Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Katekyo Hitman Reborn and I don't earn any money with this story.

Author's note: Happy new year everyone! This chapter has about 4,5k words… which is about four times the word count of my usual chapters… Anyway, I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Rating: M

Warning: violence, Shamal's flirtations

Beta'ed by the lovely NonchalantxFish, thank you very much :)

Reborn wasn't sure what to feel or think anymore. Since meeting Harry Potter, his world had been turned upside down repeatedly and not even a whole day had passed thus far. Learning of a secret society filled with magical people and creatures had been mind-boggling enough, but what had really got to him was the new information concerning his curse.

After turning into Acrobaleno, he and his curse-mates had tried to track down the person responsible, the Man with the Iron Hat, but the bastard had disappeared without a trace. Searching for more information about their curse had borne no fruit, either. Eventually, almost two decades ago, Reborn had (mostly) accepted his fate.

His former life had been erased and 'Reborn' had first seen the light of day. Some of his old quirks had disappeared, some new ones had emerged over time, but what remained a constant in his new life was the fact he never aged. At all.

And now, after all this time, he'd finally found a new lead. Reborn wasn't sure if it would get him closer to breaking the curse, but he felt the faintest flicker of hope.

And dread.

Apparently they weren't the first generation of Acrobaleno Iron Hat had created. During her research, Hermione had apparently stumbled over an old notebook belonging to a wizard, whose younger squib brother had been turned into an Acrobaleno a few centuries ago. Both of them had worked on breaking the curse and finally found a way to snap the connection between the man and the pacifier. Unfortunately, the removal had drained the former Acrobaleno of most of his life force, killing him a couple of hours later.

The notebook contained a slew of further information, but due to being irrelevant to the war efforts, Hermione had never finished reading the rest. She had, however, promised to retrieve it from her stacks of books and bring it over as soon as time permitted.

Reborn glanced toward the half-closed kitchen door, behind which Potter was currently preparing lunch, while Hermione talked to him. The hitman hopped off of the armchair to join Shamal, who had disappeared to the small patio at the back of the house.

"I thought you quit smoking."

Shamal snorted and demonstratively blew a smoke ring in his direction.

"Since last seeing you, I've quit about half a dozen times."

"I'm not surprised." Quitting a vice was seldom the hard part; not starting up again was, and, to his knowledge, Shamal had never been a person who liked refusing himself enjoyment.

"Not surprised, huh? I'm not too sure about that," Shamal commented with a side-glance and a quirk of his mouth. Reborn was pretty sure they were no longer talking about Shamal's smoking habits. "When you asked me to find Harry Potter, you probably expected another failure at worst and a somewhat capable Vongola successor at best... not a magical world and terrorists. Let me tell you: You've barely scratched the surface."

Reborn believed that as well, though his expression remained blank, except for the slight glint in his dark eyes.

"Then let me start to rectify my currently lacking knowledge by asking you how Dr. I-don't-treat-men Shamal became a Guardian of a male, teenage, wizard Sky."

"Caught on to that, have you?" Shamal mused wryly as he flicked the cigarette butt into a nearby ashtray. "Well…"

Studying the pale youth on the hospital bed, Shamal wondered why the patient couldn't have been a cute girl or a beautiful woman. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't even be here, but no matter what people may say about him, he always returned the favours he owed.

Well, in this case the man he owed it to was already dead, but it had been a pretty big favour and the man's grandson had called him repeatedly, each time sounding more desperate. In the end Shamal had opted to cut him some slack and to pay Ospedale Nicollò de Luca a visit.

He flipped through the patient chart, trying to ignore the two stares boring into the back of his skull. Shamal had expected Gabriel Williams' presence (the boy had summoned him here, after all) but who the hell was that dark-haired guy who almost felt like a fellow hitman?

The brunet put the patient chart on the adjustable hospital table and checked the monitor next to the bed. Most vital parameters were stable; the values for the heartrate were a bit high, however. It fit in with the increased brain activity the hospital staff had measured. Not to mention the orange glowing eye, which became visible when Shamal pulled up one of the teen's eyelids.

Potter was caught in his own head, apparently trying to quite stubbornly fight off the unknown mind control drug he had been injected with. A drug devious enough to work even after it had been flushed out of the body, and against which Sun Flames were useless.

Shamal didn't know the specifics of what had transpired, just that a fraction of the Estraneo Famiglia had apparently survived the slaughter they had inflicted on themselves by experimenting on their own children. After biding their time and doing God knows what, they had approached Isaac Williams, to pressure him into helping them with one of their sick experiments. Of course the man had refused, leading to his untimely death, Harry Potter's hospitalisation and quite a few dead Estraneo bodies.

Shamal startled when Potter's forehead was suddenly covered in Dying-Will Flames. They softly licked at his hand, but instead of burning him like he knew they were capable of, they radiated comforting warmth. Shamal's fingers lingered a moment longer, before he pulled them back. And no, there wasn't anything reluctant about it.

When he looked up, dark, narrowed eyes were assessing him, though the other man didn't utter a word. Instead the Williams boy approached the bed and started to card his fingers through Potter's wild hair. The Flames disappeared just as suddenly as they had come. The blond shifted the lollipop in his mouth to one side and looked up at him, his gaze worried.

"Can you help him?"

"The better question is 'Can you help him in time?', kid."

Shamal was an expert when it came to unusual afflictions and their cures. Not all of his 666 illnesses had popped up with a convenient counter-measure, after all. Some, he had had to create himself. But in this case, time was against them. The constant use of his Flames and the stress on his mind was steadily sapping Potter's strength. Either the teen would end up nothing more than a puppet or he'd die. He suspected the latter.

The hospital staff had already started on creating a cure, but so far there wasn't much progress.

It was time to get to work!

Recreating the initial drug was a bitch, but it eased the way to finding a cure and, additionally, they had the possibility of testing it before the administration took place.

Shamal felt like the last time he had spent such a shitton of time on a medical project, he'd had to suffer through his thesis years ago. At least he got constantly supplied with espresso by one cute nurse or another, though after a few days the caffeine did more harm than good.

When, after a week and a half of research and seemingly endless cycles of trial and error, the cure was finally ready for use, the bags under Shamal's eyes would have put an insomniac's to shame. He was twitchy, had a headache the size of Italy and was about to doze off while standing.

God, he was ready to sleep for a week!

Despite his exhausted state, Shamal made sure to be present when the first dose was administered to Potter. Perhaps that should've been his first warning sign that something was up. Usually he couldn't care less about patients after his part in their treatment was over… except when he wanted to get into their pants and that certainly wasn't the case with Potter.

"The drug didn't only contain chemical components, there were Mist Flames woven into it; too intricate to notice them at first. Both were trying to screw with his memories and perception, thereby squishing his free will. The Flames more so than the other components - that's why it still worked after the latter were flushed out of his body. He needs a few more doses, but the assault on his mind should steadily decrease now. We can't tell what's left of his mind until he wakes up. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to catch some Z's." He nodded at Blondie and Grumpy – apparently the man was called Severus Snape – and headed to the on-call room's uncomfortable beds. Not that his body would care at this point.

"… and then later, we can see where the night leads us." With a roguish grin on his lips, Shamal popped one hand up next to nurse Vitocelli's head. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a low ponytail and her cheeks were flushed an adorable red.

"I… I really should be going back," she murmured, her eyes darting toward the door, before she inched in its direction. Not giving up that easily, Shamal switched hands, effectively blocking her way. The brunette started to nibble on her bottom lip, while Shamal smiled disarmingly at her.

"There's no need to rush. I'm sure your colleagues have everything under control. Why don't we-" A soft thump stopped him short and made him turn around. Shamal eyed the pillow on the ground, which would've hit him, had it not been lacking the necessary momentum. His gaze retraced the presumable trajectory to the nearby bed, from where dazed green eyes were glaring at him.

"Leav' 'er alone."

Shamal raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

"Well, well. Barely awake and already meddling in someone else's business." The hitman idly noticed that the nurse had slipped out of the room as he stepped up to the bed. Shamal'd have to make sure to talk to her later. Or perhaps to nurse Abano? She was a bit feistier than nurse Vitocelli and he certainly liked them feisty. Well, he'd decide later.

Potter wasn't quite as pale as before, but it'd be a miracle if he remained awake for more than a few minutes. The teen's eyelids were already drooping.

"Who're you?"

"Dr. Shamal, the one who saved you from pushing up daisies. Do you remember what happened before you passed out?"

Potter's forehead furrowed in thought, drawing attention to the faded zig-zag shaped scar in the centre of it.

"I… the Estraneo… and then… wait, where… where's Spanner…?"

"Spanner?" Why would the brat bring up a tool now? Perhaps his brain had turned into mush, after all? Though, whether he liked it or not, Shamal would have to wait until later to assess the teen's state of mind, because Potter had fallen asleep again, like the brunet had predicted.

'Spanner' turned out to be the Williams kid, which kind of made sense considering his habit of always tinkering with something or another. The second time Potter came around, the blond was trying his best to squeeze the stuffing out of his self-proclaimed brother. His face was buried in the brunet's shoulder, making it hard to tell whether or not he was crying. Grumpy, on the other hand, had crossed his arms in front of his chest as if assuming an unapproachable stance made everyone suddenly forget the countless hours the dark-haired man had spent at the teen's bedside. The tension seeping out of his shoulders was a dead giveaway alone.

"Let's try this again, brat," Shamal suggested, while shoving his hands into the pockets of his white coat. "What's the last thing you remember?"

Potter squinted up at him from behind his brother's mop of hair.

"You being a creep."

Shamal opened his mouth to retort, but was momentarily too indignant to utter a word of protest.

He was NOT a creep!

"What did he do?" Blondie leant back, his eyes dry and his expression unconcerned despite his question.

"That, I would like to know, as well," Grumpy agreed suspiciously, as he fished a pair of glasses out of his pocket. He carefully settled them on Potter's nose, earning himself a small smile from the teen.

"He was harassing one of the nurses when I woke up the first time."

"What would a brat like you know about such things? I was flirting with her," Shamal finally managed to protest. What an annoyance! He already felt a headache coming on.

"She looked ready to jump out of the window to get away from you," Potter deadpanned, raising a hand in front of his mouth to cover a yawn.

"She was just shy. Now get back to my question."

The brat eyed him for a long moment, before he heaved a deep sigh.

"After the… When…" The teen's shaking fingers started to clench around the fabric of Blondie's T-shirt, until his knuckles turned white. Giving up all pretenses, Snape laid a gentle hand on Potter's shoulder and squeezed, but this time the younger brunet didn't even manage a lacklustre quirk of his lips. His fingers loosened their grip a bit, though.

"I was fighting, then I suddenly felt a prick near my calf. Everything went hazy and… I- I must have passed out, because I turned up in my mind-space, where- wait a second. What happened after I lost consciousness? There were still two of those bastards standing."

Something dark flickered through Snape's eyes and Shamal saw Spanner flinch, but neither was forthcoming with the requested information. Potter narrowed his eyes and switched his calculating gaze from one male to the other. It ended up on the blond, who refused to face him, and slowly crumbled into a heart-breaking look.

"Is that why…?"

Shamal had no idea what the brat was alluding to, but Blondie apparently knew what was being asked, because he offered a minute nod. Potter drew him into his arms again and mumbled something into his ear, then haltingly resumed his recount.

"It was like… like a very vivid nightmare, starring faceless creatures. They showed me gruesome things to… I guess, to intimidate me, but when that didn't work too well, they started to attack. In the beginning, I think there was another force trying to get into my head, but it didn't get through."

"That was me."

All eyes darted to Grumpy, who had once again returned to his cross-armed posture; though this time he looked even more defensive than usual. Kind of like a huge, fortified wall made out of steel.

Shamal wondered what he meant by that, but Potter just nodded his head and managed something resembling a thankful smile. When he opened his mouth to ask how exactly this 'getting into Potter's head' had taken place, Grumpy shot him a quelling glare. Having been on the receiving end of worse looks, Shamal answered with a challenging eyebrow and a distinct smirk. Snape's hands twitched, but before he had the chance to do anything, Spanner tugged on the man's sleeve.

Without their notice, Potter had nodded off, his head resting on his brother's bony shoulder.

Shamal wondered why he was even at the hospital anymore. The cure had been finished and after the fourth injection without incident, it was relatively safe to assume that there wouldn't be any side-effects. He was about to administer the second-to-last dose and even that could have been done by a different doctor or a nurse.

And yet, here he was, on the way to a brat who had thrown pillows at him half a dozen times (hitting twice), trying to cock-block him. The teen had also somehow become the darling of every nurse of the ward, receiving little treats, smiles and winks... even from nurse Marcello, who was an old dragon by everyone's standards.

When Shamal opened the door to the patient's room, Potter was sleeping, which wasn't a huge surprise. The twisting and turning, however, was. Shamal idly wondered if this was the first nightmare the teen had been subjected to since breaking free of the mind-control drug.

„Hey, brat, wake up."

The brunet stopped next to the bed and shook Potter's shoulder, getting increasingly more insistent with every second Potter didn't wake. The teen groaned, but remained asleep, his jaws clenched tight and his face beaded with sweat and tears.

Shamal uttered a long-suffering sigh and laid a hand on the brat's forehead. Seconds later Mist Flames trickled through the clammy skin, hopefully easing the nightmare by forming more pleasant visions. It was a trick he had used once or twice when Hayato had still been a midget, always staring at him with adoring eyes.

Potter, fortunately, stopped thrashing around and settled into a more restful sleep.

Shaking his head, Shamal concentrated on what he had come here for. He sterilised the skin, checked the syringe one last time and finally administered the medicine dose. Five minutes later he was ready to leave the room and had already turned around, when he heard a whispered ‚Thank you'. At first the brunet thought Potter was talking in his sleep, but when he faced the teen, clear, green eyes were staring back at him.

„What for?"

„Well, saving my life for starters. Without you I'd probably be dead by now."

Shamal frowned and shoved his hands into the pockets of his white coat.

„I only-„

„Yes, I know you came here to pay back the favour you owe my grandpa, but frankly speaking? He's..." He hesitated for a moment, a dark look crossing his face, before he pressed on. „He's dead, so the favour is pretty much void, and even then, you stayed much longer than you had to." Freeing himself from the blanket, which had twisted itself around his legs, the teen wriggled into a sitting position.

Shamal didn't quite know what to say to that assessment, because it was the truth, after all.

"Then there're your Flames," Potter added musingly, drawing his legs closer to his body and wrapping his arms around them.

"My Flames?"

"Mist Flames, right? I was having a nightmare and you did something with your Flames to make it stop."

Shamal carefully didn't change his expression. His little mind manipulation act, well-meant as it was, could be construed as an attack. On a defenceless, underaged Sky no less. He was kind of regretting his second of good will now, but then again, he hadn't expected to be caught.

"Why do you think I've had something to do with it? Nightmares can stop on their own, you know?" Shamal finally challenged, putting as much condescension into his voice as possible.

"True, but it was the same feeling as the one just before I woke up from my, well… coma, I guess? You put your Flames into the first dose of the cure, as well, didn't you?"

Aaand it was getting worse, great. Perhaps Shamal would be better off getting rid of the problem and then laying low for a while.

"That still-"

"I won't make you admit to it, if you want to keep it a secret for whatever reason. I won't tell anyone either. Just… thank you."

"Weeell, if you're that grateful to me, you could stop the constant assaults on my person."

"You can flirt and fuck with any consenting adult you want for all I care, but as long as you continue to harass people, I'll keep throwing stuff at you." And with those words, Potter slid back down, wrapped his blanket around himself and closed his eyes.

Shamal gaped at him for a moment, before he shook his head and left the room.

Shamal knew something was wrong, when he found himself in the cafeteria for the second time within five minutes, the last dose of Potter's medicine still in his pocket. He frowned at the room in general, turned on his heels and hastened back to the first floor.

This time he stopped a good few feet in front of Potter's door and inched his way forward. With each step the urge to go away and do something else grew stronger, until he stopped in front of Spanner, once again halfway down the hallway. He couldn't even remember turning around and walking.

Shamal watched as Blondie approached the door with no apparent trouble, though Spanner stopped short a good two feet in front of his brother's room, suddenly flinching violently and turning white as a sheet. Shamal couldn't understand why, because to him, nothing in the hallway had changed right then.

For a short moment, Blondie flicked his gaze between the door and him, his face blank, but his eyes shadowed with concern. Finally, returning to Shamal, the teen reached up to his neck and unclasped a thin silver chain with a small robot charm on it, which he then held out to the hitman.

"If you put this on, there shouldn't be a problem. Please make sure that Harry's okay, I'll contact Severus."

Shamal eyed the jewellery in his hand and shrugged internally. It wasn't like he had anything to lose by wearing it. He quickly fastened it around his own neck and tried his luck once again. This time Shamal reached the door without problem. One hand reached into the pocket containing his darling mosquitos, while the other carefully pushed the door handle down.

What awaited him on the other side of the door was a small group of people, clad in black robes and their faces covered with grotesque masks. One of them was lying unmoving on the floor, their mask half melted and partly fused to the skin. Another had somehow managed to grab Harry from behind, effectively restraining his arms to his torso. The brunet's forehead was ablaze with orange Sky Flames, as he knocked the back of his head against his captor's face and used the weakened grip on him to duck down. Seconds later the person behind him toppled to the ground after being hit by a brownish light beam.

A third joined their comrades a moment later by courtesy of Francesca, who had infected the attacker with a disease, which caused a heart attack.

"Get rid of the damn muggle! I'll take care of Potter."

Shamal wasn't sure what exactly a 'muggle' was, but he certainly knew that it referred to him. The brunet dodged when two of the (probably) men sent more light beams in his direction, and answered them by throwing scalpels. One pierced the left man's throat, leaving him gurgling blood.

A pained cry from Harry distracted him for a split second, but it was enough to miss the mumbled 'Petrificus Totalus' and his second adversaries' slight wrist movement.

One moment Shamal was standing, the next he was staring at the ceiling, unable to move. Who the fuck were those people and what were they fighting with? Certainly not with Flames, that much was obvious!

"Your muggle is out of commission now, Potter. Perhaps we should put him out of his misery completely. What do you say?"

"Go to hell, Malfoy!"

Shamal tried desperately to get his limbs to move again, but not even his fingertips would twitch. It was a scary situation to be in, especially during such a bizarre fight. A fight that was now being fought by two weird but dangerous people and a teenager, who was nowhere near healthy at the moment. Harry had already been pale and drenched in sweat, when Shamal had entered the room, and even now he heard his urgent gasps for breath.

And still he was incapable of helping him and had no idea when he'd be able to move again. If he'd ever be able to move again.

Variously coloured light beams whizzed through his field of view, followed by the sound of splintering wood and loud bangs. A grunt or two, clanking, cursing in English and Italian, and finally the horrible feeling of warm blood dripping on his cheek, when Harry couched protectively in front of him.

He wanted to shout at the teen to get out of the way, to run out of the door and hide, but his vocal cords produced no sound and Harry wasn't even paying attention to him. He looked like death warmed over, but his gaze was still determinedly fixed on his target. Whatever his target was at the moment.

But what startled the hitman even more was the trickle of Sky Flames softly, almost tentatively nudging him. A silent question, speaking louder than words.

"Sectumsempra."

Screaming, a loud crack - like a backfiring car - and finally, blessed silence.

Harry collapsed to his knees and half on top of Shamal, the Dying-Will Flames on his forehead expiring. For a long moment the teen just gulped for air, his whole body trembling from exhaustion. Finally he turned to Shamal, flicked a piece of wood at him and mumbled something into his non-existent beard, before passing out.

It took Shamal a few seconds to notice that he was capable of movement again.

Trident Shamal - The Mist Guardian.

It sounded ridiculous even in the privacy of his head.

And still it was on offer.

Agreeing meant being bound to a fifteen-year-old, stubborn, cock-blocking brat. One whose grandfather had just been killed, who had stood at death's door, fighting tooth and nail where older men would have long since surrendered. A teen who, apparently, had dangerous enemies of his own, and who had stood in front of Shamal's defenceless body when the hitman had been careless enough to get hit. He was still berating himself for this moment of utter idiocy, which could have got him killed.

The unfortunate soft spot he had somehow developed for the brat was the only thing deterring him from running for the hills and never looking back. Well, that and the barely bearable urge to know what the hell had transpired in Harry's room, which had turned into a battlefield riddled with corpses and was still unapproachable by anyone else in the hospital.

Shamal had pondered the situation since he'd carried Harry to an unoccupied room and tended to his wounds. The younger brunet was still unconscious and Snape was nowhere to be seen. Just then, the door opened and Grumpy swept in, followed more sedately by Blondie.

Speak of the devil!

"You took your sweet time," Shamal grumbled, but was categorically ignored by Snape, who stepped up to the bed and scrutinised Harry with a stormy expression.

"They shouldn't have been able to find him…" Snape stared a few moments longer, before he determinedly whirled around and hurled a red light at him. Shamal's eyes widened, but he rolled off the chair just in time to dodge the energy thing.

"What the- What the hell are you doing? Have you snapped?"

"Stunning you," Snape replied while firing another red light beam in his direction, which Shamal dodged, as well. "I doubt you'll just let me erase your memories without complaint."

"My memories? Why?" And what exactly did 'erase' mean? More of this hocus-pocus or was Snape trying to blow his head off? Both cases seemed equally probable right now.

Apparently Grumpy wasn't inclined to answer any more questions, and instead bombarded him with 'stunners' until, finally, enough was enough and Shamal sent out Monika to dish out incapacitation of his own. Seconds later, the other brunet crumpled to the floor, his dark eyes uncharacteristically wide.

Shamal spared a glance at Spanner, who had ambled over to Harry's bed and seemed relatively uninterested in their fight, before the brunet sauntered over to Snape.

"Now that everyone has calmed down, you might as well tell me everything. As Harry's new Mist Guardian I'll be around for quite a while, after all."

In that moment, the bond clicked into place in the back of his mind and warmth spread softly throughout his chest.