WARNINGS: Completely self-indulgent trash, high probability of never getting finished, too much cuteness. SLASH (m/m) in the future. Way in the future.

NOTES: Here, have this trash. It has been bugging me for a while now and although it is completely self-indulgent and who knows if it will ever get completed, I needed to post it.

I just wanted to write a KHR/HP crossover. And a soulmate!AU. So this thing was born. Oh, and don't ask me about the title. I have no idea where it came from. As I stated before, this was written on a whim.

Enjoy?

WISPS OF SMOKE AND COLOURFUL SOULS

Dreams are odd. They are not consistent, they are not always remembered. Linked dreams are a particularly rare type. Nobody knows what triggers them, or it they are triggered at all. Some people support the idea that they happen when something important needs to be shared between soulmates, some others say they are random occurrences. They happen. That's the only certain thing.

(Or: the one in which Reborn meets his little soulmate in a dream.)

.

1 – First Meeting

Renato was thirteen the first time he awoke in a different mindscape. He was surprised and suspicious, because he had long ago given up hope.

He fingered his gun as he tilted down his black fedora, extending his senses around him to try and detect a clever use of Mist Flames.

A tug on his pants abruptly turned his attention downwards and he pointed his gun towards the threat that had evaded all his senses, and then he froze. Huge, innocent green eyes peered curiously up at him, blinking and crossing a little as the owner tried to focus on the weapon that was being pointed at him.

Once the young hitman processed and registered that he was, in fact, holding a baby at gunpoint, he quickly secured his weapon in a holster strapped to the small of his back before taking a hasty step back.

The child gurgled and clapped his hands merrily, to which Renato's only response was a dark glower. The baby didn't seem fazed by the heavy scowl and simply squealed, lifting his arms commandingly towards the teen. Renato narrowed his eyes and studied the tiny thing.

One year old, happy. A mop of dark hair over soft, white skin. Green eyes that were becoming brighter and bigger and was that a quivering pout?

Renato decidedly did not want to deal with a bawling baby, thank you very much. If bending to the creature's demands and lifting it awkwardly in his arms was the way to avoid the waterworks, he'd gladly forsake his pride and carry the thing. It's not as if there was anyone there to be a witness.

The baby giggled, all sadness forgotten the moment Renato perched him on his bony hip and the tiny monster had access to his curly sideburns.

Renato's eye twitched, but he let the menace play with it because he figured that it was better than his other options. And as long as it didn't try to—

"No, don't do that!" Renato whined. He didn't care that he considered himself to be much too old to be whining, having a baby sucking on his hair was a good enough excuse in his books to let it slip. "Let go, bad baby."

Either the little being understood him, or his reproachful tone was enough to let him know that he had upset the teen, because the eyes filled with tears as the now soggy curl was released. Renato swore mentally in crude Italian but softened his expression into a smile. It felt awkward and almost foreign on his face, because he was not used to it. Smirks? Sure. Smiles? Not really. He didn't quite remember when had it been the last time he honestly smiled. Probably when his mother was still alive, and before he was dragged into the underworld.

"It's fine, bambino. I'm not mad at you," he said softly, and just like the smile, it simply didn't feel natural. But it helped calm down the kid, so he supposed it was fine.

(And if his efforts were rewarded with the happiest toothy smile he has ever seen directed towards his person, and if suddenly Renato knew that he was utterly and completely gone, well. Nobody had to know.

Damn if his soulmate wasn't the cutest little thing ever.)

2 – Darkness Begone

They met again six months after the first dream. Renato was immediately on guard, because even as it felt similar enough, there were so many differences at the same time that he couldn't help but take his gun out once again.

A startled gasp made him turn on his feet, eyeing around the darkness suspiciously.

That was it. That was the biggest difference. Last time they had been in a large space, airy and warm. Renato had felt safe there, embraced by a sense of comfort and love. There had been soft colours such as blue and crème and yellow gold mixing indistinctly as they swirled and danced around them, undisturbed and unassuming, slow enough to not result dizzying.

In contrast, this place was dark, damp, and felt really cramped, even if there were no easily discernible walls. It worried him greatly, because mindscapes usually reflected the state of mind and the living conditions of their owners, and Renato knew instinctively that this was not his. (Not at this point in time.)

"Bambino?" He called softly, lowering the gun but not putting it away just yet. Being cautious had saved his life numerous times already, which is why it was an instinct he was trying to cultivate. More so now that he had discovered the existence of his soulmate, who would be targeted immediately if it became known that the hitman 'Reborn' had a weakness.

(He might have been rather young and he might still have been considered new to the workings of the Mafia, but Renato was cunning and sly and adaptable, not to mention pretty deft at handling guns and using his Flames. He was rapidly making a name for himself in the underworld, and he was sure that his life would continue in that venue for the foreseeable future. It was too late to pull out now, and the only viable way to secure the safety of his little soulmate was reaching the very top. Only when he became feared enough that nobody would dare try anything against him would he dare to seek out his soulmate in real life. Until then, the dreams would have to be enough.)

At the sound of his voice, the darkness shuddered and wavered, as if it were something tangible that was about to break. There was suddenly a spot of light—dim and barely there, but enough to let Renato distinguish the small silhouette of his soulmate, sitting on the floor and curled around himself in a way that he was intimately familiar with. As the teen took an uneasy step forward, the boy flinched away and if that didn't scream fear and loneliness and self-defence, Renato didn't know what did.

Renato was going to murder someone. He was sure. Someone had dared harm what was his, and such a thing would not—could not—go unpunished.

He struggled to calm down, because the kid was already scared and seeing Renato in a murdering rage was not going to help.

The teen breathed through his nose once, twice, and after getting a reign on his temper he secured the gun behind his back. Looking around again, Renato mentally scowled. The place was too gloomy and dark still, and that wouldn't be conductive to coax his little soulmate into a calmer state. The easiest solution Renato could think of was creating light himself, though he wasn't sure if that was possible. He was in a dream, after all, and he couldn't be sure if Flames worked inside them. Fortunately, they immediately flickered on to life on his left hand once Renato called, seemingly eager to obey their master.

The sudden brightness and crackling sounds immediately got a response from the toddler. Renato noticed the boy uncurling a little and studying Renato with a curious but still guarded gaze.

The hitman inspected him right back but with much more finesse, and he felt himself getting worked up again because now that he could see the boy better, he was not liking what he saw. At all. He was dressed in clothes that were way too dirty to be the result of a day playing outside, and his cheeks looked much too thin to belong to a two year old baby. The wariness in the green eyes did not belong there, either.

Renato struggled to reign in his rage and not let it show up on his face. Cautiously, as if he were approaching a hurt wild animal, he moved towards the boy and slowly crouched right in front of him, being careful to leave enough space between them so that the toddler did not feel trapped.

The little one regarded him for a minute, tense, before he hesitantly relaxed as it became apparent that Renato did not wish to hurt him. Curiously, the boy then turned towards the Flames and Renato smiled, gently offering his hand to him to inspect. The teen passively observed as the boy closed the short distance between the two until he was close enough that if he wanted to, Renato would be able to embrace him. Big green eyes searched his face for confirmation before the boy felt it was safe to carefully reach for the bright yellow flame with one of his little fingers.

Renato would scold him afterwards, once the infant became comfortable with him, because he did not want him getting burned by doing the same thing with real fire—but for now, he let him play with the Flames, safe in the knowledge that they wouldn't hurt the boy.

"Pwetty," the baby said softly, reverently, and Renato learned with that simple word that the boy spoke English. It was a good thing that he had started learning it already, or communication might have become complicated between them in the near future.

He smiled slightly wider and nodded encouragingly when he noticed the cautious gaze on his person, as if the little boy was expecting to be chided and silenced. His simple acceptance was enough to ease the child's mind and it also earned him a tiny smile—a pale imitation of the first one Renato received just six months before, but a smile nonetheless.

Renato then swore to himself that he'd do anything in his power to keep the little one smiling.

3 – Names

They met with increasing frequency after that. Renato was sure that it wasn't a common occurrence with other soulmate pairs, as he had discreetly asked around for information to a couple of secure sources that would not tell a soul—dead bodies didn't usually blab, after all—, but he was thankful nonetheless.

It helped to make the boy grow comfortable with him rather quickly, and he was soon asking questions and politely requesting to play with Renato's Flames every time they met, green eyes bright with excitement.

He was glad.

Renato could say with utmost sincerity that he hated the little boy's relatives with a passion.

It didn't take much to coax the bambino into telling him how he was treated at home. Renato wasn't even partially placated by the knowledge that his Aunt and Uncle didn't beat him up, because he knew from first-hand experience that while being abused physically hurt, it was emotional and psychological abuse what made the worst damage. Broken ribs heal, bloody noses stop leaking, purple bruises disappear. Being constantly and systematically put down and ordered around without any kind of reward? That had serious repercussions in the development of a child's personality. Being starved? That was slow torture, cruel and barbaric. Especially if there were resources available that made it easily avoidable. And judging from the comments the little one made about 'Dudley', Renato knew that the family had enough money to raise both children properly.

It was obvious that they hated his little soulmate, for whatever reason.

(In turn, Renato hated them right back—with a vengeance.

And the hate of a hitman was not something anyone was keen on inspiring towards themselves. Those pigs were doing it without knowledge, but that did not mean that Reborn would go easy on them at all.

No way in hell.)

The only reason he hadn't stormed off to take the little one away from them the moment he got a clear picture of what was happening in that household was the fact that he didn't know where they were. Sure, Renato knew his boy spoke English, and he knew that he lived with three people: Aunt, Uncle, and Dudley. But that was it. He didn't even know the little one's name.

(He clenched his teeth and felt his blood boil every time he remembered the time when he had asked for it, and received the innocent answer of "Fweak".)

The fact that he had needed to be really careful in his movements hadn't helped, as his position in the Mafia had not been in any way stable yet, and a single wrong move could have spelt the end of him.

(And where would that leave his bambino? With the only positive emotional support in his life absent, Renato dreaded to imagine what could become of him. The boy might self-destruct.)

So he did the little he could. He listened to his chatter, answered the questions he was able to answer, and promised to look up the answers he didn't have. He comforted him when he had a nightmare, rebutted his relatives' claims about his worth, taught him how to be sneaky enough to avoid punishments and get enough food. He taught him English and Italian and when eventually Renato started learning French, the little boy learned it right on par with him.

Three years passed in this rhythm, and slowly things started to look up for them both.

Even without permission, the small boy got enough food to regain the baby fat he shouldn't have lost in the first place. That did not mean that he was fat in any way, because honestly the boy was still rather skinny and small and would probably forever be short, but it was much better than what could have been. He had learned not to listen to his relatives' taunts and to take everything they said to him with a grain of salt, because it was probably false, anyway. He had learned that he would never be able to please everyone, and that he didn't need to try. Renato liked him just the way he was, and the only people who were worthy to be his friends should have to be the same. He learned to be true to himself.

On the other hand, the almost eighteen year-old teen was just a month away from officially becoming an adult in his home country, and had become a frequently commissioned hitman who worked freelance. His name was being whispered with growing awe, and he had started to get bigger jobs. That was both good and bad, as it meant more money and fame (which implied that he was in better position to care for his little one), but it also brought a higher risk of death. Not that Renato was careless or sloppy—he would not die that easily when he had something so important to protect—but it was riskier, nonetheless.

Then, one particular night in September, Renato awoke in the familiar shared dreamscape only to be immediately attacked by a small body that flung itself at him, babbling excitedly about his day in an eclectic mix of English and Italian with only a little hint of French. Renato laughed and twirled the happy little boy around, making him squeal in delight and therefore cutting off the unintelligible chatter. He then proceeded to sit himself on the ground with the boy perched on his lap, facing him.

"What has you so excited?" Renato asked teasingly, with just a hint of curiosity shining in his dark eyes. "I couldn't understand a word of what you said before. You have to breathe sometimes, you know."

The boy pouted petulantly for about a second but then beamed.

"I started school today!" He chirped, gaining all of Renato's attention, who then made a questioning noise in the back of his throat to encourage him to keep going. "And guess what! Miss Turner told me my name is Harry!" He gushed happily and Renato was elated. Finally, finally he had a proper name to call his bambino! He laughed happily, freely, because the boy was obviously delighted to know his name, too, and it was contagious.

He was about to hug Harry (and how good felt to say it, how right) to his chest when the boy wiggled out of Renato's grasp and stood up in front of him with a serious expression. Renato lifted a brow in question, and watched as Harry stuck out his little hand towards him.

"Is nice to meet you, Mr. Ren. My name is Harry, Harry Potter."

Renato smirked in amusement and indulged the boy, adopting an air of solemnity and clasping the offered hand firmly. It was a bit ridiculous, seeing as he was still sitting on the floor with his legs crossed, but this way they were both roughly at the same height, so it worked.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Potter. I am Renato Sinclair, at your service."

Harry beamed again and threw himself at the teen with the intention to hug him around the neck, but his impulse and the lack of warning meant that Renato was not able to prepare himself for it and ended up sprawled on his back with a giggling Harry on top of him.

He huffed out an amused breath and joined in Harry's mirth.

Things were looking up, indeed.

4 – Magic

Renato learned that Harry was special.

Well, even more special than he always considered him to be.

There had always been signals of it, and at the beginning Renato believed it to be a subconscious use of Harry's Flames. Perhaps Mist Flames, if the descriptions Harry made were accurate.

Like that time he turned his annoying teacher's wig blue, or the times when he would suddenly have small things he wished for in his hand, or the time his Aunt wanted to force him into a particularly ugly cast-off sweater of Dudley and it kept shrinking until it was the ideal size for a doll.

But then there were other incidents that made Renato doubt that conclusion, like the time Harry made his hair grow overnight after Petunia had cut it brutally short. Sun Flames like his own had that capability, but Harry's weren't active, and he rather doubted that the boy could make use of two different types of Flames without activating either.

And then there was the incident with the boa constrictor at the zoo, during Dudley's eleventh birthday.

(Renato was sure that if any Flame gave the user the ability to talk to animals, or even only snakes, the fact would be already widely known in the underworld.)

So Renato was rather doubtful that Harry's abilities had anything to do with Dying Will Flames at all.

Is for that reason alone that he wasn't overly surprised when Harry let him know that a suspicious letter had arrived for him, claiming that he was a wizard and that he was enrolled in a school of magic.

Magic, of all things.

"And what did you do?" He asked, curious to know how the boy had handled the situation.

"Um," Harry started sheepishly. "Well, I only opened the letter after I was locked in my cupboard for the night, because I knew it would be stupid to try and read it in front of the Dursleys, so I haven't done anything yet." He scratched his head and looked at Renato hopefully. "What do you suggest?"

"What were you planning to do?" The twenty two year-old asked instead of answering. He liked to make the boy think for himself and act accordingly. He was also fond of letting him shoulder the consequences of his actions, be they good or bad. How else was he going to learn to be independent? Of course, if Renato thought Harry was biting more than he could chew, he'd stir him away from that path and let him choose another.

Predictably, Harry scowled and grumbled morosely, but obediently thought it over.

"I'll write back," he said finally. He hesitated a bit before elaborating. "It says there that they await my owl, whatever that means. So I have to write back and confirm that I want to go. And I'll politely request for a member of the staff to come and explain things, because I don't really understand half of what the letter says or where should I go to find the material. The letter was written as if they were expecting me to understand everything…" he mulled that over with a deep frown. "That means that either Vernon or Petunia or both knew about this, and were supposed to teach me."

"Good. That's an interesting deduction and a solid plan. But don't forget the possibility of this just being a prank. True, the number of specific details makes it sound too elaborate, but you shouldn't just discard it," he advised. Harry nodded, accepting Renato's point even if they both knew that the letter was more than likely genuine.

Renato could harness the power of his soul via Dying Will Flames, so why shouldn't Harry be able to wield magic?

5 – Minerva McGonagall

"… and then I got a Snowy Owl. I saw her as we passed Eeylops Owl Emporium and it was like a call, you know? Like if something was guiding me to her, so I bought her. She's beautiful, and her name is Hedwig. I really want you to meet her."

"And Professor McGonagall didn't protest?"

"Not at all! She said that it was well within the regulations to own one, and then she said that I had chosen a 'very fine specimen, Mr. Potter, I'm sure she'll be a good companion'," Harry recounted, imitating his new professor's voice.

Harry's gamble had worked out. The morning after they talked, he composed a careful response in a piece of paper torn from an old notebook. In it, he thanked the Deputy Headmistress and politely asked for a representative to be sent to his house at their earliest convenience to explain the magical world to him. He had then dubiously looked outside for a way to send the missive, and to his great surprise, an actual owl had dropped in front of him with its leg extended imperiously in clear invitation. Harry had carefully attached the note to the bird's leg and watched with wonder as it disappeared into the horizon.

The next day, the Deputy Headmistress herself had rung the bell at Number Four, Privet Drive and had almost been thrown out on her behind by his Aunt Petunia. But apparently Professor McGonagall was one of those no-nonsense type of woman who would not accept a no for an answer and had both the ability and the confidence necessary to stand her ground. She barged right in in the politest way Harry had ever seen and immediately commanded the use of the sitting room with only a flick of her wand.

She had sat Harry down and explained succinctly and to the point that yes, magic existed and that there was a hidden society that was full of wizards and witches which had its own government. She also explained that as he was born in it because both his parents were wizards and had attended Hogwarts, his tuition was already paid for. Then she invited him to ask questions and Harry, who was a little information hoarder all on his own but who was also sure that later in a dream Renato would squeeze him dry for more information, took full advantage of it.

He learned more than a lot.

For starters, he was apparently a very famous figure in the Wizarding World. The reason? He was left alive after his parents were murdered the Halloween of 1981 while the Dark Lord who targeted them disappeared. Oh. And the curse scar. That was enough proof to declare him 'The-Boy-Who-Lived' and adore him as if he were some kind of miracle saviour or the next Messiah. Neither Harry nor McGonagall were happy with that, and Harry was correct when he assumed that Renato wouldn't be, either.

("Your family was targeted by a crazy murdering wizard and your parents were killed right in front of you. You were left an orphan, survived with head trauma, and were immediately shipped to your horrible relatives. And instead of thinking of your well being all they managed to do was celebrate the end of the war and put you in some kind of pedestal? Without your knowledge? And then they dared use your name and your image to commercialize a huge range of products and books without your consent? Yeah, well. We're filing a lawsuit. They won't get another penny—knut—whatever it is called. I'm sure those wicked goblins that run the bank will be more than happy to do it for you.")

After two hours of continuous interrogation over biscuits and tea (and a severe reprimand to Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon when they tried to interrupt and insist that Harry was not going off to play magic tricks anywhere), McGonagall finally convinced Harry to let her take him to Diagon Alley to buy his textbooks and the rest of the materials he needed for the start of his schooling. Harry tried to protest—he had many things he still didn't have answers to!—but the woman promised to continue answering as they moved, so the boy relented.

Harry memorized the way to the Alley—"Always know where you are and how you got there! You never know when that information will be useful"—and the pattern that revealed its hidden entrance. Then he was momentarily amazed by the magic he could almost feel emanating from all the different shops.

After the visit to Gringotts and a small chat with the goblins, Harry went all out. He now had money to spend, and he was going to use it.

He bought clothes for school and some for daily wear, and planned to convert some of his gold into pounds to buy a sensible normal wardrobe afterwards. He also bought the standard potions kit and replacements for all his ingredients. He bought a trunk with two compartments and an extension charm build up inside, to which he added two extras features for an extra galleon: a shrinking charm and a password to open it. He eyed a backpack with similar enchantments and added it to his list of purchases.

Then he went for the books, amusing Profssor McGonagall to no end with the small library he insisted on buying.

("Well, Mr. Potter. I believe I won't be seeing you in Gryffindor come September, after all. It's a pity, as I was looking forwards to have you in my house, but I'm sure you will have an excellent time in Ravenclaw.")

The wand and Hedwig were the very last stops before the Professor accompanied him back home.

Then the woman insisted on helping Harry unpack his new things and Petunia was forced to show them to the guest's room if she didn't want to lose even more face and risk to provoke the wrath of an armed and powerful witch.

It was an understatement, saying that McGonagall had not been in the least bit impressed with the obvious unused room. She had rounded on Petunia and had stated in a calm yet predatory tone that she was going to make some slight changes to Harry's room, and that she sincerely hoped that they would stay there from then on. Petunia hastily agreed, and McGonagall was generous enough to inform her that she was going to be personally talking to Mr. Dursley about the matter at hand, and that she was now free to go and do whatever she normally did on Thursday nights.

The witch then proceeded to ask Harry what he wanted done and Harry enthusiastically started to make suggestions, giddy with the knowledge that he now had a proper room and that the Dursleys were not going to kick him out and lock him in the cupboard the moment the older woman left the house.

Minerva McGonagall became in that moment both a little boy's and a hitman's second favourite person in the whole world. (The first being each other, of course.)

Feedback is welcome. Prompts are welcome, too. Please don't ask when it's going to be updated, because I sincerely don't know. When (and if) I have more, I'll post it.

Thank you so much for reading! :-)

PS. You are free to come and talk to me on tumblr! (kurosakiami01) :D