Quick A/N:

This is an AU of the largest kind. All Characters and most places are owned by J.K Rowling. "Talking"

:Italian:- I don't actually speak or write in Italian. I mostly use google translate.

:signing: - I will be writing most of what they say in full sentences. I am aware that usually, people use shortcuts and such, but I don't actually know much sign beside the alphabet, thank you, and various foods.

Thinking/ Written text

::Parseltongue::

~Fay~

"How's he doing?" Enzo Basile's voice cuts into Mr. Black's concentration, and he turns just slightly to see the man. He was younger than the Tutor, young enough that he still got puzzled looks when he took his son anywhere. He was 34, with a 17-year-old son. He was extremely thin, and always wore some kind of suit. His hair was shaggy, and his brown eyes were surprisingly sharp. His shoes were always slightly heeled because he was a shorter man, shorter than his son at any rate. Not an unattractive man, but a stern one that had no time for pleasantries.

"He's completing his last test now. He's passed so far. Benny told me before Harry showed up that he expected to be handing an Elite Instructor II belt over at the end of the day."

"And his classes?"

"I gave him the day off. It's his birthday, and at 17 it's a very big deal."

Enzo nods, crossing his arms as he watches his son attack his instructor- his guru, he reminds himself mildly- and watches as his son systematically hits all the points he is supposed to. His son had begged to learn Pencak Silat at the age of seven, demanding that he be able to defend himself in close combat as well as with weapons like he had already started teaching him the year before. He had ignored the pleading child for all of three days before arranging to have the child start training on his 8th birthday. There are only a few more minutes before a grinning, sweaty, and excited teenager is throwing his arms around his father, earning a grunt of surprise. ":Buongiorno: Gideone, and Happy birthday." Enzo greets his son warmly, his arms sliding around the teen to return the death grip he was receiving. After a moment he pulls back and plants a kiss on the sweaty forehead, brushing absently at the hair stuck there, revealing the scar on his son's forehead.

"It's only just past seven, go take a shower and then you can join your nonna and me for breakfast," Enzo tells his son, who nods happily before exiting the training room. He turns back to his sons Tutor.

"Do you know a Sirius Black?" he demands sharply. At the stilling of the man across from him and the wide, panicked look, Enzo wants to growl. Regulus had come to him 18 years ago, looking for a place to hide. He was ashamed to have taken a mark forced upon him by his family, and as a close friend from days of vacationing in the same areas, he knew that the Basile family was both wealthy, and resourceful. The black Matriarch had been furious that he had been talking to what she called a 'muggle'. To be fair, Enzos' grandfather was a wizard and though no one else had been born with magic- the reason he left them all- they could still see through most 'wards' and could work with potions if desired. Enzo had set him up with him in Boston and worked odd jobs- until 8 years ago when he found himself in need of a wizarding teacher.

"He's my brother." Regulus' soft voice is hesitant.

"He wrote to my son. This was waiting in his study." he waves a letter impatiently before tucking it back into his pocket. He motions for Regulus to leave the room because the instructor was cleaning the gym he had made for his son.

"Why-"

"He's his Godfather. He explains… quite a lot on the political side of the Britain school and your master." Enzo says a bit sharper than he normally would. Regulus always flinches at the phrase but ignores that as he thinks that over.

"James and Sirius were always close. What does he say?"

"He says Voldemort is dead. That Harry is the one who defeated him through several rites his mother did on him before she was killed. We knew that. He also says that Dumbledore is currently trying to make people believe that Voldemort isn't dead and is a man named Marvolo Slytherin. He put a mail ward on Harry before he dumped him with his relatives. No one knew he was missing until Hogwarts because he was in prison while everyone thought he was the one to turn on the Potters.

"Sirius? Never. He was in Azkaban? Oh, no…" Regulus trails off, his soft grey eyes clouding over. He had his hair pulled into a braid, and wore a suit most days like his employer. But he was always soft. Tall but padded out slightly, graceful, quiet and soft-spoken. He didn't have a mean bone in his body most days.

"Why was he writing Harry now?"

"He wanted to know if Harry was even alive and if he was willing to come home."

"He won't." regulus snorts immediately at the idea of his charge leaving Boston.

"He will if I tell him to. He's a large political head right now. And besides, I'm sure if he knew he could have revenge on the man that left him with his relatives, I won't have to say anything. He'll be begging to go." Enzo says thoughtfully.

"Will you give him the letter?"

"Yes. and tell him to write back."

"Why?" Regulus' loud voice makes them both glance around. They were in a hallway, alone, thankfully, as they made the way to the kitchen. Harry and Regulus each had a house elf, but the rest of the work was done by a butler and three other staff members that was quiet and went about their business quickly but still heard everything.

"I'm not going to dictate my son's life like that. He can make his own decisions. If he wants to see his godfather he can. If I decide it would be beneficial for him to meet his godfather, I will try to… persuade them to meet. It will be his decision." Enzo tells Regulus. After a moment's hesitation, he pulls the letter out and hands it to a trembling Regulus.

"Read it if you'd like, and then give it back. Are you joining us for breakfast?"

"I… no. I'll take mine in my room for the day." he snatches the letter and disappears as Enzo heads down a staircase to get to the main floor. He enters the kitchen where Benny and Clara were busy cooking not only breakfast but a cake of some kind for his son. He moves over to a woman with dark hair like his own, streaked with grey, and drops a kiss on her head.

": Buongiorno: Mamma." he greets her as he takes his seat and the cup of coffee Benny passes him.

":Buenogiorno: Enzo." she murmurs back sleepily. There was three days she woke up before 10 anymore- Enzo's birthday, Harry's birthday, and the day the family celebrates Christmas. Harry's more than anything, because the kid apparently needed very little sleep, going to bed around midnight and waking around five to do his exercises, training, and classes as well as any miscellaneous things he decided he needed to study in the meantime.

"I told you not to do that in the kitchen," Enzo says without looking up from his steaming cup. Maria looks up from hers to see what her son was talking about, and has to duck to hide her smile. Her grandson was in the doorway, hair now fixed in that stylish cut he loved. It was short on the sides, tossed and long on the top, curving up off his head slightly. He had on a black button down, tucked into black dress pants and the click of his shoes told her he had his dress shoes on as well. Unfortunately, her grandson saw this as casual attire most days. She'd once bought him a pair of jeans, and she never saw him wear them. His eyes were narrowed at her son, the vivid green a little darker than normal, and she finally notices the cigarette dangling from her grandson's mouth and the lighter halfway there. He makes a gesture she doesn't recognize, but her son seems to.

"Yes, I know you can do it everywhere else. But we don't prepare food everywhere else in the house, do we?"

Another gesture she doesn't understand. She'd never been good at learning new languages, she could barely speak English, but she had tried, for her grandson.

"I know that your magical sticks don't harm anyone, or cause any harm to things around you. That's not what I meant. The ash can still get everywhere. Not. In. Here." Enzo finally looks up and his brown eyes lock with his sons for an instant, before her grandsons head jerks in a nod and he puts the lighter away and the cigarette in a case that he rarely left more than a few feet away. He'd been smoking since around 15- they didn't know an exact number because he wouldn't tell them. He'd never smoked the horrible, regular cigarettes, but the ones he bought smells like vanilla, and tasted like it, while it soothed his throat, which helped make it easier for Enzo to let it continue.

Her grandson kisses her head, much like her son had, and does the same to her son before taking his seat next to her. He makes the sign she recognized as his morning greeting.

":Buenogiorno: Bambino, and happy birthday." she greets, nudging a cup with tea in it to her grandson. He takes it as they are served plates of food from Benny and Clara.

"Regulus said your classes are canceled today, do you have any plans?" Enzo asks his son after they eat most of their servings. She notices with approval that the bacon and hashbrowns she's made have disappeared between the two. Clara only let her make a few things anymore because she couldn't stand for long. She was pushing 73, and her bones and strength aren't what they used to be.

"I'll have Alfonzo take you, then. After that, I want you to go to the range with Benny."

Benny perks up at this, glancing away from the bowl he was working with to give her grandson a grin and a wink, which has her grandson shaking in his silent laughter. She smiles a little wistfully at him. She'd never heard her grandson make any kind of noise, unfortunately. It wasn't possible. For awhile, she hadn't been sure he was going to be around long enough to be her grandson at all.

"What is the plan, Enzo?" she asks him quietly.

"Harry has to go to the doctor for his check up, and then he's going to the market, but otherwise he had no plans because he knew that we would want to do something," he says, realizing that his mother hadn't seen Harry as he was signing.

"Well, Have fun dear. I'm going to go lay down again, and you come wake me when you're done with Benny." She tells her grandson, standing and kissing his cheek before doing the same to her son and leaving the room.

As soon as she is gone, Harry turns to his father with a serious expression that he normally never wore around his grandmother. She would be furious if she knew exactly how much he helped her son with his business. Enzo had made a name around Boston quickly as a kid, and by the time he found Harry he was a well know trafficker. Anything you wanted, he would try and get his hands on it for you. Harry had learned that very early on when he started making some of his more ridiculous requests for his birthdays.

"It's your birthday, I'm not sending you anywhere," Enzo says firmly, and Harry relaxes as he finishes his breakfast. Once he's only cradling the tea his grandmother made- a little too sweet for his taste, not that he would ever tell her that- his father begins talking again.

"You got a letter from Britain today." he begins carefully. Before Harry can respond, he explains that he read it already- something Harry was used to, his father tended to screen any letters he gets from people he doesn't know. And that he talked to Mr. Black about it, and that it was his older brother that was writing him in the first place. That bit surprised Harry, but he nods along to let his father know he understood.

"I will collect the letter from him while you're out with your uncle. I want you to be open-minded when you read it. Now, go get your coat." Enzo waves off his son who jumps up and goes to his room to get his jacket. By the time he's done, Enzo's called his older brother and he is on the way. He pulls out his wallet and hands one of the cards in it over to his son, who smirks but takes it.

"Buy yourself something for your birthday, yeah?" Enzo tells him.

: Can I have another car?:

"No, you can't go buy another car."

: Can uncle get me a gun?: Harry signs this with a pleading look, and there's only a brief stare down before his father breaks and nods.

"I'll tell him to take you to Addie. Regulus isn't going to be going with you, will you be able to talk to Henry?" He asks as he stands at the kitchen table.

:I can write down anything I need to ask. It's just a check up.: Harry points out.

"Alright. Be safe, and you can use your wand now if you have to, don't forget that." Enzo points out to his son as he stands. He has to yank his sons collar to get him close enough to kiss his cheek, but he does so before he leaves, with his son walking towards the foyer. He doesn't miss the Cigarette dangling from his lips or him patting the leather jackets pockets, but he doesn't say anything because Harry was moving away from the kitchen.

"Alright Harry, now stick your tongue out please." Henry is pressing his fingers into Harry's throat, testing the soreness of his neck. He was a Healer, but some thing were just better the muggle way. Harry obediently sticks his tongue out for him. He'd never had a moment where Harry didn't immediately do as he asks, ever since Enzo had carried the barely breathing boy into the emergency ward of the hospital- a strange thing, seeing as he was a muggle. They soon learned he was a second Generation Squib. After Harry had been treated- spending over a week in the hospital- Henry had relocated to Boston specifically to stay on as Harry's healer.

He looks down Harry's throat, noticing the white lines of scar tissue built up over the back and sides he could see. It was amazing that Harry was even still alive. His uncle, his biological uncle anyway, had forced enough bleach into his lungs and airway before they left for the day that he was shocked Harry had made it out of the Hotel, much less onto the street and several blocks away before Enzo caught the poor child as he toppled over. No amount of healing could get rid of damage that extensive, and Harry had lost his voice because of it. He also had potions he took as needed, and though he never told him he knew Harry had gotten ahold of those smooth and soothe cigarettes that were all the rage for American Wizards right now. He knew it was helping, so he kept his mouth shut. The throat soothers could only be taken once a day due to some properties in it being lethal in large doses and were highly addictive. The cigarettes, while addictive, didn't harm anyone and could be used infinitely- he could chain smoke all day from wake to sleep, and they wouldn't do a thing to him. They didn't do as much as the soother, but they did keep the painful edge off when it got to where it hurt to breathe.

"No new scarring, that's good. Any pains? Swallowing? Breathing?"

"His father said he's been waking up with breathing problems recently." Alfonzo cuts in for the first time.

"Hmm. Is the temperature in your room changed at night? Or are you doing something new recently before bed that you didn't before?" Henry asks the teenager- no, man, he realizes when he remembers it's his birthday today- who shakes his head no pretty adamantly. A glance at Alfonzo and a nod from him have the doctor making a thoughtful noise.

"Open your mouth and stick your tongue out again? I'm going to run a diagnostic on it." he finally tells Harry. Harry does so again with a roll of his eyes which Henry gives a good-natured glare to.

"Hmm. I don't See anything wrong, but it says you've strained a few muscles recently which would make it hard to breathe. Have you had nightmares recently?" he changes the subject and at the sudden shutter effect on the boys face, he nods.

"You might be waking up screaming. You can't make a noise, but it still strains you to try. I'd suggest a dreamless sleep every time you wake up struggling to breathe." he continues on like Alfonzo isn't giving him a thoughtful look, or Harry isn't glaring at him, telling him what else he found on the mans yearly check up and what to tell his father about it. Finally, he turns with the prescription for his dreamless sleep and Harry rolls his eyes, shrugging his jacket back on, Alfonzo laughs.

"Harry would rather make it himself, if you don't mind Doc."

"Right, of course. I forgot you made all your own potions, my apologies." Henry says, waving the men out of his office. He knew when the Basiles got impatient they didn't do small talk. The men exit the doctor's office onto the busy street of Gorgon Alley, the magical district in Boston.

"Ah, Harry, I'm going to go see if I can't find Eric at the Charming Snake. I'll be there when you're done, yeah?" Alfonzo claps a hand on Harry's arm and then leaves before Harry can blink. Harry scowls after his uncle for a moment, before turning on his heel and walking towards his favorite shop, snaping his wand at his coat and having it change into the long, dragonhide robe it actually was. He enters the crowded apothecary and makes a beeline for the service desk, grinning at the man behind the desk.

"Harry! Come in, come in!" Damien ushers him into the back room, hollering for Alec to watch the desk. When the door closes, the old man looks Harry over critically.

"You look good young man. Here, your present like I promised." Damien pulls a box down and shoves it at Harry, who opens it, glances inside and closes it again, grinning even wider than before.

"Yes yes, I know. Now, I just got in an order of…" and just like that, they went from long time friends and once coworkers- Harry's father had insisted he get a job, and Harry had sorted ingredients and made minor potions for Damien the summer he turned 15- to businessmen ready to negotiate. Harry had opened a whole new avenue for his father when he realized he could use Harry to get into the wizarding world for more things to sell. His father said he wasn't sending him anywhere, but he wasn't going to walk away when Damien says he just got an order in.