Please read on despite the original characters; they're here only for this chapter. Thank you.
Note: "Capo" means boss in Italian. Source is Google translate, please correct me if I'm wrong.
At Winter's Eve
Act 1: Scene 1 – Do You Remember?
Autumn had arrived at last; the air had grown chillier with the passing days as the leaves changed from summer's green to autumn's reds, yellows, and oranges. And with summer's passing it seems to have taken whatever warmth was still left from spring's end.
Standing in front of an open window was a man with brown hair windswept and hands encased in thin silk gloves. Long fingers reached for a wandering leaf, catching one that still had a spot of green that brought a bitter smile to lips more used to frowning nowadays.
"What are doing Baldovino? Capo isn't likely to forgive you for just standing around…he's not the same anymore. You being his oldest friend and right-hand won't matter now."
Snorting, the brown-haired man turned around, glaring half-heartily at the younger man in front of him, "Don't you think I know?"
Eyes softening at the slight flinch, Baldovino sighed, shaking his head before facing the window once more, "I fear, Beniamino, that summer will never return to the Bovino Famiglia again." So saying, he let the leaf escape his fingers, watching it as it became lost among the many others.
Wary blue eyes stared at the older mafioso, "What do mean by that?"
Leaving his place by the window, Baldovino gestured for the younger to follow, "Here, let me show you instead. But first, tell me this: when you first came here last spring, what was our Famiglia like?"
Still confused, Beniamino ran a hand tiredly through his short blond locks, "What nonsense are you talking about now?! It was the sa –" He cut himself off as he caught sight of the grand dining room, the very same place he had first met Capo and Baldovino and her. "…oh. I see, of course it's not the same…"
Turning piercing dark eyes back to the blond, Baldovino questioned, "Hm? What's not the same? What's missing?"
Beniamino didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the empty dining room left cold and dark but not seeing it as such, instead his mind was replacing the darkness with the light of a multitude of glowing candles, the empty chairs seating men with spotless suits concealing guns and women with elegant dresses hiding countless knifes. And in the center of it all was Capo, his face free from the ugly scowl that was always present nowadays and pulled back in genuine laughter as a tiny woman was beside him, cradled lovingly in his arms.
Her green eyes looked at him, stealing his breath from his dry throat as words suddenly choked him; desperate to escape, to prevent everything that went wrong and so, so desperate to plead, to yell, to beg for her to –
She turned fully towards Beniamino and he finally caught sight of her stomach round with child. And something inside of him broke. Because it was that, that monster who had stolen her away from Capo and the Bovino and took the light and warmth that only now did Beniamino realise was missing.
They were fading away; she was fading away.
Something was shaking him but Beniamino ignored it, eyes memorising her slender face, her red lips that held the brightest of smiles and prettiest of laughter and her thinly structured nose. Her eyes that crinkled at the edges with her laughter and her raven hair that fell in curls around her face.
He was afraid now; afraid because how could he have forgotten how she looked like? How could he have forgotten her kindness? How cou –
" –mino!"
Badly startled, Beniamino was staring straight at Baldovino again, who looked one step away from knocking him out with the hilt of his gun and bringing him to the infirmary.
"Mio dio! If I had known you were going too…Never mind, but I'm guessing you realise it now?"
Closing his eyes, Beniamino nodded his head wearily, "I do. And if this is what I feel, then no wonder Capo can't bring himself to take care of it. It's the reason she's gone to a place I doubt any of us will go,"
They stood quietly in the hall; together amongst the emptiness that filled the estate since her passing.
It was achingly lonely.
Act 1: Scene 2 – Uneasy Proposal
Achille knew he needed to stop this habit, but he couldn't now when it was the only thing that kept him from taking his anger out now it. His hands clenching into fists, he continued to stare at the few sentences that were already burned into his mind.
Carina Bovino
19XX – 20XX
Beloved daughter, friend, and wife
Here lies a soul gone before her time,
Leaving behind the tears of the mourning,
She was truly beloved as her name clearly shows;
May she see a world far better than the one we gave her.
Three years.
Three years had already gone by and still he could clearly picture the blood, hear the unnatural crack of bones breaking and her voice pitched high from the pain. Dead. Dead from childbirth. And for what? For a child?
A child that continued to mock Achille and his pain, mock him with its face that resembled his Carina more each day. He wasn't stupid; Achille knew that it wasn't just him that couldn't bare being within its presence longer than needed and even then, it ached to do so. His men would turn around and walk in another direction if they caught sight of it.
The child was walking around with a face that belonged to a different time, a time when Achille wasn't the cold man he was today and a time when his men weren't as distantly formal as they were now.
A time that died the day Carina had.
"Capo, there is a call for you from the Estraneo Famiglia. They say they have a worthwhile proposal for you."
Distant eyes glanced at the youngest member of his Famiglia, "Oh? What could they possibly think to offer me? Last I heard they were too busy experimenting on live subjects to be bothered with the 'the uncivilized barbarians' that make up the rest of the mafia."
Face set in stone, Beniamino remained unmoved. 'He has grown,' thought Achille, 'He no longer wears his heart on his sleeve like he did years ago.'
The Bovino boss wasn't sure what to make of that; he never did like seeing the effects their life had on his younger Famiglia members.
"They spoke of getting rid of a certain problem for you," Here Beniamino paused, as if to gather some unknown courage for what he had to say next. "One of the lower members is on the phone right now speaking with Baldovino and from what I could make out as I left; they are currently looking for a new test subject for their latest experiment –one that deals with Vongola Primo's Lighting Guardian."
Beniamino was suddenly on the receiving end of his boss's sharp dark eyes before he was left staring at the back of Achille's expensive black suit growing more distance by the minute.
-0-0-0-
"I have been informed that you have a proposal to make. Well, what is it?" Achille's voice was tense, edged with the impatience of a man backed into a corner with only one way out.
A gleeful voice answered, "Ah? Is this the Bovino's beloved Capo? I've heard so much about you, none bad I assure you,"
Fingers digging into the soft pads of his palms, Achille was tempted to throw the phone out the nearest window and be done with the annoying conversation. "I suggest you get on with it or else the Estraneo won't be standing tomorrow."
Voice voided of any emotion, the scientist growled back, "No need for threats Capo, no need," Achille could just make out low murmurs that sounded along the lines of "…and this is the reason I hate dealing with mafiosos! Honestly, no respect for science…"
"Anyways, my superiors have an offer for you that we think would benefit us equally – maybe even more so in your case. We are in need of fresh…ah, patients if you will, for our latest experiments and you have one that would be perfect. If yo – "
"Who?"
"Who what?"
"Who do you have your eyes on, Estraneo?"
"I believe both you and I are intelligent enough to realise that you already have the answer to that Capo."
A flash of wide green eyes set in a face still chubby with baby fat and framed by thick black curls and Achille spoke. "Take it; just take it and stay out of my Famiglia's way."
A thrilled laugh that would haunt Achille for the rest of his days echoed in his ears. "So quick! I love that Capo, I truly do. Leave it outside the address I will forward to you in a few minutes and you won't have to look at it ever again."
Just as Achille was about to hang up, the Estraneo member spoke up again, "News of your dislike, to put it mildly,for that child had reached our ears, but I didn't quite believe you would be so hasty to get rid of the only thing that is left of your darling Carina. My Famiglia has more often than not acquired our subjects through less pleasant means than our talk just now; and I have seen parents – be them mafiosos or mere civilians – who would die, and did, for their offspring and yet, here you are. It seems you won't be nominated for father of the year anytime soon, now will you? Well, best be going, preparations must be made! Pleasure doing business with you Capo,"
There was a muffled click and the line went dead.
A haze settled around Achille, blocking out the uneasiness that seem to grow as time pass and everything blurred until he found himself staring at a small bundle wrapped in a ragged blanket, the faded little cows decorating the edges of it the only colour in the otherwise washed-out back alley with dirty shadows and pouring rain. His senses coming back, Achille quickly faded into the shadows of the dirty alleyway he was in, waiting to see if his nightmare would be over soon.
A figure suddenly darted into the empty alley, arms a blur as they grabbed the useless bundle and disappeared into the darkness of the night.
Achille couldn't bring himself to care about the freezing rain that was drowning him, he couldn't focus on anything but the fact that it was gone. Gone. Forever gone.
He wouldn't be able to recall what exactly happened that night in the years to come, but Achille wouldn't regret his decision. He wouldn't.
No matter if he was haunted by a different pair of green eyes for the rest of his nights.
Act 1: Scene 3 – Number 13
Number 13 had very few memories about the outside world, and of those he had left, none were anything to smile about.
He remembered a distant man with hands that were always anything but gentle with him, hands that shook and threw and hurt. He remembered dozens of black-clad men always running from him, men whose faces distorted in disgust whenever they caught sight of him. He remembered the aching loneliness that followed him everywhere he went, the loneliness that was still the only companion he had. He remembered strange things too.
Glimpses of a world that couldn't possibly exist with its wonder and colour and magic. But even those strange memories were tainted with the loneliness too.
Number 13 wondered if Lonely-san was really the only thing he would ever have.
He didn't count the white-people.
Lonely-san didn't either.
They scared Number 13 with their white hands that never felt warm; they took Lonely-san away too when they came for him. The white-people would hurt Number 13, would cut him open to see what happened, would give him shots that burned his body with fire. They would also try to hurt him with the warm light.
Sometimes Number 13 would hear bits and pieces of what the white-people said.
"It shouldn't be possible! Even if the subject is descendant from Primo's own Lightening Guardian!"
"Well it is! But our machines have picked up something even stranger than this,"
"What? What could possibly be stranger than Number 13's unnatural tolerance for electricity running through his body?!"
"There's sign of another dormant power source that has yet to be used. If our data is correct, then this source could quite possibly be even stronger than the subject's lightening abilities!"
"Then what are we waiting for? We must unlock it, boss has already given the signal – anything goes for this."
After that, the white-people started to hurt Number 13 more. They also started to yell at him more, their faces twisted like the black-clad men's faces had been in the outside. He didn't know what they wanted, he didn't know but he wished he did – if only to stop the pain that would always hurt his chest. It wouldn't let him breathe and one time it got so bad that even the white-people were extra careful with Number 13 that they stopped hurting him for a time.
They left Number 13 alone when they stopped hurting him with only Lonely-san as company in his little dark room that was already too small for him. He saw the white-people pass by, other numbers trailing slowly behind with their dirty white shirts and bare feet. He would always wait up to see them come back for their little dark rooms too.
Sometimes they did.
Sometimes they didn't.
Number 13 wondered if they were happy in the place they went to. He wished he could go too, he wanted to see them again and ask them if they wanted to be friends. They lived in the same place, so they should be best friends, right?
He hoped so.
When Number 13 didn't have anyone to watch or wait for, he tried to remember what the outside looked like. He was ashamed to say that he had forgotten. All he knew now was the cold and dark and the hurt and the white-people and the numbers that would sometimes come back.
Was the outside cold too?
Was it dark too? Or was it colourful?
Number 13 sometimes heard the white-people say that his eyes were very green. He didn't know what that meant. Was it a colour? He wanted to see, to see his eyes and the rest of his body.
Maybe someday…but not today.
Lately Number 13's head has been hurting. His memories were getting all messed-up, he was remembering the strange things again. But this time it was different.
Number 13 knew that these memories were going to do something to him. Hurt him in a way that the white-people did but worse. It was going to change something and Number 13 didn't want anything to change.
He was afraid.
Afraid that it would take away what little peace he had in his small dark room. Number 13 didn't want to sleep now, because he knew if he did the change would happen.
He fell asleep anyways.
-0-0-0-
Harry wasn't sure what he had ever done to deserve this, but he knew that Dumbledore would have laughed his old heart into a heart-attack if he could see Harry now.
His entire body felt as if he had fallen off his broom during a Quidditch match while his eyes were useless since the darkness offered no light. Harry knew that he was in some kind of lab; he was somewhat aware that for the pass year – year and a half? – he had been nothing more than a lab rat in this strange world he was reborn into, but beyond that his knowledge was limited to that bastard-of-a-father that had all but kept him under lock and key.
And that was another thing that stung; the fact that in this world his father – his own goddamn father! – had sold him to this hell. His mother, on the other hand…she was someone that Harry had no recollection of, but he knew enough from the degrading whispers that had been directed towards him by the Bovino Famiglia that he was practically a little male version of his deceased mother that died at birth.
And wasn't his life fucked up?
Twice has he been the sole reason his mother – both versions –have died before their time and it burn like an ache in his soul that was beyond healing. He hoped his mother in this world was happier in the afterlife. She deserved that at least.
Weakly, Harry pushed himself upright, frail fingers gliding against the rough surface of the stone wall before finding the small indent he was looking for. Pushing against it, he was able to open a slight opening that led to one of the lower levels of the lab that was pretty much abandoned and filled with questionable objects.
At least his childish side had been good for something. He had found the forgotten opening completely by accident as his other side liked to explore his rather tiny cell when he was bored, which was pretty much every day when he wasn't being subjected to painful experiments.
Settling himself as comfortable as possible in his new 'room', Harry knew it was going to be a long time before he could escape from this hell. He was too tired now, his magic too weak to be of any use until he had slept and besides, he had a pounding headache as his childish side, the one that had been in controlled since his birth, was fighting against him for dominance of their tiny body.
Harry was nearly asleep when he heard the door at the end of the corridor slam open and artificial light cast a sickly yellow colour over everything, blinding him for a moment even as his ears picked up the enraged yells of a scientist and the muffled whimpers of another child.
"Listen to me, and listen well you little fucker! It is an honour that you have been chosen to be a subject for our experiments for the sake of the Estraneo Famiglia! If you want to be difficult than so be it; have fun in here for a month. We won't bother you at all."
The next thing Harry saw was a short, but still taller than him, boy being thrown against the far wall and the door slamming shut, but not before he heard the scientist's parting words.
"Let's see if you can survive on nothing for a month!"
Walking as fast as he could (which wasn't much), Harry unsteadily turned the unconscious boy over, shaking fingers tracing the trail of fresh blood from the boy's bruised right eye. Harry felt a thick lump form in his throat at the rather sorry state the older boy was in; the thin white t-shirt doing nothing to hide the fact that all of the boy's ribs could be clearly seen and felt.
It wasn't right; what those bastards were doing to them wasn't right and at least on that both sides of him could agree on. He winced slightly when his childish side brought up one of his memories in which he would see other test subjects pass his other room by, headed for their next round of experiments. Many wouldn't come back.
Leaving the other boy on the floor for a moment, Harry set to work making a suitable bed out of any old cloth he found lying around the abandoned room; making sure to set the bedding against a corner the would offer protection from prying eyes in case anyone came in. He also pushed some boxes and such to build a little barrier too.
That done, Harry strained his weak arms into half-carrying, half-dragging the boy to the bedding and getting him comfortable. Tending to his wounds, Harry almost felt like he was back at Privet Drive, tending to his own bruised eye after his uncle paid him a little visit when he was in one of those moods.
Curling up next to the boy's warmth, Harry felt sleep come swiftly for him. When he woke up he would have enough energy to cast a few spells to make the best of their situation, but that was later…
Act 1: Scene 4 – Little One
Mukuro honestly had no idea where he was now but he didn't particularly care anyway. He was warm and comfortable for the first time in who-knows-how-long and he wasn't moving. The latest experiment those bastards had done on him had taken all of his power to not fall prey to and he deserved the rest.
Besides, Mukuro had been thrown against the wall like a sack of unwanted tools by that stupid scientist that it was bound to…
Eyes opening in a flash, Mukuro pushed himself up on his tired legs, head moving back and forth in gather his senses.
"Wh't ar' yo' do'?"
Tilting his head to the side, Mukuro found himself staring down at bright green orbs that were glazed over with sleep. They were set in a thin and malnourish face that was framed by thick curls of black hair. The younger boy was wearing a dirty t-shirt too, his right arm bare for Mukuro to see the inky black number thirteen printed on the slender limb.
The little boy was marked.
Marked like a pig for slaughter.
Marked in the same way Mukuro was.
Cursed with the physical proof of their worthlessness.
"Kufufu, little boy, a fellow test subject?"
One green eye slid shut, the other lazily at half-mast, "Yes, subject number 13…"
"Hm? What's the matter little one?"
Both eyes fully opening again, Mukuro found himself at the mercy of the oddly emotional green stare before the green-eyed boy dipped his head in acknowledgement. "It's nothing, just…I would give you a name, but I have forgotten mine. No one here would ever use it and my…father before wouldn't have anything to do with me…"
Mukuro felt pity well-up inside him for the boy that couldn't be older than four. His own flesh-and-blood had been the one to condemn him to this half-life, much like Mukuro. Sitting back down on the well-made bedding – no wonder he had been so comfortable – the purple-haired boy hesitantly patted the thick black curls, getting questioning wide green-eyes as a response.
"If that's the case little one, then I shall give you a name for yourself later. But first, since you have told me a bit about yourself it's only fair I return the favour. I don't like owning anyone after all,"
"I'm known as Rokudo Mukuro, but you can call me Mukuro. I was born into this useless Famiglia and later on recruited for experiments when the Estraneo were being hunted by the other Famiglias for their creation of the Possession Bullet that was banned from use. I managed to annoy a particular scientist which got me into this mess in the first place, so here I am."
Looking down at the still unnamed-boy, Mukuro asked, "What Famiglia did the bastards get you from? And what did they do to you? They're in the middle of trying to put me through all six paths of Hade, reincarnation in other words,"
The smaller boy moved closer to him before answering, "I'm from the Bovino Famiglia; father sold me to the Estraneo because I reminded him too much of my mother," Here the dark-head boy paused for a bit before continuing, "I, er, the Estraneo experimented on me for two things: one, to see hold good of a Lightening Guardian I could be since I'm related to the first guardian of Vongola Primo. And the second, w-was reincarnation too,"
Mukuro stared down at the boy in shock. "What did you just say?"
"During one of my experiments, they did something that made me remember my past life. I, well, I have a power that could me compared to, to magic,"
Eyes wide in disbelief, but holding hope that he wasn't the only one that was forced to remember other lives as well, Mukuro made a gesture to continue.
"Here, let me just show you."
The little boy grabbed hold of an old hard biscuit from a ragged bag Mukuro just noticed (probably saved from the last time he was given food) and murmured something that sounded like Latin before Mukuro saw the old biscuit change into ten bigger and fresher versions of it, as if they had just come out of the oven.
Taking hold of one of the offered biscuits – and how good it smell! – Mukuro let a genuine smile stretch his chapped lips. "Little one, I have no doubt this is the beginning of something wonderful,"
Taking a slow bit out of his biscuit, Mukuro gently patted the other boy's unruly hair in thanks. "Lambo. I have decided your name will be Rokudo Lambo,"
And that's a wrap!
OMG! That was hell to write but I feel happier than Hibari taking a nap.
My dear readers, you asked, I worked. Please leave your reviews! Thank you for baring through the OCs at the beginning of this chapter, but they were a necessary evil. I hope Mukuro and Lambo/Harry's interaction at the end was worth it.
If you guys need me, I'll be crashing on the couch ;)
Until next time,
Uchiha Yukime