Chapter Text
Harry – Skull – wanted to bash his head against the table.
Repeatedly.
Preferably until it killed him. Which, with his flames and the way Death seemed to hate him, would take a long time – but he was pretty determined right now.
Next to him, Viper tilted their head ever so slightly. On the fact that Skull knew them so well made it possible for him to guess that the Mist was currently shooting him a look.
Around them, no one seemed to realize that Skull's mood had plummeted lower than usual. Reborn – Renato was flirting with Luce, while Lal talked to Viper neutrally. Fon was watching it all with a serene smile, and Verde was scribbling something on a paper, looking pretty bored.
It could have been funny, or endearing, Skull supposed, how this sort of behaviour had become habit for their mismatched group. It could have reminded him of home, of his own very mismatched family.
However, with his instincts still screaming at him that there was something wrong, that he should run, run, take everyone with you hide fight protect them protect yourself- even after almost a year of missions, he couldn't manage to find it anything but annoying.
No one, except for him, seemed to realize there was something wrong. More so than usual.
"Skull?" Viper inquired in false boredom.
"Ahh, the Great Skull-sama is bored," he told his friend in Romanian, with a whiny tone that only the Mist knew was faked. He stood up, garnering a few looks, and grabbed his file with a scowl, "The Great Skull-sama has better things to do than stay here with people that don't appreciate his awesomeness!"
"Oh?" Renato – Reborn – said, a dangerous purr, looking at him, his weapon already in hand. He went on in Italian. "What did you say, Lackey?"
Skull dodged the bullets that came raining on him with a loud, panicked shriek, and flailed around. Lal frowned, but didn't bother telling Reborn to stop – it was an exercise in futility. Luce looked worried, but didn't do anything either. Skull barely dodged one shot that would have hit him in the shoulder – making it look like an accident, as he tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his face.
"Useless," Renato snorted in Italian, putting his weapon away.
"Ah, Skull," Luce intervened, gently smiling – as always – speaking in Romanian to soothe him, "If you go, don't forget about the mission!"
"The Great Skull-sama will be there," Skull assured her, immediately striking a pause and ignoring the way Renato itched for his gun again. "You can count on me to help you!"
He burst out in obnoxious laughter, before 'catching sight' of the gun Renato had once more drawn on him. With an obvious, audible gulp, and a stuttered assurance that he wasn't feeling, he fled the room as quick as he could.
Gun shots rang behind him, and he all but jumped down the stairs, running even quicker in the corridors until he was outside. Once there, he grabbed hold of his helmet, put it on quickly, and without so much as a look behind him, he turned the engine of his bike on and sped away.
Only once he was safely far away from the meeting of the strongest seven did he allow his composure to shift to a genuine scowl, his posture relaxing.
What a bunch of morons.
Viper, out of all of them, was the only one who hadn't dismissed him immediately as a 'stupid, weak, incompetent civilian playing at being a big shot'.
(And that was probably only because they were his friend, and knew that Skull was just a persona, and that underneath that, Harry was both powerful and not even a civilian. In another world, Vi might have made the same mistake as the others.)
For professionals, they certainly were quite adept at willful blindness. They forgot real quickly that Skull wasn't just a stunt driver, but a showman. Acting was his job. Defying expectations while giving the audience exactly what they expected was his job. Misdirection was his specialty.
Stupid, stupid people, so secure in their own superiority to the 'civilian' that they overlooked him.
It made the whole thing even more unbearable than it would have been otherwise.
At the start of the meetings, a year ago, Skull had been willing to give them all a chance.
Lal, Renato, Verde, Fon – all of them had been given a chance.
Sure, seeing Renato and understanding that the man he'd spent a night with once was a hitman had been a shock. But Skull had overcome that because, truly? He didn't care much.
He knew that, as Harry, he'd enjoyed the man's company, and so he'd given him as much of a chance as the others, but that was all. Renato had been a fling, after all. Nothing vital, nothing that mattered. If the man proved to be a jerk, then good riddance. He had always been arrogant, after all.
Even Luce was given a chance, although he disliked the way she was not-so-subtly trying to harmonize with them despite not being able to form full Guardian bonds. As an ex-Sky, that sort of behaviour grated on his nerves, and as a Cloud it enraged him.
It was a shame too, they seemed like interesting people.
Maybe it was somewhat his fault, he would admit. He was paranoid, and didn't give his trust easily on a good day.
That had been threatened, via his family, into the whole thing? And being dragged into a criminal society to boot?
It wasn't just grating on his nerves and instincts, it was tap-dancing on them. So he had come into this in a bad mood, and unwilling to make this easy. Both on them and himself – because he blamed himself a little for accepting creepy guy's offer.
But then, none of them had even noticed this. They hadn't seen past his 'show persona', let alone his Skull persona. They were the ones refusing to give him a chance to prove himself. They had dismissed him, abused him, belittled him.
They had taken 'civilian' and 'pacifist' out of the introduction, and promptly decided that 'strongest Cloud of the world' wasn't worth a thing. When the whole mafia agreed on the fact that Clouds were powerful, scary motherfuckers on a good day!
Skull wasn't sure whether to find this exasperating or hilarious.
Besides, what part of 'pacifist' meant 'weak'? Not wanting to fight and not knowing how to fight were two different things. Skull knew how to fight. He just knew what sort of damage he could do with said fighting, and had seen enough hurt, death and destruction in his life without adding to it.
So he decided that, even though he could prove them wrong, he wouldn't. He was stronger than this – resolve and control were a kind of strength that few people really noticed. He would control himself, and his temper, and not put them in their places like he so dearly wanted to.
Skull just hoped they wouldn't get on his last nerves, because he really didn't want to loose it. But sometimes… Sometimes, he felt really close to snapping. Dangerously so.
Idiots had no idea what kind of dragon they were tickling;
It wasn't as if their abuse actually hurt. He healed way too fast, and frankly he had taken torture before. Literal, every nerve on fire torture. A few kicks and insults thrown his way? Ha! That was nothing.
He had never cared for a few wounds, never cared for bruises – be they physical or emotional. If it was what it took for him to stay there, and see this mess to the end, and then be free and his family safe… he would do it.
He would take every fucking hit, every fucking insult, and he would stay.
Still. They were abusing him. They were trying to hurt him, to make him run away permanently, even though he couldn't. Couldn't, and wouldn't.
Couldn't they see that if he was still there, despite it all, despite his 'cowardice', despite the abuse dished onto him, there had to be a reason?
Even the self-appointed genius, Verde, or the so-called mind reader Reborn – and oh, wasn't that funny, when Skull and Viper were the ones that could actually read minds if they wanted to – didn't see there was something wrong with the situation.
They didn't even guess that things weren't as they seemed. They didn't even ask, didn't even try to give him a chance, or something.
They knew he was ignorant, but didn't teach him. They knew he was weak compared to them, but didn't help him get better. They bullied him, when they should have been his mentors.
He was the youngest of them all, the civilian, the innocent – or so they thought. And they decided that mistreating him was the way to go.
It made Skull's blood boil.
He had fought a war when he was a child. He had taught other children, actual ignorant civilian innocents. He had taught them how to survive, had helped them, had made sure that there would be one less dead body by the end of it.
Maybe they thought they were 'helping' him, toughening him or whatever cheap excuses they were using this week.
The truth of the matter was, they had over-sized egos that had been bruised by a 'civilian' being one of them, and they had decided that Skull would make a magnificent scapegoat for all their insecurities and pent-up frustrations.
Of course, he was the weakest, and the most ignorant of them. He could pack a punch, and do gravity defying stunts, and heal fast, but that was it. Without his magic – and Viper had warned him against breaking the Statute of Secrecy, not that he would have because hello, paranoid bastard with trust issues – he was just your regular, if a bit stronger and more fight-honed guy.
Oh, but give him his wand, or even what little he could do wandless – and he was getting much better at that – and he would obliterate them without breaking a sweat.
Skull was strong without magic. But with it? He was the fucking best.
They just had no idea, and frankly he had no desire to tell them. He didn't trust them, and didn't really like them – although he was getting somewhat used to their antics.
So Skull had decided, screw them, and had simply remained in full show persona, determined to make it all as unpleasant for them as they made it for him. If they made no effort, then neither would he. They wanted him weak and annoying? Well, then. He would fucking deliver, with the compliments of the chef!
It made for interesting times, at least, and a good control exercise. His patience had reached new heights! He wouldn't snap, no sir. He was stronger than that, even if no one knew it. It was kind of sweet, to pull that sort of passive-aggressive blink-and-you-miss-it move on the so-called best.
Fucking with them and knowing he was pulling the wool over all of their eyes was just a bonus. He would just have a good laugh over their stupidity and blindness over a cup of tea with Viper later.
(Or maybe he would go blow off some steam first, in the Den's training room. Because as much as he found their stupidity ridiculous and funny on a good day, it was almost chilling to see how easily they were being led around by the nose.
The only reason he wasn't being manipulated so expertly was because he had already gone through manipulations like that, and knew something was wrong. That, and the threat hanging over his family, that made it impossible for him to even relax.)
There was a buzz, dragging him away from unpleasant thoughts.
It came from the calling device that he had integrated to his helmet – it was very convenient, when driving. With barely a touch, Skull took the call.
"Skull DeMort," he greeted cheerfully.
"Skull," Viper's voice said, adding in French, "You owe me an explanation."
Well, Skull thought wryly, it was better than owing them money – or food. Maybe Vi was starting to mellow out?
"And a fee for leaving me alone," Viper went on.
Or not, Skull thought with a fond eye-roll.
"Sure," he said, knowing better than to argue. He kept his eyes on the road, as he said, "You know how I told you I had a bad feeling about this whole thing?"
"Yes," Viper answered shortly.
Because it had been the first thing Skull had done, after the first meeting, during that evening where they both had gotten drunk.
He had told Viper that it wasn't wise, that they shouldn't have accepted the missions – no matter how much they were getting paid, you miser. He'd told them about his gut feeling, about the not-so-subtle threat that had made him accept, and about the fact that Luce's behaviour was grating on his nerves.
Viper had been very dubious, but in the end had admitted that the whole thing was a bit weird.
Still, the pay was wonderful, and the fact that they were part of the strongest seven was an ego boost.
That, and the allure of a Sky strong enough to pull them in, was enough to make them stay anyway. Not that they had quite admitted it that way. But after the explanations over flames and the problem that strong elements faced when searching for harmony, Skull had guessed it. He couldn't blame Vi for seeking a bond that was home and unconditional acceptance.
Viper had agreed, though, that if things went south, they should have an escape plan – or six of them, to fit their paranoia. Skull didn't like it, but he'd relented to having his friend in this mess with him.
At least, Viper had explained the mafia and the flames to him. Something that no one else had thought to do.
Skull wasn't even sure he would have known that he used to be a Sky, before he became a Cloud, if not for Viper's explanation. Let it be said, the both of them had needed a bit more alcohol in the wake of thatrevelation. The idea that if Voldemort hadn't messed with Harry's soul, they might have harmonized - that they had been in the process of doing exactly that, and it was why they'd become friends so fast, before they went their separate ways and then the war happened - was a mind boggling one.
Skull didn't really like to know that even in his death, Voldemort had managed to fuck him up even more, and even fuck up his relationship with many other people.
But he had to admit, he was rather glad he knew why he acted the way he did towards his family and friends. And it was all thanks to Viper's explanations.
Viper really was a great friend, and Skull hated that the Mist wouldn't run away from this mess.
Which is why he went on, still in French.
"Well, it's getting worse," he said, "I have the feeling that this mission will be our last."
"...We won't die," Viper said, flatly.
"No," Skull admitted, because he was pretty sure it wasn't that that made him jittery, because death had never bothered him. It had to be something else, "But something will go wrong."
For a long while, Viper was silent, and Skull simply sped up on the roads, eager to get to his caravan and then to get home. To the Den where his son and his family were waiting for him.
The caravan, his home at the circus, was a rather large detour, but Skull couldn't afford not to make it. Not when Creepy Dude in the Iron Hat had already so much on him. If he needed to take a detour to get inside the caravan, make it seem like he stayed there, and then apparate or portkey to his home, safely and unnoticed by any watcher that might be there, then Skull would do so.
His family's safety came first. It always did, and always would. It was why he was in the mess in the first place, and he wouldn't fuck it up.
After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably more like ten minutes, Viper inquired.
"What are you going to do?" They asked.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Skull snorted. "I'm in this mess 'til the end, and I'll see it through, unless I find an escape." Viper didn't answer, and Skull sighed. "I'm going home, to Andy and Teddy. I'm spending the week with them, with the family, and preparing for the worst cases scenarios. I'm telling you, Vi, something's going to happen."
"...I see," Viper said, and there was something dark in their tone, something that promised that they wouldn't go down quietly if that mission did prove to be a trap of some kind, "Expect me for dinner Wednesday evening. I want blueberry tart."
"Of course, Vi," Skull said, fondly. "Teddy will be happy to see you. I'll invite Bill and Fleur, too. See you Wednesday."
Viper gave a short goodbye, and hung up, Skull doing the same only moments later. With a small smile, he angled his body ever so slightly, swerving to the right between two cars.
If he only had one week left, he would have to get home quicker to make the most of it.
"Mind if I sit?" Renato asked, and relished in the way the young man at the bar all but jumped in fright.
"Wh- Renato!" Harry groused, somewhere between surprised, annoyed and mildly amused.
Renato smiled at him, and took the seat, ordering two drinks. Next to him, Harry rolled his eyes, and sipped the rest of his glass. They both remained silent, the British young man seeming to be assessing Renato. The hitman could certainly understand why.
To find each other again, in a bar in the middle of China was very suspicious.
Only the fact that his gut wasn't finding anything fishy, and the genuine surprise he'd seen on the other's face, made him believe that it was just a lucky coincidence. There wasn't anything suspicious around, no one looking at them wrong. No trap. Just a coincidence.
Apparently, from Harry's huff as he started on the drink Renato had ordered for him, the young man had finally concluded to the same thing.
Or maybe had accepted that Renato wasn't a figment of his imagination and wasn't going to leave him alone.
"We have to stop meeting like this," he said wryly, sending the hitman a small grin over his drink. "Or I'll start to think you're stalking me."
"I could say the same," Renato retorted, and smiled when the young man admitted the point with a nod. "So, Harry, what brings you to this charming little city?"
"Sight-seeing," Harry replied. "You?"
"Business," Renato answered.
Harry hummed a little at that, his eyes – still so very green, still so very gorgeous – getting a far away look. Lost in thoughts. Renato left him to it.
There was something, a tension in the air, that was unusual. Maybe it came from him, maybe it was the fact that he would be going on another mission with the strongest seven the next day.
His instincts gave a twinge at that, reminding him of the growing sense that something was off. Usually, Renato would have taken those instincts to heart, and would have cancelled the mission immediately to disappear off the face of the earth for a little while.
But he was drunk on Sky flames and the feeling of a fledgling guardian bond, and he had been so bored and so desperate to find harmony that he ignored it – after all, he was the Greatest Hitman in the World, what could happen?
Shoving the thoughts down ruthlessly, Renato decided that his paranoia was the reason something was off in the air tonight. That, and maybe the fact that Harry seemed oddly serious, and a bit sad too.
"Your son isn't with you?" Renato asked eventually, remembering the little, colourful, bundle of energy. He wracked his brain for the name of the woman that had been with them the last time they met, "Andy either?"
"Ah, no," Harry said, coming out of his thoughtful state and giving a small, slightly tense smile, "No, they're not with me." He sighed. "I left them at home, for this trip. I needed some time alone."
"I see," Renato said. Maybe that was the source of the tension. Harry was feeling blue. "Is my company unwanted, then?"
For a moment, Harry simply looked at him, his gaze indecipherable and intense. Then his smile, that had been so oddly small and sad, grew a little more genuine and amused. By what, Renato wondered. Maybe the flirting – it had seemed to amuse him last time too.
"No, Renato," he said, and the way he said his name sent tingles down his spine, "Your company isn't unwanted."
"I'm glad," Renato all but purred, finding himself falling back into habits of playful, flirting banter, "I wouldn't want to leave you to fend the cold nights all alone."
"My hero," Harry said with a mock-swoon. "Whatever would I do without you?"
"I'm sure you would manage," Renato said, magnanimously.
"Oh, I'm sure I would," Harry agreed, before arching a brow. "The question is, would you?"
"Oh?" Renato said, his own eyebrow climbing. "Is that doubt in my skill I hear?"
"Maybe," Harry said, grinning, "So many years without my company… You might have gone rusty."
"Well, I guess I'll have to dispel that idea quickly," Renato said.
"Not too quick, I hope," Harry said.
There was enough innuendoes in that sentence to make Renato snort in amusement.
Harry grinned, and took a sip of his drink – all the while wondering distantly if he should really be flirting with the man, again.
Their meeting in that bar was a coincidence, but not completely. After all, Harry knew very well that they were both here for the same thing. Sight-seeing, business, it was the same – the next morning, they would both find the meeting place at the edge of the town, and head to the mountains.
Climb a mountain to find a treasure. What a very odd mission.
Once again, Harry's intuition gave a grim tinge, confirming yet again that this mission would go wrong.
It was probably why he was still sitting there, flirting with Renato. His gut was telling him that it would be the last time in a long while, if ever, that the both of them would have the occasion of getting some fun.
He had hesitated to agree, on the grounds that, as Skull, Renato was completely awful with him.
Sure, he could take it, and some days he even found it somewhat humorous to rile the hitman up and then flail around like an idiot while the other shot at him. He certainly found the fact that they actually believed his act funny, when he was in the mood.
But even so, sometimes he wasn't in the mood, and Renato's actions and words were truly terrible towards him. Reminded him of his childhood, of a conditioning, of abuse that he was still struggling to get rid of.
Of course, Harry could understand Renato's point of view somewhat.
To him, and the others, to have Skull, a civilian stuntman that didn't have a clue about flames, fighting and the mafia, grouped with them as the strongest seven… It was an insult to their pride, to their professions.
That Skull didn't take the missions seriously, and that he clearly disliked Luce, made it worse.
Yet, Renato actually liked Harry. Probably because Harry wasn't supposed to be anything but a civilian man, a stranger he had a fling with once, and that Renato thus didn't compare him to anyone else. Didn't take offense to his very existence.
That, and Skull was a bit annoying, while Harry wasn't, (well, not unless he wanted to be).
It was only because he understood that, to an extent, and because of his feeling that everything would go wrong that Harry was still there, flirting as if nothing was wrong.
Because damn it, if it was the last time he could get laid, he was going to do so. Even if it was with Renato.
Hell, who was he kidding.
Especially if it was with Renato. As much as he disliked him at the moment, sex with the man was amazing.
Maybe it was cruel of him to take advantage of Renato that way – he knew who Renato was, knew something was off, and the hitman didn't. Maybe he should tell him.
But Harry was no saint, and Renato was awful with him when he was Skull.
"Well, bellissimo," Harry eventually said, smiling at the Sun user, "How about that fight against the cold and the loneliness you promised me?"
Yes, he thought as Renato smirked at him, he would simply let things be. Renato was a great lover, but he didn't deserve his compassion. He was the 'greatest hitman in the world', after all. If he couldn't deal with a problem without Harry warning him about it, he didn't deserve that title.
At least, they would both have gotten laid before the shit hit the fan.
Andromeda hadn't been able to sleep. Ever since Harry had left for that mission in China, she had been restless.
Something will go wrong, Harry had said, with the certainty of a man that had seen his fair share of plans going pear-shaped. With the same certainty of the teenager that had once walked willingly to his death he had added, I'm not sure I'll be able to come back.
Teddy was young, almost too young to understand, but even he had known something was wrong. He had been clingy all week, and Harry had let him, spending all his free time hugging his son – for Teddy was his son, in all but blood. Andromeda had gotten hugs too, freely given, sometimes a bit too tight to be anything but desperate.
In fact, everyone in the family had gotten hugs when they had visited, something that had clearly put them off. Harry was not someone that hugged people for no reason. He sought contact with loved ones to comfort – either them or himself. He had been very tactile after the war, and kept being so with Teddy, but otherwise still avoided too much contact.
She wasn't sure what the worst thing was.
Was it the way Harry simply accepted that he was walking into a trap of some sort? Was it the way he had cried when Teddy had been asleep, before leaving the house? Was it the way he had cooked their favourite meals, and had even hugged Viper when the illusionist had come for dinner, despite the fact that they both weren't tactile persons?
Or maybe it was the way Andromeda was now waiting for the young man she saw as a nephew – almost a son – to come back.
Teddy had been waiting too, for three days now – three days since Harry had gone, and no word from him – for his father to come back. He stayed up late, he woke up in the middle of the night. He was just as restless as his grandmother. Only the fact that he had been awake for so long, working himself up to a frenzy, had exhausted him so utterly that he was now sleeping. Curled up in Andromeda's bed in her stead, while she waited in the kitchen for something.
It was so late, and she was so very tired, and yet she couldn't sleep. Memories of the war kept flashing through her head, as she recalled waiting then too. Keeping the radio close, listening to the names of the dead, waiting to hear if her husband, or her daughter would be among them. Keeping her wand just as close, and the first-aid kit, because maybe they would stumble home bloody and she would have to fix them up.
She had fought, during the war, and she had waited. A lot.
In the end, fighting hadn't done much, and waiting neither. Her husband had been killed on the run, and then her daughter in the last battle at Hogwarts. Teddy was all she had left.
Teddy, and Harry. Harry who had fought and died for them. Who had cried with her at Nymphadora and Remus' burial. Who had held Teddy so tenderly but with an absolutely terrified expression on his face.
"I have no idea how to raise a kid," he'd said, holding Teddy like he was the most precious thing in the world and he was afraid he would break him. "What do I do, Andy?"
Andy hadn't known Harry Potter very well, but she got to know Harry, her grandson's godfather. The tired teen – young man – that woke up in the middle of the night from nightmares and cooked pancakes for her, and who hummed lullabies for Teddy even though the little boy had kept him awake for hours. The one that had been the glue between so many people, and who loved to travel and loved to have 'family reunions' equally.
If she lost Harry as well, she had realized one day, as she watched him laugh as he hugged Teddy, flour all over them, It would break her.
Andromeda tightened her hold on the radio, silent and cold, even as she hunched on herself over the counter. The kitchen was painfully silent and empty, only a clock ticking to let her know that the earth was still turning, that it was all real. That she was alone, and Teddy asleep in the next room, waiting, like she always did.
Then suddenly there was a sharp crack, and before she could even think about it she was out of her seat – letting the radio drop to the ground in her hurry. The sound had come from her room, where Teddy was.
Andromeda was ready to fight off any intruder, as she barged into the room, flashes of white masks and dark robes drowning her mind- but she came up short.
Next to Teddy, standing over her grandson, with a stillness that wasn't natural for a small child, was a baby. She stayed still, her mind coming to a halt, even a she tried to understand what was going on. She lit her wand.
The light illuminated the baby's purple hair, and Andromeda froze. After what seemed like an eternity, the baby turned towards her. Face pale like death, over-the-top make-up, piercings… Skull's too-young face contorted in a grimace of a smile.
"Hey, Andy," he greeted, and his voice was too high-pitched, his words clumsy.
"Harry," she breathed, relief at war with confusion.
"You're so big," Harry – Skull – said, softly. Then, turning to Teddy, his voice broke, the way a child's voice did before they started crying, the way Harry's voice had done when they had buried the dead after the battle, and he breathed, "He's so big."
Andromeda didn't even think. She put her wand back in her sleeve, and came to sweep the child up in her arms. Harry stiffened, but let her carry him out of the room and into the kitchen. When they arrived there, they both ignored the broken radio on the ground, and Andy didn't comment on the fact that Skull's purple hair was the only thing she could see – he had buried his face in her shoulder.
For the longest time they stayed like this, sitting in the kitchen, Andromeda hugging Skull tightly as sobs racked his frame. She wasn't sure why he was crying that way, wasn't sure if she should be afraid or relieved that he was home and alive.
Eventually, he calmed down, and settled in her lap, looking terribly miserable. Still, Harry had developed the habit, after the war, of smiling even when he wasn't happy and so he smiled at her – small and tense and sad. Andy smiled back, the same way.
"You're alive," she said, because it bore stating aloud.
"Yes," Harry said, and there was the barest hint of relief in his voice. It was soon swallowed by an odd sort of bitter grief, as he added, "But it did go wrong."
And he told her of climbing the mountain with the others. Of how they suddenly hadn't been able to move. Of the light that had flashed, and the pain of the shift. Of the weight of a Curse – with a capital letter – settling on his shoulder, and another one settling around his neck. Of the confusion, the anger, the grief. Of Luce's betrayal because she had known. Of how he'd left the others after just a day, because he didn't want to break down in front of them – because he'd thought he wouldn't break down. Of how he had even left Vi, because suddenly he remembered that there were people waiting for him at home.
"I'm so small," he said, in a choked up voice. "I can't hold Teddy any more. How am I supposed to raise him when I'm younger than him?"
"We'll find a way," Andromeda told him, "We will. I'm here to help." She smiled a bit wanly. "We've lived through worse. Seen more terrible curses. There must be a way to break this one."
"Yeah," Harry didn't sound like he quite believed that, but he still nodded.
Andy nodded back, and started making plans. Surely, out of everyone in their large, odd family, there was someone who could find a solution.
There had to be.
Being Cursed was better than being dead.
Harry could still see his friends, and raise his son, and cook by using his magic more than his hands. He could still drive a bike, having shrunk his own – the one Sirius had gifted him when he had been a teenager. He could do all sort of things, and he didn't have to leave anyone behind.
Some days, though, being Cursed felt like the worst choice.
He couldn't hug Teddy any more. He couldn't do the same stunts as before, his body too small. He couldn't work at the circus, couldn't perform in front of an audience. He wasn't free to act as he pleased – so many people stared at him for being a toddler, some cooing over him and asking where his parents were, none of them leaving him on his own.
Harry had to adjust to his home, to everything again. He had to learn to adapt to a new size, to a new strength that didn't fit his body, to the Curse siphoning his flames constantly. His magic sometimes reacted weirdly, as if it wasn't sure if he was too young or too strong.
He had a weight on his shoulders, and the terrible knowledge that one day the Curse would end but it wouldn't be the way his friends hoped – he wouldn't become adult again, he would just die.
He had to live, as a toddler, with the knowledge that his days were counted, that maybe one day he wouldn't wake up, and would leave everyone behind, without a warning.
It was horrible, seeing Teddy grow up while he remained small, having to look up to his own son. Of course, he wasn't showing it, but sometimes he yearned for his adult body. He wanted to be able to bake without magic and clumsy movement. He wanted to be able to play Quidditch with his family. He wanted to be able to eat something spicy without his face puffing up, and to be able to have sleep-overs with his friends without fearing they would crush him in his sleep.
He wanted to stand besides Teddy at his wedding with Victoire, like the proud father he was, instead of being perched on his shoulder like a child-looking parasite.
So, because of all that, and a hundred thousands more reasons, Harry was glad that his friends helped searching for a cure.
Vi searched as well.
It might be a bit selfish, because he still wished that Viper hadn't been cursed, but still… Harry was glad Vi was with him in that mess. It helped.
The both of them were in the same spot. Both babies having to look up at the family dinners, having to adjust to the same things. Viper was an even more regular visitor nowadays, taking the same comfort as him in the familiarity of it all. Their family – even if Vi was still a bit shy about belonging – did their best to treat them as if nothing had changed, and it was nice.
They still searched for a way to break the curse, though.
Harry knew that, out there, the other arcobalenos – it was what they were called now – were searching desperately for a solution as well. He was almost sympathetic to them, as they all had been tricked into it – unlike him, who had known it would go wrong. And unlike him, they had no prior experience to curses and life-changing events like that.
It was perhaps why he didn't cut all ties with them. Damn his too big, too forgiving heart. He couldn't help it, and kept an eye out for them – though they didn't need it.
That's how he knew they were all still searching for a way out.
His gut, the same instinct that had told him it would all go wrong, told him it was useless, though. There is no solution, no cure, it seemed to whisper.
(Then one day, decades later, the feeling changed, to something akin to hope. There might be a solution, eventually.
Skull would realize, much later, that on this day, Sawada Tsunayoshi had met Reborn.
But that was a story for another day.)
THE END