Chapter Summary: In which the writer is testing out writing from 2nd person POV which means you are Acacia Potter. This chapter, you barely manage to avoid drifting into angst, develop a male persona out of boredom, meet an annoying hitman and literally own his arse.

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Cirrus Clouds: Detached clouds in the form of white, delicate filaments, mostly white patches or narrow bands. Cirrus clouds are always composed of ice crystals, as a rule when these clouds cross the sun's disk they hardly diminish its brightness. Before sunrise and after sunset, cirrus is often colored bright yellow or red. These clouds are lit up long before other clouds and fade out much later.

It's a hot day in Italy. It is a stupid thing to note. The days here are all hot, especially in summer. You shouldn't have come in summer. Maybe you shouldn't have come at all. You don't even really know why you're here.

Then again, you don't know why you do a lot of things these days. How did it start? You just wanted to get away, you suppose. From Britain, from the strangers that think they know you, from the friends you thought knew you, but they don't, not really. How could they, when even you don't know who you are some days. Acacia Potter is an empty name and you who are stuck with it are empty, too, drifting without purpose. You're a tool that did its job and now you're supposed to look pretty in a display cabinet.

You didn't fit into the cabinet. You used to fit into a cupboard under a set of stairs, but now you're too tall for it. Too much for the men and women that try catch your attention, too. Some managed, for a while, but you lost interest eventually. Your friends weren't happy about that. George was a perfect gentleman, wasn't he? You liked him, didn't you? And you could both have done with a little cheering up after the war, don't deny it.

You liked Charlie better, though. He was more adventurous. More daring. His past wasn't so entwined with yours, you liked that. You fell out of love with George and into friendship with Charlie. He showed you dragons and those kept your attention for a while. Maybe you missed the danger of the war back then. You did try the whole Auror thing before, but that didn't even last half as long as your relationship with George. It was the display case thing, you guess. You didn't get to go out and catch Death Eaters, oh no, not you, precious Kacey Potter. You were far too busy being sent to Ministry functions to hold speeches and look nice in newspaper pictures. In training, no matter what you did, you were praised, never criticised. They made you show them spells even though they were supposed to teach you. Practice duels - your opponents went in there expecting to lose against the Woman-Who-Won, and so they did. There was no challenge, only frustration. Just like with George, and aren't you horrible and selfish for leaving him when he'd lost Fred, his other half.

What about what you lost? Or rather, what about what you never had in the first place?

You died for George, for Teddy, for Ron, for Hermione, for Luna, for Neville, for Ginny, for all of them. You don't have to live for them, too. Maybe that's why you left.

Charlie got it. Molly wanted him to stay in England to stand in for Fred, and that was fine for a bit, of course he wanted his family taken care of, but he wasn't Fred and she wouldn't understand or listen, so he went back to his dragons and you went with him.

You liked the dragons and you liked Charlie, but the dragon reserve wasn't where you belonged, so you left again. But everywhere magical you went was the same and people knew who you were. You're in history books, magazines, even magical science books. You survived the killing curse twice, you defeated Tom Riddle, you are a noble lady and filthy rich to boot, wizards and witches anywhere know who you are. In the places that they don't you never stay because they tend to be isolated and ill-educated. As if Britain wasn't bad enough.

The magical world bored you so you found the muggle one again. You had to study up on a lot of things so you could reconnect, you hadn't even noticed how much you had begun to disregard non-magicals since learning you were a witch. Isn't that weird? You grew up among them.

You were still bored, though. You tried staying in some places, but eventually none could hold your interest. You dated some men, some women, but it never worked out. When you visited Britain, you barely found common ground with your old friends, the ones that still talked to you after you left George days after rejecting his proposal. You should have just loved him like he deserved, why couldn't you do that little thing? They called you selfish and spoiled, your fame must've gone to your head. Now, you don't visit Britain anymore except to visit your godson.

Maybe you should have died with Voldemort. But you came back from King's Cross because you felt like there was still something out there for you, and since you had nothing better to do, why not look for it? Just because places and people eventually bore you, doesn't mean you don't find them beautiful before they do, doesn't mean you don't enjoy meeting new and interesting people. Places bore you, but you could never grow bored of the world at large, it is so vast and amazing.

You've become an adrenaline junkie. The thrill of danger when you go parachuting or rock-climbing is addicting. Maybe that's why, when you see a battered bike at a yard sale, you buy it. Or maybe it's because Sirius might have taught you to drive a bike, had he lived, and you like how it makes you feel connected to your late godfather.

Driving a bike is even better than riding a broom, you find. Brooms have so many safety-charms built in which takes some of the thrill away. Bikes though, something about the roaring of the engine and the feel of the road passing under you, it just gets to you. You love it. You begin to do stunts with the bike. You make jumps, flips, drive off of high places. Finding that the bike isn't really built for stuff like that, you buy yourself a new one that was made for stunt driving. The old one you begin to enchant like Sirius did his so long ago. You don't use magic much anymore, and you have to look up a fair few things in the number of books you've acquired, but in the end you can combine bikes and flying into one. The flying bike is much more comfortable for travel than your Firebolt, and faster too. It reaches Thestral-speeds.

Your stunt bike sees more use though. You grew tired of many things, but stunt-biking wasn't one of them. Sometimes you got distracted from it, but this is what you love.

One time in China, you picked up some martial arts. When you took a punch to the stomach, you noticed something odd - it didn't hurt as much as it should have. You just breathed the impact away. There wasn't even a bruise later. You never seemed to have bruises at the end of the evening.

Being Kacey Potter, you tend to get into trouble at times, and those days seeking the thrill of adrenaline was more often than not the reason for it. That time in China, you ended up fighting in an underground fight club. You weren't the best of fighters, hadn't done martial arts for long. You've always been tenacious and scrappy though, growing up the way you did, and you know how to fight dirty. More often than not you walked out of those fights the winner, though you did get hurt often. Which suited you just fine, seeing as the whole point of the exercise was to find out just what the heck is happening to your injuries.

It's not really healing. It's more… repairing. Your body repairs itself whenever you get hurt. You had to skip countries eventually when someone brought a knife to a fight and you ended up stabbed in a way you shouldn't have stood up from. That was the first time you saw the purple fire doing the repairing thing on your body, and that was the first time you got involved into a Mafia fight; the Triads were quite unwilling to let you leave China. You didn't really care about their opinion, though, and you're quite good at disappearing. Magic has to be good for something, after all.

You laid low after that episode, though. Stayed far away from any fighting. Somehow ended up travelling with a circus for a while. You used Skull de Mort as your stage name, a final fuck-you to Voldemort. Your sense of humor is a bit weird these days, you like the thought that Riddle would turn in the grave he doesn't have if he knew that his old moniker is in any way related to a muggle entertainer's stage name. You find this so inappropriately funny you develop the most obnoxious and ridiculous stage persona for Skull you can imagine - loud, dumb, arsehole-ish.

Circus was fun for a while, you might do that again in the future. You've noticed that you don't age as you should, much slower than the average witch, so you can probably look forward to a long life. What with your weird purple fire healing you from anything you've suffered so far, you might actually manage to die of old age someday.

You're in Italy now. One of the clowns told you that this was the most beautiful country in the world. You've never been here before, it always struck you as too close to Britain for your comfort. It isn't actually that close, but you do know that some Pureblood families have Italian ancestry, like the Zabinis. You're planning on sticking to the muggle world, though, so it's not an issue. It's been six years since the Battle of Hogwarts anyway, the hype around you must have died down by now, you probably wouldn't get recognised. Especially not since your black hair is no longer growing out of your head in that colour. It was gradual, but purple, the same shade of that odd purple fire, has been bleeding into the colour of your hair. Your eyes aren't as green as they used to be either, and you no longer need glasses. Your scars have disappeared entirely. When you visit Teddy, you now employ glamour charms.

You cease your reminiscing in favour of looking around for somewhere to cool down. A beach might be nice, but in this weather the crowds will be awful. Maybe you should invest into a private beach. Aside from the hideously hot weather, the country really is gorgeous. You could see yourself having a house here. Not too large, but not too small. With a nice garden big enough to fly around over it, and space to drive your bike. Maybe something on the country. On a mountain, possibly? Somewhere secluded, though.

Speaking of your bike, doesn't it have temperature charms all over it? Oh, why didn't you think of that before? Why didn't you just use a cooling charm? Ah yes, you forgot the incantation. Haven't hit any books lately, have you?

You duck into an alley. A wave of your wand has your bike unshrunk from the charm bracelet you keep it on along with broomstick and stunt bike. Another spell and you're wearing your biker suit and helmet. You look like Skull de Mort now. Mounting the bike, you are relieved that the temperature charms work just fine because the biker suit would be really uncomfortable in the heat.

You make to drive, and then suddenly a weight sits itself on the back of your bike and a gun is pressed to your head. "Drive," is snapped at you in measured Italian, and considering the shouts coming from further back, as well as the loud engines, yes, driving might be a good idea.

You don't take well to orders though, so gun-toting arse is in for an uncomfortable ride. You're Skull de Mort, after all, and your unwanted passenger better hold on tight if he doesn't want to end up a smear on the sticky asphalt.

You drive as if the devil possesses you, leave the pursuers behind quickly. Arse on the back of your bike has to stash the gun away pretty damn quickly so he can sling his arms around your waist like a vice while you tear around corners and take curves so tightly you're practically horizontal on the street. At one point, you jump over a giant hole in the middle of the streets where construction guys are doing something with gas pipes. Your passenger makes a strangled sound halfway between horror and elation, and you're finding this pretty damn fun.

You finally stop in front of your hotel, though, and the arse climbs off. It's public space, so he leaves the gun wherever it is he put it. You meanwhile lean against your bike and study him. He's tall, wears a tailored suit and a fedora that you have no idea of how it stayed on his head during the crazy bike chase. You can't see his face, it's shadowed by the fedora, but you note that there are some very impressive curly sideburns framing it and that his chin is pointy.

He looks like a Mafia assassin. Maybe you should ask him if he is one.

He says something in Italian that sounds haughty and faintly mocking. You decide to be annoying almost instantly. "Kneel before the great Skull-sama for he has saved your life, Sideburns-kun!" you crow in Japanese, using your most Annoying Voice™. He twitches very oddly and you mentally pat yourself on the shoulder for a job well done, at least until Sideburns-kun bridges the distance between you impossibly fast and you suddenly have a gun pressed to your stomach where no civilian can see.

Now, you are fairly certain that you'll survive a gunshot, it should be much less messy than being gutted with a knife, but the Triads are still looking for you and you really don't want to traumatise the children currently on this street. Also, it'll probably hurt, you won't enjoy that at all.

Sideburns-kun hisses in clipped English, proving that he must have recognised some British accent in your Japanese, "You will take me to my hotel, Lackey, and you will be very grateful for being able to work for me."

You mentally shrug. Eh. If he wants another bike ride from hell, who are you to argue? Sideburns-kun probably regrets it, judging from the curses he shouts at where he must assume your right ear is beneath your helmet. It's hilarious, you laugh your arse off. Inwardly, anyway.

His hotel is the most pretentious place you've ever seen. Well, okay, that's an exaggeration. You've been tons of places. It's just an average pretentious hotel. But it's the most pretentious hotel you've seen today!

Sideburns-kun climbs off your bike quickly. You give him a one-fingered salute and shout, "Remember this auspicious day on which you met the great Skull-sama, Sideburns-kun! Treasure the memory of being able to bask in my glorious presence-"

Someone pokes your leg. Distracted, you turn to find a little boy with ice cream in his hands. "Are you Skull de Mort?" he asks you. "I saw you in a circus!" A distressed mother runs up.

"Dominic! I told you not to ask every biker you see-"

"I am!" you shout gleefully. "I am the great Skull de Mort, best stuntbiker to ever have lived! The Immortal Skull-sama!"

The boy squeals and hugs your leg, looking up at you with adoring puppy eyes. "You're so cool!"

"I am! Want an autograph and a picture?"

"Yes, Mister Skull!"

You happily oblige, Sideburns-kun forgotten completely.

"I want to be just like you, Mister Skull!" the boy tells you.

"But then you wouldn't be you!" You protest. "You would be me, and that would be weird and your lovely Mama would miss you! Wouldn't she?" You shoot the mother, a pretty thing with freckles all over her face and grandma-glasses perched on her nose, a smouldering look. Of course, she can't see it what with the helmet you're wearing, but she giggles and blushes anyway. You give her an autograph, too, and kiss her hand for good measure (okay, you just lift her hand to your helmet) before driving off into the sunset to her and her boy's admiring gazes. Okay, it's afternoon and there's no sunset, but the sentiment counts! The handful of glitter you threw into the air should make up for the lack of sunset, at least.

You make it back to your hotel - a cozy, completely non-pretentious place that serves amazing tiramisu - and through the next two days without further incidents. Then Sideburns-kun shows up again, waiting in your room when you come back from shopping for a spare helmet. "Sideburns-kun! You couldn't resist the magical pull of the glorious Skull-sama's presence?!" you crow.

He looks like a Mafia assassin. He has a gun, a suit and a fedora, he's probably one. But don't judge a book by its cover, Skull! Remember how much trouble that can get you into? You better ask, but make it seem innocent. "Are you a Mafia assassin?" you ask innocently.

"No," he says, pointing a gun at your face. Uh. You can probably survive a gunshot, but maybe not one to the face. Can you regenerate brainmatter? Let's not test that, 'kay?

"Cool!" you answer him. "I mean, you look like one, but I wasn't sure, and the great Skull-sama is far too amazing and smart to judge someone by their looks! You're quite attractive, actually." Butter him up, that usually works. You're a pretty girl, he's a guy. Of course, you're still wearing a helmet and your biker suit conceals anything feminine about your statue, and Skull de Mort is widely believed to be male, but flattery is flattery.

"I'm the World's Greatest Hitman," he continues, then smirks. "And yes, I am aware of my outstanding looks, but thank you kindly for pointing them out, lackey."

Hitman, assassin. What's the difference? Is there one? Probably. Maybe you should ask. Maybe you should wait with that until he points the gun away from your face. That would be nice. In the meantime, butter him up some more. "Nice! We're gonna be like, The Terrific Twosome! The Daring Duo! Best buddies forevermore, Sideburns and Skull!"

Sideburns-kun is resistant to your buttering him up, and you're suddenly on the ground with his neatly polished shoes placed on your helmet. The gun's now pointed at your chest, though. That's better than your face! "Shut up, lackey," Sideburns-kun says in a terrifyingly soft tone. "You will drive me to a certain location. You will wait while I enter. You will drive me to my hotel afterwards. And, lackey, you will do this every day until I have no use for you anymore. And if you decide to leave-" He fires the gun. You feel the bullet slide along your suit and bury into the ground close to your neck. You yelp obligingly. "-then I will find you and punish you."

"Ahahaha," you laugh, kinda pissed off because you're no one's lackey and he can shove his gun up his arse for trying to make you one. But, you're also not in the mood for fighting - he probably likes fighting anyway, no need to reward his arseholery - so you resolve to be as annoying as you can possibly be. "Sure thing, senpai! The Great and Glorious Skull de Mort is at your service forever and ever! I will stick to your side like superglue! Like that glitter you can never get rid of! Like peanut butter to jelly! Like fingers to a hand!" Wait, no, fingers are detachable. Actually, can you regrow fingers? Huh, something to think about.

Sideburns-kun fires again and this time you feel a slight burn on the skin of your neck. "Good lackeys are silent," he says menacingly.

"I'll be the best lackey ever! Just watch me lackeying around, Sideburns-senpai!" You are decidedly not silent and Sideburns' annoyed twitch is delicious to watch.

It's even more delicious imagining the face he'll make once the prank enchantment you put on the back of your bike yesterday (just in case another gun-waving arse jumped on it) activates. Though it might take him a while to find Owned by the Great Skull-sama written on his arse in bright purple.

By the time he finds out, long after you've driven him to and fro, you're well out of the city. He's gonna hunt you down and punish you? Ha! You picked the wrong target, Sideburns-senpai.