Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and Amano Akria owns Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

By the time Harry Potter was nine, he learned three important lessons when it came to family.

One: Despite what everyone says, every family has their own form of secrets.

And to his aunt and uncle, he was the secret. He didn't know why, but they took to extreme efforts to make sure that nobody knew about him, the real him. To the neighbors, he was a pitiful child whose parents died in a car accident. His Aunt Petunia was a gracious family member and took him when no one else would. He was a rowdy and distrustful kid, who couldn't comprehend what was right or wrong. But to him, Harry was only a normal kid with a normal life - well, to a certain extent.

Two: Family will always be better than anything else, so don't question.

Harry learned that the hard way, living with people who thought they gave everything to him was pretty much a one way ticket to nothing.

"Pre-heat the oven to 163 degrees Celsius, with the meat and vegetables glazed with red wine." Pages flipped from a worn cookbook; a murmured curse left his aunt's horse-like lips.

He looked down at the small pieces of uneaten bread and cheese on his plate. Bits of mold covered the bread, while the cheese gave away an unwanted stench. Harry wanted to stop eating the rotten food, but Aunt Petunia told him to stop wasting her precious efforts in feeding him.

I wonder when I'll get the time to make my wish.

When Harry Potter turned five years old, he learned about the value of wishes from watching Dudley, as he asked for his own video game console. Since then, the lonely boy wished for a chance to meet his parents up in the skies. He dreamed of their wonderful smiles directed at him, their warm hugs encasing his entire body. It took awhile for him to imagine their faces - his dad with the wide grin and boisterous laugh, and his mom with the same shade of green eyes and blazing red hair. However, it was all for naught, like he knew every past year. He would watch the front door with a wistful gaze, his hands constantly fidgeting in his baggy trousers. Yet for some reason, Harry continued the tradition even after that momentous heart-breaking event.

Should I ask Aunt Petunia?

Aunt Petunia was rushing around the kitchen, pots and pans scattered everywhere. Her bony stature made her appear weak and fragile, as she carried the tray of assorted meats to the oven.

"Open the oven and help me! Don't be a selfish child." She ordered him.

For the few minutes, he juggled the plates and silverware to the table, a simple tablecloth already laid out. He arranged the seats with his minuscule strength, and prepared the dessert by mixing a batch of whip cream. As he stirred the egg whites with sugar, Harry couldn't help but take a small bite.

It has been awhile since he tried something sweet.

"Boy, go to your room, and stay there! Our guests are coming within a few minutes!" She ordered him, her finger pointed to the hallway, where his precious cupboard/room would be.

Harry looked up to the face of his shrewd aunt, as he wondered why she was dressed so nicely tonight.

It's only a Tuesday; what's so special about tonight?

Then, he wondered if he was going somewhere after the guests disappear to the living room, where there would be enough time for his uncle to drop him off at Aunt Marge's house with her bulldogs. There's also the nice woman next door with tons of cats, but he'd rather stay in his tiny room for the rest of the night. Both animals disliked his presence for some reason.

Three: You will always do well for the good of the family.

"Well?" Her voice, usually sharp and high-pitched, was weary and tired. A single curl came out of her tight bun and she sighed in exasperation.

He blinked once and nodded in response to her question. Harry shuffled to the hallway entrance, his wrinkled shirt occasionally slipping from his shoulder.

Dudley, who was sitting in front of the television, started to laugh. His tuxedo was tight on his body, which was already stained with chocolate syrup and other condiments, looked as if it was going to tear under his cousin's excess weight.

"I'm gonna get cake, and you're not!" Harry wanted to retort he didn't care, Dudley kept on talking.

"Freak, are you jealous yet? All of Dad's guests are gonna see how disgusting and lonely you are!" He taunted, his beady eyes twinkled in malicious delight. Dudley seemed to learn very well under Uncle Vernon's tutelage, despite how poorly he's doing in primary school.

"Mum, he's staring at me weirdly! Make him stop!" Dudley screeched, finally realizing that nothing bothered him, and switched to another option: lying.

It worked; Aunt Petunia rushed from the stove dragging Harry through the white door.

"I told you to go to your room, you disobedient boy! Why were you bothering little Duddy-kins?!" Her voice echoed in his mind, irritating him.

Did Dudley get his voice from her?

He looks like a pig. Harry watched the door closed with a last snap. I hope the guests realize that too.

Shuffling footsteps indicated his horse-like aunt was gone.

He crawled to the corner of the cupboard, his thin hands touching arbitrary spider webs. He looked back to the shut door, sat with his knees under his chin, and closed his eyes.

Darkness overwhelmed his vision, amplifying his hearing. He listened to his slow breathing, the subtle creaks in the house, and the near silent crawls of the insects near him. But, he didn't bother for all those in favor of the warm feeling that was slowly creeping in his veins. It started from his abdomen, then traveled all around.

The steady warmth was like a pulse, spreading the pleasant feeling at a steady rhythm. Harry loved it, mentally caressing it as if it was a pet.

Family pales in comparison to this.

He didn't mind that he preferred this foreign warmth compared to family. Harry craved the affection it gave to him, covering him from the cold interactions of his aunt and uncle.

The warmth started to purr, just like a small kitten, and he grinned from the subconscious of his mind.

Ding~

It's the guests. Harry blinked from the sudden sound, his 'pet' suddenly disappeared from his arms.

"Evening gentlemen, please step in." Aunt Petunia welcomed them inside the house. A cold breeze entered along, giving Harry a minor chill.

"Good evening madame, it is a pleasure to meet you in person." A baritone voice spoke from the far end of the hallway. Harry opened his eyes and sneakily looked through the narrow spaces of his window.

Two gentlemen, followed by his uncle, dressed in expensive formal. Both looked handsome and young, with placid smiles plastered on their faces. One had weird curled sideburns, covered with an orange-striped fedora, and the other with bright blond hair.

Harry could hear his aunt give a tiny gasp of surprise. He imagined a noticeable blush on Aunt Petunia's face, with her suddenly becoming a shy woman. She's probably awed by their looks.

"It is a pleasure of mine as well. I hope the flight from Italy was comfortable." His aunt attempted to initiate a chat, her hands wiping against her waist apron.

"It was, thank you very much."

"May I take your hats sirs?" Dudley's nasal voice entered the conversation.

"Ah, thank you son," a higher pitched voice spoke, probably the other man, as rustles of clothing were heard.

Then, footsteps became louder and Harry shuffled back to the corner.

Bring~

"My apologies, but I'd have to take this." The baritone voice spoke, while Uncle Vernon nervously nodded.

The sideburns man stepped outside; his uncle gave a deep relieved sigh.

HAH! Uncle Vernon's scared of him.

It became clearer for him to view the entire show. The blonde man followed Aunt Petunia to the dining room, while Dudley waddled in front of him. His uncle was the last person, but stopped in front of his door.

The same beady eyes bored at Harry's emerald ones. "If I find any foolishness going on, I promise that you'll never see the sun until I see fit."

"Yes sir," Harry replied and Uncle Vernon ruffled his moustache.

"Good," and off he went to the dining room; his waist coat stretched over unattractive parts of his body.

Silence occupied the house once more before Harry returned to his session. He waited for his pet to return, yet felt an eerie presence in front of him.

Opening his eyes, he saw the first man observing from the outside. His charcoal eyes glinted in the dim settings of his cupboard, and Harry noted there was a small lizard peeking from the side of the fedora.

"Well, aren't you a small fellow?" The man asked, a placid yet fake smile on his smooth face. He was more handsome up close; his spiked hair hidden under the hat, and sharp features.

"What are you doing here instead of out there?" Another question came out of his lips. Harry didn't say anything in hopes that the man will just leave out of boredom .

"No response, tough kid you are."

Harry shuffled until he felt the corner of his cot. The staring match ensued until he heard the sound of a champagne bottle opening.

"Who are you?" His voice sounded hoarse, probably from the disuse over the days.

"Me?" The man's smile turned to a confident smirk. "Let's just say, I'm a friend of your relative's."

"Oh," Harry responded, his left hand smoothed out the covers of his bed, touching the edge rather quickly. Without noticing, he scratched himself with a nearby splinter.

"Ouch."

"Does that hurt?" The baritone voice didn't leave and the glinting eyes focused on the injury, where a droplet of blood trailed down Harry's finger.

He shook his head. He didn't want any sort of attention to himself. Though, it's a bit too late for that.

The man from outside chuckled, "Why don't you bring it over here? I'll heal it for you."

Harry raised an eyebrow. I don't think you can do that.

"I don't do this for anyone, you know." Harry slowly approached the man and brought his finger to him. By then, his finger was covered with several thin trails of dark blood.

"Wow, you're pretty fragile." The man noted, reaching out Harry's with his own.

And then, it happened.

A spark appeared from the man's palm, followed by a swirl of yellow flames.

Harry jerked back, but his hand was firmly held.

The flames were bright yellow, very different from the custom red Harry always saw on television. It swirled around in circles, leaving a sense of tiny needles on his finger. However, for some bizarre reason, the cut healed rapidly at an abnormal rate. Then, it disappeared, no wisp of smoke or scent of burning objects.

"How did that-"

"Let's just say it's magic, kid."

"Wait, what's your name?" His voice suddenly got louder, and in shock covered his mouth with his healed appendage.

"Name? Hm, why don't you just call me Reborn?" The newly named Reborn asked Harry. "Now, don't you want to get out of that cupboard?"

"Um," Harry looked over to the right, where you could hear a rouse of conversation. "I'd rather not; I think Aunt Petunia would be really upset."

"If you're sure," Reborn shrugged his shoulders and with a final wave, entered the kitchen.

He watched the dark corner for the remaining hours of the dinner. He couldn't wrap around the scene he met. Since then, false laughs and clashing forks and knives filled the house. Gruff and smooth voices talked of several dealings for Uncle Vernon's drilling company. The smell of coq-au-vin infiltrated the hallways; his stomach grumbling at the delicious scent. For Harry, it seemed like a couple of hours before it was finally over.

The two gentlemen arrived first, Reborn, who somehow mysteriously healed him, matched eyes. He gave a little nod and smirk before heading on to the door.

Before the two men left the residence, final evening exchanges were made.

"Aren't you happy Vernon? You're a step ahead of your other co-workers!" Aunt Petunia led a sleepy Dudley to the stairs, not once looking at the cupboard.

"Of course, that Vongola contract is essential to my boss. If I could seal the deal, then I'll finally get that promotion I rightfully deserve." Vernon boasted, an arrogant laugh slipped from his lips. He followed his wife and son up the second floor, where he could finally dream of the achievements and riches he'll bring to himself.

Dust floated in Harry's space, as each step on the stairs brought them down.

Once the moon rose up to the skies, its light illuminating the narrow hallway, Harry finally closed his eyes. Deep even breaths filled the empty silence and his feeble chest rising at a steady tempo. It would finally look like the residents of the Privet Drive 4 would fall asleep with the rest of the other neighbors.

But, if someone was to go through Harry Potter's mind, they would see the flames he saw earlier. The dashing man, named Reborn, who controlled those wild flames so easily. Yellow dancing embers seeping through the window bars and covering his head. A smirk brightened by the flickering fire and warmth, before being enveloped by a feeling of sleepiness.

By then, Harry Potter added another lesson to his small repertoire.

Four: Strangers are a lot friendlier than family.

A/N: Hi guys, this is my first attempt at a fanfic. So, please don't try and cringe at my bad writing skills. I have enough of that in my literature class. But, I have been reading these two series for awhile and several other stories on this website. I'm interested by their ideas, though all of them seem to be "cliché"?

Anyways, this wasn't edited by a professional, so bear with me. Thank you!