Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter. Capcom owns Devil May Cry.

In which Credo high-jacks this chapter; and only the beginning and ending resemble the original chapter 3. So...enjoy!

Word Count: 1,821

A Father

To Whom It May Concern:

Birth Date: July 31, 1980

Letter enclosed is for when he is old enough to understand, pleas—

A leg bounced, pencil held in white-knuckled grip, blues eyes darting to see the minute hand sluggishly tic-toc away. Next to the impatient boy was an auburn-haired girl, her brown eyes flickered to the chalkboard. She could see the vein pulsing just above the instructors' temple. Tic, tic, tic, tic…the point of the pencil bouncing off the wooden desk. The intense battle of wills between the ill-tempered instructor and the resident smartass. Kyrie's face redden and flushed from the intensity of it all. As the minute hand, neared endpoint of the day both chalk and pencil snapped. The instructor spun ready to shout; the bell rang and Nero was out the door with a sarcastic comment involving his "subpar and boring" lesson.

Kyrie gathered her things and walked avoiding any type of eye contact lest she get in trouble by association.

She trotted after her best friend, who standing awkwardly near the school gate. She hastily tugged her hood on just before she stepped outside. Nero had done the same even but not for the sake of following the Repentance Rule. No, he just didn't like standing out like a sore thumb.

"Stop pushing Mr. Stone, he'll make you write standards again."

The nine-year-old snorted, "I can see it now: I will not disrespect Mr. Stone."

"That isn't funny, Nero. Remember last time you stayed until sunset and got in trouble with Sister Temperance and she made re-do your homework a hundred times that same day and more standards too about not being tardy!"

Oh yeah, Nero remembered that day. His right hand was never the same again…worth it. He kicked a stone and watched it sail away. "Ain't my fault that old codger can't teach for shit. He's more boring than Credo! Credo makes even the basics of sword fighting boring as hell. 'The Holy Knights swordsmanship has been passed down for…blah, blah, blah.'"

"Liar! I remember yesterday you were bouncing to learn about the order!" She pointed at his hooded face. "I saw stars! 'Oh Credo, tell me ab—"

"I don't talk like that!"

"Uh-huh, 'Credo your so cool. That's your sword that so awesome!'"

"I didn't say anything of that. You're a liar," Nero rubbed his nose trying hard to cover his embarrassment.

Kyrie giggled, "I'll stop, okay."

She tugged his hand linking it with hers and walked together quietly. Nero hated when she did that but never stopped her from doing it anyway. Nero's days mostly went like this: spend his time outside wandering about the streets or spend the day at Kyrie's talking (gossiping) or doing homework together. Two hours before sundown, Credo would walk him back to the orphanage. Sometimes, when he wanders around, he'll stay past curfew and one the sisters would drag back by the ear.

The looming orphanage with its eerie gothic design and black gates, anyone with a bit of a working braincell could see why most of the orphans spent their days outside of it. It was so dreary and lifeless, and those thick ruler and paddle wielding sisters don't make home any easier for the inhabitants. "I'll see you tomorrow," he muttered.

Kyrie watched her best friend slouch to the gates and push them open just a bit to be able to squeeze through it. "Bye Nero," she whispered.

Nero would have walked her home, but he was still in trouble for last time and it was better that he didn't push his luck. He dragged his feet to his shared room with ten other boys. Luckily the room was empty, he wasn't exactly in the room to hear the smartasses mocking his hair. He tugged the hood further over his head.

"Outside the Holy grounds and the sun's grace, we must never hide in our own familiar dwellings. We repent, for without the Savior, we would still live under the shadows of demonic forces. We stay in the shadows to remember the Savior, but the stay in the shadows of our homes and familiarities to hide away and covet the darkness of our human hearts. Nero, please understand. I know that it is hard for you, they mock your appearance. But children are unkind by nature, they'll grow out of it. Endure, for it is your endurance of pain the will be your measure of worth. The Savior has gifted you with these looks for a reason, you must simply make of it as you will."

He removed his satchel and hugged it tightly. He should get started on his homework…his blue eyes dragged to calendar at the uncrossed date. Minutes ticked by, children laughed and played outside, boredom filled his mind. Still his eyes focused on the date.

He could hear one of the girl's practicing the harp and singing. Closing his eyes, the longing song pulled his mind into a daze. "La rosa enflorece…En el mes de Mayo…mi alma s'esc…"

He stared…and stared. The date.

Abruptly, he stood and grabbed his satchel.

And ran…and ran.

His legs carried him with a destination in mind. Nine, today he's nine. His heart hammered, thudding with the beat of his heavy steps. He could sign for the Order of the Sword now, Ms. Temperance would surely sign the permission slip too! He's smart enough to prove himself too.

The Order, it meant independence. It meant spending time with Credo…sometimes he thinks, that Credo's know it all attitude and his patience, maybe that's what family is like…that's what a big brother does, a father.

Credo and Kyrie, their parents had died when Credo was just seventeen and Kyrie five. At the time, Credo was out finishing his final induction into the Order and wouldn't return until three months later. It was during that time Kyrie was relocated into the orphanage until her brother returned. That's where he met her.

He remembers finding her hidden in the supplies closet crying. That's he'd gotten in trouble again and had to clean up the mess he'd made as punishment and then some. "Stop crying, it makes you look ugly." He'd snapped at her, too angry to care about the snot-nosed newbie.

Her tears stopped alright, and instead got a flushed angry girl in return for his so-called assistance. "Shut up, you – you – butthead!"

"Whatever, crybaby…" He crossed his arms.

"I wasn't crying!"

"Were too!"

"Was not!"

"Were too!"

"Was not!"

"Were too times ten!"

"Was not times infinity"

"Were too infinity times two!"

"You can't do infinity time two, it's infinity! It goes forever!"

"Says who?"

"Says the books!"

Nero smirked, "You're not crying anymore."

She turned red crossing her arms and tears sprung from eyes once more.

"I said stop crying, you look ugly!"

She cried again, "I can't; I'm sad. My mom and dad are dead. They're not coming back. They're not gonna hug me anymore. They're not gonna read me bedtime stories. They're not gonna kiss my hurts…"

This time Nero turned red, "So…I never met my parents. You don't see me crying about it!"

"Shut up!" She kicked him and ran away.

It was like for the first few weeks, Kyrie and Nero always bickering. Arguing and getting into actual fights until one of the sisters pulled them apart. Standing in corners together; scrubbing floors together; writing standards together; benched during playtime together built some sense of comradery between the two. They never officially apologized to one another but they became near inseparable. If not for the male-female segregation, Nero and Kyrie would probably had shared the same bed too.

Incidentally, the troublesome duo was both standing in the self-dubbed Corner of Shame when Credo finally made his appearance. One look at Credo and Kyrie was lighting up like the sun. She launched herself to her brother, blubbering and crying about how much she missed him. And Nero thought that would be the last of his friend. She would leave and forget about him. But the next day, Kyrie returned with Credo in tow. She quickly abandoned her brother with his boring book and dragged Nero off to play. Once again inseparable.

Credo was the one who told him to stand up straight and that a "gentleman does not slouch in front of a lady." Credo was the one who told him a "gentleman is never rude." And when he found of his interest in the Order of the Sword, he stressed the need to be studious. He told him about the rules of Swordsmanship, the traditional stances, and rules within the Order.

When they both turned six, Credo signed them up for school and he officially sponsored him for the same school as Kyrie. Apparently, the orphans did "self-study" with the sisters and while that was okay the education would be subpar for anyone wanting to enter the Order. He walked them both to school for the first half of the year until he got too busy.

On his seventh birthday, Credo gave him a book on swordsmanship and a new satchel. He had pushed his hood away and ruffled his hair. Not smiling, never smiling – Credo didn't smile. No, Credo smiled with his eyes. Nero didn't think he was capable of smiling – babies cried if he did.

On his eighth birthday, Credo had got him a practice sword. He could only practice at his house and under his careful eye. (Kyrie baked him a cake – tasted like crap. Credo forced him to eat it, even though Nero could clearly see the pain in his eyes. Nero learned another "gentleman rule" that day: never hurt a lady's feeling purposefully.)

Nero huffs, and kicks a stone. He should have stayed at the orphanage, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. He kicks the stone again as he walked to catch up to it. He kicks it again.

Clack, the rock smacked on metal bar. The bars belonged to the locked gates of the Fortuna Cemetery. He squeezed his eyes shut, a hand clawed at his heart. Are they buried there? Fury swelled his heart. The clawing hand twisted into a fist, he walked away glaring. There were times when he remembered…a voice. A male voice laughing; in his dreams are filled with mischievous hazel eyes. "I'm your Da…" The voice whispers.

In his dreams, he mostly hears his what he assumes to be his father's voice. His fathers' laughter. His fathers' amused eyes. Sometimes, Nero wonders if his mother was ever alive in the first place. Did she die when he was born? Is that why he doesn't remember like he does his father?

But then he remembers a woman screaming, begging, and cruel laughter…

Nero hissed and clutched his right hand close to his chest. Slowly, he pulled away his throbbing hand and there on his hand surrounding his birthmark was inflamed skin.

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