A Jaded Family

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe belongs to J.K. Rowling while Katekyo Hitman Reborn! belongs to the genius of Akira Amano. I make no claim to ownership of either of them.

A/N: In this chapter, Harriet is referred as both Harry and Iris. Generally, if the person who is speaking is in a Mafia context, she will be referred in the last way – Iris can be considered her 'Mafia persona'.

A/N: Before you start reading, here some translations you may find useful:

Ragazzina- Kid.

Cielo- Sky.

Cristo- Christ.

Sottotenente- Lieutenant.

oOo

In which some question are answered and some are asked

oOo

Chapter 12

19th August 1998 – Marauder's Den, London

The clock on the wall ticked loudly and the half-closed shutters slapped against each other moved by the howling wind and battering rain. London was looking forward to a dreary day.

Still, the downpour didn't seem to bother the two people safely tacked in the quaint living room of Marauder's Den.

Shamal, slouched in his seat, turned lazily the teaspoon in the coffee cup. His stubbled chin rested against a fist and crusted eyes were closed giving the impression of him being still half asleep. However, the man's brain was fully awake.

For the most part, living with the teenager had been easier than he had thought. Iris, despite her young age, had shown early she was an 'all work, no fun' kind of girl, all ink splattered fingers and sleep-ruffled hair. He had heard her up and about since the crack of dawn. Usually, this kind of commitment was noteworthy. On a teenager? It was downright depressing. She didn't even seem fazed by the enormous folders and binders that surrounded her, scribbling away on the papers like an overstressed office worker. The table they were sitting at was honestly overflowing with them.

The toaster next to him spit up a couple of slices of buttered bread and she mechanically munched a corner, her green eyes never leaving the sheet of papers. Rolling his eyes at her, he slid a glass of orange juice next to her. He wondered if hoping she would wet her documents made him a bad Guardian; the seemed pretty official. The girl took a sip from her glass and completely ignored him. A childish put curling his lips and he stabbed his now mangled pancake with his fork.

He sighed.

And then sighed again. Loudly.

"You are going to get out of breath if you sigh like this," she commented, monotone scratching her chin with her fountain pen.

"I'm a doctor, little girl, I'm not going to die just for suspiring a couple of times." Then he added in a mutter. "And I wouldn't be sighing if you didn't ignore me like this."

Harry froze mid-work, ink dropping against her paper and ruining the progress of the last two hours of work. Her bottle-green eyes stared at him in astonishment, blinking a couple of times. She put down her pen in a slow, deliberate motion and cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said in a controlled voice. "I didn't mean to ignore you. It was rude of me...?" Her phrase ended up in a high tone, almost as if she were asking if she was saying the right thing.

Shamal snorted at her attempt of an apology. She really was Reborn's granddaughter, both of them were awkward as hell at dealing with emotions in general. At least his Sky did realize when she was inadvertently rude, Reborn just bulldozed all over people as he pleased. The little shit. "I thought you were on holiday till the end of the week or at least the red-head hellion said so..."

Red-head hellion. An adapt name for the youngest member of the Weasley family.

"Neville did what he could but there is still a lot of paperwork that needs my sign before being filed away..." she patted the folders next to her with a resigned expression. "I still have a lot of work to do..." The organization of the DA's investigations on the missing muggleborns and their muggle parents, the trials Voldemort's regime had subjected them and the arrests that followed. The Death Eaters' court cases were going to be a nightmare both as a witness and as a judge.

She rubbed her brow, feeling a headache blooming behind her eyelids. 'I will have to ask Astoria for another batch of Dreamless Sleep potion...' Between nightmares and work, she hardly could function anymore.

Shamal's hand rested against her brow and the young witch had to fight the instinctive flinch in seeing it lighting up with Mist Flames. In the past few weeks, the doctor worked hard to acclimate her to his presence and his abilities. Since that day in Germany, he hadn't brought up her Sky Flames nor their Bond, knowing how sensitive she still was about this argument. She could almost feel his frustration at her lack of questions- and maybe she did feel it- but he never spoke up, never let her see his annoyance.

A coward choice of her part, but a much-needed one.

Harry couldn't help but appreciate his patience and his perseverance. it has been a lot of time since someone just waited for her to set the pace, to feel comfortable with the changes around her. To simply get to know each other without the interference of otherworldly powers- of either kind. Just the thought of it, a sweet warmth bloomed in her chest.

"You are going to burn yourself out, kiddo," he hummed once his Flames did their job and shook his head, well knowing that she would not heed his words. She had plans to meet her Rain and Storm Guardians at her office in a couple of hours. 'Wherever it was...'

"I'm sorry to leave you alone yet again." She worried her bottom lip with her teeth. "It's just really, really important... And I wanted to check on Teddy too. Andy said that they are finally letting us visit him and.."

Shamal let her voice wash over him as she listed her plans for the day. It wasn't that he was not interested but, at the same time, he knew she would try to say as little as possible with as many words as she could. She was a sneaky little thing, his Sky. Far too used to run circles around adults without them even realize it. She used her sweet face well, he would give her that, but it would take time before she could trick a Mafioso. Even more so her own Guardian. He could feel the nervous energy and subtle terror blaring from her Flames like a siren alarm.

There was so much he wanted to explain, so much he wanted to ask... Still, he would not push her.

Not yet at least.

Their Bond was still too young -too fragile- to corner her about the truth but soon that would have to sit down and talk if they didn't want for their bond to fade away in nothingness. He tsked in mock annoyance. He had waited 15 years to find his Sky, some weeks more of waiting wouldn't kill him. After all, he has some things to do too...

"Don't worry," he said with a smile, interrupting her word-vomit. A panicking teenager was adorable. "I planned to sightsee a bit anyway!"

"...Sightseeing? With this weather?" She asked sending an incredulous look out of the window. A thick blanket of fog and rain was all she could see.

"Why not? I imagined you would be pretty busy anyway. I never came to London as a tourist, I usually have someone to kill when I'm in the city... It will be an interesting novelty," he chirped with a charming smile as he swiftly unplugged his computer and packed it away. His wallet and phone soon followed it.

"If... If you are sure..." She muttered watching him taking a grey coat from the coat hanger near the door, jostling his PC bag as it put it on. She honestly didn't know what to say. She was used to the English weather, a bit of rain and cold never bother her but the Italian...

She shook her head in wonder, short ebony curls flying all around her. She had never seen him so energetic before -unless one considered when he 'courted' the beautiful ladies that graced this world, as he called it. He was lucky that she found him getting beaten to a pulp funny as hell. Hermione wouldn't be so gracious. She would berate him about women's rights and feminism movements till his ears bled.

At the thought of her best friend and Ron, her heart clenched for a second. It has been months since she heard from them. Were they already back from Australia? She knew they would testify at the trials in a couple of weeks so if they were, why didn't they try to contact her? 'Why haven't you tried to contact them?' Hissed an annoying voice in her mind. 'When did you become such a coward?'

Shaking her head from the depressing thoughts, she said, "I will make it up to you... Maybe... Maybe I could cook dinner tonight?"

He smiled at her, nodding his head in as he tied his polished shoes. They were going to be completely ruined by the end of the day. Stupid English weather. As he took cover under his umbrella, the Mafioso looked at his clock and nodded. His train would leave in half an hour, he had plenty of time to go to Charing Cross Station.

"See ya, ragazzina!" He sang closing the door firmly behind him.

First stop? The last place where Sirius Black was sighted. Little Whinging, Surrey.

oOo

If he had thought Marauder's Den was the saddest place in London, Shamal had to eat his own words. Private Drive was the most miserable place in Primo's blessed earth. These houses were going to send him crazy. For a second, he had thought he was under the influence of Mist Flames before he realized it was even worse: they were all the same. Same fence, same garden, same architecture. Even the painting was the same white colour.

He wondered what Black had on his mind when he decided to come to this dull neighborhood; as the convict would have stuck out like a sore thumb between its residents. The papers said that the man was as crazy as they come and for most of it, it was probably true. However, the man had shown a single-minded focus in his escape. He had been incredibly meticulous, popping up from town to town without leaving traces of his passage. The man was a ghost. No record of his birth or education. Hell, there was no record of where he had been incarcerated.

If he hadn't known any better, Shamal would have said Black had been a Flame User.

It would have been a good theory, a perfect theory, but it didn't pan out. His contacts had been clear: there was no Sirius Black affiliated at the Mafia World in any way or form. So, if it wasn't for the little scraps of newspaper clippings in his hands, Shamal would have that Sirius Orion Black never existed.

'Just like a little Sky of my acquaintance...'

There were no records of Iris Dorea Sinclair as well.

Shaking his head, he kept walking down the neighborhood's road. Something told him that solving the mystery of Black would help him to answer the questions he had about Iris. Questions that his Sky would never answer of her own volition, of this he was sure.

His little Cielo lived as if the weight of the world was standing on her slim shoulders and it was dragging her down slowly but steadily day after day. He did not know her long, but he didn't a genius to understand that she was a step away from shattering. He was a Mafioso, he was a doctor, he was a Guardian. He knew what sufferance was. He had seen it even more intimately after spending night after night listening to her tossing and turning in her bed, mind plagued by nightmares and cheeks wet from tears.

He had hoped it would be temporary. And it had been, since Iris slept like a rock the last 5 days.

He had been relieved for the improvement, till he has seen her swallow down an unknown liquid that left her comatose for hours despite how hard he had tried to wake her up. Only his medical expertise has stopped him from shipping her to the nearest hospital. He had never been so afraid, so powerless. It has been so painful to act like nothing was wrong during breakfast.

He had given her time. He had waited. Now he couldn't wait anymore.

'I will not lose my Sky...'

So he was back to Sirius Orion Black, the murderer who killed 13 people in London and owner of Iris' apartment. The man was accused of felony murder of a couple, the Potters, somewhere in West Country. It didn't take long before he realized that, of all Black's victims, the information about James Potter, were as numerous as Iris and Black's. The man did not exist. The only insight he managed to get was about the childhood of his wife, Lily Evans, who had lived her childhood in Cokeworth before disappearing into thin air once she was a teen. Mercifully, she still had a living sister who did have a recorded life.

A sister who lived in the same street where Sirius Black was last seen.

Coincidence?

Shamal didn't survive this long in the Mafia believing in coincidences. Black had been searching something, something that Mrs. Petunia Dursley nee Evans may have known.

Stopping in front of Number 4, Shamal pursed his lips. The house was as boringly white as the ones surrounding it. The washing line was full of clothes, the lawnmower was in the garden and the shutters were opened; but the grass was overgrown, the door's painting chipped and the windows full of dust.

He leaned forward and spied through a dirty glass, cupping hands around his eyes. The dining table was still primly prepared with cutlery and dishes, the pans on the stove. The house had been abandoned with haste.

"What are you doing?" Interrupted a female voice behind him. Shamal turned around abruptly and had to stop himself from reaching for his faithful Angela and attack the civilian woman in front of him.

Dressed like she came out of a housewife magazine of the 50s with a heavy red coat and high heeled boots, the civilian looked at him with a haughty glare. Next to her, keeping up an umbrella to cover both himself and the woman, there was a boy in his early twenties. Face covered with freckles and short brown hair that framed his rough expression, Shamal was reminded of a street punk; not one like Gokudera, who hide a genius brain behind a bad attitude and a short temper but one of those who spent more time in jail than in their own home. The difference between the two Brits was as staggering as it was ridiculous.

Still, it was a good way as any to get information so he pasted a charming smile on his lips and said, "Good morning, I'm Doctor Shamal. I was searching for one Mrs Petunia Dursley nee Evans but I must have gotten the wrong house..."

"Oh my, a Doctor!" As he imagined, the woman flustered, a red blush making its way on her slim cheeks, highlighting her freckles. "I'm Samantha Polkiss and this is my son, Piers. We live at Number six."

"Enchanted, Madame Polkiss," he intoned bring her hand to his lips for a kiss. Her wedding ring glimmered as it reflected a lamp post's light. The boy next to her didn't bother to care at the oblivious flirting happening in front of him. His rat-like face didn't change a bit.

"What a gallant young man! You were searching for the Dursleys, you said?"

"Indeed Madame but I didn't expect to find an abandoned house."

Mrs Polkiss pursed her lips unhappily, "It's a disgrace! Such a nice neighborhood ruined like that but apparently, the house now belongs to that terrible niece of theirs and we can't get it demolished!"

"A niece?" Asked the doctor intrigued, tilting his head to the side. His brown hair shifted with the movement, giving him a bewitching air. His informant never mentioned a daughter. Could she be a shameful error of youth of the late Mrs Potter that her husband didn't know? Remembering Teddy's green eyes, he twitched uncomfortably. She wouldn't have been the first one to become a teen mum... Maybe she did give up that child to her older sister...

Cristo, he had so many questions and so few answers...

"Well..." She flustered, giggling lightly at being the focus of such a handsome young man. "You didn't hear it from me, I'm not a gossip, you see..."

"Do not worry Madame, I'll keep it a secret between the two of us…" He murmured lowering his tone, touching lightly her hand and charming completely the woman in front of him. She grinned gratefully to be free to gossip without reserve and leaned toward the Mafioso.

"The Dursleys became the guardians of their niece when the child was very young. A troubled girl that one, same as her parents. Petunia always said that her sister was a prostitute and the husband was an unemployed good-for-nothing drunkard. I'm sure they did drugs too!" She chipped scandalously, emphasizing all the interesting parts of her gossip. "The girl was in class with my Piers in grade school, you see, but I was so happy when she went to St. Brutus. It's a Centre for Incurably Criminals!"

"She is a freak," added his two cents Piers, a malignant expression making its way on his rat face. The pleasure at bad-mouthing this 'troubled' girl was obvious. "And a crazy bitch."

Shamal swallowed the urge to grimace in distaste. He had thought the civilian was just a gossiper, not an idiot- one who had no shame in verbally maligning a child in front of a stranger. How much truth there was in her words, he didn't know but no normal person would take pride in discussing such a problematic niece and relatives as it seemed Petunia Dursley made sure to do her neighbor. Especially considering the place she was living in, with all these holier-than-thou gossipers and monotone community.

If they truly cared for the girl, they would have moved from the malignant tongues and bullying long before their niece was subject to them. Instead, they seemed to have added gasoline to the fire, almost like wreaking revenge on her. If this didn't scream abuse, Shamal would burn his own degree.

As in confirming his thoughts, the woman nodded at her son's words."Skinny as a twig and dressed like a beggar; always showing bruises or cuts and running around with strange people! Truly a horrible girl!"

She leaned towards him, hand covering her mouth as she added her juiciest piece of information. "I'm sure it's her fault the Dursleys disappeared! No one knows where they went but I know Petunia wanted to participate in the Best Garden Competition in May and wouldn't have missed it for anything in the world."

"I still say she murdered them and buried them in the garden."

If what they said was true, Shamal wouldn't fault the girl if she did. The Dursleys seemed a piece of work. God knew he had killed for less.

"Lord's Heaven! What a thing to say, Piers! But with Sirius Black as her godfather, anything could be!" She gasped loudly, a frightened expression on her face. In contrast, Shamal's gaze sharpened. "Luckily that girl disappeared a couple of days after them too..."

He stuffed his hands in his coat's pockets. "Sirius Black, the mass murder?" He repeated.

"Why, indeed! When Petunia told me I was terrified! To think that such a man was in Private Drive!" Mrs Polkiss confirmed, patting her bosom to calm her racing heart. "I heard from Lilian who heard from her husband who heard from Mary of Number Five that Ms Figg heard from the girl herself that Sirius Black left everything to her when he died!" She huffed, crossing her arms in disdain. "Nonsense, I say. That girl hadn't even had the good taste to change those horrible glasses that she wore, let alone inherit money or a house from someone!"

"Maybe she thought they would distract from that hideous scar on her forehead," Peter grunted, playing with a cigarette lighter that he took out from his jacket pocket.

"Ah, yes that lightning bolt really disfigured her face. Her green eyes would have made her pretty enough, I suppose, but that scar..."

Shamal blinked, struck by the idea that was forming in his mind. 'It could not be that...'

"What did you say the girl's name was...?"

Mrs Polkiss giggled, the high tone screeched in his ears. "Oh my, that's funny. I don't think I've ever heard Petunia call her nice anything other than The Girl."

No, it wasn't funny at all.

"Maybe Piers remembers." She added, obvious of the fury that was raging in the Mafioso's veins.

"The freak has always been The Freak." He answered with a shrug. The girl had been a good sport but as time went on, he and Big D focused on younger and less fast targets. Now that Dudley wasn't here anymore, Piers was the boss of their gang and he liked it. A lot.

Swallowing difficulty, Shamal lowered his head knowing that his Flames were burning brightly in his eyes and coating his fingertips with the need to erase from existence the two lowlifes in front of him. His umbrella snapped and fell to the ground with a thump. His killing intent made the woman's rumblings and the boy's malicious words choke in their throats.

'Not now,' he thought, forcing himself to turn around a start walking. 'Soon, very soon, but not now...'

He kept walking aimlessly till he arrived at the neighborhood's empty playground, not even realizing that it finally stopped raining. Taking off his coat to have a semi-dry place to work on, he opened up his laptop and started typing as a possessed man, swiftly hacking in the local primary school archive and scrolling years of students till he recognized Peter Polkiss' record.

And just like the woman said, in the same class as her son, there she was.

Small, scruffy and dressed in far too large clothes was a little girl in boyish cut and hideous glasses. Despite the difference of years, he would recognize the bright viridescent gaze and the lightning-shaped scar of his Sky everywhere.

With a trembling finger, he moved the cursor on her face. The name Harriet Lily Potter popped up.

Harriet Potter... Iris Sinclair, just...

"...Who are you really?"

oOo

19th August 2008 – Namimori's forest, Namimori

"Who are you?"

Leaning her weight on a leg, Iris put her hands in the air. She tilted her head lightly, observing the white dressed platoon in front of her. A smirk curled her lips. She supposed it was bound to happen; her Family had been patrolling Namimori for weeks without been discovered. It seemed so quintessentially her to be detected the only time Squalo joined her.

"Don't bother with them, Ito-san" she said to the old man sitting on the ground at her feet. The old wizard was frozen mid-motion, sheets of parchments and rune-stones laying all around him, opaque eyes fixed of the Millefiore's soldiers. "The sooner you finish engrave the runes, the sooner we go home."

The runic mage nodded his head, robotic, heart beating frantically as he started to put together the spell. If his hands were trembling, she was kind enough not to say anything.

"Don't ignore me, Bitch! I asked you a question!" Screamed the man keeping them under gunpoint as his man drawn their weapon.

Sottotenente Smiltz was a proud man. He was a powerful Storm, the Heir of his own Family, the Müllers, someone who had been graced with a Box Weapon. He had power and riches and when the war against the Vongola was declared he joined the obvious winning side. But he never expected he would be used as an errand boy to search for some fucking brats!

'And now, this masked upstart not even half of my weight actually dares to disregard me? ME?!'

Said all-black wearing person, was relishing the few moments of anonymity her suit was giving her.

Iris honestly loved the Black Family uniform. A simple pair of cargo pants, a long-sleeved turtleneck and a hooded coat. It was made from the best Flame-resistant materials in the market and heavily enchanted. The best part? It was so inconspicuous that she caught her friends wearing single pieces of it as their casual wear, much to her amusement.

'I, myself, am guilty of wearing this turtleneck during the Wizengamot sessions more than once,' she thought sighing half embarrassed. There was just something empowering in knowing you just could push up your neckline and that you could go on a rampage because no one would recognize you from the nose down. And the witch needed all the empowering she could get when dealing with those old farts.

A gunshot distracted her from her thoughts. A smoking bullet hole appeared next to her left foot and she felt the mage grip the edge of her coat. Since they were engraving the anchoring stone, no active magic could be performed till it everything was finished. The old man was understandably nervous about working without the protection of a barrier. Still, she had no time to deal with this bullshit. She hadn't slept in forever and she wanted to go to bed yesterday.

Clicking her tongue in irritation, she lowered her hands and smiled gently under the black cloth. In the next moment, Lieutenant Smiltz fell down with a bloody flower decorating his forehead as his brain splattered his underlings' faces and their white jackets.

A gun was in Iris's gloved hand.

The Millefiore Mafiosi just looked at her blankly, incredulous of having lost their commander within 30 seconds of the start of the confrontations.

Clap, clap, clap.

"I see you don't suck as much as five years ago..." Commented a voice out of nowhere. Strolling casually out of the wood, Squalo of the Varia entered in the meadow, his hand-sword glinting dangerously under the Japanese sun. His famed bloodthirsty visage made the Millefiores shudder; their faces went white and their weapons trembled in their hands. His name was murmured between them with numbed tongues. At the display of utter horror his presence instilled, Squalo's sneer changed into a savage grin. "Correct. I am Superbia Squalo, second in command of the Varia."

She rolled her eyes. "Kind of you to grace us of your presence... I was starting to think you have gotten lost..."

"VOIIII! Who are you thinking you are dealing with!? An idiot!?"

Iris's verdant eyes glittered mischievously. "It's you who said it..."

Another shot resounded in the meadow - a Millefiore took his chances in seeing the two distracted.

The time seemed to stop as everyone watched as a single lock of silver hair fluttered in the air before resting on the grass of the forest.

The Varia blinked and turned his head, slowly, mechanically. His grey eyes bored into the daring Mafioso. A bald middle-aged man with a weak grip and even weaker brain. Squalo's famed sword glinted under the sun and Iris almost took pity for the idiots in front of her. With a sigh, she sat on a protruding boulder and nudged the trembling Spell-caster with her boot. He still hadn't let her coat go. "Let's keep working, Ito-san."

What followed could be described as a massacre. And it was. Still, Iris could admire Squalo's dedication to his work. The swordman was a real master in his art, every stroke of his sword as accurate and elegant as the one before as he cut away at the man in front of him with a bit more sadism than was strictly necessary.

The witch huffed, pouting her lips a little bit.

The Varia members were at a whole different level, she thought, palming her Glock and absentmindedly shooting at the canopy of a tree a hundred yards away from her. A dull sound confirmed that her shot had been true. Apparently, she had been relegated at picking off the grunts too far away from the Rain. 'As bodyguard and babysitter weren't enough..'

A sadistic laugh boomed across the glade. She looked at the sky praying for patience.

'I definitely need better friends...' she grumbled mentally while the silver-haired man impaled the last of Gesso's men to the hilt.

"DIIIEEEEE!" He exclaimed satisfied, maniac grin stretching his lips in satisfaction while he extracted his sword with a wet, squelching sound from the man's stomach.

Iris rolled her eyes and looked at the blood and gores that surrounded and the now ruined uniform of the Rain Guardian. Blood was a bitch to take out from white clothes, no wonder Viper had been known to be a miser while they had been alive. Just the laundry balance must have been a nightmare to manage if everyone in the Varia were like the Rain...

"Braggart..." she muttered under her breath, wishing she could banishing away the guts pieces that stained her leather uniform.

He smirked at her. "You are just jealous of my technique!"

Her scowl worsened.

"I was protecting Ito-san who was kind enough to volunteer for the last array carving, Fish Face!" She spat back, emphasizing her frustration with a good stomp of her boot.

As if he had just remembered that the reason they were in the middle of Namimori Forest wasn't just to pick out Gesso's underlings, Squalo's grey eyes turned to the Japanese wizard. The old magician was still on his knees, still half-hidden behind the rock, mouth agape and, Iris was sure, half traumatized by the Mafioso's carnage. "VOOOI! Did you finish or not, old fart?!"

The wizard flinched and turned towards the English noble, more comfortable with the one who had not been torturing their enemies in the last half an hour. "Pot-tter-sama..." Ito stammered, his ashen face was a stark contrast against the colorful Yukata he wore. He swallowed uselessly. "Finished-d. T-the array..."

Iris pursed her lips and sighed in exasperation. Opening in what she hoped was a reassuring expression, the Black Boss said, "Don't bother with that idiot Ito-san, he won't hurt you.."

"OIII BEFANA! DON'T-"

With a wave of her hand, she silenced the Italian killer, his lips frantically moving without emitting a sound. She pinned him a seething glare.

"...Like I was saying, he won't hurt you." She continued, unbothered, by his reddening countenance and his stormy eyes. "What were you saying about the array?"

Gulping, the Spell-caster said, "I finished, my Lady. Whenever you are ready, we will power the barrier."

Nodding, Iris smiled satisfied. One hundred and fifty runic arrays were no easy feat to create and anchor in so little time but the Heavenly Empire really outdid itself.

"If you need me no more, Potter-sama, I would go-o..." he whispered, throwing a terrified glace to the fuming swordmaster next to them. The witch inclined her head as a goodbye, she muttered "Thank you Ito-san but your presence won't be necessary. It's better that you go, it wouldn't be good if you to linger too much..."

The wizard bowed and disapparated, realizing the attention of the two Mafiosi was once again directed towards the thick of the forest. Hidden in the shade of the trees and Mists illusions, there were the white uniforms of a new Millefiore platoon.

The witch relished in her magic pumping in her veins, finally free from every restraint and smiled as Squalo's Flames surged in the air with her own. With a practiced move, her wand snapped in her hand. It wasn't like they could let Byakuran know what they were doing.

The next second, the boulder she had been sitting on exploded in a shower of rocks and dust.

She smiled toward the Varia elite. "The one who kills less men pays for dinner...?"

Rain Flames engulfed his sword.

The bet was on.