Hello, everyone! First off, I'd like to say a heart-felt thank you for all your kind reviews! It's what made me get down to writing this chapter two weeks ago already, even though I admittedly expected it to be, like, 5K words instead of the 11K monster it's become again lol. Wow, I've posted over 20K of this story this month! You are incredibly motivating and I really appreciate it! (especially since some of my future decisions might make you all hate me, so)

Second: there's a POV switch in this chapter. Out of all chapters it also introduces the most KHR characters, but don't worry, you don't have to remember them all right away. They'll pop up again and make themselves remembered later anyway.

The lyrics from last chapter were from Lemon by Katy Rose. This chapter: God Help Me by Emilie Autumn.

Now, please enjoy!

Chapter 4. Protection

.

.

Believe me, this wasn't what I wanted

But no, I can't leave, he's got me.

Won't you shine in my direction and help me?

Won't you lend me your protection and help me?

.

.

Maria isn't a simple girl; she is a girl with a body count.

Since the appearance of a powerful Sky in Riccardo, that count is only going up.

"That's not bad, sweetie, but you could have got rid of him sooner. How can you hope to protect your Sky when you are so slow, hmm?" sorella Lussuria chastises her gently as she prods the corpse with a foot. Maria resists a wistful sigh at the sight of those shiny thigh-high leather boots, shuffling a little to hide her worn Mary Janes. "You're lucky I was just dropping by today or you would have died. There wasn't even anyone around to appreciate your pretty little corpse!"

"I'll try to work harder next time. I-I promise," Maria stutters out.

Her hands fist the front of her mud-spluttered, torn dress. She probably looks horrid. And this is her penultimate dress, which wouldn't have been that bad had she not been an orphan stuck living in Riccardo with few chances of getting out. The prices here are insane – saying goodbye to the mafia has costs. Same with the protection for those in hiding or those who want to have some training and go to school in peace. As much peace as they can get.

She should have gunned that man down sooner.

Now Maria wants to scream in frustration at herself for having all those pesky things like morals, and compassion, and regrets. Being around foolish Skies like Harry only worsens her condition. He's always going on about the importance of being nice, friendship, family, mutual respect, helping others, yada, yada.

He's the stupid sort of Sky (and she's dizzy at the realisation that she is thinking like this about a Sky. A Sky!) who actually treats Maria like a kid when she's already eleven and has been doing assassination for two years (okay, she's a bit of a late-bloomer, but it's not like her family circumstances had allowed her to begin work sooner; the condescending stares she gets at school always remind her of her inferior experience).

Next time she'll shout at Harry for making assassination hard. It's her future job!

His lectures haven't got her anything other than scrapes and bruises because that kidnapper (one of the many who have been coming for Harry to abduct him or worse) noticed her when she hesitated to shoot and engaged her in hand-to-hand combat. At which Maria sucks.

She eyes Lussuria's beautiful musculature bulging under a tight shirt enviously.

"It's not me you have to promise anything, poppet. It's your problem if you fail and die," Lussuria sing-songs distractedly, still staring at the body through the black sunglasses. "Aww, this one's ugly." A sigh. "As my boss says, if it's trash, throw it away. He doesn't like clutter. Always makes me throw away half my collection, can you believe it?"

Lussuria's gloved finger taps her pouting lips.

Maria shivers as she feels a spark of powerful Sun Flames come to life. She knows what they're going to be used for.

While Storms and Mists are generally regarded as the best at body disposal, Suns have quite a few tricks in their sleeves as well. One of them would be to Activate all the cells in a body to move along the whole process of decomposition. The bones are the tricky part, of course. However, a strong Sun would be able turn them into dust. They just haven't gone over that part in school yet - but every teacher ever always repeats that if your Will is strong enough, if you put all of yourself into intent, you can succeed without breaching the specifics.

Maria isn't the strongest assassin out there.

She learnt few things useful while her family was around, and she's horrid at martial arts, and she's got no stamina at all, and the technique she's developing for her clarinet needs loads of work, and her only hitwoman trait is her excellent marksmanship, really-

But her Sun Flames are potent.

Even all those who despise her just for the famiglia she came from can attest to that.

It's one of those things that help her resist Harry's Sky Attraction when that insufferable man flares particularly bright (what kinda famiglia he came from to brandish his Flames like that?).

And now there is a person who can see this. Not just another ignorant kid who doesn't even know what they are talking about, or a teacher biased from the start, or one of those other unfortunate souls living in a warren tucked into the small forest at the edge of the town so that their suffering wouldn't be an eyesore to the mafiosi who enjoy a serene retirement after robbing thousands of people of the chance to ever do the same.

Maria recognises sorella Lussuria, because who wouldn't recognise one of the commanding officers of Vongola's elite assassination squad?

The Sun officer who often recruits promising, strong Suns.

Like Maria.

This- This might be her chance. To be useful, to prove she is worth something. To justify her existence when her family is six feet under and everyone says she should have disappeared in Professor Verde's labs.

"Um, I can do it!" Maria wants to wince at how high, how forceful her voice comes out, but it's fine. It's better to seem arrogant and pushy to hide the insecurities beneath. "Maria knows how to dispose of these."

Well. Kinda. Having strong Flames doesn't really mean knowing how to use them.

Harry pops into her mind again.

"Aw, this is delightful, sweetheart!" Lussuria claps her hands excitedly. The sound is cheerful and jars them out of the scene: both standing over a fallen man, his limbs twisting and a grimace of fear frozen forever on his face. Maria doesn't get to see sorella's eyes from behind the glasses. "I hate sparing energy on uglies. He's all yours!"

"Um, thanks," Maria mutters before focusing on the matter at hand.

She kneels beside the body, since she isn't good enough yet to control her bubbly energy over long distances. The stench of various bodily fluids thickens here but she braves through it anyway. The bursts of Sun Flames come alive underneath her skin as she hovers her palm over the fallen man.

Basic Flame Theory 101: you can use your Flames in two ways. Either you think through all the specifics of what you want to happen, precisely directing your power to achieve the best and most-controlled result… or you kinda wing it. Just concentrate on your wishes, dredge up all the resolve you can, and if you're strong enough, if your determination is good enough… something is going to happen.

Maria mentally prays to Madonna that the something is going to play in her favour.

Luck smiles upon her because in a few minutes of nerve-wracking tension and concentrated pouring of her Sun Flames, she is done. The grimace is no more. A pile of ashes and rot marks her effort. Took her longer than it would someone who is more practised at this thing, but the fact that she's succeeded at all is already a miracle. She'd like to brag about it, but in the mafia you have to keep some skills secret: unwise to graduate school leaving the information on your abilities within easy reach.

"Hmm, that wasn't bad at all," Lussuria chirps brightly. Maria isn't sure whether this means anything because the assassin commander is still inspecting the spot the body lay in. "Who knows if such skills may come in handy one day? You've all acquired quite the trouble magnet of a Sky, I hear."

"You have no idea," Maria mumbles under her breath.

There were some remnants of the Estraneo famiglia just last week, and they were all supposed to be in hell and six feet under! She has no idea how all those folks are digging themselves out of their holes just to get their hands on Harry.

And Harry isn't bothered by all this at all! He tried to offer some strange free biscuits to the Bloody Twins when those came to kidnap him, for God's sake! And then entered a conversation with the creepy assassin called Birds, spending several hours chatting about owls and bird care!

"Skies are so horrible sometimes," Lussuria sighs out. A note of wistfulness flits through her voice. "But that's why we love them, doll." She flattens her hand across the shaved side of her blonde hair. "Well, take care."

Lussuria turns around - letting Maria appreciate that muscled masculine back and the tight leather of sorella's trousers - but the girl has one more question to ask.

"Wait! Oh, um, sorry. Just- Why did you help me?" Maria squeaks out. She wills her knees to stop their trembling. "I don't have anything to repay you."

She would have never dared to be so direct before, but spending so much time with a powerful Sky like Harry lends her strength. Conviction. If she has managed to do something as brave, as wonderfully incredible as befriending a Sky - he even gives her gifts! Cooks food! For free! And she isn't even his Element! What kind of Sky does that? - she can manage this.

Lussuria grins brightly and makes a victory sign with gloved fingers.

"Sun solidarity time! We don't want to be like those nasty little Mists and Clouds, do we? Greedy, possessive creatures. Don't appreciate the beauties of working in teams at all - but we're not like that, are we?"

Actually, Maria has seen quite a few possessive Suns, both in the Mafia Academy and around the town. However, Lussuria seems so clearly convinced in the superiority of Suns when it comes to team building, it would be unwise to bring it up. She merely nods and stares at the form of the Varia commander strutting away with a martial artist's grace.

Did she leave an impression?

She hopes so. Getting a place - even a recommendation! - in the Varia is the height of Flame Users' wishes. Well, for those homicidally inclined anyway.

Although she likes living in Riccardo, especially since she's found a reluctant friend in her classmate and now in the second resident Sky, she knows it can't go on like this forever.

As her feet turn towards the bakery, Maria wonders what Harry's combat skills are.

Visually, he doesn't seem much of a fighter even in a scuffle against a random thug in a back-alley. He's of average height (a little on the tallish side) and very thin, especially for someone who is so awesome at baking pastries you cannot help but put them in your mouth again and again.

Actually, he's really great at all types of cooking. Maria wonders how he doesn't spend his lifetime in the kitchen just eating what he's cooked because he's. That. Good. God-like. Is this a natural talent or the result of years of passion and learning? She doubts it's the second variant since Harry honestly isn't a scholarly guy. She tried to ask him for help with maths once. Basic maths. Because she was too lazy. It's a mistake never to repeat again.

Maybe he used to cook for someone who demanded absolute perfection?

Anyway, even if Harry has some combat ability, it's not like a Sky should protect themselves. Skies are homes, they are Important, and Valuable, and Precious - all those things the other Elements are so often not. Not everyone is born to go down like cannon fodder.

Oh, of course Skies are trained and encouraged to learn to fight because the world is filled with scum (Maria has seen enough of it in her family; now she sees herself), but it's not a requirement. Moreover, it's outright shameful for an Element to let their Sky fight for themselves unless it is part of some elaborate training. It serves as a sign of their incompetence. A dangerous sign in flame mafia.

Even unbonded Elements are encouraged to protect Skies, an urge reinforced by their natural desire for Harmonisation.

All these facts come down to this: a Sky's fighting prowess is only tested in a battle against another Sky. Or at least some high-ranking head of a famiglia. That's acceptable, too.

Maria hopes Harry would never have to fight.

He doesn't look like he's seen in a battle in his life, that adorable dork.

Harry getting into a fight is pretty unlikely, of course. He's in Riccardo, a town of 'retired' (more like 'stored away for the rainy day') mafiosi under the total control of the Vongola Alliance. No Sky would bother Harry in Riccardo unless Ottava allows it, which is doubtful: even Maria has heard rumours of the friendly relationship between them. Not to mention that having a powerful Sky as Harry both attracts enemies foolish enough to go against the Vongola Law (and thus giving a valid reason to kill off enemy famiglia members as well as freelancers who could potentially join those famiglie) and serves as a way to get on the good side of the powerful Sky who could potentially attract powerful Guardians.

Maria is really curious whom Harry would choose. She just hopes it would be someone worthy of him.

Meanwhile, there are people like Maria around. They would all protect Harry where he can't.

The air is rife with the smell of apples. Harry received a whole bunch of them from a friend - all the while muttering something about being the reluctant co-Founder of the Carnivorous Apples Protection Society. He even promised Maria an honorary member badge when she pestered him about it. She would pin it to her chest and show off at school.

Because wouldn't it be so cool?

The new local Sky (and they did steadily start to consider him theirs in the town of Riccardo) gave her a present. Her. When all of them try so very hard to turn his attention upon them.

Well. Tough luck. Maria got there first!

(And they are all bastards anyway).

Harry is a strange Sky, she cannot help but think as she ducks around the queue of unfriendly mafiosi trying to subtly one-up each other so they can get served first.

He often spouts things that puzzle Maria. She doesn't mind, however, and his friends sound so madly interesting! (Or scary, like that Cloud lady who came the other day). Much better than school where they only learn boring stuff like maths, Italian grammar, marksmanship, knife-throwing, mafia history, and the like. Oh, and of course the endless hours of Japanese they have.

Maria flounces to the cake display, her whole face lighting up as she traces the smooth, slightly cool glass and eyes the cakes now laid out on delicate paper doilies instead of the previous simple trays. There are not many of them left, since she has just come back from school and there are barely any pastry survivors at this time - school takes everything nice away from them, urgh - but even then she can't quite decide between the apple meringue and apple strudel.

"So, you did follow my advice!" she pipes up brightly as a greeting. Harry smiles at her as he counts a few bills before thrusting them at a protesting customer. Silly man. As if he doesn't know that all these people will hand over their wallets and houses for a mere glimpse of a chance to obtain Harmony.

"Why wouldn't I? Need me some designer help when all my friends are busy. You fit the bill quite nicely."

Harry winks at her even as another customer comes up.

"For a man with such a cute cafe, you have no taste." Maria wrinkles her nose even as she points to the strudel to let Harry know to set a piece of this aside for her.

"Ah, well. My friends were the ones to design and do everything around here. I just… moved in. Well, after approving of some stuff. Making key decisions, you know. Like… moving in." Harry wears such a half-done, half-smiling expression that Maria giggles into her sleeve.

He reaches out to land a warm, long-fingered hand on her bob of red-orange hair. And then-

No. He wouldn't-

…

He does.

Maria sighs when the pulse of ambient Sky Flames intensifies, freezing everyone sitting at the tables before so many faces around her explode with blushes, and there is the tell-tale sound of a body dropping to the ground. Those weaker potential Guardians who have no chance of Harmonising with such a strong Sky as Harry but vie to do it anyway, always coming here. This is pretty much how they all end up.

Even Maria, despite her powerful Sun Flames and her condition, feels her body tingle lightly as her brains turn to mush.

For some sadistic reason, Harry's decided to power up his Sky Attraction again today. Why. Why is he doing it to all of them.

Meanwhile, the Sky just pats her hair one last time - she almost whines when the hand leaves - before tapping her on the nose with a finger and hurrying to the kitchen, presumably for her supper.

"Why are you like this?" slips out of her mouth as soon as he comes back.

His smile dims slightly as his eyebrows furrow a little in incomprehension. Even the container of food he always makes just for her sags in his arms like a puppy with its ears down.

"What do you mean? Why I cook for you? Um, that's... Because you deserve to be treated nicely?" he trails off. Uncertainty paints his voice but his green eyes shine with determination. Green. An unusual colour for a Sky, since they tend to have blue- or red-toned eyes on average. At least from what the teachers tell them. And from what Maria has dredged up the energy to listen because some classes are so dreadfully boring and not all of them will aid her in her future career.

However, as she sees Harry's confusion she can't help but sigh and give up. She just can't stay irritated at him long.

She doesn't have the time to think up what to say because a woman is coming up to the till.

"Um, everything that's left, please, Signor Cielo!" the last customer for the day blurts out, interrupting their conversation. It's not an unusual request. It's a good thing that Harry put a ban on ordering everything at once, or the bakery would be closing with its first customer every morning.

Harry smiles before packing a few slices of apple-caramel cake, a couple of apple muffins, and some cinnamon biscuits into a biodegradable cake box with the weird cafe symbol stamped onto it on top. Maria's mouth waters.

"Here you go. Have a nice day!" Harry says with a cheerful smile, flustering the poor green-clad Lightning woman.

"Oh, th-thank you," she mumbles with a flush. Sticking her hands into the pockets of her dress, she fishes out fistfuls of coins, so many they barely cram together. "Here, a tip. Thank you f-for everything. G-goodbye!"

With a metallic racket, she drops the pennies into the glass tip jar with a wolf hand-painted onto it, filling it at once, before fleeing the bakery. Her hands hold her darkened cheeks.

"Wonder what's wrong with her," Harry says mildly, looking on as she runs away. An angry murmur of voices accompanies the scene; others wanted a chance to get a pastry. The lucky customers at the tables send them smug looks. "Oh well. But why do these people insist on this?"

Clink. Harry taps the tip jar with a nail. An irritable frown wrinkles his forehead.

Maria stares at him. Are all adults so weird or it just Harry? Is she going to end up something like this when she grows up? Madonna, she hopes not. She's a girl with common sense, thank you very much.

"They give you money because they like your cooking... among other things," she tells him slowly.

What famiglia does Harry come from? Tthey were horrid at explaining basic things.

"But I've just cleaned out this damn thing!" Harry groans, like coins and bills are rubbish. He shakes the jar in the air; it's so full it barely jingles. Maria stares at it enviously. "I've got barely any room left where to empty it anymore!"

The girl gets on her tiptoes to peek behind the displays when he crouches to pull out a crate from underneath. His arms visibly strain as he huffs to heave the thing onto table with a rattle. It's crowded with coins of various currencies and value; stray rolls of bills pop up here and there. Harry, a scowl on his face, grabs the jar to empty it into the crate. Jingling, the money scatters into a messy mountain. Some coins spill over the top and roll down the wooden floor. Harry doesn't bother to pick them up, just muttering something about doing it later.

Maria's heart clenches. This money will be enough to pay her dues for a couple of months.

"You can take it," Harry tosses carelessly her way, making her head snap up. He casually leans his elbows onto the glass of the display case. "It's not like I need all this. Actually, never intended to keep this stuff anyway."

Maria hears a sound like someone letting out a strangled gasp at this. Her imagination? Or some Mist playing around with invisibility? Mists are tricky, annoying bastards, difficult to catch or even guess their motives, and she hopes she'll never have to work with one.

"Are you sure?" she asks even though she isn't in any position to reject this gesture of good will.

"Of course!" Harry grins and pushes the crate at her. Or tries to. It barely bulges. Grimacing, he adds, "We'll need to find a way to get it to your house first. I'll help-"

"No!" Maria blurts out. Like hell is he going into her home! It's a horrid place. Although Harry sometimes looks at her like he understands what's it's like to be part of a house's dirty secret you won't want to flaunt in front of guests... She doesn't want anyone she likes to see. "I'll do it myself. Maria is stronger than you look, anyway."

She glances away even as she senses Harry watching her with that sad face like he understands.

"Oh well. I'll trust you to do it, then. But now's supper time! You must be hungry, right? And no growing girl should go so long without food." Harry catches himself before snorting and shaking his head. "Sweet Morgana. I've turned into such a Mrs Weasley."

Maria doesn't know who Mrs Weasley is but she must someone nice if she has even a fraction of Harry's personality. The girl takes her container from Harry's outstretched hands - strange how hot the food is even though he hasn't microwaved it; she knows the heat will last even 'till she gets home and eats it - before looking around the small bakery to see a familiar face or a free table.

There's Elder Talbot daintily sipping his tea with an unknown elderly woman. She's not his wife - or is she? - but it's not like anyone can comment if Elder Talbot wants to bring enigmatic old ladies on regular dates. Maria wouldn't have known anything about this situation - she has no idea what Elder Talbot does or why he is apparently so respected – if not for all those people liberal with their tongues around her, as if her being a young girl dressing girly and with girly interests made her a badly written one-dimensional character instead of a budding assassin from a prominent if dead famiglia. More experienced former hitpeople don't make the same mistake.

There are a couple of people she recognises, a few she doesn't, a poor rookie sleeping off Sky Flames shoved in the corner so he wouldn't bother their Sky, two hitwomen flirting with each other, a pervert in a lab coat getting slapped by Elder Talbot's date, and-

Maria's face lights up. Perfect.

Harry's container, as usual, consists of two parts: one for now and one for dinner. She tucks away the dinner container in her bag, putting it side-by-side with a bunch of notebooks, a small old-fashioned gun (the standard one given to all the orphans), some hairclips, and a tiny notepad for doodling when classes get too boring. In the evening she'll have to leave something for breakfast since she's not sure Harry's cafe will be open on time because he likes his sleep (honestly, that guy's work ethics! His Sky-ness is the only reason no one has gutted him).

Seems like she'll have to share her supper this time, too.

The boy muttering under his breath and scribbling furiously in a spiral notebook raises his head to glare at her with irritation as she approaches. His green eyes are really pretty, almost the same shade as Harry's but with a sea-foam blue tint to them. They are shielded by reading glasses which gleam at her maliciously once she shows no sign of staying away.

"Damn. You again," he grunts out with pursed lips. Even his silver hair pulled into a tiny tail fluffs up like the tail of Harry's adorable grouch of a purple kitten who stares at them from its perch on a shelf over the table.

Maria shoves a mountain of notebooks away to liberate space for herself and her entourage of food, a bag, a shawl, and a jacket. She fleetingly notes that her dress is strangely clean and tear-free - she's pretty sure it wasn't this way just minutes ago.

"Maria is joining you!" she declares as she drops into her seat. She pushes some of Hayato's books away to clear up the space for her own notebook. And food. Never forget the food.

Hayato clicks his tongue. "That's what I never fucking needed."

He's one of those kids who think that swearing makes them sound scarier and adult. Maria doesn't have the energy to disillusion him.

"Hush. Isn't it more romantic to suffer through Japanese homework together?" She pulls out her study materials even though she'd like to doodle something to... warm up. Yes. She needs to do something fun before homework. It's not for procrastination purposes at all.

"What suffer, woman? I've literally completed everything." Hayato forcefully taps the cover of his Japanese textbook with a pen. "All the answers are here-"

"Thank you for being so understanding! Let's do this again sometime!"

Maria shamelessly snatches Hayato's Japanese workbook to copy a few answers. Such a pity she can't copy the composition! Why do teachers insist on always including essay writing in the learning process of absolutely any language? Don't people know how damn hard it is to cheat one's way through an essay? This is horribly inconsiderate of all of them.

At least Harry shares her plight; he likes lamenting about his Italian learning even though he's got much better at the language.

Maria shoves a sandwich at Hayato to shut him up.

"You know, if you just asked, Harry would have given you these, for free," Maria offers casually. She instantly shivers, as if someone has taken offence at her words- but it's not like there is anyone to overhear their whispering.

Hayato hushes her with a furious flush and cheeks full as he munches on the treat. He gulps it down audibly with a glass of water once he's finished.

"Don't call Signor Cielo like that!" He glances anxiously at Harry who is re-arranging cookery books on the shelves and desperately trying to pretend he isn't overhearing them even though Hayato's voice is just. So. Loud. "Goddammit, woman, ever heard of respect?"

"I don't know her." Maria shrugs and picks up a pencil. Flipping her notepad open, she starts a new sketch, just above those of Harry's adorable froggy.

Scratch, scratch.

A page fills up with tiny Gokudera faces and tinier dynamites.

She stretches her hand to grab the art basket and pulls out a few gel pens, groping for her favourite golden one to colour in the fire on the dynamites. She ignores a roar coming from a glass jar with erasers. When you are dealing with Harry regularly enough, you learn to ignore a lot of things. Not because you aren't curious but because Harry absolutely sucks at lying them away decently and you just want to put him out of his misery. (Seriously, who is Roonil Wazlib?)

"Why are you so- Urgh." Hayato's head hits the table with a small bang. "This is a Sky. Sky! SKY! …Shit. Don't look at me, I didn't mean to shout!" He puckers his lips. "What the hell? Is this Sky Attraction influencing me?"

"No, just your average stupidity!" Maria gives Hayato longer hair on her sketches just because she can.

Hayato raises his head from where he has it nestled in his arms.

"Fuck you."

"When we're older maybe?" Maria sticks out her tongue. "So sweet of you to offer!"

She wonders if she's any good at drawing human beets; she is seeing one right now.

Hayato finds his voice even as he lets his face drop on the table again. "I hate you," he grumbles into his notebook with his arms caging in his head.

"Say something more original."

"A lot."

"Still boring."

Hayato lifts his head slightly to scowl at her again. His hair frames his face really prettily; if he hadn't been such an amazing musician, Maria would have advised him to go for modelling.

"And you're a disrespectful twit," he snaps at her. "Don't you have any idea how to treat a Sky? Have you forgotten?"

"I've never once forgotten what he is," Maria says quietly. The song of Home Home Home thrums all around them. It's beautiful, like the clarinet melody she's once played. Like liberation. A lovely, soft glow of orange Flames envelops everything if she strains her senses enough to see them. "But he doesn't like it when we treat him like this. Why doesn't everyone realise it already and just stop?"

It won't stop the assassination and kidnapping attempts, of course, but honestly. Even Maria can understand that their forceful courting just makes Harry fidgety, and tense, and sad, and Maria has the emotional capacities of a pile of bricks!.. Or so she's been told by people who tell her to smile however unhappy she is, because a girl must always be seen smiling. After all, if you see people act unhappy, then they probably are, and that means actually addressing someone's pain.

Hayato blinks at her before snorting.

"Hah. So, you're not a complete dolt. Do us all a favour and show us this side more often than your usual simpery shit?"

Maria frowns at him in disapproval at the swears. He'd look way cuter without them and the constant smell of dynamite powder choking the air around him like cologne someone has applied too much.

She sends a glance towards Harry. The man's entered a one-sided conversation trying to explain his cat that jumping on customers with its claws out just because it's had a bad day isn't the socially correct response. Judging by the way the kitten looks at the ceiling with an expression of 'with you, all days are bad; I deal in all the ways I can', it's not going very well.

She likes him a lot, like an older brother she never got to have.

True, sometimes Harry treats her a little too much like she's still a child and can be rather condescending to her, but that's fine. It's not malicious. Awkward, rather. Like he doesn't quite know what to do with kids her age. He's probably too used to dealing with younger children, if at all.

But he is a lovely, attentive person in all the ways that matter, and subtly tells off jerks that try to bully Maria, so it's only natural for her to treat him the way he wants to be – like Harry, rather than the powerful Sky they all want to collect as their own.

If Harry has learnt anything at all in the course of his acquaintance with Mammon, it's that you can always count on the not-baby to never ever offer to pay for something.

His world explodes when this one immutable truth burns and dies.

Harry jerks when two small drums appear at his bakery early in the morning, just as the grey, foggy dawn rises slowly over the town. The weather promises to be one of those days when you're glad that there is glass separating you from the outside, all wet and lazy and greyscale. But the bakery is comfortable and warm, Harry's hands smell of spices and fruit, dough is resting on a table as he's chopping apples into small cubes for another apple pie because damn Neville did you have to send thirty crates of apples to commemorate that one time Harry got drunk, went to the ICW and the Wizengamot, spoke up for the rights of oppressed carnivorous apples, and founded an apple society lauded all across the world?..

Anyway. Now two drums plonk on a table in the corner.

Fantasma hops onto one of them immediately. Then hops in place again. And again.

Harry's hand stops cutting.

Is this rhythmic hopping... supposed to be music?

The frog's vivid burgundy eyes blink at him in response to his stumped expression.

Huh. Fantasma isn't actually that tone-deaf.

Teschia jumps onto the table beside the other drum in all her purple fluffy glory. She throws Harry, and Fantama, and Hedwig, and the rest of the empty bakery a look of utter disgust and hatred before batting a paw against the surface of the free drum. Again. And again. Her violet eyes glower violently at Harry all the while, like she blames him for all of this madness and imagines that the drum she's beating up is his face. She ignores Fantasma altogether.

There is some kind of energy in all of this, although Harry is uncertain how to feel about it.

Harry realises that all this is supposed to imitate drumroll because very soon a patch of space warps, and Mammon decides to expose their presence. 'Expose' because they love just lurking about the place, that little peeping tom.

"Mou, begone, you two, before I make a frog-cat stew for lunch," the not-baby hisses darkly, making the music stop. When Harry feels a heavy gaze land on him, he feels almost guilty for tapping against the wooden table in tact to the melody. He hides his hands behind his back quickly. Almost gives in to the urge to whistle innocently.

"What brings you to us on this lovely day?" Harry asks brightly instead, happy that he doesn't have to go outside.

The nature of silence between them shifts. A note of anticipation hangs between them. Harry tenses when Mammon's tiny hands tremble a little around a- oh, is this the smallest indigo froggy purse he has ever seen? Internal squealing is absolutely manly.

"A matter of grave importance," Mammon says after several encouraging croaks from Fantasma. They're even paler than usual, making the tattoo lines on their face stand out even more, and it seems like they can't find the words, opening their mouth repeatedly. Opposite of their usual unwillingness to speak (at least for free).

"…Go on," Harry encourages. He pushes himself away from the table to reach the not-baby. A wordless cleaning spell gets rid of the remnants of the apples on his hands; whatever's going on is too momentous to waste on the bathroom. "Did something bad happen?"

"Yes. Happening. Right now."

Harry's brows quirk when the not-baby almost stutters. Mammon's pout is unreadable.

"Breathe," he tells them gently. "Just tell me, I'm sure we can solve whatever the problem is. I promise I'll help you."

His fingertips gently fall on Mammon's hood, tracing the soft, smooth black fabric even as the not-baby stiffens.

This is the first time they've touched, Harry realises. Physical distance is one of those barriers that Mammon frequently conjures. Barriers - veils, so many that once one of them lifts, another falls down in its place. Harry respects the need for privacy and doesn't tear them away. His touch is light and he is watching for the signs of Mammon's discomfort, but they only lean into his hand subtly, giving him wordless acceptance.

"You are part of the problem," they tell him despite their actions. Their voice is breathless but strained, like they're trying to cover up this breathlessness with nonchalance and it doesn't work. "The reason for it."

Harry jerks away. "W-what did I do?"

"…Mou, this is going wrong." Mammon takes in a fortifying breath likes one would breathe in a hundred grams of vodka for courage. "Today, I am… p… p-paying."

Hedwig's hoot is the only sound in the ringing silence. She descends from the ceiling to perch herself on Harry's shoulder and watch the proceedings from up close with stunned, huge yellow eyes. Her reassuring weight grounds him in this trying time.

"Why?" he finally asks.

Mammon purses their lips. "Don't ask unless you're prepared to shell out money."

"You know, for this, I'll gladly do it-"

"No. Don't ask period. Just- Here. I'm going to take…" Mammon browses the day's menu written both on the small blackboard behind Harry and a page taped to the display with night-sky-printed washi tape. "The tart tatin. Smallest slice- Wait, no! The-the apple biscuit. One will do nicely."

It's the cheapest item on menu right now.

"Are you sure? You know I've got some strawberry shortcake just for you, I know how much you love this stuff."

Harry can read the temptation in all the lines of Mammon's figure.

"No. Not today," Mammon strains out like a superhero gearing up for the final sacrifice. The image doesn't suit them at all. Mammon is more of a type to rob the hero while s/he fights against the villain.

"Anything to drink then?" Harry turns on the balls of his heels to march to the kitchen for a drink that would help poor Mammon with this sudden fit of self-harming charity when he is stalled by another surprising answer.

"Water."

Harry eyes them dubiously.

"You hate water."

"No one hates water, idiot, we would die without it."

"Yes, but you hate drinking plain, uncoloured water like this. You know I won't ask you to pay for tea? Hell, you Italians are so weird with your coffee obsession that I'm happy I've got you to get all this tea off my back because it's like no one else drinks it here!"

"Barbarians," Mammon sniffs. "But yes, I'm sure. Water is free, right? In some places at least because not everyone is stupid enough to make it so. But you don't strike me as a person to take money for it because your business intelligence is non-existent- You don't even make them pay for the bottled water that you pay for, what sort of blasphemy is this?"

"Wait, what! Some people actually make you pay for water? That's awful! So what if it's bottled water? You can't make people pay for something they need to drink to live!"

Harry cannot see Mammon's eyes but he is pretty sure Mammon is raising their gaze to heavens. It's a sensation he's become very intimate with in the past two months.

"...I'll pretend I didn't hear anything," Mammon sighs out eventually. They obviously don't care whether someone lives or dies of dehydration. "Anyway. Name your price."

They speak like someone ready to make a deal with the Devil and not just place an order in a non-pricey bakery.

"That'd be one euro," Harry tells them as gently as he can.

Fantasma pats Mammon on the hood consolingly as the not-baby strangles out a 'fine'. Under the frog's reproachful eye Harry feels like he's just killed a unicorn. Ridiculous.

Whereas usually Mammon is quick to devour whatever Harry offers, today they savour every last crumb of their biscuit, slowly, demonstratively, accompanying every bite with a sip of water in a tall glass. After they've finished, they stare mournfully at the empty little plate.

Mammon takes in a shuddering breath.

"...Mou, now for the final thing," they say in an absolutely miserable but resolute voice. "I'm going to give you a tip."

Even Teschia stop licking her paws to stare at the not-baby. Anticipation of something unknown tingles down Harry's spine, reminding him of the moment Skull saddled him with the cat not unlike staking a claim. Harry hopes Mammon won't gift him Fantasma. A mischievous frog living with him full-time isn't exactly what his life needs.

"You really shouldn't."

"Do you doubt my resolve?" Mammon snaps even as they float past Harry and to the tip jar.

"Actually... I do."

Mammon ignores him, drops a coin into the jar with a chime, turns their hood to glare at Harry one last time, and dissipate into wispy bits of mist. Harry can feel them escaping his house via the window but doesn't call them out, as always. Friends don't spoil friends' dramatic escapes and it's not like muggles (or Flame-users) can apparate.

Finally, Harry glances inside the tip jar curiously before bursting into snickers.

On the very bottom, a single British penny looks into the distance with Elizabeth the Second's profile.

Shopping list is a good thing to keep on hand when you are wandering the winding, twisting paths of something as mysterious and thronged as the open-air markets of magic Italy. Unlike the sophisticated and contained British markets, usually held in abandoned castles with enhanced space for the crowds to roam, the Italian ones web across streets charmed to be forgotten for the duration of the event, cross weather-beaten staircases, branch-off into tiny by-ways and even dare creep into the corners of sunlit piazze.

The slip of paper with everything he needs scribbled onto it in hand, Harry slowly explores the beauties of the Perugian fair on the exact date Luna suggested to him. A notice-me-not charm coats his form to avoid any altercations, but the people here bustle about so busily and frenetically he doubts they'd care even if he dropped it. Harry doesn't because maintaining charms is always a good exercise. Useful when he's got so lazy working in his bakery for the past two months: paging through Molly's and Minerva's cookery books suddenly excites him more than delving into the bloody history of cursed artefacts or descending into the gloomy tombs of magical Egypt to find treasures. Harry considers it an improvement of his mental health.

He is becoming normal.

Still, another book on Flames would be a good thing to find. True, he could ask - but he'd prefer to figure out as much as possible himself first. The easy way out isn't Harry's style: the story of his life.

His only source of information about Dying Will Flames was what knowledge Ginny retained from Tom Riddle's diary (to be taken with a grain of salt) and what they all scraped up from a thin, 16-17th century research notebook with a name 'Elena S.' beautifully etched in golden ink on top.

They had a hella hard time deciphering the information in neat Italian cursive.

It reminds him of the time he lived with Teddy, George, and Andromeda. All of them supported Harry in his Italian-learning misery by studying the language with him. And trying to read the notebook, of course.

It had... interesting consequences. Especially for Teddy, who rarely babbled anything more complicated than 'hello teddy bear poo' in English at the time but really took a liking to Italian phrases such as 'mind control', 'disintegrate you!', 'tranquilise to death', etc. The boy used them to accidentally subjugate his entire wixen kindergarten class. In the end even Andromeda stopped reading the angry letters Teddy's teachers sent her with owls every week. It's not like the kids complained. Teddy definitely didn't.

Other than that, from the information in the notebook Harry's figured out that this 'Elena S' and someone else were researching an experimental form of magic which they tentatively called 'Flames of Resolution'. They also offered variants like 'Deathsperation Flames', 'Soul Fire', 'Flames of Determination'… Tom Riddle, however, was pretty secure that in the modern society they are called 'Dying Will Flames', or 'DWF' for short, and Harry has no reason to doubt this bit.

The notebook gets rambling and confusing, especially since it's written in some antiquated Italian dialect no one makes heads or tails of, but Harry's pieced together that there are apparently seven main types of Flames.

The author never specifies their names. This Elena S. person apparently dropped the whole research for some reason; it feels incomplete and lacking, but Harry's picked up the main functions of each Flame (at least according to the book):

1) La Costruzione - Construction.

Has effects similar to mind magic such as Legilimency and Occlumency. Even ghost-like possession. Help with the conjuring side of Transfiguration.

Dark Magic? (this footnote has a lot of question marks, like Elena S wasn't sure herself how to categorise it, especially since in the end she concludes that DWF aren't really magic at all, which confuses Harry because on the first pages she claims otherwise. But what can he expect from a work-in-progress).

It's one of the two Flames that has a colour attributed to it: dense, dark blue-purple. Ginny affirms it.

Definitely not something Harry has, remembering his misfortune with the Occlumency lessons.

2) La Tranquilità - Tranquility.

Perfect for working with magical creatures. What it says on the tin: pacifies everything and everyone. Might be good to have if you're going into politics and diplomacy jobs.

Harry would be pretty glad to have it. Wouldn't be surprised if Hagrid did if he had Flames at all.

3) L'Attivazione - Activation.

Friend of Herbologist witches and wizards. Healing? Potential key to immortality? Very helpful in the making of beauty potions anyway.

Voldemort would have probably loved to have it.

4) L'Indurimento - Hardening.

Helps make transfigured items more permanent. Strengthens shield charms. Potentially can make them resistant to Avada Kedavra, but only by an extremely strong user.

There are lightning bolts scribbled next to it, which made Harry laugh on the first read.

Maybe this is his? Although, to be fair, instead of shield charms, he got by with Expelliarmus... Still, Harry believes that his Flame is this Hardening thing. If only there were more information about it that he could understand...

This one is described as green, and feels almost electric to the touch.

5) La Disintegrazione - Disintegration

On the contrary, good at smashing those shields. Generally aids to utilise destructive magic as well as brew antidotes for poisons. A witch could use it for dismantling wards and curses faster, which is a great boon in curse-breaking.

6) La Propagazione - Propagation.

Powers up any magic. Has the words 'healing' and 'immortality' scribbled next to it as well, although Harry doesn't see how it's connected. But he understands that this one is great if you want to be showy and impress everyone you meet into the ground.

A word 'annoying' is also written in the margins by another hand, Elena's partner.

7) L'Armonia - Harmony.

The last one is confusing. Something about balance and merging? Seer abilities, intuitiveness, sensitivity. Indispensable in group rituals, wand-making, dispelling illusions and possessions, getting along with creatures - literally everything. It's even marked with a little crown, setting it apart from the other Flames. The word 'greatness' is underlined next to it like a bad omen.

Harry just ignores this one because it's not like he's gonna have it - he isn't good at everything - and the Hardening Flame sounds way more fun anyway.

All these Flame names have suggestions for alternatives in the margins. There's something about the nature there, too, which makes Harry wonder about the weather forecast stuff he's constantly overhearing at the bakery.

"How can I help you?" a wheezing voice tears him out of his musings as Harry enters a dirty little tent on the edges of the market.

"Ah, I would just like to, um, look around. If you don't mind," Harry says after a greeting, looking around Vetreria di Verdana, full of glassware and crystalware of the magical variety.

"I'm always here if you want advice," the old witch tells him softly before sinking in an armchair to leaf through a catalogue of antiquities.

Wisely keeping his hands to himself - it's never smart to touch anything in a magical establishment, for your own good - Harry examines the shelves lined with copious vials and bottles made resistant to spills and breakage, vases made to retain the contents forever the same, some alchemy equipment, glass boxes so bright with magic Harry's can't enumerate the functions they're charmed to have, whiskey tumblers that detect poisons, self-stirring spoons, colourful glass jewellery for enchanting...

"Do you have any glass that can retain potent Dark curses inside?" Harry asks the old woman as soon as he comes to the conclusion that he could stay here forever and never find what he is seeking.

"Retain? What exactly do you mean?" the soft-spoken witch, Verdana, asks after a pause. "Seal off like a barrier so it wouldn't affect anything or act as the holder for the curse to transfer it?"

Harry thinks back to Skull, to what whiffs of darkness he catches from Mammon and even that green little person who is most likely yet another not-baby instead of a shy gremlin looking to make a friend like Harry first assumed.

"The second variant," he responds, licking his lips. "Also, the glass should restrain the curse so it affects only one victim... almost merges with them, without transferring onto anyone else."

The old witch's face crinkles into a frown at these specifications. Harry understands her.

Curses are clingy. Voldemort's Gaunt ring, for example. Even Horcruxes interacted with the environment easily despite their imprisonment in objects. (Harry shudders at the implications that he might have affected the people around him, too, even if the memory that the people he met before winning the war always acted on their worst impulses around him, were the worst versions of themselves… only strengthens those fears).

The pacifiers, however, despite giving off that really creepy vibe, don't impact the world around them at all. Harry has brushed against Mammon's pacifier before; nothing happened.

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of anything this specific," Verdana admits after browsing her wares with intense eyes. "If you have ever stumbled across an item like this, it might have been modified enchantments." She stares him down sternly. "Do you need this knowledge to re-create such an object or destroy it, young man?"

"Destroy it," Harry responds without a pause. He has never been interested in cursing anyone; hell, his job is all about combatting curses.

The old witch nods after a minute of watching him intently.

"Good. Of course, no matter your end goal, first you need to work with such an object. I don't know how exactly it is done, but I can point you in the right direction and give you several items with various types of enchanted as well as inherently magic glass and crystal. They have properties you'll find helpful."

Harry nods, glancing at the sparkling, transparent trinkets to his side.

"Thanks. That'd be great. I'll experiment to figure out the rest."

He procrastinated on the pacifier curse thing before because the corruption didn't seem to bother Mammon, and he barely caught anything from the green not-baby because they didn't have much contact with each other and Harry only saw them from afar... but after meeting Skull...

Harry almost sways with nausea at the thought of his friend yoked down by that.

If Mammon suffers under such a heinous curse, Harry wouldn't be himself if he let the not-baby continue on this path.

He isn't a curse-breaker for nothing, after all.

Perfect, Harry mentally cheers as soon as he sees it.

What better to top off an exhausting but productive day than food? And it's not your typical stall with Italian sandwiches either.

Of course, the promise of dinner is accompanied by yet another not-baby with a pacifier glowing red and rotting darkness on a level somewhere between Skull's and Mammon's, but Harry is so not surprised that his appetite doesn't diminish in the slightest.

"Hello, what can I offer you?" the not-baby greets him with a smooth baritone. It's soothing. Soft.

Harry can't make out his features since he is disguised as an adult man, with dark round glasses, and, a scarf, and a bodysuit of sorts clad into cumbersome dark clothes. Harry would have passed him by if not for the taint the curse exudes.

The food smells unfamiliar but tempts his senses all the same. He looks at the menu but finds the handwriting illegible. The not-baby, meanwhile, takes off the glasses, revealing a cute childish face with puffy cheeks and expressive warm brown eyes. A tuft of soft black hair peeks out from a knitted hat too warm for the weather.

"Is there anything you could recommend? I don't know much about this type of foods, even though my ex's girlfriend tried to explain it to me once," Harry admits as he scrutinises the appetising buns with steam curling upwards into his nose. There are also... tea eggs? This sounds crazy. Harry loves the idea. He just hopes it won't be like bouillabaisse. He's just not a fan of most of the non-sweet French cuisine, okay? Blame Fleur and Gabrielle.

"Mapo tofu is a personal favourite of mine," the not-baby tells him with a small smile before his face falls. "But unfortunately I don't have any right now."

"Ah, that's fine!" Harry rushes to reassure the crestfallen guy. "I can... do my research. Cook it myself if I have the time."

"I could help you," the not-baby offers swiftly. His smile brightens, grows into something more genuine. Like he puts more of his soul into the smile. It shows. "I would gladly teach you myself if you wish."

The not-baby's face retains that small smile even if a hint of desperation in his eyes leaks the fact that he would be more glad about this situation than Harry.

"Um. Maybe?" Learning something new like this sounds exciting. He could brag to his friends and Molly about it later. Maybe defeat her again in their yearly cook-off.

It may not be the smartest decision to invite an absolute stranger home, especially when the stranger knows your name, but wards are an amazing invention. And it's not like this is his first time. Harry invited Mammon two months ago, and we all know how that ended. And even now Harry's expecting Skull because he hasn't signed up to take care of a mini-Voldemort in in a furry suit forever.

"Wonderful," the not-baby says, his eyes flashing with emotion. "My name is Fon. I'm very pleased to meet you, Harry."

Why do even muggles know his name wherever he goes? He'd just like to introduce himself for once, damn.

"You know my name?" he asks without any surprise. He worries more about what he's going to eat, but Fon seems invested into watching him intently instead of preparing anything. Food: so close yet so far.

"Why wouldn't I?" Fon's eyes widen marginally as he lowers his head apologetically. "I apologise, I should have pretended not to, right?"

"Would have been nice, yeah."

"Civilians are difficult," Fon says with a troubled downturn of lips. His head popping out of the inflated body suit thing looks comical.

"Good thing I'm not one," Harry throws off-handedly as he contemplates whether he is hungry enough to just grab those dumplings/meat buns that look so appetising and run away with them.

"Oh? How interesting. That's not the information I have, but it simplifies everything," Fon says. He smiles when he finally notices how Harry longs to just eat, damnit all to hell, and wraps one of what he calls baozi to serve the wizard.

"People always think they have all the information on me." Harry scowls, which even distracts him from the warmth of the baozi in his hands. "I bloody hate it."

He bites into the bun with irritation. He barely restrains a moan; majestic.

"Understandable. That's why it's best not to reveal anything," Fon points out the obvious with an irritatingly lecturing voice like Harry hasn't tried to do this for years.

"It's less me revealing and more others being annoying sneaky bastards." Harry nibbles down the rest of the bun before scrutinising its friends in the wooden pan thing. Will he? Yes. Another one. "Urgh. Wish I could get rid of them or something."

"I have a piece of advice for this." Fon looks on in amusement as Harry demolishes his cooking.

"Really? I mean, I don't have as much of a problem with the whole thing as before, but a solution would be helpful."

"Martial arts."

Harry cocks his head. "What? How would they help me shut up all those people?"

"Permanently. If you wish." Meeting Harry's flat stare, Fon sighs and corrects himself, "Or not, if you still want them breathing. But leaving them alive carries the possibility that they will keep being 'annoying sneaky bastards'." Fon narrows his brown eyes slightly, which freaks Harry out because it looks plain creepy with his half-smile. "Are you sure you are not a civilian?"

Harry looks at the not-baby carrying the curse he's trying to break, at the tiny white monkey crawling out of Fon's pocket to stare at the wizard with cute large eyes, at the half-eaten baozi in his hand...

"You know what? I don't care. Give me another meat bun."

The rest of the conversation is surprisingly calming, even amusing, especially since Harry gets the feeling they are on completely different wavelengths and either of them warps the words they exchange to suit their own mind-sets. Fon, too, is very interested in the weather, which would fill Harry up with dread had he not been too drained to worry about anything.

The monkey, Lichi, is the sweetest cinnamon roll ever, insisting on giving him more food and allowing herself to be pet, and Harry secretly plans to trade her for Teschia. Especially since his pet Voldemort is being punished for attacking yet another customer - she has a thing against people who wear violet. And Harry. He doesn't know why he's picked up so many kneazle treats for her at the market.

"Ah, about those cooking lessons-" Harry remembers just as it's time to go and the evening chill settles in the air.

"Don't worry, I know where you live," Fon tells him with a smile that only turns to puzzlement when Harry stares.

Harry is almost ready to go home - but there's one thing he totally forgot. An item Luna asked. Her sad face from the last time they saw each other fresh in his mind, Harry takes a shortcut through non-magical alleys to get to the shop she specified-

He never gets there today.

Harry knows Luna will forgive him.

Boom.

A gigantic iron sphere with spikes destroys the wall of a house opposite him. Harry throws up a shield to protect himself from the sudden onslaught of splinters and bits of stonework. He extends the shield into a barrier to cover a few other people - several men and women in torn black suits, each bracing themselves for the impact that never comes.

All to defend themselves against a lonesome man who approaches with a vacant look in his dark eyes and tattoos on his scowling face. On a chain he carries the iron sphere that wrecked the wall.

His opponents gather themselves quickly, gearing up for another attack, yelling out strange things like 'ferocious rain needles', or 'butterflies of disintegration', or 'mist shield: level three'...

Despite the interesting names, Harry doesn't see it working beside wreaking even more destruction on the street. Passingly, he wonders why isn't anyone running to investigate... but then again, don't other people prefer to stay out of danger? Harry's never understood it.

He has renewed the notice-me-not charm, so he can pass by unnoticed and pretend this isn't happening.

He doesn't.

Being a witness to the crime and doing nothing when he can save the day is almost the same as committing that same crime, and Harry still has too much humanity persisting in his soul to ever do this.

Also… Something else smothers the man with the iron sphere, something that makes Harry's blood boil and his lips twist into a cold, vindictive smile.

Possession.

Memories of second year, of Ginny's pale, still body, of Ron's grimace of fear, of Hermione lying motionless in the hospital bed, of sheer terror pervading his beloved home - they all explode inside his mind.

It's been a while since Harry's dusted off his fighting skills.

He unveils himself in a fluid wand motion.

Every single head in the street turns to him. The offending man's right eye briefly flashes with a black symbol painted on red.

"Look," Harry starts in a low, almost purring tone. His wand springs into his hand like the old friend it is. "This is generally not my business. I've learnt many skills and the most vital of them is to just let things be. However, I can sense this home-grown attempt at possession from kilometres apart, and I have a bit of a thing against possession. Especially possessing people to kill others. Nothing personal."

Harry's wand lets out a Bombarda that races through the air and blows up a few metal rubbish bins, barely missing the possessed man who is surprisingly agile enough to dodge in time despite his heavy build and incredible height.

The onlookers try to meddle into his fight, but Harry bats them away with a summoned gust of strong wind. He won't be able to fight when he's more concerned about them. Also, Obliviating is a bitch.

"Somnum," he murmurs with a twirl of his wand. Off to sleep they go.

Actually, he might also-

His opponent, the hulk of a man who remains standing, smirks. It's empty, like he died and had his face manipulated into this ugly expression post-mortem. Lifting his rattling chain, he shouts loudly, "Senja Reppa!"

His voice rings off the walls of the alley.

Harry blinks even as he spins away from the attack just as the ball crashes into the ground where his feet stood.

His limbs don't work when he tries to shift into another position, but that's easily solved by casting a verbal but wandless charm that removes any obstacles to movement. He puzzles over something else.

Is this Japanese? Harry's pretty certain it is. It can't be a spell; Harry doesn't feel any sort of magic in the air at all. Might this be the name of an attack?.. In Japanese? But why would all these people shout out the names of their attacks for all the world to hear? It's not like they are incantations that often need the actual, you know, incantation to work better or at all. Why would you want to declare the name of your attack anyway, especially if you don't expect your opponent to survive?

Harry doesn't understand Italian muggles at all.

"Damn. I knew that muggle fighting just isn't for me." Harry easily side-steps the spikey ball of steel he slows down with a weaker form of Arresto Momentum. "Boring and unimaginative. Can we please wrap up and go home soon? I have a cat to feed."

Judging by the eyes glaring at him ferociously from the tattooed face, no one is letting him go any soon. Sucks to be him.

"No worries, there are cats you'll feed in hell," the man whispers. It strikes Harry as odd since it doesn't fit the bloke at all- Ah, but possession. Drastically changes people.

"No intention of going there, but I'm pretty sure that's where mine came from."

Concluding that the chain has no effect on Harry, the man abandons it to throw himself at Harry.

A fistfight? Harry compares their sizes, remembers that the last time he did any exercise was years ago at Hogwarts for the Quidditch team.

No.

"Time to wrap this up," he sighs out. He blocks the man's attack by erecting a shimmery sphere around himself that blocks any physical objects. Useless in a magical duel. Renders him invincible against a muggle.

The suited man stumbles away from the invisible wall when he runs in it; Harry points his wand at him before he could contrive a plan to go around it.

"Somnum," he speaks firmly into the air again. The spell slices through the barrier.

The man's eyes - one black and one red - widen before he surrenders. A smile of relief shadows across his lips. The body drops onto the dusty ground with a heavy thump.

Harry crouches down beside the fallen man, poking the back of his head thoughtfully before signing in resignation. It feels like this type of sighs is all he's been doing recently. Probably says something about his life. It's strange though how he doesn't feel any anger or annoyance at ending up in this type of situation.

He makes a decision. Not everyone will be happy with it but, well, it's not his job to be a ray of sunshine and bring joy to everyone.

He would have liked to easily lift this monster of a man, toss him across the shoulder, and heroically carry him home, but life doesn't work like that. Harry's arms are twigs. It's been a while since he's had to strain any actual muscles, so he does what he has learnt to do: lazily twirls his wand and grins in satisfaction when the stranger ends up suspended in the air with the help of the ever-reliable Wingardium Leviosa. Apparating is going to be quick and easy, and then he can dump this guy at home to sleep off this little bout of possession before Harry gets him back on his legs again.

His grin falls off when he remembers something.

"First a cat and now this. My owl is going to kill me dead for bringing all these strays home."

The stranger is deaf to his plight.

Next chapter: an event most of y'all been dying for since forever. Maybe two events. Or maybe none - I live to disappoint.

Author Notes:

- It's weird that literally no fic I've ever read mentions Fon's disguise or his food stall? Even though most scenes with Fon in them have food in it? Lichi eating, Gyoza-Ken with the garlic smell, his food stall, eating at Takesushi... Fon canonically just hangs around food. The most relatable Arcobaleno ever lol.

- Two of the many KHR things I've realised writing this fic: 1) characters like M.M, Skull, etc love switching between third and first person when they talk, which is annoying as heck to write; 2) everyone has facial tattoos.

- Fic Rec: Dusk to Dawn by reighost (KHR/HP, Harry-as-Tsuna, eventual R27, amazing world-building and everything else) and Sincerely, Scattered Shards by You Light The Sky (KHR, R27 and Guardians27, incredibly sweet and what I read to cry). Yeah, I know, both are incredibly popular and don't need a recommendation, but I wanted to mention them because they are two of the three fics that rooted me to the fandom after so many years of complete indifference to it. Without those lovely people I probably would have never written this story, so they have the depth of my appreciation!

- Many of you asked what the others are thinking about Harry. Here's some of it! I'm a sucker for Outsider POV stories, and M.M is perfect since she is ignorant enough to not know or mistake many things.

- Basically, in between the bouts of adoration everyone goes 'why r u like this T_T' at Harry lol.

- Shameless Self-Promotion: I did post the first chapter of that Arco/Harry fic ;) It's called The Magician if you are interested. Not sure which fic I'm going to update first tho. I want to alternate between them, but the next chapter of BM is so fun... Anyway. Since I've got no space for too much world-building in this fic, you will find the concepts like the connection between magic and Flames and the like explored in way more detail there. Among other things.

- Thank you so much for reading! Please tell me if you've enjoyed the story. Now I'm off to go be dead in peace.