In the End

Chapter 7

This chapter isn't edited in any way, shape, or form. I always try to proof-read but I get blind and blurry re-reading my own writing. So if ya' see a mistake, please have mercy on me and tell me! :'D

Warnings: General violence. Filler-ish. Rushed writing.

A/N: *slaps some words together in a word document to see if it sticks* Yeah, that works. Harry meets with people in this chapter, yeah—sets some things in motion that may or maybe not have consequences.

Hopefully it all makes sense cause, as always, this came in bits and pieces. I did my best to sew things together! :'v

I hope everyone is staying safe, especially in the US! Practice social distancing, and we'll get through this together! ^^ Even if you can't feel it, I'm sending good vibes your way!

Enjoy!

Kyoya has never quite known pain.

It was annoying.

While it only mildly hindered his physicality, what really pissed him off was the reminder of how he got it. Of what had happened. Of his weakness. Each ache that throbbed through his existence, a mild creak in his ribs that shortened his breath, or just the generally stiffness his muscles were feeling—it only served to remind him of that pineapple bastard.

He was going to kill him next time they met.

The hospital room he was in was the finest Namimori General could offer, due to his family's prominent history within the town and their generous annual donations to the board. His father was also hotly insistent, having practically tore through the staff and Kyoya's DC members to get to him. It was—

Scarily impressive.

And a reminder that his father was a Hibari through and through, no matter how 'settled' he became.

It has been awhile since he's truly been scolded. It was humiliating but humbling, and Kyoya vowed to take his father's stern words into consideration in the future. Only if to avoid a similar instance of this occurring again.

"Ah, your father is scary," a void idly commented, and Kyoya dragged his eyes towards Harry. Harry, who now had a physical body and could now been seen by everyone, was dozing in the only other bed in the room. Well, bed was too generous of a term; it was more of a cot the nurses gave him, and shoved out of the way.

His far-too green eyes were darting between Kyoya and the door, as if expecting his father to burst on through again. Kyoya sneered at him.

"He is a carnivore." Kyoya said promptly, laying back into his bed and sighing. His father did take note of the other teen, but said nothing about it cause he was too focused on him. Though he expected questioning soon, if he intended on keeping Harry around.

Harry made a noncommittal hum, settling back into his cot. The stick that he was playing with was placed back next to his side, having been jerked up in surprise when his father came into the room. Kyoya eyed it with interest.

Both of them stewed in an awkward silence, despite Kyoya's best attempts at glaring the other teen into submission.

"Why are you here?" Kyoya demanded at last, gritting it out. As much as it irritated him, he did need to know—the fight with the pineapple bastard was a smear in his memory, the most prominent things he remembers was the utterly cold rage burning in his gut and the blurry ache of pain that was his body at that point.

A few broken bones was nothing, though, compared to losing.

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, gaze casually averted from Kyoya's stare. Instead, he was staring up at the ceiling with an idle interest, thumbing the weird stick in his hands. "I don't know," he admitted, quietly. "I really—don't."

Ah, the other teen was spiraling again—Kyoya recognized the fidgety lost look creeping onto Harry's pale, tense, features. The limp drag of his breathing -even when he didn't have a body, he always mimicked breathing (habit?)-, and his eyes became half-lidded.

All these signs indicated the next few days to a week of moping, a sullen silence of disconnect from the teen.

Which was—not happening.

Kyoya grabbed his pillow, and chucked it across the room with as much force as he could muster. Apparently, to his pleasant surprise, it was a lot because it knocked Harry off his cot and into the wall with a yelp.

"Ow!" Harry scrambled up, eyes darting between the pillow and Kyoya. "Ow! Kyoya, what the hell? That hurt," he snapped, grabbing the pillow and looked tempted to throw it back. Kyoya tilted his head, narrowing his eyes slightly at the prospect of a challenge—

Because he would win, despite them both being injured and in the hospital. And even if it was what herbivores called a pillow fight.

Harry caught sight of his expression and huffed at him, quickly changing his objective to fixing up his knocked over cot and bedding. He seemed to take his pillow for himself, though Kyoya wasn't lost without it. Kyoya had a mountain of pillows on his bed.

But the thought of leaving his pillow with Harry was slightly irritating.

But maybe—if he was lenient with it, Harry would be more willing to open up. So yeah—Harry could have a little pillow. As a treat.

"Answer me properly," Kyoya tried again, sneering at him. Harry picked up his stick from the floor, and flopped back into his cot. "I won't ask so nicely again," he warned lowly, baring his teeth. Harry shot him an incredulous look, mouth pulling into a frown.

"That was nicely?" Harry muttered, and Kyoya reached for his tonfas that were lying beside him. "Okay! Okay, jeez," Harry sent him a sour look, sitting up in his cot and playing with his ugly stick again.

The silence dragged on, causing Kyoya to sneer darkly at the other teen as his fingers twitched for his tonfas. Maybe it was because of his recent fight with the damned illusionist, but a familiar urge he hasn't felt since childhood began to make his gums ache, the vicious need to bite something until it gave in.

And Harry did have a body that he could bite now, though his father had long sense ingrained the ability to feel the same satisfaction through his tonfas.

"It began before I was born," Harry at last murmured, and the words cause Kyoya to snarl wordlessly. At this, Harry laughed with a shake of his head, sending him an almost empathetic smile. This only caused Kyoya to bare his teeth further. "But it is older than me."

"That isn't a startling development," Kyoya sniffed, mulish. If Harry was going to be vague about this all the way through, consternation underlying his features, then Kyoya would have better luck just persuading him his usual way.

Which was just brute force, but it was a way.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry frowned, his usual snippy behavior returning just a bit. It ebbed back to him like a receding tide, and as comforting as it was to see it, Kyoya was getting tired.

"It's not hard to be older than you. I'm almost older than you, at this point," Kyoya said, waving a hand to cut through Harry's protest. "Continue," he demanded, sneering. Harry sputtered before heaving a sigh, narrowing his gaze at him.

"Fine," Harry muttered, though he looked thoroughly unsettled at the revelation. "While I'm not a 100 percent sure, but I'm pretty sure—I'm not from this world." Kyoya raised his eyebrows, causing Harry to fidget a bit. "As cheesy as that sounds, it's not improbable—from where I'm from, at least. And here, too, I guess, because this place is weird."

"Namimori is perfect the way it is," Kyoya replied reflexively, narrowing his eyes. It was. Perfect, that is—because Namimori was his, and he wouldn't accept nothing less. Harry rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah—point is! I'm not from this world, and somehow ended up in this world and attached to you without a physical body," Harry rubbed the back of his neck, eyes averted from Kyoya. He seemed to be mulling over something, chewing in the inside of his cheek. "Where I'm from—ghosts are real, but if I was one, then I'd figured I'd be where I died and I wouldn't be attached to some random kid in Japan of all places."

Okay—a lot to unpack there.

"I'm not a kid," Kyoya decided to clarify that first, and foremost. Harry's exasperated sigh didn't deter him. And spirits and all that—not unsurprising, but not really Kyoya's concern, considering he had all these years to get used to Harry's presence. That only left the last thing that Kyoya didn't know about Harry—

After all these years, he still didn't know a lot of things about Harry, really.

Hn.

"Died?" The words were quite unfamiliar to say, lingering heavily in his mouth. Kyoya knew about death, knew that he probably unintentionally killed some herbivores in his attempt to keep the peace, and had death take his mother when he was younger.

Harry's gave him a nebulous smile, meeting his eyes that were surprisingly full and warm and accepting; in a way, it was more worrisome than his usual vacant looks. "Death seems to be a friend of mine," he admitted, not without a hint of bitterness and irony.

"What does that mean?" Kyoya couldn't help but remember when Harry disappeared during his first fight with the pineapple bastard. When he had disappeared, and Mukuro had collapsed, there was a sudden chill that had washed through him, shuddering and exhausting. It had felt like something was carved from him, something taken, which—well, it did happen.

Harry was taken from him.

The rage and indignation that the illusionist somehow managed to do that only added to the hazy hatred that was brewing in Kyoya's gut, spurring the cold and utter fury brighter inside his chest.

"I guess it means that I've been given the title Master of Death," Harry mused, glancing down at his stick and frowning at it. The title was cheesy, and Kyoya wasted no time in judging him for it. "Hey—I didn't choose the title, nor did I want it in the first place," the other teen snapped, red creeping up to his ears.

"Okay, Master of Death," Kyoya drawled, having Harry send him a scandalized look. "What does that mean?" Harry was doing that annoying thing of his where he answered without really answering much. It was frustrating but surprisingly, Kyoya didn't think Harry was doing it on purpose.

The other teen was always good at keeping things close to him, whether he was conscious of it or not. While Harry might have had all these years to get used to him, Kyoya also had all these years to gather bits and pieces and forsaken social cues from the teen.

"I don't know," Harry admitted, heaving a frustrated sigh. He flopped back down onto his cot, staring morosely up at the ceiling. "I'm—figuring it out, I guess," he didn't sound all too happy with it, and Kyoya hummed. He still had a lot of questions, but the chances of Harry knowing the answer or not was slim based on how this conversation was going.

At the very least, Kyoya mused as he settled back into his own bed. He could get one more answer from Harry before he went to sleep for the night. They can work something out tomorrow when he was in a much better mood and more well-rested.

"So, what's with the stick?"

"Oh," Harry looked at his ugly stick, palming it. He seemed awkward. "Uh—how do you feel about—magic?"

"What."

-0-0-0-

It was a undoubtedly awkward.

Hibari Hideki was a man Harry had known for about 10 years. The head of Namimori PD, he was a busy and serious man who was often away from the house most of the time. Even when he was there, Kyoya was often out in turn—which meant, Harry didn't get to see much of the man. But he knew Kyoya greatly respected him, admired him, even if they didn't meet eye to eye on many things.

He knew that Hideki was a man fueled by regret and love for his son.

The whole problem of knowing this, however, was that Hideki didn't know him. Harry felt awkward and uncomfortable, underneath Hideki's slightly bewildered gaze and tightly lined mouth, his stern countenance stiff in what was supposed to be a relaxing evening in at his home.

A home which Harry was currently invading, in his mind; he didn't need to know that Harry had been practically haunting them these past 10 years.

Kyoya was standing behind Harry, having sat him down firmly in front of his father just moments prior. It was similar to a cat bringing in his prey, showing it off to his owner. Though, Harry also had a feeling it was to also appear as above this whole situation.

Because it was, in a way: Kyoya already decided on what was going to happen.

"He will be staying with us." Kyoya stated, factual.

Hideki's gaze snapped towards Kyoya sharply, expression straining just a bit. "And might I ask who this is?" He questioned, tone indifferent.

"Yes." Kyoya replied shortly.

A god-awful moment of silence, which had Harry slumping his shoulders slightly under. A bubble of fond exasperation swelled within him, and he had to sigh just a bit; Kyoya was dangerous to a lot of people—just not his father.

Honestly, he was more like a spoiled brat to his father than the dangerous and carnivorous exterior everyone else saw.

"My name is Harry," Harry offered, in effort to appease Hideki's oncoming stroke at his son's rather hilarious yet lackluster effort to answer his questions. The older man pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed. "It's nice to meet you, Hibari-san."

Though his expression stated the otherwise, Hideki replied slowly, "You as well, Harry." His eyes were appraising as he stared Harry down, apparently shifting his attention towards him as he seemed to be the only one here to answer his questions. His stare was bland and tired.

Ah—Harry couldn't help but feel a bit sheepish. Hideki just got back from pulling a double shift over the past few days, and just got home before he was ambushed by Kyoya.

"How did he find you?" Hideki asked, sending a reprimanding glance towards his son. Kyoya snorted slightly, making his father's eye twitch. Harry just swallowed slightly, twining his fingers together and placing them in front of him on the table.

Find me? It was more like they found each other, and were forcibly duck taped together by some sort of magical fuckery. Complete bullshit. Harry couldn't say that, though; he didn't know what to say, actually, and he floundered a bit.

"We met at Kokuyo Land. There was a bit of trouble there," Harry emphasized the word, making Hideki sigh. "But Kyoya was able to take care of it." And now, they were here—it was very vague, his answer.

"Trouble," Hideki muttered, staring intently at the two of them. At last, he slumped and sighed. "I see no harm in it," he declared, after a moment. Kyoya made a pleased noise, akin to a purr, to which Hideki shot him a stern look at. Ignoring his son for a moment, Hideki turned his gaze towards Harry.

It was silent for a moment, Harry holding his breath slightly at the tension.

They were alike in the fact that their stare was carnivorous, picking Harry apart to pieces; Hibari's were terrifying in that aspect, and Harry once again mourned the fact that he somehow met them.

"Welcome to the family," Hideki finally stated, before standing and moving towards his study. Conveniently, where his alcohol was stored. "I'm sure Kyoya will show you around the house, but if you need anything, I'll be happy to help."

Somehow, Harry highly doubted his sincerity.

-0-0-0-

Of course.

The first order of business in Kyoya's mind was this. Harry stared dully up at the sky, wondering if it was too late to go hang out at Yamamoto's place. Hell, he'd even take Tsuna and Reborn's house, because getting the demon's impending interrogation would be preferable to thi—

Harry threw himself to the ground, the tonfa barely missing him by a centimeter.

"Pay attention," Kyoya demanded, calmly walking past him to retrieve his projectile. Harry scrambled upward and around to keep him in line of sight, wary and defeated. "You have been out of practice," the teen continued, eying him accusingly.

"I was indisposed!" Harry hissed out, feet shuffling in place. He was torn between backing away or keeping ready to move if need be. The only reason Kyoya was acting so concerned about this, anyways, was because Harry carried the potential to become a decent fighter.

A decent physical fighter, with his magical abilities.

The only problem was—Harry was fine with just his magical abilities as his only fighting potential, because he was done fighting in general and magic could do what he needed if push came to shove.

"We will work on it," Kyoya declared, voice leaving no room for argument. "I have no use for herbivores who won't even try to survive." Harry scrunched up his nose, before sending one last disbelieving glance upwards—

It'd been awhile since he'd been called a herbivore by Kyoya.

No use for him, huh? Harry thought of Mukuro, of Reborn and Tsuna—the mafia, a whole world of people who fought with weapons, their bodies, and fire. Harry was sure he'd be able to keep up good enough, but Kyoya was oddly persistent on Harry doing this.

It was obvious to Harry now that Kyoya was expecting him to follow him.

Which is—well, Kyoya was going to be nose-diving in this whole mess, because that's who Kyoya was. He was a fighter, at heart, a carnivorous and greedy soul who loved the triumph of a good challenge too much to resist. Harry was sometimes struck with a type of awe when watching Kyoya fight, the graceful and sure movements with eyes that practically shone with excitement.

Kyoya made physical fighting seem like an art form.

It really only served to remind Harry that he could probably never compete in that aspect. Harry was just so tired at this point of violence, of fighting, that the thought was unappealing in spite of Kyoya. Still, there was one thing Harry learned, is that just because he was done with it doesn't really mean that trouble was done with him.

Especially if he was seriously considering following Kyoya into this.

Damn it all—Harry was unbearable sentimental towards the boy in front of him, because how could he not after all this time? Harry flexed his fingers restlessly at his side, expression strained as he finally met Kyoya's expectant gaze.

"Self-defense," Harry managed, swallowing. Kyoya watched the bob of his throat, head inclining slightly to the side. "No combat; just self-defense."

Kyoya's eyes narrowed slightly, mouth thinning. Harry didn't waver, staring back evenly as he could. At last, Kyoya let out an annoyed, "Tsk." Harry loosened at the noise, smile growing on his face, because that was the best he could ask for in terms of agreement.

Even when Kyoya lunged forward, crossing the distance between them with ease, tonfa striking out—Harry only laughed and fell back, even when he had to cast a quick protego to protect himself from another swing from Kyoya's tonfa from his other side.

There was a flash of golden light when Kyoya struck, before the rebound forced him back. Harry felt his magic crack and then dissipate as he created distance between them, a familiar adrenaline prickling underneath his skin.

Kyoya shot him a bloodthirsty smile, eyes alight. Despite Harry not agreeing to combat, he seemed satisfied enough to try and attack someone with no normal means of defense. It reminded Harry of a cat playing with a toy—

Unfortunately, Harry was the toy in this case.

"Ventus!" Harry muttered, the Elder wand a comforting weight in his hand as he twirled it. The gust of wind threw Kyoya off guard, knocking him back a few meters and shove one of his tonfas into the ground to keep him still.

Harry was grateful that he was getting a chance to memorize his spells, and practice spell casting after all these years—he was holding back on a lot, because he didn't want to accidentally hurt Kyoya.

Though— a teasing smile, heterochromatic eyes crinkling a bit in sadistic amusement. Going easy on Kyoya won't be helping anyone, as much as it was helping Harry reacquainting himself with his spells.

With that in mind, Harry cast a bombarda Kyoya's way as he advanced again. This resulted in him casting another quick protego as Kyoya hit the rubble that resulted from it towards him with his tonfas. Each piece of rock cracked against his shield, Harry having to keep concentrated on it to keep it from shattering completely.

Who knows, maybe if he was feeling spicy, he'd get to test out the bat bogey hex on Kyoya. It'll be in the name of teaching the other constant vigilance!

…

Only if he had a death wish, though.

-0-0-0-

Ever since Harry had been given his body back, Kyoya and him have been practicing social distancing. Because it was ridiculous how dependent they subconsciously were on each other's presence, having spent years stuck together with only a meter or so apart from each other.

When they were separated at Kokuyo Land, it was immensely uncomfortable—at least for Harry. And while Kyoya might not be too worried about it, the teen resolving it won't happen again if they became stronger—

Life could be unpredictable at times.

Especially this world, it seems. So Harry decided to go hang out with Yamamoto for a bit, much to Kyoya's silent judgement and narrowed gaze. He had chosen a time where Kyoya would be busy with his DC duties, and was really given his blessings when he promised to bring back something for him.

And plus, the more comfortable they were apart, the higher chance of Kyoya just leaving him to nap instead of dragging him on his patrols. That would be great.

(Harry also wanted to leave Namimori at some point in the future, and he just knows Kyoya won't. But Harry wanted to see the world he was dropped in, if he was the only magic user, and maybe if t̶h̶e̶r̶e̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶ ̶a̶ ̶w̶a̶y̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶g̶e̶t̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶.)

Though it did feel weird actually entering TakeSushi without him.

"You came!" Yamamoto laughed, smile enviously carefree. He turned and waved at a person behind the counter, who was watching with a slightly tilted head. "Pops! This is Harry, the one I've been telling ya' about!"

Yamamoto's father smiled, wan and reminiscent of his son's smile. Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly but inclined his head, hoping his expression was aimable as he wanted it to be. "Oh yes—Hibari-kun's… friend." The pause was discerning.

"Yeah. Friend." Harry repeated with a nod. Well, as close as friends could get with someone like Hibari Kyoya. "It's nice to meet you, Yamamoto-san." Yamamoto's father's eyes flicked over him once, quick, before he threw his head back and laughed.

"Well, come! Sit, I'll prepare you two some lunch—my sushi is the best!" Yamamoto's father motioned them in, Yamamoto himself throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders and tugging him into the restaurant with a grin. Harry stifled a grimace—sushi.

He never tried it before, but it'd be rude to refuse.

(He hoped it didn't taste as weird as it smelt. It had to be good—because people ate it. It was a popular cuisine. Harry didn't know, maybe his taste buds were more suited to English cuisine.)

After they settled into one of the more private areas of the restaurant, Yamamoto slurped his milk from the carton as he stared down at Harry. Harry pointedly ignored him as he stirred the ice in his water, twitching only slightly at the noise. At last, Yamamoto finished his drink with a satisfied, "ah! That was good—milk is good for you, ya' know?"

"I'm lactose intolerant." Harry answered cryptically. "I'm pretty sure if I even drink one drop, I'll be killed instantly." Harry eyed the bandage wrapped tightly around Yamamoto's neck, from where Mukuro had nicked him heavily with his trident.

Not enough to kill, but enough to scar—Harry rubbed absently at his own chest, remembering the trident piercing him. While there wasn't a scar left to bear his attack, the memory remained. An unpleasant memory.

"I'm pretty sure that's not true." Yamamoto laughed again. "Anyways, how have you been holding up? I haven't seen you since the hospital! Are you still recovering?" He made a show of glancing obviously at Harry's own bandages, wrapped tight around his arms and also on his neck, one bandage on his jawline to mask the ugly bruise and cut Kyoya graced him with.

"I've healed." Yamamoto tilted his head dubiously as Harry sipped at his water. Licking his lips, Harry gave a wry grin. "But Kyoya has decided to, er, teach me a few things." Understanding blossomed on Yamamoto's face, and he nodded encouragingly.

"Oh, that makes sense! This game is pretty dangerous—though, wouldn't your witch powers work just as well?" Yamamoto mused, opening his second carton of milk. "Like in a table-top RPGs, there are classes, right? You're like a mage with your witch powers, so physical fighting isn't needed much, right?"

Table-top RPGs? Mage?

Harry shrugged. He resisted to just tell the younger teen that life wasn't a game, and couldn't be wrapped neatly up like that, as convenient as that would be. Though, he remembered their conversation together that one day. Instead, he chose his words carefully. "Well, this game is more like an…open-world game and RPG mix?" Harry winced lightly. "So learning more skills will be helpful." He finished lamely.

Merlin, what was he even saying?

The only games he really liked was Wizarding Chess, and, of course, Quidditch. Though, hanging with the Weasley Family and around the Gryffindor Tower, he did hear some terms tossed about. He just hoped he was using them correctly.

"Multiclassing," Yamamoto brightened. "That's super smart. I've actually been thinking to level up as well—maybe multiclass as well. Mukuro was able to do his magic tricks and fight at the same time …" The mention of Mukuro soured the mood, and Yamamoto's eyes were dark. His pleasant smile never faltered, though it only served to make his expression all the more ominous. "I want to say he didn't play fair, but I think he was just a few levels ahead of us."

In other words, Yamamoto was slightly petty at losing so quickly to Mukuro. Though, probably not too much considering that, in the end, Mukuro was defeated. Maybe it was because Yamamoto realized how weak, despite the potential, him and his ragtag group of friends really were.

(Harry still couldn't get over the fact that Tsuna was supposed to be the upcoming boss to one of the strongest mafia families in this world. Tsuna, the adorable little nudist who combusts into flames. Though, the fight with Mukuro was enlightening.)

"Failure is only failure if you don't learn anything from it," Harry informed loftily. Yamamoto blinked as he soaked in his words, and Harry continued with a slight grin. He thought of Mukuro, and couldn't help but think that there was more people who were probably more powerful than he was. The probability of that was high, considering that if he was such a menace to the mafia world—

Then they would have dealt with him sooner.

Unless there was some god-awful politics going on (probably was).

"It'll take a lot of work if you wanna get ahead, I guess," Harry finished, and Yamamoto hummed. His eyes had lightened, though, his easy smile playing on his lips. He seemed excited at the prospect, and Harry couldn't help but sigh slightly.

Honestly, despite their different personalities and outlooks on life—maybe Yamamoto and Kyoya had a bit more in common than expected.

"It'll be fun!" Yamamoto enthused, pulling out a milk carton from nowhere and popping it open with ease. He raised it up with great expectancy, causing Harry to quirk a brow at him. Hesitatingly (because, seriously?), Harry raised his half-empty cup to knock it against Yamamoto's milk carton.

Following his lead, he took a big swig of his water as Yamamoto did the same with his milk.

"To a good future, and good fortune," Yamamoto practically chirped, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Setting the now empty carton down -much to Harry's bewilderment because who likes milk that much?-, Yamamoto stood and stretched until something in his back popped. "Ah, that reminds me! I'm gonna go get my old Gameboy, wait here! I wanna see what starter you choose."

"Starter?" Harry repeated blankly, blinking as Yamamoto just tossed him a careless grin from over his shoulder as his long legs crossed the restaurant towards a backroom. Okay, this was his fault, he guessed; this is what happens when you make a connection with someone based on a paper-thin common interest.

He had almost forgotten about the Gameboy thing, actually; it was hard to think when he was being beaten up on the daily by Kyoya, and subtly avoiding the demon baby and his gaggle of children. Time spent on grounding himself and relearning his magic was also time well spent, in his opinion.

"Thank you for hanging out with my boy, Harry-kun," a jovial voice interrupted Harry's thinking, causing him to jump and stare at Yamamoto's father. He just grinned and set down a platter of sushi and various dipping sauces in front of him, crossing his arms after he was done. His eyes trailed from the door Yamamoto disappeared to and back to Harry in a quick flicker, that if Harry wasn't looking he would have missed it.

"It's no problem," Harry muttered awkwardly, averting his eyes to the platter in front of him. His stomach rocked at the sight and smell, but Harry—wasn't going to be ungrateful. Food was hard come sometimes, as he learned from his time at the Dursleys to his year of running from the Ministry. Especially these past ten years of being Caspar the friendly ghost to Kyoya. "Thank you for the food."

"You'll love it," the assurance in -Harry squinted at the name tag- Tsuyoshi's voice was actually assuring. Harry eyed the sushi platter, wondering which one Kyoya liked again. It was the—Sashimi, which was basically just raw fish.

Because of course—Kyoya liked eating raw meat.

Maybe he'll just stick to the more simple looking ones with the seaweed wrapped rice. Maki looked good when Hideki ate it, though that could just be him because there was a strange sort of grace when it came to the Hibari family.

"Tell me, Harry-kun," Tsuyoshi urged quietly, after showing Harry how to crack open his chopsticks and watching him carefully pick at the sushi. It seemed like he waited until Harry popped a roll into his mouth, causing the teen to blink wide-eyed at him, mouth full. "Are you apart of the mafia?"

Harry carefully swallowed the food in his mouth, the taste of salt still on his tongue. "No?" Not yet, at least, according to Kyoya. Even then, Harry was sure that Kyoya would be pretty detached from everything, and by that logic, so would Harry. But on the topic, "And… you?"

At this, Harry pointedly glanced at the sharp knife that was hooked onto Tsuyoshi's side, clipped to his apron. It was only from Yamamoto's own excited ramblings about his father, and watching his own sword moves that gave him the faintest idea of what his father might be capable of.

Tsuyoshi cocked his head, smiling. "Not anymore," he admitted, at last. He rubbed the back of his neck with a sigh, glancing once more at the entrance. Where the hell was Yamamoto? "And I won't stop him if that's what he wants. But I just wanted to know your thoughts, if he's—ready for it?"

What the hell? Was he asking Harry to gauge if a kid was ready for the mafia? Harry made a face, choosing a roll at random and dunking it into the wasabi sauce. "Is anyone ever ready?" He snipped, stuffing the roll into his mouth. Spice made his eyes water, his mouth tingling. Swallowing, he continued, "and even if he wasn't, do you think that will stop him?"

The last part came out more tired, and resigned. Because nothing ever stopped him, from breaking the rules for the sake of the ,greater good,. Perhaps someone should have, but no one adult ever stepped forward and helped Harry—leaving Harry to do everything himself.

No—he wasn't by himself, Harry had his friends.

An ache that had settled into the hollow his chest, nestled so long there that it was easy to forget about it, panged at the thought. Harry bitterly picked at the sushi, chancing a glance at a contemplative Tsuyoshi.

Were the adults in this world passive when it came to the mafia? Or was the mafia just inevitable to them? Harry pressed his eyes closed, remembering the swathe of flames and baby hitmen, of Mukuro's illusions and Kyoya's almost inhumane strength and viciousness.

Perhaps it was, if those specific powers are unique to the mafia.

Harry would need to do research.

"He won't be alone," Harry opened his eyes, thinking of Yamamoto's friends. Gokudera and Tsuna, and surely others, because Yamamoto was a friendly boy. Plus, if his father was ex-mafia—Harry turned to stare appraisingly at Tsuyoshi, keeping his stare even and challenging, daring the man to say otherwise, asked, "right?"

Tsuyoshi blinked, before a slow, small but calming, smile spread across his face. "Of course," he assured, hand playing with the knife at his side. He glanced at the sword, that looked too heavily worn to be decorative, hanging on a wall near the kitchen with a hum.

Satisfied, Harry smiled and carefully chose an roll that had a slab of fatty tuna on it. Homage to to Kyoya, he guessed, as he dipped it into the next sauce he was trying, the spicy mayo. It tasted good—the smell was easy to get used to, once he acquired a taste that paired with it.

"Thank you," Tsuyoshi clapped Harry on the shoulder, heading back to the kitchen. Harry hummed in response, eying Yamamoto as he emerged from where he disappeared with a small box and a cheerful grin.

"Sorry, sorry, had a bit of trouble finding it," Yamamoto apologized. "Did I miss anything?" Harry shrugged idly, as Yamamoto settled himself across from him again. There was a certain sharpness in his eyes as he glanced at his father and Harry, smile never leaving his face as he asked, "did you and my pops talk about me behind my back?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry rolled his eyes, taking another slab of fatty tuna. It was surprisingly good. "He was just asking about the game." Yamamoto laughed out loud at that, shaking his head.

"Oh? What did he say?" Yamamoto sat down across him, setting the box off to the side and began to pick stuff off the platter to put on his own plate. Harry shrugged idly, glancing over to the counter to see a worker now manning the front.

The sword Tsuyoshi had hanging up was gone.

"He might be interested in helping you level up."

"Oh, neat!"

-0-0-0-

Yamamoto came by Kyoya's HQ a week after their hang-out with two platters of sushi for them, and a cheerful smile. He was also covered in bandages and looked like he was dragged through the hell Kyoya was dragging Harry in.

He declined the offer to stay and share, squaring his shoulders and tilting his head up proudly. His smile was sharp like the sword he owned.

"My pops decided to teach me sword fightin'!" Yamamoto mimed a sword slicing through the air, causing Harry to chuckle a bit. Kyoya eyed Yamamoto with vague interest, though he was much more taken with his favorite platter of raw fish and sauces, paired with a fine tea that Yamamoto managed to get for them.

"That's good," Harry picked at his own platter. "I hope you have an easier time leveling up than me," because physical combat self-defense was a bit harder on the body than magical self-defense. Kyoya had suspended his use of magic for the time being so in case he found himself without it, he would be able to 'bite' back.

"Where's the fun if its easy?" Yamamoto laughed, before turning to leave.

At Kyoya's approving hum, Harry sighed as he cracked his chopsticks open and debated on where to start on his own meal. He wondered if everyone in this town was just a bit bloodthirsty, or if it was just them.

-0-0-0-

The meeting was inevitable.

Despite knowing this, Harry wished he had more of a warning. He didn't expect it on his random wandering of the town to be yanked off the sidewalk and into a café so quickly that his head spun. His feet tripped over themselves at the sudden motion and current inexperience at navigating a physical body again. Luckily, he was saved from planting face-first into the ground by someone grabbing the back of his shirt.

Cracking an eye open, Harry realized he was but an inch from the ground.

Reborn gave him a beatific smile before dropping him.

All this resulted in him sitting across the demon baby, cupping a hot cup of chocolate and trying to think of what to say.

Harry shifted a bit, uncomfortable at Reborn's dark and predatory gaze. He was used to Kyoya's own similar one, but something about Reborn's was more… ominous. More promising. It was like comparing a kitten to a panther—which felt ridiculous, considering that by all intents and purposes, Reborn was a baby.

Wasn't he?

His eyes flicked to the bright yellow pacifier that hung over Reborn's chest for a moment. He had noticed it before, of course, but now that he had his body and magic back—he could feel it. It wasn't entirely noticeable if he wasn't exactly focusing on it, but it was there. Like a heavy blanket, like everything that the world centered on was only being pinned down by this stupidly colored pacifier.

"I'm not really from this world," Harry admitted, slowly. He cupped his mug of hot chocolate, the warmth seeping into his hands. "I don't really know how else to explain it. I died, then woke up here, with Kyoya. And then after meeting Mukuro—well, I'm still here, just in a more physical sense."

Reborn's gaze was still eerily blank.

Harry gave a helpless shrug at it. "Don't know what else I can add to that, Reborn," he muttered. The baby just continued to give him his blank stare before he calmly resumed to sipping his own drink. The pacifier drew Harry's attention again, and he eyed it briefly before averting his gaze away.

Was that a curse? A gift? It felt heavy, though Harry couldn't discern if that was a good or bad thing just yet. It didn't help that he didn't know it's supposed purpose, because there was no way it was just there for decoration. Harry didn't know—

He was finding that he didn't know a lot of things in this world.

"So, uh," Harry said after a while, after they ordered their third refills. Not much has been said between them, an awkward if not kind of uncomfortable silence filling the space between them. It wasn't so uncomfortable that Harry felt the need to dismiss himself, though. "What's with the fire?"

"Fire?" Reborn replied innocently back. His blinked wide-eyed at him. "What fire?"

Harry let out an incredulous laugh, quirking an eyebrow. "I noticed that your student is prone to combusting." And getting naked while combusting. Fortunately, during his fight with Mukuro, his clothes stayed firmly on. "His hair catches on fire," he elaborated, though he knew that the baby knew what he was talking about.

Reborn hummed, innocuous little smile never budging. "Flames of the Sky."

"Flames of the what?" Harry wrinkled his nose in mild confusion. Seeing this, Reborn tilted his head and hummed again.

"You really don't know." Reborn mused, mostly to himself. He took another long sip of his drink. "Flames of the Sky. There are a group of people who have access to these Flames, and each of them have different properties." At this, he held up one of his pudgy hands, and began to count them off. "Sun, Storm, Rain, Mist, Cloud, and Lightning. And of course, Sky."

Harry rubbed his chin as he digested this information. All the Flames were named after… weather? And were all connected to the Sky. Alright, weird, but alright—Harry wasn't going to question it, because the Wizarding World had a whole bunch of weird things named for even weirder reasons. Still, only a few select people had access to it… was it this world's magical world?

Then again, Reborn was a hitman. And Tsuna was (surprisingly) a mafia-boss in training.

Oh gods, of course the people who had access to these powers were criminals.

Rubbing a tired hand over his face, Harry asked, "and how does one access these powers?"

"The full title are the Dying Will Flames of the Sky," Reborn chirped back, and Harry grimaced. Dying Will. He vaguely remembers Tsuna yelling something like that around before. Something, something, with his dying will—

"And what does that mean?" Harry frowned. Dying Will sounded morbid. Death's will? The mention of death had something ominous prickling his skin, raising goosebumps along his skin. He hasn't been thinking too much about his title of Master of Death, either due to having to do something else or avoiding it entirely.

"To die without regret." Reborn's answer was once again short. Harry had a frustrated feeling that he would never get a straight answer from the demon baby.

"Right," Harry replied slowly. He finished the last of his drink, and gave the baby a frown. "Well, as fun as this has been, I really have to head out," he huffed. If the baby wasn't going to be forthcoming, then Harry wouldn't either. As he made to leave, though, he hesitated and shot another glance at the seated baby.

Or rather, another glance at the yellow pacifier.

Harry hesitated, but his hero complex didn't. That willful stirring in his chest, urging him forward. It was irritating, annoying, but Harry couldn't help it.

"If you need help with that… curse? I can probably try," Harry announced, and Reborn's gaze sharpened, everything stilling around him. Swallowing his nerves, Harry gave him a wan smile. "Though, I can't make any promises." And at the feeling of Reborn's intense gaze had him shiver in dread.

Harry's faced death before, of course.

That doesn't mean he liked to keep meeting it. Nor did he really want to currently deal with the drama of it all.

So with that, Harry apparated out of there. Kyoya only glanced up mildly when Harry popped into his DC room, collapsing onto his couch and letting out a groan. "Quiet," Kyoya demanded listlessly, and Harry nodded, face shoved into the cushion. After a few moments, Kyoya asked, "what's the matter?"

"Demon baby," Harry's voice was muffled into the cushion.

"Ah." Was all Kyoya said, understanding. The hint of amusement in there was sadistic, and Harry pointedly ignored it. While it was less nuanced than the demon baby's, Kyoya was sadistic when he wanted to be.

Harry was going to ignore everyone and everything, and tossed and turned on his couch until he was comfortable. He only stopped when he felt the prickling glare of Kyoya, curling on his side into the couch so he could have some sense of comfort as he napped. Despite that, he uncurled a bit when his mind lulled a bit as the soft, stern, atmosphere in the DC room continued.

The scratch of Kyoya working was relaxing, the soft breeze from the open window gentle. It brushed over his skin, ruffling his hair, as if comforting him for the horrid encounter he just survived. As much as Harry wanted to help others, offering to help with something like this with his rusty expertise was a bit… awkward.

But Harry should be used to it, often thrown and throwing himself into situations that was far too big for his shoulders.

Maybe he should take a trip somewhere out of Namimori soon, despite not being that comfortable with being away from Kyoya for long periods of time just yet. He deserved it, and it would help avoid Reborn just for a bit—plus, he could research the magical communities in this world (if any) while he was away.

It wasn't like he could help at all with whatever the demon baby had going with him, and Kyoya, if he didn't find out answers soon. It might take some time though—if everyone else answered him with the same level of vagueness and sly misdirection Reborn had towards him, it might take a while to figure out these 'flames'.

Great, just great.

Harry squeezed his eyes tighter together and tried to relax.

The line between sleep and awake was blurry, a limbo that Harry was forced to experience for 10 straight years because he could never really sleep. All the times he rested before was just him closing his eyes and drifting, but never really sleeping. Actual sleep nowadays were both amazing and weird, and he almost always woke up with a start because dreams were not a thing he has experienced in a long time.

His dreams were a smear of memories.

He was dreaming right now.

Which was weird, because it wasn't as blurry as it should have been and Harry frowned at the large expanse of white and empty space around him. It was a familiar scene, too familiar, because he was recently here. It wasn't natural. Well, he mused, it should be natural considering this was Death's Platform; no, the anomaly here was him.

Him, and-

Dread swam in his stomach, and Harry blew out a forceful sigh. He turned from staring out from a train platform that showed only emptiness to glance around, finding the other anomaly that was here with him.

Mukuro was sitting leisurely the only bench in the entire place. His long legs were crossed, head propped up in his hand; his gleaming heterochromatic eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

The teen smiled, sweet and innocent in a way that he surely wasn't, at him.

"Ciao~"

Review, favorite, follow, or whatever you do on stories that you read!

Y'all should follow my tumblr mufumufu cause I wanna be more active there lmao I also have a sideblog for my art, though right now it's half KHR shitposts lmao

See ya'!

-mms