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The snow in Palermo didn't stick often, but when it did, it transformed the Vongola estate into a palace of white marble and diamond dust.
Harry Potter, age seven and a half, stood by the window of his bedroom, pressing a hand against the cold glass. His breath fogged the surface, obscuring the view of the garden where Belphegor and Lussuria were currently having a snowball fight (which mostly involved Lussuria dodging knives hidden inside snowballs).
Harry pulled his duvet tighter around his shoulders. He was wearing silk pajamas—red with tiny golden lions, a gift from Fon—and thick wool socks. He was warm. He was safe.
But his stomach was twisting in familiar, anxious knots.
It was December 25th.
In his old life—the one before the green light, before the lab, before the needles—Christmas was a day of silence. It was a day where he stayed in his cupboard so the Dursleys could pretend he didn't exist. It was the smell of turkey he wouldn't eat and the sound of wrapping paper being torn off gifts that weren't his.
In the lab, Christmas hadn't existed. There were only days with pain, and days with more pain.
"Harry."
The voice came from the doorway. Low, smooth, and instantly grounding.
Harry turned. Reborn stood there, leaning against the doorframe. He wasn't wearing his usual suit. He was wearing dark slacks and a cashmere turtleneck that looked softer than a cloud. He still wore the fedora, of course.
"Papa," Harry whispered.
Reborn walked over, the floorboards silent beneath his feet. He stopped in front of Harry and crouched down, bringing them to eye level. He reached out and touched Harry’s cheek, checking his temperature—a habit Reborn hadn't broken since the medical bay.
"Why are you hiding?" Reborn asked. "The Varia are downstairs. Squalo is threatening to deep-fry the turkey in whiskey. It’s entertaining."
Harry looked down at his socks. "I... I don't have anything."
Reborn tilted his head. "Anything for what?"
"For the... for the exchange," Harry mumbled, clutching the duvet. "I didn't know I had to... I don't have money. I couldn't buy gifts. And if I don't give gifts, I can't be part of the day, right? That's the rule."
Reborn went still. It was the kind of stillness that usually preceded a gunshot. His eyes darkened, the obsidian depths swirling with a cold fury directed at the ghosts of Privet Drive and the scientists who had instilled this transactional view of existence into his son.
"Harry," Reborn said, his voice firm but gentle, like velvet over steel. "Look at me."
Harry looked up.
"There is no rule," Reborn stated. "You are my son. You are a Vongola. You are an Arcobaleno by blood. Your presence is the gift. You do not pay rent for the space you occupy in this family."
Reborn stood up and held out his hand. "Come. If you don't get downstairs soon, Viper will try to charge the others an admission fee to see the tree."
Harry hesitated, then slipped his small hand into Reborn’s. The leather of Reborn’s glove was warm. The Sun flames buzzing under Reborn’s skin reached out and brushed against Harry’s anxiety, burning it away like morning mist.
The main drawing room of the Vongola Mansion was chaos incarnate.
A tree, easily twenty feet tall, dominated the center. It was decorated with an eclectic mix of priceless crystal ornaments (Vongola), handmade paper chains (Tsuna), and what appeared to be several live grenades painted gold (Gokudera).
"VOI! THE BRAT IS HERE!" Squalo roared from the couch, waving a bottle of expensive scotch.
"Shut up, trash," Xanxus grunted from the armchair, where he was currently allowing a small, terrified-looking lemur (where did they get a lemur?) to sit on his shoulder.
"Harry-kun!" Tsuna scrambled over, tripping on a discarded ribbon but catching himself with a burst of orange flame. "Merry Christmas!"
Harry stood in the doorway, overwhelmed. The room was bathed in the warm glow of the fireplace and the twinkling lights. It smelled of pine, gunpowder, espresso, and sugar.
"Merry Christmas," Harry whispered, shyly.
"Kora! Look at the pile, kid!" Colonnello pointed to the base of the tree.
Harry looked.
The floor was invisible. It was buried under a mountain of wrapped boxes. Red, gold, silver, green. Some were small and elegant. Some were massive. Some were moving.
"Those... are for me?" Harry asked, eyes wide.
"Of course they are for you, darling!" Lussuria shrieked, breezing past with a tray of cookies. "We have seven years of missed birthdays and Christmases to make up for! We did the math!"
Reborn guided Harry to a pile of cushions near the fire. "Sit."
Harry sat. He felt small. He felt... full. His Sunny Sky flames fluttered in his chest, expanding to fill the room, harmonizing with the chaotic, violent, loving energy of the people around him.
"Open the big one first!" Skull yelled, hanging upside down from the chandelier (why was he up there?). "It's from me!"
Harry reached for a large, purple box. He tore the paper carefully.
It was a helmet. A custom-made, miniature motorcycle helmet, purple with a lightning bolt painted on the side.
"For when we go riding!" Skull cheered. "Reborn said I can't take you on the bike until you're ten, but we can practice sitting on it!"
Harry grinned. He put the helmet on. It was a little big, sliding over his eyes.
The room erupted in coos (Lussuria), laughter (Yamamoto), and grunts of approval (Xanxus).
"My turn," Xanxus demanded. He kicked a sleek, black box toward Harry.
Harry took off the helmet and opened the box. Inside lay a set of throwing knives. But they weren't sharp steel. They were made of a high-density, blunt rubber, weighted perfectly to mimic the real thing. The handles were inlaid with mother-of-pearl.
"Practice," Xanxus growled. "So you don't embarrass the family aim."
"Thank you, Xanxus-oji," Harry beamed.
Xanxus choked on his whiskey. "Don't call me that, trash." But he looked pleased.
The morning blurred into a haze of joy.
Fon gave him a set of silk training robes and a rare, ancient text on meditation (with pictures). Verde gave him a tablet that could hack into the Pentagon ("Do not use it until you are eight," Reborn warned). Mammon gave him a piggy bank with a single, very rare gold coin inside ("Interest starts compounding today"). Tsuna and his guardians gave him a collection of comic books, a baseball glove, and a promise to take him to the amusement park.
Finally, there was only one small, black velvet box left. It sat in Reborn's lap.
The room quieted down. Even Squalo stopped shouting.
Reborn picked up the box. He didn't hand it to Harry. He opened it.
Inside sat a ring.
It wasn't a bulky mafia ring. It was a simple band of silver, holding a small, vibrant gemstone. The stone was unique—orange at the center, bleeding into a brilliant, sun-yellow at the edges. A Sunny Sky stone.
"This," Reborn said, his voice carrying through the silent room, "is made from a Geode found in the Vongola mines. It reacts to high-purity flames."
Reborn took Harry’s hand. He slid the ring onto Harry’s right middle finger. It fit perfectly.
"It is a catalyst," Reborn explained. "It will help you stabilize your output. But it is also a marker."
Reborn looked Harry in the eyes.
"It tells the world that you are mine. That you are under the protection of the Sun. That you are the Vongola's treasure."
Harry looked at the ring. He pushed a tiny pulse of flame into it. The stone glowed, warm and bright, casting a golden light over his hand.
He looked up at Reborn. At the man who had burned down a laboratory to save him. At the man who sat by his bed when the nightmares came.
Harry threw himself forward, burying his face in Reborn’s cashmere sweater.
"I love it," Harry mumbled into the fabric. "I love you, Papa."
Reborn’s arms came around him instantly, holding him tight, shielding him from the view of the others (though everyone saw the softness in the Hitman’s eyes).
"Merry Christmas, figlio mio," Reborn whispered.
"Lambo! Stop eating the tinsel!"
"Hieee! Bel-senpai is throwing knives at the turkey!"
"VOI! PASS THE GRAVY OR I'LL GUT YOU!"
Harry sat at the head of the kids' table (which was really just the normal table, but Reborn sat next to him to ensure he actually ate). He looked at the chaos.
Squalo was fighting Dino for the last bread roll. Dino was losing because he didn't have his whip. Tsuna was trying to stop Lambo from climbing into the chocolate fountain. Xanxus was eating peacefully while his lemur threw grapes at passing waiters.
Harry took a bite of his mashed potatoes. They were warm and buttery.
He looked at the window. The snow was falling harder now, blanketing the world in white.
I'm not cold, Harry thought, watching the snowflakes dance. I'm not cold at all.
He felt a hand on his head. Reborn was sipping an espresso, watching the room with a smirk.
"Eat your vegetables, Harry," Reborn said. "Or I'll tell Skull to sing."
"No!" the entire room shouted in unison.
Harry laughed. It was a bright, ringing sound that cut through the noise.
It was the best Christmas ever.