Note: Thanks to KeiGinya for keeping me honest, fixed a small mistake, that is all!
Hikaru, er, Harry had been back in the Dursley house for all of a day and he already hated being here.
He allowed himself to stretch out on the overly manicured lawn- which irritated the hell out of him, and damn he wanted to indulge in some Ikebana right about now- and allowed his thoughts to wander in an attempt to stop desperately missing the entire life he'd just left behind as he couldn't call Japan or use the enchanted journals that Papá had gotten for him and Kyouya to use until after the magicals had contacted him.
Originally he had planned to have a stopover in Italy to be able to spend time with his Papá, but something was going on with one of the Vongola's major allied Famiglia, and both Dr. Shamal and Papá were tied up with it, so Harry was stuck here with the Dursley family.
They hadn't really bothered him, as they had been under the influence of Dr. Shamal's illusions as well, so his room was still as he had left it, just without dust thanks to some subtle suggestion placement. Mist Flames were tricky business, especially a rare user like Shamal who walked that tightrope intersection of Hard-Inverted-Soft-Classic. Mist users usually were able to use their Construction Aspect to construct in the mental plane or the physical one, and Hard Mist Flame users were truly rare as they usually ended up killing themselves by accident before they grew old enough to be discovered.
Typically, Classic Soft Mist Flame users could use their Flame to cloak themselves or plant subtle suggestions, while the Inverted Soft Mist Flame users could trap people in hellacious illusions of their own design or possess another person by sectioning off part of their Flame.
A Classic Hard Mist Flame User could actually bend reality and move within a solid surface or twist and affect the way a person perceived the world without ever actually affecting it. An Inverted Hard Mist User could make their monster come to 'life' and only someone with a great deal of Tranquil Perception would be unaffected, and even then that person would have to have a much Purer Flame than the Mist casting the illusion. There was also a Mafia legend of an Inverted Hard Mist User who Constructed a golem in his own image to fight in a territorial dispute, and the golem learned to absorb Flames from the enemies it defeated and grew stronger with every battle it fought eventually overcoming the restrictions placed upon it and destroying the Famiglia of the Mist that made it, the legend says that the golem guard the lowest levels of the Vindicare even now because even the Vindice could not kill it.
So, yeah, Mist users, kind of a big deal.
Harry's eye's fluttered open as he felt something with reiki flutter at the edge of his senses, but it was just a reiki active animal.
That was another thing he wasn't looking forward to learning about in the West: Animate to Inanimate Transfigurations.
The school of thought was that magic changed the fundamental makeup of the 'object' and therefore the animal sustained no damage, and that was a true statement- for a perfect transfiguration. For partial or incorrect transfigurations the animal was stuck in between, their mind locked in the void as their body was deconstructed and reconstructed clumsily. Their minds didn't feel the pain, but their instincts did- it was like constantly being watched or Chinese Water Torture, not really painful but torturous in its own right, and Harry didn't really want to perform such an act.
What was the point, anyways? He could see if they were studying for the Animagus transformation, but that just required a great deal of meditation, as it wasn't truly a transfiguration and you were doing it to a sentient being who could speak up about such things, and beetles and bugs weren't so bad even though they still held traces of reiki, but Hogwarts supposedly taught them how to transfigure avians into things like water goblets. Why? Why couldn't they just transfigure mud into water goblets or water even? Or how about-
He was jolted out of his thoughts by what could only be called a 'poke' by a fast approaching thread of reiki that seemed to be honing in on him specifically. He rolled and smoothly rose to his feet, falling into a light ready position even though he was reasonably certain that this was his Hogwarts letter. Sure enough a tiny spot appeared in the sky and it soon turned out to be an Owl, a rather cute Barn Owl, with a letter tied to its leg.
Harry held out an arm and smiled at the weary looking bird, "Here you go, little one, let's get you something to eat and drink, hm? It looks like you've had a long flight."
The owl hooted gratefully.
Harry made his way through the portal to the magical shopping district, thankful that his glasses had Mist Flames on them as everyone seemed to have an air of expectation around them and his instinct- which had been honed by his Papá, his various teachers, and being the shadow-leader of an organization of dubious legality- said that this air of expectation had something to do with him. So he made sure to make himself as uninteresting as possible through his body language as he slipped through the crowds, thankful for all the practice that living in Japan had given him as he eyed his surroundings sharply just in case he needed to make alternate traveling arrangements.
(He was desperately trying to keep his reiki deeply internalized as he had no idea that this place was so out of balance the last time he had been here.)
When they had gone to the Bank a few years back, (and he'd fallen asleep), his Papá had set a whole bunch of things in motion before the Goblins had removed that corrupted Flame Shard from his scar, but the most important was that his Trust Vault had been changed. Reborn, true to form, hadn't recalled or destroyed the keys that were in circulation, but he had diverted the funds as the designated Financial Advisor of the previous Lord Potter via written letter, (James had left a letter with Grapplehook just in case Renato ever came into having custody of Harry and needed access to the Potter estate).
(They had found that magical Europe still mostly operated on rather monarchical terms. Old Bloods or those who had Family Magic, or were Oath Sworn in some manner had Magical Guardians as they were subject to the Avalonian Tenants, but any 'muggleborns' or incoming half-bloods were subject to the laws that had been passed after the implementation of the Statute of Secrecy, which was a distinct disadvantage for them.
Harry, as the confirmed Heir Potter, had no Magical Guardian as the Tenants stated, though he was allowed an Advisor, Treasurer, Legal Counsel, Medical Specialist, and up to three Outside Assembly, and he could keep them up until the age of twenty-five, if he didn't formally induct them into their positions in his capacity as Lord Potter first. The tricky thing was that his Advisor was actually whomever ceremonially debuted him after the age of eleven- which was when Renato's tenure as Financial Advisor ran out- usually by bringing him to the Bank for the first time since the end of his first decade unless he had made other arrangements, which he was currently on his way to do.)
Harry walked up the steps and grinned a little at the poem, feeling the reiki seep into him as he did so before finding himself quickly escorted to Grapplehook's office, a little unbalanced even after a few day of readjusting to being back in England after two years of following Japanese etiquette.
Harry saw his Papá waiting for him in the office and he positively lit up, "Papá!" he squeaked happily, rushing forwards and scooping his pint-sized father up in a hug and enjoying the man's half-hearted attempts to escape as Leon scampered over to nestle himself in Harry's hair. "Hey Leon." He called to the tiny chameleon as an afterthought as he released Reborn, who promptly tried to kick him in the face.
"Glad to see that you missed me too, brat." Dr. Shamal's very amused voice came from behind him.
Harry whirled around and hugged a mildly startled Shamal but released him before the man could unleash a mosquito against him, "Hey Dr. Shamal!"
Forty-five minutes later saw him walking out with his Papá listed as his Advisor-Treasurer and Dr. Shamal listed as his Medical Specialist. The beautiful thing about being preemptive in this was that whomever Harry's Advisor was happened to be an internal family matter, meaning that no one could pressure him into telling him who it was, under penalty of the Avalonian Tenants, which far exceeded any modern authority. Actually if you traced them back far enough, most magical authorities in West-Central Europe were based on the Avalonian Tenants and were accordingly bound by them.
Or at least, that's part of one of my nastier contingency plans, Reborn thought, deeply amused as he watched his son and Shamal squabble about the actual health benefits that could possibly be afforded from the eye of a petrified toad, I want Adriano to learn and grow this year, but I really don't see him staying long in this world. By and large it seems content to stagnate and splinter, and my boy would never be satisfied to fit into the tiny little box that they want him in.
There is a small chance that he might fall for their pretty words at first, but I don't think that he will; he's too much like me. I expect his secondary Cloud Flames, and Lily's sacrificial Lightning Flames come bursting forth any day now, and it wouldn't surprise me at all if he ended up being able to use Sun, Cloud, and Lightning to form a bastardized version of Storm on occasion. No, I don't think Adriano will be here long, but I will make sure that they never forget what they lost.
The rest of the day was a blur of laughter and light hearted banter and mock arguments as Harry enjoyed himself and allowed the stress of being somewhere he didn't want to be melt away for a little while.
Fortunately, as a student of the East and a son of the eternally paranoid Renato Sinclair, they hadn't gotten his wand from Ollivander's Wand Shop, but rather, they had taken a day trip to Denmark to visit a conduit maker there to have Harry's wand made. The conduit crafter- Mr. Knudsen- had Harry choose the materials that he resonated with and then shooed them out so that he could work. They returned at the end of the day, and Harry made sure to tip the man generously because despite not being his specialty, the Olive Wood wand, with a Phoenix Feather core was a work of art.
Its length was fourteen inches even; or rather, thirteen and three-thirds, to give him three dimensions of three- a teen, a full, and a partial. The craftsman had inlaid the characters or words that Harry had wanted from all seven languages into the wood and they spiraled lazily from the tip to the handle, which had been set into a hilt not unlike a sword, as Harry had been taking Aikido or something reminiscent of it for nearly three years now, so the handle was a comforting weight in his hand and as the conduit bonded to him brilliant golden light- almost the same color of his Flames but not quite- nearly blinded them for a moment as a joyful song echoed through the shop before the light dimmed and the song faded back down to a pleasant background hum.
"The Olive Tree," Mr. Knudsen had explained enthusiastically as they went about selecting a sheath for his weapon- or, rather, a holster for his wand, "Is a hardy tree native to the Mediterranean, and had roots in lore far back into the times of Ancient Greece. They used to bathe the bodies of the Olympic Champions in olive oil, you know. Anyways, Homer once called it 'the tree of liquid gold' and it can grow in even the harshest conditions, it can even survive being uprooted and moved even if the tree is very old. It is both a humble man's deliverance and a rich man's vanity, it says a lot of good things about you, young man, for this wood to have chosen you, especially with a Phoenix Feather core which is an unusual combination, and I think you'll do just fine."
The rest of the shopping trip was even more fun after that, because Harry had been quietly terrified of binding himself to a conduit.
I'm going to fly back to Japan long enough to beat some proper manners into Kyouya, that brat. Harry thought, half-exasperated, half amused. Fortunately for his sanity, Tetsu was much better at keeping Harry updated on the goings-on in Namimori, otherwise Harry would be all but clueless.
It also made his heart ache a little less to see what he thought of as his actual name on the paper of the enchanted journal.
Harry was honest enough with himself to admit that he hated it here in England, and he hated it more with each passing day, so much so that he had stopped trying to tell himself any differently when he meditated. Every morning felt like a noose was cinching just that much tighter around his neck and inside him his reiki and his Flames churned defiantly against the idea of being chained.
Like they were banging against a reinforced concrete wall with cotton balls.
It was maddening and irritating and it made Harry angry, tetchy, cranky, and just about every other unhappy adjective in all seven languages that he was reasonably fluent in, (though his Russian was still shaky and he despised trying to read anything written in simplified Chinese, too many variables).
Not to mention, Hagrid, lovable but biased Hagrid had come knocking down the front door- literally- to take him shopping about a week after he'd actually gone, and it had been a fiasco. Instinct had told Harry to just go with it, but the experience at the Leaky Caldron, not to mention Hagrid having one of the original Trust Fund keys, (and finding out that somehow his parents, who had been murdered, had asked the Headmaster to hold onto to them for them, instead of the goblins who were a neutral party), then the shopping experience itself had been migraine-inducing with all the pro-Gryffindor, pro-Dumbledore propaganda the cheerful and friendly but dim man had been spouting.
Harry managed to convince the man to go get a 'pick me up' at the pub after the cart ride at the Bank, (for which he tipped Griphook several shiny coins), and went and grabbed an expanded book bag, even though he already had one back at Number Four, and headed for the bookstore, where Hagrid eventually found him, and then Harry had managed to distract and redirect all inquiries about his supplies or his lack thereof.
Really, the only good part about the whole чертов trip was the Kyouya-owl.
Seriously, when he looked at into those fierce, amber eyes the first thing out of his mouth had been, "Kyou?"
Harry glanced across the room to where the majestic snowy white owl was sitting on her perch, preening her feather like the queen she was, and grinned. Kyouya had been insufferably smug that the beautiful avian had refused to answer to any other name and had demanded that Harry send pictures before he left 'for that herbivore school'. Other than being furious about the situation in general, but agreeing with Harry's decisions in light of Hagrid being personally sent by the Headmaster, Reborn had also found things amusing.
Harry sighed as he shut the journal and gave up on accomplishing anything productive for the moment. He knew he was being rather melodramatic, and there were tons of people who had things way, way worse than him but he really just wanted to go home. It was nice being able to use James' name again, but he honestly just want to go back to being Hikaru or go to Italy and be Adriano, he didn't want to be Harry.
Papá said to tough it out for one term at least if not the full year, then we can say that we tried. It should give Papá enough time to get Sirius out and question him or dispose of him. Harry hadn't seen a dead body yet, but he'd dealt out plenty of well-justified violence over the past couple of years, and if Reborn found out that Sirius Black had betrayed his Mum and Dad- well, Harry wouldn't lose any sleep over the man's demise in that case.
Harry closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh as he worked on circulating his reiki throughout his body, It doesn't really make the fact that I don't want to be here at all any easier though.
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