked, quoting McGonagall because that had yet to steer him wrong really.

Reborn snorted.

“.. what happened… when you were captured… what happened to you, Skull?”

Well, that was an unexpected turn. “Dunno yet—not really.” Harry shifted, sitting up more and edging a bit to the door. The time to chat was running out, Reborn had most certainly left the kitchen after not hearing Harry within it. Harry didn’t need to linger in indecision and hiding. That wasn’t the type of man he was, after all. Harry was a bit too much ‘all or nothing’. Had been ever since the philosopher’s stone. (Maybe even before then? When Harry hunting was a thing, Harry learned fast that hesitance led to painful bruises…)

(But snitches get stitches. And I’m not a snitch.)

Harry would wrap this phone call up and then start his own turn. Reborn had initiated this chase, and Harry was rather done with dancing to the other’s tune. “I’ve learned… a lot about me, even if I don’t remember it all in the most… straight, coherent way right now. What have you learned?”

Harry hadn’t actually expected any information.

“That you’re originally an amnesiac from Germany of unknown origins. And that the incident that happened… is suspiciously similar to what happened to you at your motocross event.”

Harry paused. Squinting his eyes at the door.

“… you… you were there?” Harry knew that Reborn had showed up later at his apartment of the time. But to be a part of it all even before then…? “… did you actually find me… from those stupid texts?” Harry felt his gut clench.

“… I do not know what you have against my name, but it isn’t stupid.”

… dear Merlin—what had happened during that blackout?

“Not stupid, but so cheesy.” And Harry hung up the phone, muffling a laugh in to his hand as he set his phone on silent and shoved it in to his pocket. Harry pulled the death stick close, and swiftly cast a disillusionment charm at himself. It was a bit cramped to twirl his wand around his body, but Harry managed it before he cautiously pushed the door a little open. His legs were strong as he took to his feet, nary a tingle of returning blood to the extremities. Harry took a moment to squint at himself after he shook himself out and mentally cleared himself to run around. He was suitably chameleon-like.

A silencing spell on his boots, and Harry felt well off enough to creep around.

Harry stomped about until he found Reborn prowling the hall. Harry slowly eased himself around the curve of a hallway as he watched Reborn heading away and down the hall—the only bright spot on the man was that band of sunshine around his fedora, and the little green chameleon that was hanging on it. Reborn’s dark suit blended in nicely with the shadows of the house, but his hat was like a little sun beam declaring ‘HERE I AM’. Even the white of his dress shirt somehow seemed to be muted compared to the fedora’s decorations.

Harry glanced down to his own legs, checking to see that his spell was holding before he scampered after Reborn. It was rather fun, ghosting after the man. But even then, Harry made sure to hang back. While the night and lack of lights would surely help the spell, there was always the chance that Reborn could see the slight ripple of Harry’s body. After all, the spell was disillusionment, not invisibility.

He stalked Reborn for a time. But two rooms in to the stalk (like some demented hide and go seek game—Reborn was checking as many nooks and crannies as possible), Harry swiftly became bored with the following around.

… as it was, Reborn wouldn’t expect him at all.

That just left…. What to do?

Harry waited until Reborn ducked in to a fancy office/sitting room before he ran down the hallway (ever thankful for that silencing spell) and ducked around a corner before popping his head out shallowly. Harry would think of something…

It took Reborn ducking in to another room before the idea came.

Harry waited in anticipation for when Reborn ducked in to the toilet in this hallway

And Harry used his wand to shut the door. Harry jumped and let out an automatic giggle at the loud BANG of the door slamming. The sticking charm he had flicked out mere seconds after that initial spell splashed over the door before Reborn had a chance to charge out. Harry hopped over and crouched down next to the door, drew a nice rectangle on the floor in front of the bathroom and ignored the ominous jiggling of the handle of the door.

Something tickled at the back of Harry’s mind. Harry stilled, the little hindbrain part of his head was declaring that he missed something.

… there was no actual lock on the door, Harry realized as he looked up. There was no keyhole. And no sign of a dead bolt. (Well, if Reborn ever deigned to ask that one, Harry would have to answer the man with silence because Harry had locked a door with magic when it had no lock…) Harry turned his attention back to the floor, and then murmured the incantation for a sticking charm, swirling his wand over the invisible rectangle to do a nice area effect.

Harry scuttled back to the secure location around the bend of the hall with his wand in hand. Once settled, he raised his wand and pointed it to the bathroom door. The door was making ominous, almost breaking groans, so Harry swiftly twirled it in the customary shield movement and murmured, “finite incantatem.”

The door exploded outward, slammed in to the wall, and almost slammed back in to Reborn again as the man quickly stepped out. Reborn caught the door and held still for a moment as he looked up and down the hall, barely moving his head as he gave a wide sweep of the area. Harry pressed his grin against the back of his hand and leaned forward minutely to see what Reborn was going to do.

Seeing no one, Reborn shifted his grip on the door and lifted his right leg.

Well, he lifted his leg and left his shoe behind. Reborn stilled, right foot in the air and shoeless. The man stared at the floor for a long moment before he lengthened the reach of his leg and stepped far outside the invisible boundary of the sticking charm.

Reborn’s left shoe remained behind as well.

Reborn turned and faced his shoes, standing in only his black ankle socks. The hitman calmly crouched down and reached out to the tongue of his shiny dress shoes. The whole scene caught wonderfully in the faint starlight coming in through the windows, it felt rather dramatic and Harry was content with that. Reborn tugged on the tug of his shoe, but the shoe remained very much stuck to the floor. Harry pressed his grin to his forearm, pressed against the wall of the hall and withholding his need to cackle obnoxiously.

“… Skull.” Reborn called as he stood up. Reborn looked down the hall to the left, and then to the right (where Harry was), before he reached up to the chameleon on his hat. Reborn murmured something as he ran a finger down the back of the chameleon, and the chameleon seemed to quiver for a moment. Reborn stepped back a little bit, until he reached a deeper shadow…

And then disappeared.

Harry gasped, but quickly slammed a hand over his mouth, turned, and sprinted off back to the kitchen. Had Reborn always been able to camouflage? Well, apparently his current memories as Skull had never noticed such a thing.

(Perhaps Reborn had never bothered to do so around Skull, because Skull was such an annoying teammate and the bluntest approach possible was the most necessary one…)

Harry ran back to the safety of the cupboard and dived back inside. Harry closed the door, and then checked the charms he had previously made on it. They were holding.

He let out a long sigh and pressed a hand to his heart.

A moment later, and he had his cell phone dialed and up to his ear. Reborn picked up the call swiftly.

 “So… there is really only one way this is going to go, really,” Harry said. Harry closed his eyes and grinned to himself, confident again after that almost encounter and a moment to calm down his heart. Nothing was wrong with a little boasting right now, since he had removed Reborn of his shoes unscathed. The fedora would be next. “I am going to make sure you are covered in glitter and left in the dust… did you drive a car or a helicopter?”

“I do not even deign to answer that.” Reborn’s murmur was a silent ‘if you don’t know the answer I will shank you.’

Harry chuckled, “Glitter, in the dust—and me running off with your car keys.”

“Try me.”

“You think I can’t do it?” Harry grit his teeth.

“While I’ve learned to expect the unexpected from you—you won’t be able to finish that list.” Reborn sounded so sure about that.

“What pocket are your keys in?” Harry squinted at the cupboard door.

A beat of silence and then, “front left trouser pocket.”

Challenge accepted.

“Lovely—side note, I’m upstairs now. Is my suit in my room? Yunno, the one that blondie lifted from me after Britain happened?” Harry asked, tapping a finger on his cheek as he waited with baited breath for a reaction.

…. No reaction.

“… Senpai?”

“The door upstairs isn’t even open—you’re not upstairs.” Reborn hissed.

“Yes I am,” Harry fibbed—well, if it was a door that led upstairs, then Harry should have found it because he had investigated every door possible before Reborn had come along because there was no visible fucking staircase. Whoever designed that was a pain in the ass. But because there was no visible stairs, and no doors that led to a closet staircase, that really left only one pretentious conclusion. “Whose idea was it to make a hidden door?”

“Yours,” Reborn bit out.

…. “Bullshit.” Harry called.

“Ask anyone—it was your lame idea.” Reborn said, and Harry could almost hear the man rolling his eyes. Harry nudged open the cupboard door to look out.

Reborn was standing in front of a wall in the kitchen. Harry tilted his head to the side, and with his hand deep inside the cupboard, he snapped his fingers. The leather left a peculiar not-muffling, but it was still loud. Harry watched Reborn pull the phone away from his ear, look at it (Harry snapped again, just for effect and to see if Reborn would notice the spatial difference), and place it back.

“… Did you just snap at me?”

“…. No?” Harry said, waiting for Reborn to turn around.

The silencing charm was holding on the cupboard.

(With Reborn, it was probably best to expect this insane man to pull unexpected shenanigans. With the way magic was in the world, perhaps Harry was being over-cautious but he was used to the world jinxing him at the most inopportune moments…)

“It’s not lame to have a hidden door in the kitchen. It’s better than the stupid pictures of the countryside.” Harry quickly deflected, hoping that if he dropped enough clues then Reborn would actually go up the stairs, actually open the door so Harry would be able to find it. “Since when does anyone listen to what I say anyway?”

(And maybe Reborn would forget that he had called the cool hidden staircase idea ‘lame’. After all, Hogwarts was cool with all of the hidden passageways. Which Harry had used liberally.)

Harry watched as Reborn reached out to one of the framed photographs and minutely adjusted it to perfect straightness. (Note to self, tilt every picture frame he passed by… and apply a sticking charm.) “… this is a home for all of us. We all had a say—although we vetoed your more terrible suggestions. You got the secret staircase in the kitchen.”

“… what did you get?” Harry asked, honestly curious. What could Reborn want in a home?

“My own suite.” Reborn shot back.

“… huh.” Why hadn’t he expected that? “Woulda thought you’d have gotten some secret basement training facility.” Harry remarked.

“That too.” Harry could swear he saw the curve of Reborn’s grin, even in the dark.

… Harry hadn’t found a hint of this so called secret training room, and that was going to bother him because it was supposed to be a basement. Maybe he would be able to stumble upon it before he left?

“In any case, I’m looking for my suit. Is it in my room?” Harry asked again, using his hand to bang on the side of the cupboard in a mimicry of footsteps. Harry watched Reborn tense, wait, and then the hitman used a hand to push at a space of wall—and the wall popped out as if it was some IKEA door. Reborn didn’t bother to close the door as he hurried up the stairs.

“Is that why you’re here, then? For your things?” Reborn didn’t even sound breathless despite Harry knowing that he was climbing the stairs at a fast pace.

Harry ignored Reborn’s question. “Hello? Seriously. Whose room? I hope it’s mine.” Harry ended the call and rolled out of his hidey-hole. (It was less of a hiding spot and more of a secret base at this point, since he had hidden there twice…)

Harry tip-toed to the secret door and cautiously peered up the stairs. It was pitch black inside the staircase, but he could see the shape of the open door at the top, and the dark of the hall up there which was lighter than the dark of the stairs.

Before going up, Harry reached out to the photograph that Reborn had fixed and tilted it in to an impossibly sharp angle and applied the sticking charm. “Hah,” Harry mumbled to himself before he focused on the stairs. Wand in hand, Harry slowly stepped up. He placed his foot gently on the tip of each step before sliding it forward enough to have a stable footing. It was slow going, but he eventually made it to the top of the stairs. Harry stuck his head out and looked about.

The hall stretched long, and looking both ways Harry noticed that the hall hooked in to sharp corners to the left and to the right. There were no windows near Harry, but the far walls were littered in them. Seeing no Reborn in sight, Harry stepped fully in to the hallway. Harry slid his wand up his sleeve on his right arm and looked around in slow sweeps.

The floor was wood (not wood laminate, but expensive wood), the walls were cream colored with white edging. There was scenery photographs and paintings everywhere. Harry idly tilted them as he walked by the décor. The sound of shifting frames was minimal at best. Harry paused every so often to open a door. Lots of storage. A few empty rooms. Some work rooms… Harry turned the corner, paused, and took a step back to peer around.

…. All the doors in the hall had been opened.

It appeared that Reborn was finally laying his own traps.

Harry had followed Reborn to the upstairs, and it appeared that the hitman was finally taking his own steps (either that, or he was systemically searching every inch of every room looking for Skull). Harry stepped to the wall and tapped the tip of his wand against it, murmuring the heat detection spell. It was a minor area effect spell that helped when suspects were hiding in the furniture. Or hiding animals or captives in the furniture amongst other places (like the walls—it had saved Harry from several ambushes in the past… mostly. It’s reach wasn’t the best…).

Harry eyed the hall, watched the brief flares of soft reds spark and swiftly fade.

Well, Reborn wasn’t invisibly in the hall unless his Chameleon could hide his heat signature.

Harry edged to the first room and peeked in to it. It was a pretty large room, although details were hard to spot while it was dark. Harry glanced over his shoulder and up and down the hall before he shifted in to the room and edged to the side of the door so he wasn’t silhouetted in the doorway. Harry tapped his wand against the wall at his back, and froze as red sparks jumped and danced in key locations around the room.

Harry waited—nothing.

The sparks faded away to nothing.

The wizard paused before he reached out and slowly closed the door—sent a blackout spell to the windows—and flicked on the light. Harry glanced down to hospital tile and then focused on the sterile metal furniture. There was a large table space full of beakers and other such science equipment that Harry could barely even recognize a quarter of. All the liquids were very… florescent. There were a lot of electric machines that looked like microwaves and what not. These machines were scattered throughout the room where the sparks had existed.

Harry edged forward from where he had pressed himself against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest to resist reaching out and touching all the glass vials. Who knew what would explode… Harry drifted around—the walls were white, which made the room a bit unbearable with the hospital grade fluorescent lights.

Harry eventually found a tiny fold up cot in the corner. With a large terrarium stuck under the space.  

… Harry slowly tilted his head to the side. And then inched closer. There was a little bit of a track imprint inside the terrarium. Harry squinted…. Alligator?

“…. whose room is this…?” Harry grumbled to himself, and tapped his steel tipped shoes against the metal frame of the folded cot. There was no dresser. And all the cupboards had glass doors filled with who knew what substances and powders and…

Well—it was just all nope.

His suit wasn’t even in here. Just from a visual confirmation.

Harry sighed, turned off the lights, and left the room.

The next room wasn’t that much better—Harry gave it the same treatment. Heat signature check, blackout spell to the windows, close the door, and then turn on the lights. At least this room had a little bit of soul with the dark wood floors. Although the walls were a nondescript beige that matched the hall—this room was only mildly personalized. And dusty.

The sheets were high quality.

But it seemed more like a place to visit than a place to live.

Harry meandered around for a moment, checking the furniture and nooks for his suit before eventually turning to the door. He was out of the room a moment later and in the hall. That was two busts, and there was only one more door in this hallway before Harry would need to turn a corner. Which ended up being a bathroom. Harry tapped his fingers idly on the door frame for a moment.

Oodako’s tentacles tightened, and Harry stilled at the warning.

Harry’s phone vibrated in his pocket. Thankfully the jacket muffled the vibrating noise, even though Harry felt it dancing. Harry didn’t answer it as he skipped down the hall, turning the corner.

The doors were open here. Harry skipped them, and turned the other corner. It seemed that this floor was one giant square. With this turn, Harry spotted Reborn half out of a shadow, leaning against the far wall with eyes obviously fixated on the door that led to the second floor from the stairs.

Harry inched minutely closer, safe in the fact that he was free to move without his shifts caught by a keen eye. It made Harry feel more confident, and it egged him on to edge all the closer as Reborn’s eyes were fixated on a different point of the hall. Harry walked closer until he was in line with the door closest to Reborn. With that, Harry shuffled most of his body in to the doorway and settled. Harry had always been a little bit of a sneak—but it was just good sense to spy and get as much information as possible from a target when one was able to.

(Because without information, anyone could just throw fiendfyre around and accidentally burn down the only magical monument that their wife left behind—)

Harry’s phone stopped vibrating, and Reborn lowered the phone from his ear. The hitman leveled his eyes to his own phone, face expressionless, before he shifted a finger and the screen went dark. The reflection of the screen light disappeared from Reborn’s face and eyes, and the fedora’s shadow hid everything once more.

Mr. Chameleon sure was hard to read.

After a moment, Reborn stood up from where he was leaning against the wall. His socked feet soundless as he ghosted around the corner. Harry tilted his head to the side, and stepped further in to the room he was mostly hiding in. Harry eased the door shut, twisting the knob all the way before slowly pushing it in place. Harry gently released the doorknob until it had no more torque, and then let go. There, hardly a sound.  

Harry casted a swift silencing charm around the room, doubling up on the door and windows with a firm ‘just in case’. Harry turned back to the door and squinted at the dubious lock built in to the round door knob (all the other door knobs had been handles! Fancy carved ones, why did he get a dingy little round one?). These things were flimsy at best, and he wished that there was a dead bolt on the door. Harry pinched two gloved fingers together and delicately turned the small lock before he turned around to look at the dark room.

A quick spell toward the window—the black out spell—had the window darkening so that the outside world was gone, although on the flip side it became as dark as a dungeon in the room. Harry shivered at the loss of sight, it did give him goose bumps now that he had slowed down. Another flick and the curtains were shut. Harry glanced down to the crack between the door and the floor before he looked to the room at large. Another bed room, so Harry summoned a pillow and placed it down against the crack.

And he finally turned the lights on.

…. Purple.

“… This is mine, then.” Harry stared at the dark purple walls, down to the purple carpets piled over the hardwood floor, and then to the bed spread—which was black with a red octopus print stamped over every inch of it. The octopus looked eerily like Oodako, and Harry could only assume it was a custom order.

Harry toed around the items scattered over the floor—it looked like someone had torn through here and left a whirlwind behind—and sat down on the bed tiredly. Harry unzipped his jacket and let Oodako ease out from where he had been tucked away to keep him close while he ran around.

Oodako dropped on to the bed spread and languidly spread out his tentacles.

“Glad you’re feeling relaxed,” Harry smiled at the octopus, before he turned to look at his room at large. It really looked like someone had torn through this area and Harry hoped that it wasn’t him that had done it. Because the last time he had been this messy he had been eleven and it had been the first month of living at Hogwarts before Neville had quietly come up to him and expressed his feelings over the matter.

Besides the colors and the bed spread there wasn’t too much around to have Harry claim that this room had belonged to him as ‘Skull’. There was a cheap tall dresser with a vanity mirror on top. The top of the dresser was laden with so many beauty products and bottles that the top of the dresser had bowed in the middle—a sigh of its cheap quality.

Harry tracked the white finger prints and smudges around the sides of the mirror from having been adjusted during use. And a doodle of some terribly drawn smiley face at the bottom done in what looked to be a dark purple lipstick.

From there, there was a giant cork board next to the door that was overflowing with posters of motorcycles and stunt riders. Harry’s eyes swept along, before looking back with a frown. Something was off over there—Harry slid to his feet, ignored the clothes and empty bullet casings he scattered on the floor as he stepped over to the board. The board was custom made, and Harry had to peel back some of the posters on the left side just to find the rough frame. The board itself was longer than Harry was tall.

Harry ran his fingers over the posters, and realized that… there was a lot of purple. On the bikes, on the bike rider. And… well—there was even a photograph of a toddler sized bike rider on a proportionate bike. The toddler was helmeted, but having Oodako sitting behind the toddler gave a rather big clue to who it was.

Ooddly, there was a purple string that stretched over the picture. Three separate strings, it seemed. That started somewhere else under the posters and ended somewhere else as well. They didn’t seem meaningful, but at the same time Harry didn’t think himself-as-Skull was a crafty decorator.

Which meant that he should take a look under the posters. Because there was most likely a reason.

There was just… so much stuff. Harry let out a huff of air as he reached toward the skull shaped cork board pins and carefully extracted them after getting a firm hold of the papers they were keeping up. Harry turned, looking for a place to set them down and eventually just placed them on the floor next to the cork board. Harry collected the little skulls in his hands as he cleared the cork board real estate near the toddler photograph of himself.

“Oodako—that is such a weird curse. I’ve never heard of a curse that de-ages someone, rather than just killing them or raining misfortune on someone.” And Harry would know, since he had dropped more than his fair share of curses on people, as well as having been related to a curse breaker through marriage. Curses were meant to harm, and while there was obviously some harm done, it didn’t seem enough to Harry just from the memories and the random photo he had found.

Harry paused when he found some of the cork, frowning as he ran the gloved fingers of the hand that wasn’t holding the pins over the edge of an index card with his cramped chicken scratch riding. Why was there writing under all the pictures? (Especially pictures of himself—why was there so many? Harry doubted he was that much of a narcissist… ) Harry reached for more, and slowly emptied the board of all the posters and pictures of bike and his adult body doing stunts.

The wizard stepped back and dumped the several dozen skull pins that he had on top of his dresser in front of the oval vanity mirror. Harry watched the skulls bounce around in the spaces between the bottles and jars of beauty products for a moment before he turned to the board once more and took a few more steps back.

It was… massive. Index cards and papers and a rainbow of different colored strings connecting different cards together. The picture of himself as a toddler he left behind, because there was string over it. In the middle of the board was a card written in bold letters ‘HARRIUS POTTER QUAE EST?’

Latin.

‘WHO IS HARRY POTTER?’

All the cards were written in Latin. With better grammar than he normally did. Harry was well known for atrocious shorthand and gibberish words that only made sense after a bit of head tilting.

“… Oodako?” Harry called, looking over his shoulder to his octopus. Oodako had moved over to the edge of the bed closet to Harry, and when the octopus noticed that Harry was looking, raised a few tentacles up and toward Harry. Harry stepped over and offered an arm to the Octopus. Oodako lifted himself up and attached himself to Harry’s shoulder. And Harry felt calmer for it, having someone with him (even if they were just an octopus).

Harry stepped back to the cork board. And he noticed all of the hospital identification badges.

The names of the photos had been scratched out with some kind of knife. But Harry… he recognized the faces after a moment. They were older than he remembered—but that was Bill. Harry raised a hand to trace Bill’s face, and then he moved to the next of the same identification tags from the same hospital (the one he visited, he realized) and he discovered Fleur—terribly beautiful and having aged well. And Neville. And... a girl that looked a lot like Hermione, actually. The bookish glasses and large front teeth.

A lot like Hermone… but not… not quite.

But not like Rose either. Who was that?

“Why did I scratch out their names?” Harry wrinkled his nose at himself, and brought his fingertips to his lips, pressing his lips against the glove covered digits. Harry’s eyes continued along. It didn’t take him long to realize that himself as Skull had realized something was off, too. This was very much reminiscing of old Auror data collection and analyzing. Hermione had helped modernize this a long time ago, but Harry had been initially trained to put together his evidence and cases like this.

There was a photograph of Frank. Not much younger than what Harry had seen him as. It even had ‘Frank’ written on a card next to the photograph, with ‘Carcassa?’ written on the same card. Harry had obviously met Frank before…

It was a cut photograph, too. Harry could see a pale arm of someone else in the photo. Harry reached out and slid the photograph of Frank out from its pins. Disappointingly, the photograph really was cut, not folded. Harry debated for a moment before he slid the photograph in to his pocket. The background of the photo reminded him of the outside tables at Carcassa.

Frank had even been smiling.

…. He looked friendly.

… did Frank still have friends in the Carcassa? Or had Ginny kicked them out as well once Frank defected? When had Frank defected? Harry looked around once more, eyes looking for any more clues that jumped out. He didn’t exactly have time to pick through every inch of this because Reborn would no doubt be sweeping by this room soon enough. Harry was reluctant to take down the board to bring with him. Even shrinking it had the chance to disrupt the order that it was currently standing in. He didn’t have his shoebox to safely transport it in, either. Shrunk didn’t mean it couldn’t fall apart in his pocket. His charm skills were only so good, after all.

Even with the death stick.

“I didn’t date anything.” Harry groaned as he looked for little numbers. A month or a year would have been fine. But there was nothing! Harry even pulled out a card and checked the back. There was literally nothing there for him to see. More cramped writing. But there was no order. “If I thought I was the only one who would ever see it…” Then perhaps Skull had always assumed that he would just remember the order. Or the color of the inks was a clue. But there was no code for Harry to learn, no explanation.

The fallacy of the assumption that all memories like this would stay forever.

Harry jumped slightly when he heard a door slam in the hall.

“… Let’s just get the suit, Oodako. You ready?” Harry asked, shifting his jacket so that Oodako could crawl in and he could re-zip. With the octopus ready, Harry turned to his room at large and rifled around. He checked his clothes on the floor. He checked under the blankets. In the dresser (damn, he had a lot of bike clothing), and he even checked the bed side table (damn, there were a lot of guns) and ultimately came up with nothing for wherever his suit was.

“… The last time I had it on… was after I got… I got…” Harry paused and pressed his hands to his eyes. “The blond man. What was his name again…” A haunting image of a face without eyeballs came to life behind his eyelids. “His name…” Harry trailed off. But now that he needed it, it felt like he was grasping at water and trying to hold it.

“Reborn or… Or…” Harry took in a deep breath and let it out slow. “The blond one. The only blond one. The blond Arcobaleno.” Harry said to himself more so than to Oodako. Harry rubbed at his eyes before he tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

Harry was trying his best to make some mental connection to have the name pop up.

But that wasn’t forthcoming.

So Harry breathed.

It was nice, to take just a moment to breath.

A quick glance around his room—Harry’s eyes eventually went back to the most cluttered and rather insane looking place in the room. The top of the dresser in front of the mirror. Harry stepped closer to it and let his gaze sweep over it.

… glitter.

Harry grabbed a purple glitter lipstick and held it up to the light. Harry glanced to the vanity mirror, took in the little smudges, the mostly used up but not finished products. So much of it was that white face paste. Harry held the lipstick in his hand for a long moment before he pulled off the clear plastic cap and twisted the faux gold bottom end.

… Skull had always worn lipstick as his war paint. Harry slowly brought it closer.

Whats the harm in trying?

Harry kept his lips slack and pressed the purple glitter first to his bottom lip. His bottom lip shifted and the lipstick slipped and got some of the space under his lip. Harry narrowed his eyes at himself and focused. Eventually he resorted to hazy memories of Ginny sliding a lipstick back and forth and rubbing her lips together. Harry clumsily repeated the action before he pulled it away. He used a finger to try and push the small smears back in to line, and it seemed mostly alright.

“This is more glitter than purple… like a… what do you call it?” Harry cocked his head to the side. It was like one of those balls that were covered in little squares of mirror. Harry had seen it before, but he couldn’t exactly put a finger on when, where, or what it was called.

Harry eyed the lipstick and then looked for more.

… his lips didn’t feel so dry with it on. Maybe Skull had the right idea, there. His face was already a mess, what was a little lipstick in the long run? It would give everyone something else to stare at aside from the scars. Harry grabbed a few more as he spotted them and slid them in to a jacket pocket. Driving along the road without a helmet had chapped up his lips and a bit of his face, so maybe this will minimize the damage on the way back.

With that curious matter settled, Harry flicked off the lights and canceled the spell on the window. Harry kicked the pillow away from the door crack and pressed his ear to the door… and canceled the silencing charm.

Silence.

Harry unlocked the door and slowly pulled it back until he could see through the sliver of door. Harry lingered for a moment, watching the dark hall for movement and eventually coming up with nothing. Harry waited for a moment longer before he eased out of his room and quietly shut the door.

Harry shuffled over to the next door and opened up a… bathroom. A full bath. Harry eased himself inside and locked the door. A quick silencing charm and then Harry pulled out his phone again. There was only the one missed call from before.

“… Hey Reborn? Are you just waiting for me to call at this point?” Harry asked once the phone was picked up again. Silence answered him, but Harry supposed that Reborn was just using the conversation as a distraction to focus even more on Harry.

“Does it bother you that you can’t hear me?” Harry rolled his eyes at the dark mirror.

“But you are here.” Reborn smoothly answered.

“Only till I get what I want—then I’m gone.” Harry answered, head cocked to the side. Well, there was only one way to go about this now. “I want my suit—the one you guys took from me. My driving suit.” Harry extrapolated. Because if Reborn went to the suit in an attempt to thwart Harry, then Harry could find it easier. “The one I wore before I met you. It disappeared and I want it.”

“The one Colonnello found you in.” Reborn’s voice was as flat as it was soft.

“… yes.” Harry replied in kind, mentally repeating Colonnello’s name so as to fix it within his memory. He could recall the ferry ride after he returned to consciousness. After he had fixed those eyes. Harry raised a hand and pressed it against his once burned shoulder. “That’s the one.”

Harry hung up.

“Point me, Colonnello’s room.” Harry watched his wand spin and point to his left. Harry jumped out of the bathroom, keeping his wand balanced on top of his hand as he walked. The point tilted around until it led him to stand in front of the door next to his own room.

Harry could hear muffled footsteps.

“Accio, Skull’s bloody suit!” Harry whispered to himself after grasping his wand in hand. Harry muffled his gasp as a swath of cloth zoomed in to his face. Harry grappled and eventually shrank the cloth to a manageable size before shoving it down his jacket front and letting Oodako wrap it close.

That was it.

Deed was done.

Harry sprinted for the stairs. The hidden door was shut, but Harry knew it was there. Harry shoved his body against the wall space and watched it spring back with a grin. Harry shoved it all the way open.

And then Harry was flying down the stairs.

Not by choice. Something slammed in and the floor was gone from under his feet and tight bands had found purchase around his body as he fell.

Shoulder to the stair. No pain.

Hand slammed under a body. No pain.

Head contact to step. No pain.

Impact with the floor—no pain, but Harry dimly recognized he landed on something squishy more so than the hard kitchen floor as he spilled out in to the kitchen. Harry found himself scrambling, sucking in breathless gasps as his body reoriented. Or it tried.

Harry only choked briefly from the arm around his neck before Reborn shifted and breathing was easier—although the arm didn’t exactly leave. Harry kicked out his legs, and Harry felt Reborn let out a puff of air against his ear, and then the hitman shifted just enough, a knee pushing forward and pushing hard against the back of Harry’s knees.

After a moment, Harry let out a breath and let his body go limp—the ball was in Reborn’s court at this point.

“… do you even remember what senpai means?” Reborn’s breath and body was too hot, and Harry felt like he was stuck in a fever once more. Harry pressed his lips together in silence, and waited for the minutest shifts of Reborn so he can work himself free.

“Traditionally, as a direct translation to English it does mean ‘upperclassman’ or ‘superior’.” Reborn hummed to himself and he did shift. Sadly, it was only to grab on to Harry’s wrists and press them together so Reborn could extract his other arm from the awkward tangle they had been in before.

Harry bucked his body. And got his head firmly pulled in to the fold of Reborn’s arm and shoulder. The hand of the arm around his neck buried its possessive fingers hard in to Harry’s shoulder. “But the reality is so much more. It is part of another word—kohai. Tell me what it means, I know you can talk.”

Harry’s stomach twisted, “… junior… “ Harry bit out through clenched teeth as he squirmed his wrists despite the warning, mild crush of them being tightly squeezed together.

“So, superior and junior. It doesn’t end on the definition. It is a social obligation. Senpais are obligated to watch over, guide, and take care of their underclassmen. And as a result, kohai are obligated to let themselves be taken care of.” Harry yelped when his head was dropped hard to the marble floor of the entry way, but perhaps the worst of it was that Reborn suddenly let go of every part—and the warmth left when Reborn physically flipped Harry over. The world gave a dizzy lurch, and Harry stilled.

Harry blinked and squinted his eyes up at Reborn. The hitman didn’t reach out and touch Harry, and slowly Harry pushed his palms to the floor and sat up. Harry glanced down to where Reborn’s knees were hovering over the floor as the man sat back on his heels. Harry’s eyes flicked up, and found that intense stare fixated on his face. On his lips. Harry stuck a hand in to his pocket, grasping for something distracting.

Reborn reached out—

Harry raised his unoccupied hand to counter—

-Reborn slapped Harry’s hand away, sending it out wide—

-and used the fingers of his hand to hook a thumb in the corner of Harry’s mouth and stretch it to the side. “And seriously, out of all the ones you could wear you chose this monstrosity?”

Harry shoved the open glitter lipstick against the white shirt of Reborn’s belly—it landed with a soft ‘pat’.

Harry froze as he watched Reborn’s dark eyes slowly track down to where the lipstick had smeared purple and glitter. Harry jerked, and the lipstick broke off the base and dropped to the floor with a soft plop.

The thumb hooking the corner of Harry’s mouth pulled wider.

“You ruined my shirt.” Reborn’s voice could be described as hollow, but Harry, swear down, could hear the dark thoughts residing there.

Harry’s automatic garbled reply was, as simply put, something that could have been done without. “I promised glitter.” Harry used his fingers and flicked the container of the lipstick up toward Reborn’s face with magic enhanced speed. When the hitman moved to catch the object, Harry grasped the hand with the thumb hooked in to his mouth and pressed the wrist where the tip of his wand was hidden—expulso—and sent the limb and the rest of Reborn flying back by a foot or two. Enough space for Harry to jump to his feet.

Reborn rolled to his feet smoothly, his hands untucking the folds of his suit coat to let it hang behind himself as he shifted to slowly stand up.

There they were, toe to toe without a door between them.

“You still have keys and dust on your list,” Reborn reached in to his suit breast pocket and pulled out a cigarette. Harry hummed as he watched the hitman put the death stick between his lips. As Reborn was reaching for a light, Harry held up Reborn’s car keys.

Reborn’s calm patting stilled as he focused on the key that had an engraved ‘R’ on it. As well as decoration via key chains.

“You have a thing for lizards.” Harry hummed, eyeing the little lacquered green thing that looked a lot like Reborn’s companion that was currently hanging off of Reborn’s shirt collar.

The silence stretched.

“… you are being deliberately obtuse.” Reborn remarked as he pulled a lighter. The cigarette was lit, but Reborn did not inhale. Instead, he let the smoke curl upwards next to his head like a marionette string.

“Sure thing, Mr. Chameleon.” Harry grinned as he shifted his grip from letting the keychain dangle, to grasping it firmly in his hand. “All that is left—is to leave.”

“… Mr. Chameleon?”

“Reborn is a stupid name!” Harry yelped as he dodged to the left and dived out of the kitchen. Harry grinned as he rolled to his speed, his speed unhampered as he sprinted along. Harry was almost to the door before he felt a tingle up his spine and he ducked.

… A gun bounced off the front door where Harry’s head had been. Harry skidded to a halt and turned to look to Reborn. “…. Did you just throw your gun?” Harry choked, and then jerked to the side as one one of the front entryway bowls that Reborn blurred-snatched-threw came at his way. Harry dropped down and backward rolled out of the room and in to the hallway behind himself. “I hope that one was yours—else someone is going to get angry!”

“It was yours!”

Harry laughed as he shoved off from the closest wall, and let the momentum launch him forward in a sprint. He felt fingers brush against the back of his neck before he built up his speed with a leap. “Liar! My stickers wouldn’t have made that much noise!”

Harry let himself run in to a doorway, letting the recoil bounce throw him abruptly in to the room he had chosen. Harry fell forward in to a roll, springing by a chaise lounge in a gaudy yellow (it glowed even in the moonless night!) and leaped for the window.

A flick of his wand hand—and the window shot up in time for him to dive through it.

Something grabbed his foot.

Harry’s hands caught him before he tore up his face on the ground, but the impact left him jarred. Harry yanked at his foot, even as he turned to look.

All the air left his lungs—and Harry went still.

His hands shook.

“… Luce!” The name came out like a curse. All Harry could see was her face.

(“… We’re not a great fit…”)

“No… It’s me—Yuni… Skull…”

(“…In the future…”)

Harry couldn’t breathe. Before his eyes, Luce’s face… tilted.

(“...Fate… has other plans for you…”)

A younger face.

(“That future is not for you.”)

The same blue eyes. Wider, somehow. But somehow all-knowing despite their openness.

(“That future is not for you.”)

The hair color was the same. But the cut was different. Slight, but different.

(“That future is not for you.”)

The unfashionable uniform hat and white coat was still achingly the same.

(“That future is not for you.”)

That same mark.

(“That future is not for you.”)

Under the left eye.

(“That future is not for you.”)

Reborn calmly stepped out of the window, letting out a puff of smoke as the fedora shaded his eyes. The man put his hands on his lips, weight shifting smugly to one side.

(“That future is not for you.”)

Not-Luce pressed her lips together. Tears glimmered under the light of the stars.

(“Fate has other plans for you, Skull.”)

Not-Luce’s lips moved. But Harry could only hear one thing in his ears.

(“That future is not for you.”)

(“That future is not for you.”)

(“That future is not for you.”)

(“That future is not for you.”)

(“That future is not for you.”)

Harry grabbed a fistful or gravel and dirt and threw it at Not-Luce’s face. A girlish shriek and a call for ‘Princess’ somehow broke through the echo of Luce in Harry’s head, even as he rolled away with his body free. Narrowly dodging Reborn along the way.

Harry threw up his right hand—expulso—

He watched the leaping Reborn get thrown back like a rag doll. The man landed on his feet like a cat, somehow. Harry berated himself for standing still and watching for that safe landing, and scrambled to turn and sprint around the side of the house.

Even if just by star light, Harry spotted Reborn’s car well enough.

Harry jumped and slid over the hood of the black car to get to the driver’s side—

“Gwah!” Harry jerked and dropped down to the ground, narrowly missing the head lock a waiting Colonnello had prepared for him. Harry scrambled, moving out of Colonnello’s grasping hands for a moment before sending a weak jelly legs curse to the blond. Harry rolled away as Colonnello dropped face first in to the gravel.

Harry kicked the man away, and watched Colonello shakily move to his feet. Able, as always.

Noticed Reborn, so close already. Just a few strides away.

Harry laughed bitterly as he slumped back against the driver side of Reborn’s car. It was sleek and black and somehow between the front door and arriving here, Harry had lost the key fob. Harry felt rather much like this was a good time to lay down and wish that Mafioso weren’t so terribly resourceful.

And competent.

… and dedicated.

“Why do you all keep… trying? Why can’t you just let me have what I want and let me go?” Harry asked, his voice slipping high in a whine as he petulantly raised a foot and slammed the heel of his biking boot against the side of Reborn’s driver door with force.

Reborn’s eyes narrowed in to slivers of darkness, made more dramatic by the lack of moon and a lack of outside light. Harry barred his teeth in response.

“We are elements that exist under—“ Connello started, shouldering his gun as his blue-blue eyes flitted to the side and fixated on Reborn. Harry noticed the action out of the corner of his eye, for he too was focused on Reborn. The man’s shoulders were straight and tensed. His open suit coat fluttering in the night and the silky shine of his tie was reflecting meager starlight.

He was impressive.

Harry hated it.

“—don’t bullshit with that! She refused me! I was never bonded to anyone!” And it still burned. It burned so, so much. The shame-humiliation was still so strong that Harry’s throat tightened in sympathetic remembrance. “All because of her stupid belief in fate—“ Harry cut off, biting down on his lip as he pressed hard against the car, as if that could save from Reborn’s gun shots as the man shot in his own driver’s side window.

“Don’t you dare—“ Reborn’s sibilant hiss was a haunting echo.

Weren’t new moons supposed to represent new beginnings? Of birth? Rebirth?

Then it was time he burned these bridges. Harry needed to be a new man—and the world of Mafioso was not for him. No—even the Carcassa weren’t true Mafioso.

“Fuck you and fuck your fate—!” Harry gasped as his left leg gave out from under him. Harry dropped hard, elbow bouncing off the hard packed gravel as he went flat. Harry heard a scuffle, but could hardly pay attention to it as he reached down his left leg, inching until, midway down his thigh his fingers encountered wet warmth. Then torn jeans. And then… a hole. Slick and wet and…

Harry pressed his palms to his gunshot wound as he slowly raised his head and focused on Colonnello and Reborn grappling, Reborn’s gun on the gravel and at the midpoint between Harry and Reborn.

Harry raised a hand, and the gun smacked in to his palm.

… it felt like the heaviest thing he had ever handled.

… I’ve been shot….

Harry felt so numb. Nothing hurt.

… I’ve been….

Harry’s finger slid over the trigger, the grip so familiar that he felt like he was flying. Harry used his other hand to push himself up to stagger to his feet once more.

…shot…

No pain!

Fuck you, Reborn!

Harry pulled the trigger, and watched Reborn silently tumble back and down, silent because the roar of the gun eclipsed everything else. Watched as Colonnello stumbled to a halt, hands already up in the air and still with his back to Harry. Harry dropped the gun, eyes only for Reborn now as the man laid still on the ground.

“… Skull….” Colonnello’s voice floated through the air like smoke. Warbled through the ringing in Harry’s ears.

Harry’s stomach hurt. The shame-humiliation-regret soured his mouth and flushed the anger right out of him.

Harry shivered and opened his mouth—

A bright white light ripped through the clearing, coinciding with the roar of Harry’s bike as the vehicle came to life and ripped forward with the showering of gravel.

“—Skull, get on!” Liliana’s voice barely rose above the sound of the bike and Harry’s own heart. Harry jumped on to the back of the bike. His arms looped around Liliana’s middle, even as his head turned to the side and looked—

Reborn was standing next to Colonnello. Both of their arms at their sides, Motionless.

“Don’t come looking. Don’t find me.” Harry spoke, and doubted they could hear him.

But actions were louder than words, weren’t they?

… he and the Arcobaleno were from different worlds.

Harry did not feel strong.

“That fate is not for you,” Harry hissed, his eyes dancing away from Reborn to the teary Not-Luce, standing just behind the elbow of a tall suited man. So small.

“Wait!” It came out high pitched and wanting—

Magic was always separate. Meant to be separate. And he was the most magical thing around.

The world turned.

And Liliana spirited him away in to the night.