Hello, everyone! As always, some basic information just to avoid future disappointment:

1) Chapter length will vary, but the wordcount will definitely go up.

2) The reason this fic is tagged Romance for now is because there may be some chapters within the first 10-15 of them which might contain a lot of certain pairing(s). However, in general, this fic will concentrate more on friendship. Pretty similar to my other crossover Bakin' Magic, except BM is gen. Also, there's going to be a lot of worldbuilding and flame lore ahead.

3) On this note, this is a slowbuild, self-indulgent story.

4) Finally, the endgame pairing is Arcobaleno/Harry. It's tagged clearly, but if you are new to the KHR fandom, this means it's both slash and, to a much lesser extent, het. Yeah, I also find the absence of female characters in KHR disgusting. Please note however that not all the characters have the same relationship, and some roads to romance are longer than others, which means that the pairings will be individual rather than harem for quite some time. This may be either relieve or disappoint you. (But won't it be fun to tackle the question of polyamory in the mafia?)

Lol, if you haven't been scared off yet, please enjoy!

Chapter 1. Should Have Left Him There

What do you do with a half-dead stranger bleeding out onto the sheets of your bed?

You probably wouldn't end up in this situation.

For Harry Potter, however, things like this were as normal as dropping by the local grocery shop at weekends. A shame that he never learnt how to deal with that at Hogwarts.

He took a washcloth and immersed it into a small basin of charmed water that stood on the drawer at the bedside. He scrunched it to filter out the excess liquid before stretching his hand to carefully wipe away the sweat glistening on the stranger's forehead.

It was a handsome man. Asian, pale, well-built, with thick eyelashes and long black hair haloing his head on the pillow. Harry had had to undo the braid to wash out the blood that hadn't belonged to the man. He enjoyed the silky feel of the long locks. Carding his fingers through them would have been therapeutic in any other situation.

The washcloth lingered on the stranger's forehead for a few moments more before he took it away slowly. Seemed like the man's temperature was going down anyway; he might even wake up soon. Harry didn't know how to describe the feelings rushing through him at the thought. Confusion the most prominent. It was just… it had been a while since he had last had contact with anyone outside of a merchant at the morning market or any other type of shop assistant.

He worried about his social skills a lot… even if they probably didn't matter in the long run; wouldn't change anything.

He couldn't very well communicate with humans when he was so uncertain of his own status still.

In the meantime, he had to deal with this.

Harry swept the unexpected guest in his bed with a look. He didn't mind the company. Would be nice to see the stranger's eyes.

Fon woke up alone. It was the usual state of things.

The usual state of things, however, did not include waking up alone in an unknown place right after a fight that almost left him dead.

Fon's eyes snapped open before his gaze cut across the room.

Everything was soaked with a pungent odour of herbs. Fon practised a lot in recognising common plants thanks to the family he grew up in, so he could distinguish some oregano, thyme, lavender, camomile, and mint. The smell of them clearly came from a neat little row of glass vials that stood on the set of drawers by his bed, just behind the washbasin.

However, that amalgam of scents was drowned out by the smell of sage coming from a smudging stick lying on a tray in the corner of the room. A strange thing. It produced wisps of smoke that, instead of dissipating, curled and twined around the room, permeating the air with the smell and fogging it up. Fon's usual half-smile that he wore even alone dropped in his irritation. Already drowsy and incapable of seeing clearly, he didn't need more help on that front, thank you very much.

His mind felt like mush. It just wanted to sleep. Fon's stubbornness forced it to work instead.

He hadn't spent a lifetime meditating just to be thrown off balance by some butchered assassination attempt.

He ended up in a quaint little room in a distinctly European style. Since he had no idea how much he had been unconscious, Fon could as well be in any place in the world. Most likely Italy if he had been picked up by a fellow Flame user. On a closer look, the only thing to remind him of China was the traditional silk embroidery on a slew of small pillows in the garish red-and-gold armchair by his bed as well as the sight beyond the curtained windows: blossoms of azaleas exploded in red all across the hills.

Familiar hills.

Ah. Perhaps he might not be as far away as he had thought.

The bedroom itself was probably for guests, clean but cluttered. Two sets of drawers framed the bed Fon lay in, their surfaces crowded with washbasins, vials, some cloths, a nightlight, a little tin with strange gunk inside. A monster of an armchair stood in its plump-cushioned glory at his right, while at his left Fon could see a small wardrobe that fought for space with a tall-boy which held the tray with the smudging stick amidst an army of random objects. Everything was small and homely, made of warm brown wood.

A wide window, covered by lacy curtains fluttering in the faint breeze, was right in front of the bed, letting Fon see the sky in resplendent blues and whites.

He was suddenly glad that he woke up at daytime, because the view was wonderful and a much better alternative to the small but heavy lamp with candles hanging down from the ceiling on short thick chains.

Fon pushed himself up onto his elbows in an attempt to rise - only to fail.

A wave of dizziness forced him back down.

That was… worrying.

While Fon had easily dealt with the people who had tried to gun him down, the last wannabe hitman had hit him with a great amount of Rain Flames before dying, and everyone in the flame mafia knew that the one thing that could securely overpower (or at least glitch) Storm Flames was Rain's Tranquillity.

There was a reason Storms like Fon tended to dislike Rain bastards.

Well, not that Fon disliked many people, but he did when they were trying to assassinate him.

The sage smoke didn't help in the slightest, and Fon couldn't focus at all - there were paintings by the door on his right, but he couldn't make out the subjects no matter how much he squinted, and very soon even he was forced to succumb to another bout of sleep.

His last thought was…

Why did this feel more like home than even the compound had been?

It was almost nostalgic to have a routine.

Harry couldn't help but think so as he gathered all the necessities for his temporary guest. Routines were among the things he missed the most about his old life, strangely enough, but it's so hard to establish them in a completely new world where everything was foreign and when he had no desire to root himself anyplace.

As things in his life tended to do, just as he got used to tending to his patient, the routine broke.

He had seen this coming, of course. Didn't make it less… upsetting, he supposed.

Entering the room, Harry cast a nonverbal spell to light up a couple of the candles above. The light would be dim enough to not wake the stranger prematurely, and Harry could still see everything clearly enough. Not to mention that he knew the place of every single object in this room, just like that of the other things in his little cabin - he spent most of his time here, after all.

With a clink, Harry set down a couple of strengthening potions on the bedside drawer before sinking into his favourite armchair. The man on the bed was lucky that most of the time Harry couldn't prepare the traditional potions of his world here for the lack of ingredients, so he got only the 'light' version that wouldn't be as horrendously disgusting. Would have been fun to see this man, who seemed so graceful even in his sleep, sputter like they did back at Hogwarts Infirmary.

Ah, memories. With a faint smile, Harry took a wet cloth and stretched his hand to wipe away some sweat on the man's brow.

A hand snatched his wrist before he touched the skin.

The fingers were long and strong, pressing on Harry's pulse with just enough pressure to be a threat but not enough to harm him. Harry ignored the way his heart accelerated its beat.

The stranger's eyes cracked open. They were the most beautiful shade of warm mahogany Harry had ever seen.

"It's not very polite to touch people when they sleep," the man whose name Harry didn't know said in a sleep-roughened but still attractive voice.

Harry let silence linger in the air before chuckling and softly tugging on his hand to get it back. He settled the cloth back on the drawer. The feel of a hand trapping his lingered on his skin, phantom but stubbornly there.

"Let's not make this sound much worse than it is," he said with a crooked grin on his lips. "Now I understand Madam Pomphrey's words about healers and ingratitude."

"I apologise," the stranger said with a smile even though Harry didn't read any real apology from him. It was something careless, scripted, as if the man honestly thought that just saying something made it true. "I'm not in the best condition right now, which makes this situation rather… uncomfortable."

Harry shifted back into the cushions comfortably.

"Well, you didn't snap my wrist, so it's fine. My standards are low. Oh, and trust me: I've had some worse reactions than you in similar settings."

Silence settled between them. Harry titled his head when the other man, instead of saying anything, merely leaned back on the pillow and half-closed his eyes. As if he were lazily watching the play of candle-light flickering above. To Harry's mind, though, his face seemed way too absent to concentrate on that. Rather, the stranger looked as if he were enjoying something beyond Harry's grasp.

"You have a nice home," the man - and Harry should probably ask his name while he was at it - half-whispered without breaking the softness of the moment. "Very comfortable. Very warm." He slanted mahogany eyes at Harry. "One would almost say harmonious."

He pushed a surprising amount of innuendo into the last word.

Harry only blinked. Yeah, that? Flew right over his head. He had never been good at getting hints; if the guy wanted to communicate something to him, he'd have to be a little bit more forthcoming and direct… which was strange, because somehow Harry suspected that the stranger wouldn't have any problem at all with being blunt.

"Um. Thank you? I don't think it's much. Oh, and it's a good thing that walking is still a bit of a bad idea for you yet, because this way you won't have to see the mess I've made of my home for another day or two."

Let's say that potions experiments in this new world didn't always go splendidly well. And that's not even mentioning all the difference in how runes and magic in general worked. Dear Merlin, an oncoming headache loomed on the horizon even as Harry tried to drown out his thoughts.

He should be used to it.

He pathetically wasn't.

Which was fine, since this exploration was the only way for him to amuse himself.

"I can help you clean up, it would only be fair. You've been the one to nurse me all this time, after all."

There was no shade of doubt in the man's voice. Harry's brows furrowed.

"How can you be sure? That it was me to nurse you, I mean. Maybe this house belonged to a nice little granny and I'm a serial killer that has just got here, killed the granny to, um, get her fortune probably?.. And am trying to win your trust by pretending to be someone I am not so I can eat your liver with fava beans and a nice chianti or something."

The other man gave him an amused, indulgent smile. "There are traces of you in everything in this house, and of no one else. You haven't even had a single guest here for a long time." The stranger quirked his brows. "Why? Do you not have anyone who would like to keep you company in the warmth of your home? That would be rather tragic."

Harry stared at him flatly.

"Here I am, dragging your ungrateful arse on my back - without reporting any of the things I've seen to the authorities, by the way - and taking care of you for a week... and you repay me with rudeness?"

"I was… rude?" The stranger sounded like a child unfairly punished by his mother taking away his dessert. Even his smile slipped. "It wasn't intentional, I assure you. Were you really the one to find and carry me here? I find it hard to believe. You don't really look like much - in terms of physical strength, of course. Aesthetically, I find you rather appealing."

"Do you have a filter on your speech at all?" Harry's hands absently fiddled with a roll of bandages for the strange man's fast-healing wounds. "Never mind. Yeah, I was the one to get you here. I have… methods."

"I would appreciate it if you told me what they are."

His guest's eyes glinted with interest. Harry only snorted in response.

"Sorry, but I'm definitely not doing it. Especially for a guy whose name I don't even know."

"Ah, that's right. We haven't introduced ourselves yet." The stranger pushed away the cotton sheets to sit up. A well-muscled chest with a dragon tattoo splayed over it greeted Harry as soon as he did, making the wizard regret not providing the other man with some pyjama shirt. The bandages on his stomach didn't make anything better. Beads of sweat glistened on his skin in the dim light. Harry refused to look away with discomfort even though he suddenly wanted to. "My name is Fon. It's a great fortune to meet you."

Fortune, not pleasure?

What a strange, strange man. Harry found himself reluctantly drawn in.

"Harry," he said simply. Outside, the rain started, droplets playing a rhythmic tune on the tree leaves, and the windows, and the aged stone of the house.

"No surname?"

"You didn't give me yours." Harry clucked his tongue when Fon showed signs of dizziness again. The wizard tilted forward in case the other needed help in supporting himself, but Fon merely held out a hand to stop him before settling the pillow upright behind him so he could lean back on it comfortably.

"Ah, that's fair," Fon said with a pull of lips that Harry could already see was his signature half-smile. It looked rather empty. It wasn't any of Harry's business. "But I don't have one, while you still do."

"I used to, but I don't feel like it belongs me anymore. So, nope. You're wrong. Don't go around assuming things."

Harry envied the easy way in which Fon reclined, his flawless grace making the simple white bedding look like something out of a palace from a period drama.

"We are in the same boat, then," Fon mused. He ignored the rebuke.

Fon's eyes thoughtfully surveyed the play of droplets that cascaded down the smooth glass of the window outside. Harry wrapped a thick knitted cardigan tighter around him, but Fon didn't even shiver once despite the chill that settled in the room once the evening came.

His guest slumped back against the pillow, however, and Harry could see signs indicating that unconsciousness would claim him again soon.

Harry sighed.

"I found you higher up in the mountains," he told Fon softly, taking a cloth, wetting it, and pressing it gently to the other's skin to wipe away the sweat in a gesture that had become familiar to him these last few days.

Fon didn't protest. He looked down to watch Harry's quick, efficient ministrations with a fascinated gleam in his eyes.

A strange edge lined his smile when Harry's fingertips slipped and touched Fon's bare skin, and the wizard would be lying if he said he felt nothing in that moment.

Not electricity. It was a jolt of... something, yes. But strong and petrifying – and unimaginably beautiful in all its horror. Like an impression of Fiendfyre trapped in a jar.

Reminded Harry of those eerie evenings at the common room fireside while strong winds raged outside the tower. Safety inside. Unnerving fury of a tempest ravaging the nature outside.

Harry frowned before accidentally raising his gaze to meet Fon's. He couldn't read his eyes.

"You weren't alone," Harry continued. His hand travelled to the bandages hugging Fon's toned stomach. Gently, he unwrapped them. Fon's abdomen jerked a little. The wizard counted it as a win; no person should be that comfy after waking up in an unfamiliar place with an unfamiliar person. "There were many people around you. They were dead. You were not."

Still not the most gruesome display in his life.

The man smiled at him, serene. His eyes flashed red but the colour didn't bother Harry anymore. Voldemort was such a distant part of his past he sometimes wondered whether that was his past at all.

"They should be dead. I did my best to kill them, after all, and I am not the greatest martial arts specialist in the world now for nothing," Fon revealed with disarming honesty. Not a hint of boasting.

Fon's smile widened, calm and pacifying, truly beautiful and truly terrifying in the way it contrasted with the explosion of emotions in his eyes. His arms gave a little tremor, as if some unknown energy stormed beneath his skin and you only had to poke him for it to burst forth. His whole body strongly radiated heat. Made Harry wonder whether the fever he'd been fighting was actually meant to be there.

After a pause, the wizard finished redressing the wounds. Fon took his silence as fear.

"I apologise." He chuckled. "I didn't make a good first impression, did I?"

"Well, blood and gore don't really make people pretty, I grant you that."

Harry nodded to himself as he slouched in his armchair again.

"I could argue with that. I'm sure you would look stunning even in the middle of a massacre," Fon said with a light, airy voice- And was that a wistful sigh?

Right. Of course Harry should have expected nothing else considering the circumstances they met in.

"Let's hope I won't end up there." Harry wouldn't be surprised if he did. "Is this some new-age flirting technique or something? I'm too old for this."

Harry picked up a couple of potions he needed to feed Fon so the man would recover faster. While the physical wounds weren't an issue, the sleepiness Fon displayed wasn't natural. Harry just hoped his potions would actually work.

At least this once, pretty please?

"I don't know much about flirting," Fon confessed, not ashamed at all. Which was good, because he shouldn't be. But Harry had seen people shamed for the flimsiest of reasons.

"It kinda shows."

"Ah, but is it working?"

"Not really."

"That's unfortunate. Don't worry," Fon said in a consoling tone, as if Harry were greatly saddened by the failure of his... Harry couldn't even call it flirting. "I've never been interested in how to tell people they are beautiful before, but I'll work hard on this. I am good at improving myself."

"Right now what you should improve is your health." Harry twirled a translucent vial of stamina-restoring 'potion' between his index finger and his thumb, watching the murky green liquid slosh about inside. Probably safe. Even if it failed, Fon would just get minor indigestion. The guy was amazingly resilient for a muggle anyway. "It's weird. I don't know why you are not healthy already and why you sleep so much. You shouldn't be feeling this lethargic, you know. But you do, even though I've given you every po- medicine I could... Then again, I guess there's a reason I never went into healing."

"No need to worry. I'm well aware of the source of my... sleepiness." Fon's serene expression didn't change, but the edge of his cotton blanket crumpled mysteriously. Dangerous.

Harry's instincts screamed at him to run, which of course meant this man enchanted him more and more.

"I can trust you to deal with that yourself, right?"

Fon nodded. "Hmm… Probably. I might even know the cure: when in doubt, meditate."

He held out a hand. Harry just stared at it because, well, what was he supposed to do with that? Wasn't it already a tad too late to shake it?

Why was this man so weird?

Smiling at his confusion, Fon elaborated, "I've found that focusing on something tangible helps me centre myself the most. Bonus points if I can touch it."

"And 'something tangible' needs to be my hand."

"No, but I'd prefer it. It's very pretty." Fon's smile vanished; that sadness lurked in his eyes again. "Ah, but way too fragile. Off the top of my head I've thought of several dozen unimaginative ways to snap your fingers in two. It would be very easy. You should probably work on that."

He looked into Harry's eyes earnestly, sounding truly concerned about him. Harry rubbed his temples even as he fought off reluctant amusement.

"I can never decide whether you're flirting with me or trolling me to see how I react." Harry made Fon drink the brew he had concocted. Now he really hoped that Snape was mistaken all those years back and Harry was actually a genius in potion-making waiting to be discovered; it'd be a shame to lose someone as entertaining as Fon. "Fine, I give up. My hand is yours to take for tonight. Guess I should work on not inviting strangers into my home next time."

The other man let out an attractive chuckle.

"Yes, that would be wise."

Fon's hand engulfed Harry's, warming up his cold fingers, shielding them from the evening cool. Closing his eyes, Harry's patient slumped back into the pillow with the lazy grace of a cat that's decided to stop chasing a catnip mouse and have a nap instead.

Harry contemplated Fon's tight but gentle grip. Contemplated the fact that this was the first contact of this type he's had in long, long months. Contemplated the man's chiselled features, his silky locks fanning out across the pillow, his fluttering eyelids, the elaborate tattooed dragon whose scales glistened slightly with the man's sweat.

Contemplated the strange wish to prolong this moment even knowing how unwise that would be.

However, Harry always gave into temptations easily, just like how easily he fell in love with things that would destroy him.

He clenched Fon's hand back faintly and breathed out a spell to snuff the candles up above them. The skin where their hands joined tingled pleasantly. Not only that. The contact... grounded him to this reality in a way nothing else had achieved.

With a faint laugh, Harry let his head fall back into the armchair headrest.

The lullaby of rain slashing against the window panes outside lulled them both to sleep.

Hand in hand.

Author Notes:

- Is there any character you'd like to see sooner? Nothing is set in stone yet, so suggestions are welcome for now (unless they conflict with the outlines I already have, of course). So, yeah. This is your time to fangirl/boy/person about your faves ;)

- Story Recommendation: Guns and Smiles by Laughing Yuurei. It's a collection of unrelated R27 oneshots. Personal favourites are Meetings, Cravings, and especially Tomorrow Is (Not) Another Day. Seriously, you should read at least the last one because it's the best groundhog day AU I've ever read, and I detest groundhog day AUs. Laughing Yuurei also has a very long (almost 100K) complete R27 oneshot with Empath!Tsuna called Foreign Feelings, which is brilliant.

- Please drop me a word if you enjoyed my story! I'm still concentrating mostly on Bakin' Magic at the moment, but if any of you wish for the continuation of this, I'll be really happy to oblige! (Please give me motivation someone because I'm hella lazy T_T)