Part 2

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Hariel Lilian Potter is three years old when she comes back to full consciousness. She's in England, covered in soot and there's the smouldering remains of what she assumes was a house not a few feet from her. Her magic stretches out, tasting the air but it seems she's still in the other world, the one that has no magicals, the one that has flames instead. The one that has her Sun, her Renato.

Eyes snapping back open, the little three-year-old considers the overcooked carcass of what had once been a house. Clearly she's been reborn in some way, given a second chance to get it right. She prays Renato is still out there, prays he's still living, still breathing. She has to find him, has to find her Sun, her Guardian.

(She valiantly ignores the fact their relationship can never be what it once was. Not when she's only 3 years old and, last she knew, Ren had been in his late twenties. It'll be at least two decades before they could be realistically romantically involved. That's fine; Harry's sure Ren will be a silver fox in his old age anyway)

Brushing herself down, displacing the ash from her shirt, Hariel curls the wisps of hair behind her ears and begins walking.

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She's picked up by the authorities in the end; they have no idea who she is; Hariel offers her true name up but they get no results. All the while, as the government branch that've now responsible for her try to figure out where to place her, Hariel muses.

She hadn't saved those civilians. Hadn't thrown herself in front of that attack to save innocent lives. She'd not have considered them if it weren't for one thing and one thing only.

Ren has been in the line of fire. And she'd die a thousand deaths before she let anyone kill her Sun.

Hariel has no choice but to wait, to work at accumulating the resources to get out of England, to make her way to Italy and find her Ren.

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The opportunity comes sooner than she expected. Aged nine, Hariel Potter obliviates the family (kind and comforting as they have tried to be) that she'd been place with and disappears.

Several portkeys later, as she's standing before the apartment. No, she's standing before their old apartment block. She can already Tell Ren's not here, that he hasn't been here in years. The trail of his flames (overpoweringly warm, heating her skin until sweat threatens to pour down her brow, the Sun in every sense of the word) is absent. As she makes her way through the corridors, the place almost deathly silent in life where it remains a full of noise and vigour in her memories, Hariel trails her fingers across the walls. The bullet hole Ren had caused after a rude awakening by a neighbour persists, worn by time but still present.

Approaching the door to their old apartment, Hariel spots the stain that'd been left when she'd accidentally tipped a pot of nail varnish, distracted by Ren's wandering hands. When she tries the handle, she finds it locked. Nothing a quick flash of her magic can't fix but... but they had never bothered to actually lock the door. A locked door wasn't going to keep out anyone determined to intrude. No, that'd been her spellwork. On the off chance anyone got passed that (not that anyone ever did), well, Ren slept with a gun on the night side table for a reason. Still, for the door to have been locked, even though she's told Ren her spells would persist for hundreds of years, long after her death...

Hariel pushes the door open, walking slowly, carefully, inside. There are only the skeletal remains of their life together now. Her trunk lies under the windowsill, locked up tight and with a thick layer of dust topping it. There's Ren's gun on the bedside, untouched and unused during the years that have passed. All the photos are gone, though the frames that once held them remain. Hariel traces her eyes over their empty carcasses, worrying her lip back and forth. That'd been the photo in Southern France. The one left of it had been the photo of her first time on Italy's beach. On the right, their trip to the colosseum. On the far right, the photo Ren had taken of her sleeping. The prick. Swallowing around the lump in her throat, Hariel kneels by the loose floorboard, the one Ren had insisted on not fixing because it made an excellent warning for the intruders they never experienced.

Hariel had spent a day once walking on it, just to watch Ren's shoulders twitch in irritation at the noise.

Slowly, she prises it up, finding the small collection of photos hidden beneath. There's two of Ren, one where he's sleeping, another taken in the first light of morning, where he'd half-hunched over his coffee and all but inhaling the fumes. The final one is of the two of them, posing on a beach (she forgets which, only that the weather had been particularly pleasant that day), taken by a well-meaning stranger. Her hair was wet from a Renato-enforced dip in the sea, sand sticking to both their forearms. Hariel presses the picture close to her chest and tries (fails) not to cry.

"I'm gonna find you," she whispers, peeling the photo away to stare at the image again. She needs her trunk, Hariel thinks. Her trunk and Ren's old gun, just for safe-keeping. Rooting through the closet exposes everything has been removed. All but the one shirt Hariel had taken great care to mock every-time Ren wore it. The burnt yellow dress-shirt with 'SKY' embroidered on the inner breast pocket. Invisible to the outside, but the cheesiness of the whole thing well-known between the two of them.

Hariel puts it on. It doesn't make that it falls past her knees. She'll grow into it, she'll wear it as an open jacket with the sleeves rolled up if necessary. But until she finds Renato, the one shirt he's left her will have to do.

Even if they can't be lovers anymore, the bond they had transcends the physical; they were a Sky and a Sun. Renato was a light.

And, until she sees his dead body, she'll keep believing he is her light.

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From there, throughout the years, she travels through Europe, searching almost fruitlessly for her Sun, for her Renato.

Everywhere she asked, every person with any connections to the Mafia, insisted that Renato Sinclair had disappeared after the Solar Flare Massacre. The day Hariel Lillian Potter had originally died.

No matter where she turns, every last question is met with blank faces, a total information blackout. It's the most frustrating problem she has ever encountered. And Hariel has lived a life with more than her fair share of problems.

She spends more than half a decade traversing through the countries of Europe, lingering within Italy and France far more than what is reasonable. Just because that is where they spent most of their time, doesn't mean that is where he will be now. Renato's job before her appearance had taken him all over the world. Billions of people, and she's looking for a single one among them. It's unrealistic to expect to find him quickly. To expect to find him at all.

She never once entertains the idea of giving up. Though she does greatly regret charming those undetectable cufflinks he seems to never take off (she refuses to believe he's not registering because he's dead. Renato and 'dead' don't work in the same sentence. Not unless that sentence is 'Renato's the reason this person is dead').

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As she reaches her thirteen year, she finds herself visiting Family after Family, attempting to see if there's any with connections to Renato at all.

Flames suppressed -because she has no desire to get kidnapped and forced into the Mafia on anything but her own terms- Hariel approaches them all, and each time, she's turned away.

On some occasions, she manages to meet with the boss, other times it's underlings that send her on her way. But regardless, each time is the same.

Discounting one, that is.

Harry visits the Estraneo family, whom have made leaps and bounds when it comes to Flame Theory, hoping they can create a way to track down her missing Sun.

Then she finds out just why they've been making such advancements in the field.

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The Estraneo burn that night, and as Hariel Potter deposits far too many children with the local authority (hopeful that they won't be picked up by the mafia), Rokudo Mukuro finds himself a role model.

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"Come out. I know you're there."

There's a moment of still silence, Hariel seated in the comforts of a leather booth in a near empty café. Then, the air shimmers and she's no longer alone.

Sitting across from her in the booth, the child she'd mentally tagged as 'most disturbed' of the kids she'd rescued from the Estraneo peers back at her, one eye blue, the other a startlingly bright red. He's young, younger than she was when she first went to Hogwarts, too young to have experienced the kind of trauma he has. Too young to have confidentially tracked her across half of Italy on his own. Only, that's exactly what he's done.

"You saved us. You took down all the Estraneo on your own." The boy slouches across the table, exhaustion clear on his face. Hariel pushes her plate towards him, already waving down the one waitress on duty. Toast sacrificed to the child, Hariel orders two large sandwiches to go, ham and cheese (because you can't go wrong with ham and cheese) and a glass of orange juice. Tracker child offers her a mulish glare around his mouthful of toast but he's too thin and Hariel won't hear any of it.

"I did. What they were doing with wrong and you didn't deserve it."

"I know that. Just like I know you're a Sky. A Sky without a Mist Guardian. And I'm a very strong Mist."

"You're, what, eight?"

"Nine, actually," the boy mutters, scowling even as he licked the butter from his fingertips. "I'm Mukuro Rokudo and I want to be your Mist. You won't find a better one than me." That… that Hariel can believe. His eyes burn with determination, an age to them that she's uncomfortably familiar with. She knows, just like she knows her own magic, that Mukuro won't leave her alone. That he'll follow after her without any consideration for her own thoughts and feelings. That, even if she denies him now, he'll still follow her. And, for all that he id clearly capable… He's also a nine-year old child. She's the adult here, despite how her body appears. He's her responsibility, has been since she peeled his half-starved form off that operating table.

"Hariel Potter. I'm not doing anything grand, I'm just looking for someone. Someone important to me."

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They spend a lot of years in Italy, popping in and out whenever the rumour of 'The World's Greatest Hitman' moving about reaches their ears.

Hariel has tried to send Mukuro away only once, but the boy had shaken his head, insisting that he will stay by Hariel's side, that he won't leave her.

What goes unsaid is that he sees her as the strongest woman in the world, the barrier between him and all those that bring the threat of pain and entrapment.

She is his freedom, is what he doesn't say, and he refuses to leave the side of one he has bonded so closely to.

Even if that means she drags him from country to country, even if it means tracking through forests and jungles, even if it means sailing down rivers and climbing up mountains.

The world is an adventure, a bold stretch of unrestricted movement, but Mukuro always remains by her side, for it is there, he feels safe for the first time he can remember.

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Years pass, and Hariel is several weeks off of turning seventeen when she comes across her first solid lead, even if it comes with a hefty price tag.

Mammon of the famed Varia has heard of a young woman asking after a 'Renato Sinclair' and thought nothing of it.

The fact the woman has been asking these questions for over half a decade warranted significant investigation. Why chase after a dead man, after all? Ture, the Solar Flare Massacre was something of legends now, but to look for information when all those involved are dead… or presumed dead, brings up unwanted questions. Mammon doesn't like unanswered questions. The last unanswered question they'd been faced with had ended in a curse body and no hope to see such a state reversed.

It is with a tentative approach that the miser sets up a meeting between them. For a fee, of course.

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When the meeting occurs, well, it certainly is interesting. If they hadn't already bonded to Boss, if the girl didn't already have a Mist, Mammon would have probably made a bid for those Sky Flames. Oh, they are doing well to hide them, but hiding in plain sight is Mammon's speciality. It only takes a little digging to uncover what the girl is hiding and, once they do, it's like a slap in the face. The sheer potency of those flames... it makes sense why her little Mist is still a little flame-drunk, despite having clearly basked in those flames for a good few months.

"I can give you Renato Sinclair's last movements before he disappeared." Mammon had, after all, tracked the man following the Solar Flare case. The Sun user had managed to give them the slip after two days, but it was two days-worth of information nobody else on this planet had. And this little Sky is clearly desperate for it. Her hair, a deep wine red, is pulled back into a high-pony-tail, exposing the acid green of her eyes. Eyes that give no quarter.

"How do I know that this information isn't going to be useless to me?" Oh, it probably will be. Mammon doesn't say that, however. Just runs a tiny hand over Phantasm's back, pouting.

"Fine. I'll throw in the information of the last person he contacted before the massacre. Though I want triple my fee."

"Done."

The little Mist beside the girl grits his teeth, eyes narrowed. It really is a fledgling Guardian bond. How… cute.

"Who did he contact."

And there's a wild, animalistic sort of burn in the depth of the girl's eyes. The kind of gleam that exists only in the eyes of the other Varia, of a flame user with nothing left to do but prove they can accomplish their one task. Someone who won't care who they step on in order to achieve their ends.

"You need to find the Storm Arcobaleno. Fon."

There, let them be Fon's problem now. Serves the bastard right.

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It takes Hariel an unfortunate amount of time to find Fon, hidden away in the mountains of China as he is. To the point where she even begins to question if she has been sent on a wild goose chase.

Mukuro is already sure of it, the humidity of the weather weighing down his hair, leaving it sticking uncomfortably to his forehead. The teen is evidentially not impressed, for all that he sticks close to her, there's almost palpable waves of fury rolling off his form. Hariel doesn't mind. It has taken her several years to accept, but Mukuro is her Mist Guardian. It hadn't sat right with her, even now he's still a kid, for all the horrors that he's seen she doesn't wish to drag him deeper into the Mafia. She'd supposed to look after him.

No, she would be the one looking after him. End of story.

Pulling out a carton of mango juice, Hariel hands it over to her disgruntled Mist, forcibly keeping her pity from her face. She could have made things easier with her magic, but Mukuro had refused her offer, so onwards they trudge beneath the warm sun.

During their mad quest to locate this Fon fellow, they had stumbled across a rather... Interesting character just yesterday. Hariel still isn't quite sure what to make of Kawahira. Something about him had set off every warning bell in Hariel's stomach, in the same way she got washed up by a deep wave of loneliness that seemed to pour out of the man. When he'd clocked the fact the stranger had Mist flames, Mukuro had gotten terribly territorial about her, threading his fingers through hers and glaring for all that he was worth. Yet, for all that the stranger had discomforted her dear Mist (her younger brother, though neither of them will voice that particular thought aloud) … he'd confirmed Ren is still alive.

Hariel clings to that, clings to the knowledge that Ren is out there, somewhere, somehow. Hopefully happy too. (Prays he has not found another Sky. Another lover she could deal with. Another Sky would break her.)

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"May I help you?"

Fon is… significantly smaller than she'd been expecting. Just like Mammon. He's ageless in the same way and something tickles at the back of Hariel's mind, a thought that's slowly been planted ever since she handed over a sizable chunk of the Potter fortune to the greedy informant. If these two are flame users who have been cursed to an unaging body… is this what has become of her Renato? Her Sun? Mammon had been a Mist, this Fon feels like a Storm (crackling destruction on the back of her tongue) … Renato is a Sun. (There's a deep-sated fear that there'd have been a Sky too and, while Fon isn't bonded to one Mammon had been… has she been replaced by her Sun?)

"Yes. I'm looking for someone." Fingers dipping into the breast pocket of the shirt she's finally big enough to wear correctly, Hariel peels one of the three photos she has of Ren free, the one where he's hunched over his coffee. She holds it out tentatively to the Storm Arcobaleno, careful to keep herself between Mukuro and this unknown. For all that he appears delightfully calm… she's heard stories about Storm users. Heard about their tempers. While this small man is bucking every expectation she has, Hariel's hesitant to put all her trust in him.

She's well aware he could disintegrate one of the only photos she has of Ren. It's the very reason her heart is currently in her throat.

Then, then he says it.

"You're looking for Reborn?"

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"You're still holding onto that then?"

Tsuna can only watch in amazement as Reborn stills, face even blanker than usual before he turns a glare upon Shamal. The teenager has never seen such untold fury in his (unwelcomed) tutor's eyes.

Evidentially, neither has Shamal; the doctor backpaddles faster than should be possible, hands held palm up in that ancient gesture of 'don't shoot'.

Reborn offers him one last look, a long, furious thing, before he turns on his heels and walks off without a word. The large blanket trails along behind him, shimmering silver and Tsuna eyes it warily. He's seen it often, it's always in Reborn's grasp whenever he goes to sleep and though he's been curious, he'd not been able to pluck up the courage to ask about it. Which, well hell, he clearly dodged a bullet there.

"Hey, you know what that blanket is?" Gokudera grunts, jabbing a thumb in the direction Reborn has just disappeared.

The doctor who'd almost let Tsuna die hums. It's not a pleasant sound.

"He's had that thing with him before we even met," Shamal finally murmurs, thumb and forefinger rubbing at his stubbly chin, "and though I don't know for fact, I have heard rumours."

"Rumours?" Tsuna repeats faintly, swallowing hard around his suddenly dry tongue.

"Yeah, though not many people dare whisper about it. You've heard about the Solar Flare Massacre, haven't you?" Tsuna has not. But going by the way Gokudera pales at the mention, that's probably for the best.

"Reborn-sama's first appearance," the silver haired teen breathes, something hollow in his tone and Tsuna's reasonably certain he doesn't want to know. It sounds scary.

"Whispers have it that Reborn killed all those people because the woman that died in his arms… well, that blanket is the last thing he has of her."

"A lover?" Gokudera chokes slightly and Tsuna grimaces, stomach churning. He cannot picture Reborn with a woman, not in the slightest. Even with Bianchi's puppy-love crush. It's just, too strange a concept.

"A little worse than that, brat. Whispers say she was his Sky."

Gokudera wobbles and though it takes him a moment to register what is being said, Tsuna feels his stomach plummet when the implications set in.

Hadn't Reborn said harmonization with a Sky Flame user was perhaps the most important bond someone could hold? And Reborn… Reborn has lost that?

Tsuna thinks on the blanket once more and solemnly resolves to never, ever mention it. Not if his demon tutor is still so clearly wounded by it. That's the best course of action for Tsuna's continued good health, after all.

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