Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry’s summer was proceeding as unpleasantly as he expected. On top of the dull ache of Cedric’s death, and the worry over Voldemort’s next move, he had come down with a terrible fever. All three together meant that Harry didn’t want to move from his bed, but Aunt Petunia was having none of it.

Today she had sent him to clean the attic. The place was stifling and coated in dust. The only light came from a tiny window, and stacks of boxes were everywhere. His aunt wanted them sorted into different stacks for no reason Harry could imagine.

Harry leaned against the end wall to rest for a moment. In the dark corner next to him was an old suitcase, out of place amid all the cardboard; curious, he tried the latch and it opened easily. Inside were some things that must have belonged to his grandmother, Hyacinth Evans. No jewellery, of course; Petunia would have taken that. Some postcards, letters, a faded silk scarf and a teacup with a picture of the Queen on it. And – an envelope, unopened, with ‘to Lily’ written on it. Whatever his grandmother had wanted to say, his mother had never received it. Harry hid the letter under his shirt and went back to shifting boxes.

***

That evening, after he was shut in his room for the night, Harry carefully opened the envelope. The letter was written on mundane note paper in a looping, feminine hand.

‘Dearest Lily,’ it read. ‘I hoped to tell you this in person one day, but if you’re reading this I never got the chance. I hardly know where to start, so I suppose the beginning is best. When Petunia was small, my Henry was working long hours to make ends meet and I was at home with no company but a baby. I must have gone a bit barmy. When Henry went off on a business trip, I couldn’t take it anymore. I left Petunia with her gran and went to London for a night.

‘I think you can guess what happened next. He was tall, dark, handsome and quite a good dancer. I won’t go into details, but we had a wonderful evening together and a few weeks later I discovered I was in the family way again. I never mentioned what I did, and you took enough after me that there was no proof either way, but I knew in my heart what had happened. I hope you won’t think badly of me, though I suppose it doesn’t matter now, or hold it against Henry that he likely isn’t your birth father.

‘I don’t know much about that man; he said his name was Renato Sinclair and he was Italian, but I don’t know if either of those is true. It could be that some of your special talents come from him.’ Harry blinked. His mother’s biological father might have been a wizard? That … he wasn’t sure if that meant anything. The rest of the letter was hopes and well-wishes, and he set it aside. He sneezed. Rummaging in the attic hadn’t done his cold any good. Once he felt better, he would think about sending Hedwig to find this Sinclair fellow. If that was his name. If he was still alive.

***

“Kill the spare.”

Flames erupted in the space between Harry and Voldemort as their magic clashed. Voldemort hissed as he took a step closer. Harry stood his ground, terrified but determined not to die here …

He woke up with a gasp, those same flames flickering across his skin. He had been randomly bursting into flames ever since the encounter in the graveyard, and while they didn’t burn anything, it was rather alarming. He took a breath and willed them to subside. Maybe this was an after-effect of the phoenix tears from his second year. Or maybe a magical disease. Should he owl Madam Pomfrey?

He felt for his grandmother’s letter under his pillow. Would his grandfather think Harry was evil for talking to snakes? Or for getting Cerdic killed? Harry sneezed and rolled over. So much for getting a good night’s sleep. Again.

***

Harry finally had enough of feeling miserable, and decided to go to the charity clinic beside the Little Whinging Public Library. It was a slow day; he shared the waiting room with a boy who had fallen from a tree, and an old lady with a cough. He was shown to an examination room and waited a little longer until he heard the doctors talking in the hall.

“…I’m telling you I don’t treat males.”

“This clinic has a non-discrimination policy, so deal with it.”

“Fine, fine.” The tone was so much like Sirius that Harry teared up for a moment. The doctor came in, looking at his clipboard. “Good afternoon, Mr Potter, My name is Shamal and I’ll be your doc … tor …” He trailed off as he looked up at Harry’s face. For a heart-stopping moment Harry thought he had run into a wizard. But a wizard would have reacted to his name first, wouldn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” said the doctor. “You look remarkably like a mentor of mine; I was surprised.”

Because his life had no coincidences, Harry said, “Would your mentor happen to be named Renato Sinclair?”

The doctor went pale. “How do you know that name?”

“Apparently he’s my biological maternal grandfather. Um, you’re not going to tell anyone about this, are you?”

Doctor Shamal held up his hands. “I take patient confidentiality very seriously. Besides, your grandpa would skin me if I did anything to upset you.”

Did that mean he was still alive? Aloud Harry said, “Will he really want to know about me? I mean, what sort of person is he?”

“Ah. Despite his scary reputation, he takes family very seriously. If he had any idea you existed, you’d have met him long ago.” While he spoke, Shamal picked up an ear-light and started examining Harry.

“The only reason I know is because of a letter my grandmother wrote to my mother. Though I think my aunt knows; it would explain why she hated my mother so much.” He decided to ignore the bit about reputation; just look at his godfather!

“Hmm. I’ll have to check how much I can tell you about Mr Sinclair. There are some, ah, privacy concerns …”

Could it be? “Doctor, this may be a strange question, but are you a wizard?”

Shamal grinned. “No, but I know of them – wait, are you that Harry Potter?”

Harry sighed and nodded; so much for his brief time of normal treatment.

Shamal threw up his hands. “Damnit, Reborn, you’re causing chaos and you’re not even here!”

Harry couldn’t begin to guess what that meant. “Er, since you know about magic, can I show you my other symptoms?” At Shamal’s nod, Harry called up the strange orange fire which had appeared since the end of the Tournament. The doctor gaped.

“Fuck.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Alright, first, that’s not a symptom, it’s an ability.” He held out his hand, and a ball of indigo flame appeared in it.

“I thought you didn’t have magic?”

“This isn’t strictly speaking magic. It doesn’t need a wand or … look, this is going to take some time to explain. My shift’s over at six, I could take you to dinner?”

Harry eyed him suspiciously. That was an odd offer for a grown man to make to a teenage boy; however, he did want to know more about the strange flames. “All right, as long as you’re buying.”

***

Harry agreed to meet Shamal at a café off Little Whinging’s high street. Since he was ill, Petunia had banned him from cooking; instead, the Dursleys were going out for dinner and a movie, and Harry was supposed to make do with tinned soup. Not bloody likely.

Shamal recommended, and then paid for, a chicken Caesar salad and rice pudding with fruit. “Doctor’s orders,” he said cheerfully when Harry tried to protest. He had a curry bowl for himself, and did something with his indigo fire to ensure their privacy.

“Civilians can’t even see Flames most of the time,” he explained. “It still pays to be careful, though. The Flame Mafia keeps secrets just like the Wizarding World.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. He knew what the Mafia was, thanks to Dudley’s television shows; some of the boys in Dudley’s gang liked to brag that they were going to be real gangsters. “The Mafia? Really?”

“It’s a good way to hide. The mundanes might spot that something hidden is going on, then they find olive oil bootlegging or some such and think that’s all.”

Harry grumbled. “They’re not about to give me a choice about joining, are they?”

Shamal grinned lazily. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.” Harry threw a crouton at him.

Could it be fun, though? He had only met the doctor so far, and he seemed all right. And as far as Harry knew, nobody in the Mafia wanted him dead. “So, tell me how these flames work? What do the different colors mean? And how does my grandfather fit into it?”

Chapter Text

Shamal’s hands were clammy as he dialled Reborn’s number. Stress response, he noted automatically. Fight-or-flight reflexes, elevated adrenaline levels …

“Ciaossu.”

“Good evening Reborn, heheh …”

“Shamal, what a surprise. You don’t usually call at this hour. Or at all. Don’t you like me anymore?”

Shamal fidgeted with his pen and decided to get straight to the point. “Do you recall a lady named Hyacinthe Evans?”

Reborn hummed thoughtfully. “That takes me back … delightful woman, eager to forget her cares for a night. Why, did she turn up at your clinic?”

“Not her – her grandson.”

“Grandson,” Reborn repeated flatly.

Shamal let his momentum carry him along. “He looks just like you. He’s fourteen, came in complaining of fever, cough and bursting into flames.”

He could practically hear Reborn’s grin. “Yellow flames?”

“Orange, actually.” Silence. “Look, get your ass to London and see for yourself. There’s more, but I’m not going to say it on the phone.”

“I will be there within twenty-four hours. Be ready to answer questions.” Shamal started to say something about doctor-patient confidentiality, but Reborn had already hung up.

***

Reborn only needed four hours to reach London, and most of that was haggling with Viper over their fee. Their portal dropped him in his London safehouse; he swept it for bugs both living and electronic, then went in search of Shamal.

He had a grandson and a child he had never met. That did not sit well with him; the underworld was not kind to illegitimate children. Reborn had always taken precautions – when that was still a concern for him – and told himself he would do the responsible thing if those precautions failed. And he hadn’t. He hadn’t even known.

Shamal was sitting at his kitchen table, poring over a pile of documents. Reborn jumped in front of him; he shrieked and fell off his chair. “Don’t do that, Reborn!”

“Your situational awareness needs work.” Reborn waited while Shamal picked himself up. “My grandson. Tell me.”

“It’s … it could be worse?” Reborn’s eyes narrowed, and Shamal gulped and continued, “He’s currently uninjured, but underweight for his age. He’s under a lot of stress, and I get the feeling his home life isn’t the best.”

Reborn could solve that at the very least. “His records.”

“You’re standing on them.”

Reborn gathered up the papers, then paused at the name and photo clipped to the folder. He knew the face; anyone who had any contact with the magical world would. He sat down on the edge of the table. Harry Potter, the boy-who-lived, was his grandson. He no longer had to ask what had happened to his and Hyacinth’s child. Their daughter, Lily.

Shamal shoved a cup of coffee under his nose. “It’s not often I see you at a loss for words, Reborn.”

He should enjoy that while it lasted. “Set up a meeting.” Reborn had avoided the whole conflict with Voldemort, thinking it had nothing to do with him. But now – it was personal.

***

“Ok, when I heard you were cursed, I was expecting the wolfman or something.” Harry sat down across from his apparent grandfather, who looked like a baby.

“Ciaossu, Harry. I’m Reborn, and this is Leon.” He pointed at the chameleon sitting on his hat. Leon blinked at him and said,

“Good morning.”

“Um, hello,” Harry hissed back. “Huh, I though that only worked with snakes.”

“It’s all reptiles.” Reborn smirked. “And that’s all the proof I need that you’re my blood. Shamal, you can bugger off now.”

“Hey! I am not leaving an innocent young man to deal with your chaos on his own.”

Reborn gave the doctor a narrow look. “You usually only get this way with girls. Harry, I’ll start with an apology for my absence. I try to be more of a gentleman than that.” He looked the part, in his sharp suit that had to be bespoke considering his size. He spoke English with a slight Scottish accent despite supposedly being Italian, and Harry believed that he was serious about the apology.

“I can’t blame you for that,” he said, “Since Gran didn’t tell anyone. And I’d like to get to know you better. If you don’t mind,” he added, suddenly self-conscious about his baggy hand-me-down clothes.

Reborn tilted his hat over his eyes. “It would take extreme measures to get rid of me.” Which, all right, sounded rather sinister. “If you’re embarrassed by the fashion choices imposed by your guardians, that’s easily solved.”

“…Did you just read my mind?”

“In this case I don’t need to; it was all over your face.” Reborn paused thoughtfully. “Bambino, has somebody else been reading your mind?”

Shamal put his hands up in alarm. “I never!” That broke the tension, and Harry snickered.

“Doctor Shamal has been nothing but professional. Though I have been having odd dreams lately.”

The two adults exchanged a glance. “This is rapidly becoming a conversation for a more private setting. Perhaps one with decent coffee.” Reborn sneered at the cup in front of him. “That is, if you’re comfortable with that yet, harry.”

Harry was just glad to be asked, for once. “You’ll have no luck with coffee around here,” he said. “I’m fine with moving, if I get to choose the place.”

“That’s fair. And here.” Reborn produced a calling card and a key. “This is my safe house in London. You’re welcome there at any time.”

Harry took them hesitantly. “You trust me not to make trouble?”

Reborn did his sinister hat-tilt again. “I’m sure I can handle any trouble you are capable of causing.”

Harry smiled crookedly. “Challenge accepted.”

***

Reborn shadowed his grandson to the location he’d picked – a corner of a nearby park. It was telling that Harry didn’t consider his own house a safe place to talk. The signs he could see, along with what Shamal had carefully not said, added up to an infuriating picture. Reborn was familiar enough with the Wizarding news to know what a media circus Harry had to deal with. He had lost so much time; he would never know his daughter. Harry needed training, but more importantly he needed support; Reborn was being as gentle with him as he was able.

They settled into the little space in the shrubbery, and Shamal spun a Mist barrier for privacy. Reborn expected questions about his occupation, but instead Harry asked, “Are you Italian or Scottish? Because I’m getting mixed messages.”

“I’m half and half, actually. You should see me in a kilt.”

Harry wrinkled his nose. “I’ll pass, thanks. Why are you being so nice to me? Shamal told me some stories about your Spartan training methods.”

Reborn raised an eyebrow at Shamal, who looked blandly back at him. “You’re my grandson, not my student. And bambino, you could use a little less excitement in your life. So no hell training unless you request it.”

“Much appreciated,” Harry groaned, draping his arm over his eyes.

“On the other hand, would you like to be my assistant in chaos?”

To Reborn’s delight, Harry giggled. “I think I can handle that. Sirius is going to love you.”

“Sirius Black – you’re in contact with him?” Reborn’s gaze sharpened.

Harry nodded hesitantly. “He didn’t do all the things he’s accused of.”

“Even if he had, I wouldn’t mind. Remember what I do for a living.”

A hopeful expression crossed Harry’s face. And then … it all came spilling out. The dangers Harry had faced, all the things that didn’t make it into the papers; his treatment by his relatives, his guilt over his schoolmate’s death … and before that, his deadly encounter with a teacher in his first year.

“Eleven,” Reborn exclaimed softly. “Dio, that’s younger than I was.” And he had been prepared for it, already planning to become a hitman.

During the telling, Harry had pulled Reborn into a hug for comfort. Related or not, they were still virtual strangers; Harry’s support network must be nonexistent. “You’re not going to tell me it was an accident?”

Reborn shook his head. “He was trying to kill you, you resolved to stop him, and your magic provided the means. The action might have been instinctive, but it was deliberate.”

Harry relaxed around him. “Dumbledore tried to tell me it happened outside my control.”

“Now that’s just cruel,” said Shamal. “Which one is worse: that you’re able to kill or that you can’t help killing?”

“I’d say the second, but Dumbledore thinks otherwise,” Harry grumbled. “Are you also a hitman, Doctor?”

“How’d you guess?” Shamal preened. Hmm. His grandson could do better than the pervert doctor for his Mist, but he could do a lot worse too.

“He collects deadly diseases to use on his targets,” Reborn explained. Harry grimaced.

“Can you give the Dursleys something painful and embarrassing?”

“I can do syphilis, that’s a classic.”

Reborn was rapidly developing a plan. “Bambino, would you be upset if I kidnapped you?”

Chapter Text

Reborn sneered at #4 Privet Drive from the end of the street. “That is the most aggressively plebeian house I have ever seen.”

Harry feigned surprise. “You mean to say that my aunt has no taste? I’m shocked, utterly shocked.” He started to step forward, but Reborn held his arm out to stop him.

“Look at the hedge across the street from the house.”

Mrs Bucket at #5 was very proud of her lilacs; looking closely, Harry could see that some of the leaves were bent at an odd angle, as if something was pressing them back. “Is someone standing there?”

“Yes, with an invisibility spell of some kind.” Reborn tilted his hat. “Two can play at that game.”

Harry grimaced. Death Eaters wouldn’t stick to just watching, so who did the observer work for? Dumbledore? The Ministry? Had they been there all summer? “I hope this won’t get me in trouble for underage magic again.”

“Who needs magic when we have Mist? Shamal, since you insisted on tagging along, you can make yourself useful.” To all appearances, Harry returned to the Dursley’s house alone. He could see the two hitmen as ghostly outlines. Vernon was at work, Dudley out with his mates, and Petunia was watching a soap opera on the telly; another wisp of Mist ensured she would stay engrossed in it.

“Right, I’ll get my trunk, Hedwig’s cage …” Was there anything else he wanted to take?

“Bambino, where do the Dursleys keep their paperwork?”

“A safe in the master bedroom closet – I don’t know the combination though.” Reborn winked.

***

Shamal was appalled; if Reborn weren’t already staging an abduction, he would do it himself. All those locks on the door, and a cat flap? Once word got around how the Dursleys had treated a Sky child, God have mercy on them. The Mafia sure wouldn’t. While Harry packed his belongings, Shamal prepared his most vicious squadron of mosquitoes. A pox upon this house – and better make it an antibiotic resistant strain, for good measure.

“That’s everything,” Harry said much too soon.

“All right, I’ll add you to the invisibility field so your peeping tom won’t know you’ve left.”

Harry watched with fascination. “You don’t ever use an incantation?”

“I can do one if you like. Ooh, ee, Ooh-ah-ah, ching chang walla walla bing – ow!” Reborn kicked him in the shin, but Harry was laughing, so Shamal counted it as a win. It was therapeutic, okay?

***

Shamal had parked their getaway car two blocks over, and they walked the whole way under his Mist working. As the car came into sight, Harry felt an all-too-familiar chill come over him. “Dementors! Here?”

Reborn scowled. “Get to the car.” Harry could see them now, a dozen shadowy forms gliding down the street towards them. He drew his wand; better expulsion for underage magic than losing his soul. Maybe his grandfather could get him into an Italian magical school.

“Those look like bad news,” said Shamal. So he could see them too?

“If they catch you, they’ll suck your soul out through your mouth.”

“I knew a girl once who could do that.” Shamal opened the car door and shoved Harry inside, then flung himself into the driver’s seat and locked the doors. Reborn leapt onto the roof with one hand outstretched.

“Expecto Patronum! ” A silvery chameleon formed on the car’s bonnet, its tongue striking out at the dementors. Reborn dropped through the passenger side window, “Drive!”

Shamal floored it. The car quickly outdistanced the creatures; with their aura gone, Harry found the wits to react: “How did you do that?”

“Magic.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Obviously. But a wandless Patronus?”

“I cheat,” said Reborn.

***

Reborn smirked at his grandson’s confusion. When he bothered with spells, he Activated them with his Flames, not a wand; it made life more interesting. Now that Harry was away from those individuals, he could start making long-term plans. Guardian candidates, for one, and giving Voldemort a lead sandwich.

When Shamal stopped at a red light, an owl swooped down to land on the side mirror. He rolled down the window to let it in. “Now what?” groaned Harry. The owl hopped onto his arm; he took its message. “Bloody hell, I knew it. Underage magic usage, and I didn’t even cast anything.” Reborn sensed shenanigans. Harry went on, “Maybe you’ll be tutoring me after all. It says here I’ve been expelled from Hogwarts.”

“We’ll see about that,” Reborn said. While he would gladly teach Harry – he would even curb his Spartan methods – this was simply unjust.

“You don’t need to go to any trouble over this,” Harry protested half-heartedly.

“Try and stop me, bambino.”

***

Sirius was frantic. His pup – his Prongslet – was missing, he had lost him again; this couldn’t be happening! Dumbledore had search parties out, but he wasn’t allowed to join in because it would be dangerous. He paced irritably around the house, set off his mother’s portrait, and finally curled up in his room in dog form. That was where Hedwig found him. She came in through the window that he kept open to give an impression of freedom. Sirius took a breath to shout to the rest of the house, but Hedwig swatted him with her wing.

“Mum’s the word, eh?” He took the letter from her leg and unfolded it.

“Padfoot: I solemnly swear I am up to no good. I’m OK. I found out I have another relative on my mother’s side and I’m spending the summer with them. I’m not sure if anyone cares since I haven’t heard from any of you, but I thought I’d let you know.” That stung. And why hadn’t he written to his godson? Just because Dumbledore told him not to? Since when did Sirius let that get in his way?

“I know for sure that this person is related to me. Please let me know how long it takes anyone to notice I’m not with the Dursleys. I’d like to meet up with you if you can find a safe way. Hugs, your godson, Harry.”

This was going to be hilarious. Of course he wanted to meet this supposed relative, but if he played it right, he could prank the Order at the same time. He hunted up a quill and some parchment.

“Prongslet, I’m glad you’re safe. Dumbledore told everyone to leave you alone and for some reason I listened. I must not be right in the head. I think this place is getting to me. I’m staying at my old family home, trying to fix it up enough for you to stay in. Moony is helping. Dumbledore wants to use this place as a headquarters for his Order. He’s planning to hide it with the Fidelius charm, but he hasn’t cast it yet so I can tell you that the address is 12 Grimauld Place, London. Bring your relative by for tea sometime. Molly Weasley has taken over the kitchen and I could use a counterbalance, even if the food is good. See you soon – Padfoot.”

He added the password spell from the Marauder’s Map, and sent the letter off with Hedwig. Then he reached for another scrap of parchment. It was time to stop acting like a lapdog and start thinking like a Marauder.

***

“Sirius sounds desperate,” Harry commented. He was lounging on a sofa at Reborn’s safehouse, which was a loft in London’s theatre district. Above him, Reborn was riding the blade of a ceiling fan which had been reinforced for just that purpose, while scribbling in a notebook.

“Want to add some chaos to his life?”

“He’d enjoy that.” Harry was already feeling much better. His grandfather laughingly refused to let him do any chores, and instead set him basic exercises in mental defence. He snapped his notebook shut.

“As I thought. A remarkable set of wards followed you here, bambino. The arithmantic structure is fascinating.”

Reborn was a Master of Arithmancy, Harry had learned, among his many other skills. His energy for the subject even had Harry curious about maths for once. “Who could have set them up? Dumbledore?”

“That old blowhard? No, only one kind of ward behaves like this; it must have been Lily who set this up. The spell would act as a deadman switch, using the magic released by her death to protect you.” He sounded both proud and wistful. “Besides you personally, the ward also extends over any residence you share with another blood relative of hers.”

“So, she’s with us in spirit,” Harry said.

“Aren’t we sappy today,” Shamal teased. “What are you going to do with Black? Drop in invisible?”

“I have something else in mind. Shamal, why are you still hanging around here?” Reborn asked like he already knew. Shamal just shrugged.

It was strange to think the doctor might be one of Harry’s soul mates. Shamal was so laid back despite his two intense careers, and harry could do with more of that in his life. He plied Harry with food, everything from full English breakfast to pasta primavera, and he also sat Harry down to watch The Lion King in an effort to prove that he wasn’t to blame for Cedric’s death. It did help a little. Harry also liked the idea of inflicting chaos on the people who had been ignoring him. “How can I help this chaos along?”

Reborn tumbled off his perch and landed with a grin. “All you need to do, bambino, is act like everything I do is normal.”

Chapter Text

The doorbell at 12 Grimmauld Place rang, and Sirius grinned. His pup was coming to visit! He dropped his scrub brush and rushed to the door; Molly yelled after him, “Tell them we’re not buying anything!”

Little did she know. Sirius swung the door open and immediately swept Harry into a hug. “Pup, you’re all right?”

“It’s great to see you again.” Harry hugged him right back. “And this is my grandfather.”

“Ciaossu.” The man was even shorter than Flitwick; he held out a hand. “Reborn, World’s Greatest Hitman.”

Sirius suspected he was being pranked, and when in doubt, roll with it. He shook the man’s hand. “Sirius Black, fugitive from the law.”

“And mass murderer, I hear?”

“Vastly exaggerated, I’m afraid, and even then I’m sure it’s hardly up to your standards.” Harry was struggling to keep a straight face. Molly was going to have apoplexy and it would be hilarious.

Reborn said, “One must make allowances for amateur enthusiasts. The jailbreak was a nice touch.”

“Wasn’t it though?” Who knew manners had this much prank potential? “Care for a cuppa? And, welcome to my ancestral home. I’d give you a tour, but the place is rather a wreck.”

***

Wreck was putting it mildly, Harry thought. The entryway was coated with grime and cobwebs. At the far end was a portrait that stirred as the trio moved forward. “Blood-traitors! Blood-traitors and muggle-lovers in my house!”

Sirius rushed past her, but Reborn faced her head on. “Good afternoon, Madam. Renato Sinclair, Collegia Hermetica Romanorum. And you are?”

This startled the portrait out of her rant, she looked down her nose at him. ‘And what sort of wizard dresses like that?”

“I see that you haven’t kept up with the latest fashions here on the fringes of the Empire,” said Reborn. “Not to mention dreadfully provincial manners. Good day, Madam.” He tipped his hat and strolled past a gaping Sirius into the parlor. The portrait flapped her mouth like a fish, and then a curtain snapped shut over her. Sirius waved Harry into the parlor, and then collapsed on a sofa, barking with laughter.

“My hat’s off to you, Mr Reborn. Or Mr Sinclair. Whichever, nobody’s ever managed to shut up my dear old mum like that.”

“It was my pleasure.” Reborn had a gleam in his eye; Harry couldn’t wait to see what he did next.

Molly Weasley burst into the room. “Sirius Black, just what do you think you’re doing?”

Sirius put on an innocent face. “Entertaining guests, of course.”

“Good help is so hard to find these days,” said Reborn.

“It always takes the new ones a while to get the hang of it,” Sirius agreed. Harry added,

“I hope Sirius is giving you a good wage, Mrs Weasley. It’s about time your family got a lucky break.”

Molly spluttered. Reborn said, “I’ll have a coffee, if you please. Leon, did you want anything? ”

“No thank you, ” said the chameleon. Harry was pleased that he could tell the difference between English and Parseltongue now; his exercises were paying off.

“Bambino, is there anything specific you should be eating for tea?”

With great effort, Harry ignored the flabbergasted expressions on Sirius and Molly, and took out the little notebook Shamal had given him. “I’m supposed to eat something high in protein. Egg sandwiches, maybe?”

Sirius recovered his balance. “What an excellent idea. Molly, be a dear and fetch a plate of egg sandwiches, and pots of tea and coffee.”

“Well, I never!” Molly stomped away, and Harry lost the battle against his giggles.

“I like you,” Sirius told Reborn.

“I am a connoisseur of chaos, Mr Black. You’ll find it a challenge to impress me.”

***

Reborn settled back to wait for his coffee. Self-important magicals were so much fun to play with, and Black had potential as an ally.

“So, parselmouth, huh?”

“Harry gets it from me, I’m sure.” Before either of them could speak further, two teenagers barrelled into the room; these would be Harry’s erstwhile friends.

“Harry! We were so worried!” exclaimed Hermione. “And Dumbledore said you wouldn’t want us to bother you this summer, so we weren’t allowed to write.”

“And you listened to him?” Harry asked, as if that didn’t surprise him at all. “Guys, this is my grandfather – that is, my mother’s biological father – Renato Sinclair.”

“But you can call me Reborn.” He tilted his hat over his eyes. The pair stared back at him; Hermione suspicious, and Ron sullen.

“Are you going to tell me I’m not good enough to be Harry’s friend too?”

“Should I?” Reborn smirked. Latent Storm with an inferiority complex, check. Latent Lightning a bit too willing to obey authority figures, check.

“Ron, sit your arse down. I think you’re good enough, and I did want to hear from you this summer, no matter what anyone else says.” Sky trying to look after his own, check. Reborn had seen stranger combinations work out; Harry going Active might pull their Flames out too. That gave Harry one Mafia and two magical guardians. Ron slumped down beside Harry.

“Aren’t you mad at me? I didn’t even try to owl you, and after everything that happened last year … I’m such a berk.”

“I don’t think there’s a magic bullet to cure that, mate,” Harry told him. Who could resist a straight line like that? In an instant, Reborn had the Leon-gun in his hand, and he shot Ron in the forehead.

“Re- born ! Make it up to Harry with my Dying Will!”

“Ack! Geroff!” Ron enveloped Harry in a bear hug, along with a flurry of cherry-red Flames. The uncontrolled Storm dissolved part of the settee, but it wa sin a sorry state anyway. Harry, despite his protests, snuggled into it.

“Is it wrong of me to be envious of that?” said Hermione.

“Not at all.” Reborn shot her too.

“Re- born ! Form a threesome with my Dying Will!” She added herself to the pile around Harry. Sirius fell off his chair laughing.

***

Harry supposed it should be strange, snuggling with his best friends in their underwear; he only felt warm. It would be perfect if Shamal was here too, and what was he thinking ? Eh, it could wait. He wrapped his arms around his friends; his Flames were tangled up in theirs now, and that was much more comfortable than whatever connection he had with Voldemort. The sense of togetherness lingered even after the bullets’ effect faded.

Hermione fished her wand out of her shredded clothing. “ Reparo. Did we just get shot?”

“With magic bullets,” Reborn agreed gleefully. Leon had returned to his lizard form and was lounging on Reborns’ hat.

“Mr Sinclair, what exactly do you do for a living?”

“I’m a hitman.”

Sirius started laughing again. Ron furrowed his brow. “Not a hitwizard?”

“I do most of my work on the mundane side.” Despite having magic, Reborn didn’t consider himself a Wizard; Harry found it a refreshing idea. Hermione would have a million questions, Ron would grouch and grumble, and Harry wouldn’t have it any other way.

“Casting spells outside of school now, Hermione?”

“Just here in Sirius’s house, we got special permission so we could help clean the place up.”

The door burst open. Standing in it were Professor Moody (the real one, presumably), Dumbledore, Mrs Weasley, Snape and several other people Harry didn’t know. They were all pointing wands at Reborn.

“For being a wanted man, Mr Black, you certainly have a lot of visitors. Molly, did you happen to bring that coffee?”

Harry stifled a snicker. In the dumbfounded silence, a house elf popped in with the requested drinks and sandwiches. “Foolish young master sends a witch to do an elf’s job.” He squinted at Harry. “Young master did not say his guest bears the Amber Aspect.”

“I don’t even know what that is,” protested Sirius.

“Disgraceful ignorance. Young master should be ashamed of himself.” He elf popped away again. Harry shoved away the thought of ‘aspects’ – he’d ask Hermione once she had scoured the library – and took a sandwich. Reborn poured himself a cup of coffee.

Moody stumped forward, his wand still trained on the tiny hitman. “Claim to be Harry’s kin, do you? And a parselmouth, to boot.”

Mrs Weasley had been telling tales. Reborn smiled. “As I told Mr Black, Harry gets it from me.”

Dumbledore, wearing his best disappointed look, cleared his throat. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, young man; Harry’s abilities originate from Voldemort.”

Reborn raised an eyebrow. “What exactly are you implying about my daughter’s character?”

Harry needed a moment to figure that out. He made a face. “Grandpa, ew. I know Mum had better taste than that.” He was going to have to bleach his brain later, but it was worth it to see Snape glaring daggers at Dumbledore. The Potions Master studied Reborn intently, then ground out,

“Where were you?”

“Unaware.” Reborn pulled his hat down over his eyes. “I only recently discovered I’d had more than a pleasant evening. As for the man who murdered my daughter – you may inform him that his days are numbered.” Harry wondered if he had ever mentioned that Snape was a Death Eater, or if Reborn was reading his mind. “Mr Black, could you introduce us?”

***

Sirius held himself back from cackling. Harry’s grandfather was a grand prank just by existing, and he had the same sly sense of humor as Lily. No doubt Sirius would get scolded later for inviting him, but it was his house, wasn’t it? He introduced the Order to Reborn, then said, “Are you lot just going to stand around? There are plenty of seats.”

“You’re being dreadfully irresponsible, my boy,” Dumbledore said in his most tiresome patronising tone. “Mr Sinclair, for security purposes, I’m afraid you must surrender your wand for the duration.”

“I don’t have it on me.” Now there was an answer nobody expected. Reborn continued. “I haven’t used one in years. Interacting with the world at wand’s length is terribly boring, don’t you think?”

No, they didn’t. Who ever heard of a wizard who chose not to use his wand? The best part was, he was sure Reborn wasn’t joking. Moody didn’t believe him, of course. “Accio Reborn’s wand.” Nothing happened. Sirius gave in to his laughter. Snape looked thoughtful, or perhaps constipated. The three pups were munching on sandwiches and watching the show.

Dumbledore tried to scold Harry next. “Harry my boy, you’ve been quite reckless. This house still isn’t safe for you to visit.”

“But you let us come here,” Hermione pointed out. The Black family home might be filthy but there were hardly dementors and basilisks stalking the halls.

“Maybe we’re just more expendable,” Ron grumbled.

“You are not!” said Harry. It was fascinating; Sirius had been watching Hermione and Ron for several weeks now, and he noticed how being around Harry calmed their worst habits – Hermione’s reflexive obedience and Ron’s resentful self-pity. The three of them together just fit.

“My point,” said Dumbledore, “Is that Harry’s safety depends on his staying with his relative.”

“I have been staying with a relative,” Harry said innocently.

“My boy, the protections created by your mother’s blood – ”

“Have settled neatly around my own residence,” Reborn said. “It’s an elegant working; I regret more than ever that I never met my daughter. And I would never be so cruel as to keep Harry away from his friends and godfather. Are there any sandwiches left?”

Chapter Text

“Oh, Mun-dung-us!”

The shady wizard flinched at the singsong call. “Good morning, Mr Reborn. What can I do for you?”

“Let’s discuss that.” The tiny hitman hauled him into a side room which had once been a pantry. Sirius Black was already waiting there.

“Hello, Mundungus. How much have you stolen from me so far?”

“I don’t know what you mean – ” Something wand-shaped poked him in the back. “Aiee! I haven’t taken anything, I’m still casing the place! I mean – ”

“Shut it.” Black leaned forward, and were they sure he hadn’t actually killed anyone? “This house and everything in it will be Harry’s one day. You know what happens if you steal from him, right?”

The Flame Mafia would eat him alive, if Reborn didn’t end him first. There wouldn’t be enough left for a funeral. Black continued, “On the other hand, if you behave yourself, we might have some things for you to dispose of at, say, a ten percent dealer’s fee.”

Oh, this was a shakedown. Now on more familiar ground, Mundungus straightened. “Oi, it’s a very particular service I provide. That’s worth forty percent, don’t you agree?”

***

Hermione pounced on Harry as soon as he stepped into Grimmauld Place. “Look what I found, Harry!” She was holding, what else, a book. This one was old, with cracks around the binding and gilded letters flaking off. “The Black library is amazing, so much more comprehensive than Hogwarts – ”

“Breathe, Hermione. What did you find?”

“A Wizarding book that mentions Flames!”

Ron added, “Save me, mate, she’s been on about it since Thursday.” They sat on either side of Harry on Sirius’s new sofa. Shamal draped himself over the back.

“Guys, this is Shamal, he’s appointed himself my personal physician.”

“You need one, you walking danger magnet.” Shamal ruffled his hair. “Is the book any good?”

“Somewhat, but it’s dreadfully biased.” She flipped the book open to one of several markers. “Listen to this: though among themselves, firelings hold the Amber aspect in the highest esteem, the superior aspect is in fact Gold, which is capable of casting all types of spells. Typical wizard logic. And it keeps calling us firelings like we’re not even human.”

“Wizards don’t much think in terms of humans,” said Ron. “Everyone’s either a being, a Wizard, or a muggle.”

That lined up with the Wizarding world’s usual attitudes. “So Shamal’s a magical being?”

“You know it’s true, baby!” Shamal winked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “He’s always like that, isn’t he. And yes, Flame users are included the statue of secrecy, so don’t worry about anyone trying to erase his memory.”

“It wouldn’t work anyway; I’ve taken steps,” said the Mist.

That was a relief. Hermione flipped to another marker; just then, Dumbledore swept into the room, flanked by Moody and an amused Remus. The werewolf inhaled deeply to catch the scents in the room. Shamal held out a hand to him. “I don’t believe we’ve met. Trident Shamal, physician.”

“Remus Lupin, werewolf.” They shook hands. “Hey. Pup. You sure know how to pick’em.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” grumbled Ron.

“That I pick good friends, obviously.” Harry elbowed him, and got up to give Remus a hug. Dumbledore cleared his throat.

“Harry, this is dreadfully unwise. Whatever Sirius may have told you, bringing a muggle of all people …”

“What makes you think I’m a muggle?” Shamal asked cheerfully.

“It’s the clothes,” Hermione suggested.

Dumbledore gave her his Disappointed Look (patent pending). “Miss Granger, the Black library is perilous; many of it’s tomes are far too dark for tender minds.” He reached towards the book in her hands. “Perhaps it would be best if – ”

“You’re quite right, Headmaster,” Harry said quickly. “Kreacher?”

The house elf popped in. “Honored guest calls?”

“Yes; could you put this book somewhere safe, please, and then bring us some tea?” He squeezed Hermione’s hand to stop her from protesting. Either Kreacher would return it to the shelf where she found it, or she could ask him to fetch it again later.

Kreacher snapped his fingers and the book vanished. “Family’s books should bes away from grabsy handses. What bes Honored Guest Potter’s healer suggesting for tea?”

Harry glanced up at Shamal.

“You still need protein and greens – fish is good, how about smoked salmon and watercress sandwiches?”

“Kreacher brings.” He popped away, leaving Dumbledore looking flummoxed.

“Harry, my boy, I’m quite concerned about the influence these people are having on you. I mist insist – ”

“Insist on what?” Reborn strolled into the room. A plate of sandwiches popped onto the table, and he snagged one before hopping onto Harry’s lap.

Harry felt better with his grandfather between him and Dumbledore. He was sure the Headmaster would have taken Hermione’s book away, even though it could tell them about what they were, and even though it belonged to Sirius. Harry didn’t know what the headmaster wanted with him. He tried to guard Harry from ‘dangerous knowledge,’ but he was no help when it came to physical danger. Reborn was doing the opposite and Harry rather preferred it. He took a sandwich for himself.

“Mr Sinclair,” tried Dumbledore, “Don’t you think Harry would be more comfortable in his Aunt’s home?”

“I take it you haven’t met Harry’s aunt,” Reborn said lightly, but Harry could feel him tense with anger. On Reborn’s hat, Leon stuck out his tongue. He was looking a bit off-color, and Harry asked,

“Are you feeling all right, Leon? ”

“Ate a strange bug earlier. I don’t feel so good. ”

“What’d he say?” asked Ron, and Harry repeated it. “Better not eat the bugs round here, mate, they’re probably all cursed. I’ll ask mum to bring some from the garden next time.” Trust Ron to make sure everyone got a good feed. Harry bumped shoulders with him, and ignored the looks that Dumbledore was giving him.

***

Reborn had chosen his London loft for its wide open space, and scattered furniture randomly in it. He had told Harry he could have anything he liked for his bed; Harry and Shamal had taken to concocting various absurd designs. Reborn thoroughly approved. The current iteration was a pirate ship big enough for a whole Guardian circle. Harry was sprawled on the poop deck, running his fingers through Hedwig’s feathers.

“Hi, Grandpa,” he said without looking up.

“Thinking deep thoughts, Bambino?”

“Wondering how I’m going to find the rest of my Guardians. I can feel the links to Ron and Hermione and Shamal, and …” And he felt the absence of the others.

“I’ve been assembling a list of candidates in your age bracket,” said Reborn. “Sun and Rain are common; Cloud is going to be the tricky one.”

“What are they like again?”

“Antisocial, confrontational, and hate being constrained. They’re also territorial and often protective in a backhanded way.”

Harry buried his head under a pillow. “Bugger me, that sounds just like Snape.”

***

Harry was awake far too early on the day of his hearing, since Reborn wanted to scout the area in advance. It was clear he didn’t trust the ministry – and for good reason, it turned out. When they arrived at Grimmauld Place to collect the rest of Harry’s supporters, Sirius was pacing the front hall anxiously.

“You have good instincts, Reborn. They rescheduled Harry’s hearing at the last minute, to half an hour from now.”

Reborn barely batted an eye. “Put the disguise on and let’s go.” Shamal wrapped Sirius in an illusion – which looked to Harry like glasses with a fake nose and mustache attached – and they were off to the Ministry.

“State your name and the purpose of your visit.”

“Reborn, Trident Shamal, Hilarius White, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, for a Wizengamot hearing.”

At the check-in desk, Reborn handed over a wand that was green and scaly. They made it to the courtroom with a minute to spare.

“So good of you to join us, Mr Potter,” said Minister Fudge sourly. “And who is that?”

The rest of Harry’s group had taken seats in the gallery, but Reborn stayed right beside him. “I’m Harry’s grandfather,” he chirped.

“Impossible,” scoffed a witch who resembled a toad in a tea cozy. “Charlus Potter is dead.”

Reborn tilted his fedora. “Madame, as an amphibian you may not be aware, but most mammals have two grandfathers.”

Fudge harrumphed. “A muggle in a Wizengamot meeting? Inexcusable!”

Harry made a confused face. “What makes you think he’s a muggle?”

The toad-witch tittered. “Mr Potter, have you forgotten that your mother was muggleborn?” She said the word like it was a profound defect.

“Was she, though?” Harry was enjoying this. He wasn’t worried about being expelled; Reborn had offered to teach him magic himself, or to enrol him in either the Collegia Hermetica or Mafia Academy. Hogwarts wasn’t his only option, and his magic didn’t depend on a wand.

“Take a seat, Mr Potter,” said Fudge, pointing at a chair festooned with manacles. Because this was going to be such a totally fair trial. Harry sat down, and wondered how quickly Ron could disintegrate the chains.

The toad took the lead again. “Hem, hem. Harry James Potter, you are charged with underage magic use and violation of the statute of secrecy. What do you have to say for yourself?”

“He did it.” Harry pointed at Reborn, who nodded agreement.

“I cast the spell in question; I was unaware that the British Ministry issued underage magic warnings for spells cast by nearby adults. It must be inconvenient to assemble the whole Wizengamot for each such incident; the Italian magical senate would never put up with that.”

***

Dumbledore rushed through the Ministry atrium. He knew why Fudge hadn’t informed him of the revised meeting time – he was known to be Harry’s advocate – but why hadn’t Sirius said anything? He needed to rein them all in before they unravelled everything he had worked for.

He arrived at the courtroom to find Harry’s supposed grandfather addressing the Wizengamot. “ … Ladies and gentlemen of this supposed court, it does not make sense! If Chewbacca lives on Endor, you must acquit.”

“You make a convincing argument,” said Amelia Bones, who was trying not to laugh. “I motion to dismiss the charges.”

“Seconded!” said Fudge, massaging his temples. The motion passed and the meeting adjourned, before Dumbledore could reach the floor of the chamber.

“Good morning, Headmaster. You’ve missed all the fun,” Reborn greeted him.

“Indeed. I would like a word with you, Mr Sinclair.” He would invite the cursed hitman to join the Order, so that he could continue to protect his grandson, and get a handle on him that way.

They all returned to Order Headquarters where Dumbledore whisked Reborn into a recently cleaned study. The tiny man perched on an armchair and spoke before Dumbledore could. “I’ve made up my mind; I’ll allow your Order of the Phoenix to join me in protecting Harry. Their track record so far is unimpressive, but I see some potential that could be useful with the right direction.”

Dumbledore suspected he had just been insulted. “Surely it’s best for our efforts to proceed under my own leadership. It’s for the greater good, you see.”

Reborn tilted his head at him. “Albus, I’m old enough to remember Grindelwald’s recruiting speeches. Kindly stop stealing his lines.”

No one had ever commented on that; Dumbledore had made some effort to ensure that the details of Grindelwald’s campaign faded into history. “Be that as it may, I am certainly better able to watch over Harry while he is at Hogwarts.”

Reborn smirked. “About that – I hear Hogwarts has an opening for a defense teacher?”