Here is the next update. I had to work on the first part of the next chapter as well to get everything straight, so it took a little longer than expected for this chapter to be done.

As always, this was beta-read by The Red Harlequin On The Luna, who spotted some monstrosities that resulted from me writing at two in the morning.

Chapter 7: An unwelcome birthday present

"So," Ace —Harry— spoke at last. They were sitting in the bench farthest away from both the park entrance and the group of little girls playing in the sandbox, "why didn't you tell me before?"

Marco almost smiled, barely managing to hold back because it was a serious topic of conversation and Ace —Harry— would probably punch him if he smiled. The boy sat still had on a very serious expression, while someone less proud or more weak willed would probably have been fidgeting nervously.

"I wanted to get to know you first."

The freckled boy —and wasn't it strange he had his freckles? Neither Lily nor James Potter had had them— frowned and gave him a confused look.

"You already knew me."

Marco shook his head.

"No, I knew Ace. You'd lived eleven more years as Harry, and that's the one I wanted to know." He kept to himself the fact that he would probably have expected to see only the Ace he remembered if he hadn't done things this way.

"Oh." The boy nodded in understanding, and an awkward silence followed. "Why were you at Hogwarts?"

Marco had thought a lot about this particular question and its implications and, as selfish as it might be, he didn't want to have that conversation right now. Not the first day. He settled for the simplest answer.

"For the last few decades I've been Albus Dumbledore's phoenix familiar, Fawkes."

A puzzled expression took over Ace's —Harry's— face for a moment before being replaced by a painstakingly familiar smirk.

"Does he know you're not exactly a bird?"

"No," the man answered with a little amused smile of his own, "he thinks I'm just a phoenix that experienced a trauma."

"Why a trauma?"

"Have you read anything about phoenixes?"

"Yeah. They can heal with their tears and are rumoured to be able to appear at places and disappear and... you can't do any of those," Ace —Harry— realized.

Marco inclined his head in acknowledgement. Albus thought he had experienced something horrible like Ariana Dumbledore had and, though Marco felt bad for taking advantage of the memory of the man's long dead sister, it had been a good way to avoid the headmaster's suspicion.

"How can you do that, anyway?" the boy asked.

"Do what?"

"Turn into a small bird. You couldn't do it before."

"I got the idea from one of your brother's crewmates. He had seven forms."

They lapsed into silence again, and Marco decided it was time to ask.

"Do you have plans for today?" He knew the Dursleys were a useless waste of air that wouldn't do anything for the young wizard before him, but maybe the boy was meeting with friends.

"Plans?"

"For your birthday."

A shadow crossed Ace's —he wouldn't bother to correct himself anymore— face, but it was quickly replaced by an annoyed grimace before Marco could ask.

"Just pretending that I don't exist while the Dursleys play perfect hosts for this 'very important' dinner of Uncle Vernon's." The way Ace said this, it was clear how sick he was of the whole thing. "Why do you want to know?"

"It's your birthday, I thought we could celebrate."

Ace grinned, but the expression faltered.

"Just not around here, I think I've eaten and run at all of the restaurants," he admitted in what for him passed as a sheepish manner.

Marco chuckled, not at all surprised to learn that the tradition still existed. It had been a source of amusement back in the crew.

"Don't worry, my car's right out of the park."

Ace blinked perplexedly at him.

"You have a car?"

Marco shrugged.

"I have a lot of free time."

And wizards weren't as interesting as they thought they were once you learned how their world worked. They certainly didn't evolve fast in most cases. It was more fun to learn how to use muggle technology.

Harry had spent a good ten minutes laughing once he saw Marco's car. Oh, it was a very nice sports car, he wouldn't deny it, but the boy had recognized it from one of Dudley's car magazines —his cousin had had a phase where he had been obsessed with cars, and Harry had managed to read some of the magazines once the boy was tired of browsing them.

Marco had glared at him, and probably the only reason the glare had lasted almost a full minute before the man, too, broke out laughing was his considerable self control. He admitted he hadn't been able to resist buying it.

Harry was no expert on cars, he had never really been interested in them and had read the magazines only because he didn't have anything else to do at the time, but that particular car had caught his attention since he saw it. He couldn't tell the year or model, but he was pretty sure that was a Firebird. Marco's reaction had confirmed it.

Now, after the hour trip to London, Harry was stuffing his face at the Chinese restaurant they had decided on. He might have felt bad that it wasn't an 'eat all you can' place, and thus the bill would probably be terrifying, but Marco had assured him money wasn't a problem. And what kind of pirate didn't take advantage of such a nice chance to get free food? It was strange, to be honest, how easily he had accepted the fact that he was Ace once the man sitting in front of him had confirmed it. It was as if he had already known on some unconscious level. Maybe he had.

"Where'd you get the money, anyway? You can't exactly work as a bird living at Hogwarts," he asked, paying no attention to the woman sat at the next table who was glaring at him, probably for talking with his mouth full.

"I've had a lot of time to save. I also started to keep things some years ago and sell them as family heirlooms and the like," Marco, who had been done eating for a good fifteen minutes, answered.

Harry wanted to ask about the years that had passed, about why Marco was still here when it must have been a scarily long time, but he didn't. He had a feeling that conversation would be depressing, or at the very least a very serious one, and probably quite long. This was the first time they met being both human, and Harry didn't want to ruin it. Besides, it was his birthday.

"Any plans for today?"

Marco smirked, and Harry took the precaution of stopping eating. That expression didn't mean any good more often than not, and he didn't want to risk choking.

"You need a new wardrobe."

Harry groaned.

"You're not serious." Marco just stared at him. "You want to go shopping?!"

"We don't have to," Harry grinned, relieved, "but if you had dressed like that as a pirate your powers wouldn't have mattered. They would've called you 'rag doll Ace' or something like that."

Harry knew he had lost the argument at that exact moment. He was aware of how dreadful his clothes were, but he abhorred the idea of a shopping trip. Still, if it was that or looking ridiculous and, as Marco had practically said, not intimidating at all...

"Just some clothes, and then we're going to the cinema."

Harry had to admit, the shopping trip hadn't been half as horrible as he had expected. It probably was due to the fact his most prominent example for one had been the time Mrs. Figg had been sick and Harry had been forced to accompany the Dursleys to buy clothes for Dudley. Aunt Petunia had been so picky and had insisted that Dudley tried on so many different outfits that Harry had felt actually glad the Dursleys didn't buy anything for him.

Shopping with Marco was a completely different experience. The man didn't criticize anything he chose, and even pointed out some stuff Harry actually liked. He had practically jumped in excitement and scared the store clerk when Marco had found a pair of boots that resembled considerably the ones he had favoured as a pirate.

The cinema, however, hadn't been such a success. Oh, Harry had loved it. He had never gone to a cinema before —it was in fact one of the things he had been wanting to do since he could remember— and had spent a long while deciding on what movie to watch, because Marco had said it was his birthday and thus his choice. They had bought two bowls of popcorn of the biggest size available and an amount of sweets that had earned them a worried look from the cashier and entered the already darkened room. Once the movie started, they both pretended Harry wasn't stealing Marco's popcorn as much as he decimated his own.

Unfortunately, the fighting scenes were wrong, and neither of them had been able to stop pointing out every mistake once they had started. They must have annoyed the people around them too much, because somewhere halfway through the movie they were asked to leave.

Harry didn't mind, he had already experienced what it was like to go to the cinema, and even to be kicked out of one. He bet Dudley, for all his bully attitude, had never been kicked out of one.

After that, of course, Harry was hungry again, so they went to eat dinner.

No matter how much time passed, apparently not even the years of a new impressionable childhood, some things never changed.

Ace was still a mostly easy going guy, which had come in handy to keep the conversation throughout the whole day to mostly harmless and light topics —such as some shortcuts Marco knew at Hogwarts that wouldn't amuse the professors at all if they knew a student had learned about them or Ace's mostly miserable summer so far, of which the only highlight was terrifying Dudley with supposed attempts at doing magic.

Marco was puzzled at the lack of letters from the boy's friends, as he had noticed, while observing him —he had wanted to see more than just what Ace showed him when they met— that Ace seemed to have made very good friends. Loyal enough to blindly charge with him in pursuit of a dangerous Death Eater —because even if they had been wrong, they had believed Severus was after the stone, and as far as wizards went the man was dangerous— when most people would have turned and ran the other way at the mere thought of it. It was strange, to say the least.

Marco was distracted from his thoughts by an elderly woman who was glaring disapprovingly at him. He smiled at her and she huffed, turning back to the man he presumed to be her husband. Some things had changed. Ace's manners were still nonexistent but now, instead of only glaring at the boy, people was glaring at Marco as well, because, as Ace was twelve, they assumed the man accompanying him had to be responsible for his education, and thus they scorned him for Ace's lack of manners.

That was another thing that had changed considerably. Back then, practically no one would have dared to glare at them. The difference had been refreshing at some point, now it was just there.

"Oh, crap."

That drew his attention back to Ace. Marco raised his eyebrows and said mockingly.

"Language." Ace glared at him. "What's the problem?"

"I forgot about that stupid dinner. Now there's no way I can go to the Dursleys without being murdered or something," Ace groaned, which would have been amusing if it wasn't for how disgusting the situation behind that sentence was.

"You think they'll be mad at you?"

Ace shrugged.

"Dunno, depends on how things go, probably."

Marco had to admit he had forgot about returning Ace to Privet Drive as well, but he saw no reason to say it out loud. It would mean unnecessary teasing, probably something involving his age —apparently the brat remembered those jokes— and wouldn't change anything, either way.

"You'll have to stay with me, then."

Ace gave him a confused look before asking:

"You have a flat or something?"

"No, I was going to stay at a hotel."

Ace snickered all the way from the elevator to the door of their room. Marco wasn't amused. The woman at the reception had given him a suspicious look when he had asked for a room for two, and it had looked like she was tempted to call the cops until Ace started to babble happily about how Uncle Marco had brought him to London for his birthday, and wasn't it cool they were going to the zoo tomorrow? That had calmed the woman considerably, and she had finally given Marco the key, having not moved to get it up until that point.

The brat had started laughing the moment they entered the elevator.

The laughter died, however, when upon entering the room they found it was already occupied. Sitting on one of the beds was a short creature with bulging green eyes and big, bat-like ears dressed in a pillow case.

What the fuck is a house elf doing here?

The answer to that question came soon enough, though Marco should probably have remembered Ace had absolutely no idea of what a house elf was or how house elves were used to being treated by wizards and how they behaved, and should have tried to handle the situation himself instead. Then again, the elf —Dobby, he introduced himself— seemed to be a fan of Harry Potter, something Marco was sure to remind the boy of, and probably wouldn't have listened much to him.

Still, commenting on the house elf's family hadn't been the smartest of movements —even if they had to be assholes to treat Dobby the way they did. Marco had had to pull him away from the wall and hold him to prevent any further attempt to punish himself. Or assault Ace in gratitude for acting like a decent human being. The elf didn't seem to have a very firm grip on his emotions.

Then Dobby revealed why he was here, and Marco saw the disaster forming before the first sentence was complete.

"Harry Potter must not go back to Hogwarts."

He almost flinched. You didn't tell Portgas D. Ace what to do unless he really respected you, and even then you had to be careful. You didn't insinuate Portgas D. Ace wasn't strong enough to defend himself from a threat, especially if you weren't willing to disclose what said threat was. And you didn't reveal to Portgas D. Ace that the reason he hadn't received any letters from his friends was because you had been intercepting them.

At that point Marco had been forced to let go of Dobby and go hold Ace back instead, because the boy was more than ready to murder the house elf.

As anybody could have told Dobby, his little attempt to use Ace's friends' letters to blackmail him into agreeing to not going to Hogwarts didn't work, only enraging the dark haired boy even more.

Strangely enough, the elf just looked at them, nodded his head, and disappeared.

Marco let go of a now confused and considerably calmer Ace, who looked up at him.

"What was that?"

"No idea."

They had just decided who would sleep in what bed when the flapping wings of an owl drew their attention, and Marco went to the room's window to let the bird in. It flew straight to Ace, dropped an official looking letter on his head and left.

Still puzzled, Ace opened the letter, and his expression turned into one of rage as he scanned the words written there.

"That bastard!" he growled, crumpled the letter and threw it to the floor, stomping on it before plopping down angrily on his bed.

Marco bent down to pick the discarded letter and opened it. He cursed. Fucking elf.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a Hover Charm was used at your place of residence this evening at twelve minutes past nine.

As you know, underage wizards are not permitted to perform spells outside school, and further spellwork on your part may lead to expulsion from said school (Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875, Paragraph C).

We would also ask you to remember that any magical activity that risks notice by members of the non-magical community (Muggles) is a serious offense under section 13 of the International Confederation of Warlocks' Statute of Secrecy.

Enjoy your holidays!

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

IMPROPER USE OF MAGIC OFFICE

Ministry of Magic

"Whatever he did, they're going to murder me," Ace growled and, judging by what he had learned of the Dursleys, Marco had to agree.

"We'll have to find a way to prevent that, then." Crumpling the offending letter again and throwing it over his shoulder, the blond man walked to the bed where Ace was lying and sat next to him.

The boy turned his head to look at him over his shoulder, a hopeful expression on his face.

"I could stay with you the rest of the summer. It's not like they would care."

Marco blinked. Of course, that would be the easiest solution, or at least from Ace's point of view. He shook his head.

"No, that wouldn't work."

The wizard sat up and glared at him.

"Why not?"

"You know Arabella Figg?"

Ace was taken aback by the apparently random question, but answered.

"Yes, the Dursleys leave me with her when they're going somewhere."

"She's a squib."

"What's that?" Of course Ace didn't know, he didn't seem to have put much effort in investigating the wizarding world —not that Marco was really surprised, as Ace had never been the type to sit in a library and read for hours.

"A person born to wizard parents without magic. She works for Albus and is keeping an eye on you."

The explosion came immediately.

"What?! You mean she could get me out of there but hasn't?! That bitch!"

"Ace, calm down," Marco interrupted before the dark haired boy could go on any further. At Ace's glare, he elaborated. "There is a reason for that. Sort of. I don't really agree, but I doubt anybody could convince Albus to the contrary."

"What reason?" the wizard asked suspiciously.

Marco sighed. There went the possibility of avoiding complicated conversations for today.

"Can we talk about it another time?" Knowing Ace, he hurried to continue before the boy could say anything. "It's a long story, it'd be best if we solved this first."

After some consideration, Ace very reluctantly nodded in agreement.

"So, basically, I can't leave because the headmaster will know and come search for me?"

"Precisely."

"And if you showed him you're his phoenix? He trusts you, right?"

Marco almost grimaced. Yes, Albus would trust him to be around Ace then, but there were reasons why he hadn't told the man yet despite the fact the blond considered him a good friend.

"I'd rather leave that as a last resort."

"Why?" Marco pretended not to notice the annoyed tone in Ace's voice.

"Because Albus still hasn't figured out how Voldemort managed to survive that night."

Again, Ace looked disconcerted by the apparently random change of topic.

"So?"

"He has this habit of not telling people, even his allies, more than he believes they need to know, which generally is practically nothing. But he needs to talk to someone."

Realization dawned on Ace's face, and he grinned slightly.

"And that's you, because you're a bird and won't tell anybody."

Marco nodded.

"That guy's after you, I'd rather know as much as possible about him."

"Alright, then let's not do that. You think we could convince Mrs. Figg to lie to Dumbledore and say I'm still there?" Ace didn't seem too pleased by this idea, and he had practically growled the woman's name. He wouldn't be nice to her anytime in the future, it seemed.

"I don't think so, she's too loyal to Albus. But..." he smirked.

"What?" the boy asked, an interested expression on his face.

"I think I should talk to your relatives."

Harry Potter had never been more excited about going to his relatives' house. As Marco parked in front of the house, Harry had to hold back a grin. He got out of the car, made his best attempt to look serious —though not apprehensive, he would never look that way before the Dursleys if he could help it— and headed for the door.

Marco leaned against the wall next to it and gestured for him to ring the bell. Harry did.

Harry had expected Aunt Petunia to open the door, and thus was surprised when the one who appeared was his uncle, whose face turned purple at an impressive speed even for him. The boy cursed mentally. Of course, today was a Saturday, he should have thought of it. On the other hand, that would make things easier.

"You..." the gleam in Uncle Vernon's eyes was the closest thing to murderous Harry had ever seen on the man, and the boy knew the only reason he hadn't been grabbed and bodily dragged inside was the possibility of the neighbours seeing it. "Come in. Now!" the man growled and, when Harry didn't make any move to obey, he seemed to disregard what others might think and reached forward to grab him.

A hand stopped his wrist and Uncle Vernon froze for the second it took Marco to come into view next to Harry.

"You don't want to do that."

"Who are you?" Vernon asked, and then, as if burned, pulled his hand back. Marco let him. "Are you one of those freaks?!"

"Maybe," Marco answered with a shrug. Most wizards would have been offended at being called that; Marco, however, didn't seem to care. After all, Harry knew as pirates they had been called much worse.

"Get out of here! We don't want your people in this house!"

Marco made an impressive show of shrugging in the most indifferent way he could.

"I don't care, I want to talk to you."

Uncle Vernon, apparently forgetting his anger toward Harry for the moment, backed enough to slam the door shut. Or he would have if Marco hadn't raised a leg and stopped it with his foot before the wood could move even an inch.

Uncle Vernon looked down at the sandaled foot that seemed to be holding the door in place with no effort —and Harry knew it meant no effort for Marco to do that— and tried to close it again to no avail.

"Mr. Dursley," the blond man spoke, and Harry had the impression he was trying to stay somewhat civil, "you can either let us enter or I can kick the door in. I wonder what your neighbours would think of such a display."

Harry's uncle glared up at the man, and the boy had to force himself not to laugh at how ridiculous the sight was. Here was Vernon Dursley, big due mostly to his notorious overweight and his face still an unhealthy shade of purple, trying to intimidate Marco, who was taller and by far more imposing. Marco wasn't even trying to look intimidating at this moment, eyes half-lidded in his trademark almost bored expression, but, after looking the man up and down, Uncle Vernon decided to very ungraciously let go of the door and step back.

The disappointed look in the fat man's face told Harry he probably had tried to make Marco lose his balance when he let go of the door so suddenly.

"Hurry up, then."

To be continued

Originally, I hadn't planned on Marco meeting the Dursleys so soon, but then I realized it was the only thing that could work, so here it is.

Also, I checked, August 1st, 1992 was a Saturday.