Irendel

I guess it can be!

I have a Tumblr Archive Series in AO3 so that it's easier to read. It's a little behind but all my tumblr fics end up there.

You can find that series here.

The worst part of it is that the new king takes at least part of his harem with him everywhere and it’s so embarrassing. The Counselors of War have never once met with His Divine Majesty without that hulking battle-scarred consort interrupting with muttered growls or scornful snorts. And the Ministers of Finance all flinch at the sight of that fox-faced one, rumored to have been rescued from the gallows because His Augustness took a fancy to his eyes or some such nonsense. General petition days are even worse, with practically the entire harem drifting in and out of the Grand Hall in turns, insouciant and smug like granary cats who know they’ve been given full run of the courtyards and barns.

#BUT THEN

#somehow she’s befrIENDED THE CONCUBINES

#sometimes they follow HER around!! in public!! 

#the king and queen are  s h a r i n g  t h e  h a r e m

Tsuna’s younger twin brother, Natsuki Sawada, tended to attract attention.

First, they’d see the two of them, then Tsuna would swear eyes would slide off him and go to his brother and stay there. They’d stare at him in…admiration? Then, Natsu would open his mouth and people’s expressions would sour.

If Tsuna hadn’t seen it happen first hand, he would never believe it. At home, Natsu was perfectly nice, a cuddly and sweet younger brother who’s habits were making Tsuna laugh until he cried. Then, when he’d made Tsuna so weak, he’d crawl on the floor beside him and cuddle, something Tsuna would agree to if only Natsu would ask.

But, as Natsu always said, “asking makes people prepared. You must take them by surprise, Nii-chan, they make the best faces.”

Tsuna would be concerned about raising Natsu wrong, but Natsu’s face was always comically serious, a twinkle in his brown eyes that told Tsuna he didn’t want to ask. He got the feeling that it would explain Hibari-senpai’s full body twitch once at seeing Natsu, or the weirdly droopy hair the Disciplinary Committee had for that day.

So, after people had gotten used to Natsu’s mouth, they would usually watch him with irritation or outright avoid him. Kurokawa Hana tended to call him an ‘asshole’, the English word foreign and very strange for someone very good at Japanese Lit and struggled with English class.

Still, it was the first time he’d seen someone point a gun at Natsu’s head, before his brother had even opened his mouth.

Tsuna felt alarm racing up his spine, but he’d never seen a gun before, or used one. That his enemy was a very well-dressed toddler made it odd, but it was still a gun. A gun pointed at his precious baby brother’s head.

“Sawada Natsuki does not exist,” the baby said, voice high and squeaky in complete odds with the way the gun never wavered. “Not in the hospital records, or any records in fact. Until Sawada Tsunayoshi was four years old, he was an only child.”

Natsu was unfairly calm at the face of a gun. Tsuna wanted to scream but he didn’t want to draw the attention of the toddler.

“And who are you?” Natsu asked. Unlike Tsuna, there was no confusion at all in his face, which made something tingle at the back of Tsuna’s head. He looked. Looked odd. He … He was resigned?

What was going on?

“You’re not asking the questions here, impostor,” the toddler said.

Natsu went stiff. “Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

Tsuna did not squeak. There was a deranged toddler trying to kill his younger brother and his brother just talked back. He’d seen enough Yakuza movies to see how his worked out.

Thankfully for Tsuna’s blood pressure, the toddler did not shoot, or backhand his brother’s face. Instead, the gun pointed to Tsuna, which finally made Natsu go as pale as milk, which was the state Tsuna had been since the gun came out.

“Don’t,” he pleaded. “Don’t hurt him.”

Tsuna felt sick. He’d never heard his brother sound like that.

“I’ll tell you everything,” Natsu continued, head bowed. “Please put the gun away.”

The toddler’s gun vanished…somewhere. But that serious face was still on. Tsuna’s limbs felt stiff but he rushed to hug his brother. A hug always made things a bit better.

It would be better, but Natsu flinched. Natsu, who initiated hugs, flinched away from him. It would be understandable if Natsu didn’t want to touch the toddler, who still watched them with that eerie, eagle-eyed expression. But Tsuna didn’t hurt his brother.

“Natsu-chan,” Tsuna whispered.

He didn’t push, but…it stung.

.

Or wherein the worship of Old Gods still happened.

James was hyper-aware of his guest dozing in the upstairs bedroom.

Mainly, it was mostly because of the tingling he couldn’t help feel in his magic. Gods really felt weird.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” James muttered to himself for the eleventh time. He didn’t pace. Nope.

Lily ignored him, changing Harry’s nappy with a wave of her wand.

The baby was actually really quiet, which made him worry more. Harry wasn’t a loud baby, per se. But he chortled, laughed and babbled in baby-talk. With the arrival of the god, he’d gone quiet. It was unnerving.

“How sure are you?” Lily had asked yesterday when he’d blanched at the sight of the stranger they’d found faced down on their backyard, the stranger who had ripped through the Fidelius like it was wet parchment unconscious. “How sure are you of what he is?”

James had been sure. Was still sure. As secure in his knowledge as a rooted tree.

“Look,” he’d reassured her. “Lily, has anyone ever told you about Worship? I mean, I know McKinnon prays to Freya. There are even some years below us who prayed to a different pantheon altogether, the Greeks, I think? But just…just trust me. I know a lot about the gods. The technical details too. The Potters got blessed with Chaos magic a few generations back. Loki is our patron.”

And he had known, just looking at the man, that this was his god. His magic practically sang for him.

Lily had nodded then, though her face had screwed up with consternation. “I thought Marlene was just weird.”

She had the face of a person reviewing old memories and finding new insight.

James almost couldn’t understand how she could miss McKinnon lighting a sprig of flowers on fire every weekend.

Not that James himself was a very devout follower. Mostly, he dedicated every prank he and the Marauders did to Loki. He collected blood in a bowl every full moon and left it by the windowsill. The other, more extreme practices he didn’t really like to do.

(Still, he was pretty sure some of his yearmates in Slytherin also worshipped Loki. He’d never seen people as dedicated to sabotaging potions as them. Or maybe it was just his cauldron. Too bad for them, he was mostly protected from most Chaos, even if he wasn’t immune to the effects.)

.

Or rather, Love at First Assassination Attempt

.

.

The problem wasn’t that someone tried to assassinate Reborn.

Nope. That happened every other week or so and it happened without warning that Tsuna had gotten used to the sudden attacks. Being the World’s Greatest Hitman wasn’t just an empty boast and it meant that other assassins regularly came to test their mettle.

That was fine. It was fine! He was used to checking his food and his things and his bed and everywhere he stepped for traps. Watching Reborn react was amazing, because the attacks didn’t fall through. Reborn was immune to an amazing amount of poisons, he was fast and nimble enough to avoid traps and attacks were scoffed at. Even distance shots from snipers were dodged at the last second.

No. The thing was, after testing themselves once on Reborn, assassins usually left.

And she did! Which was the usual.

Except, what was unusual was the pout on Reborn’s face when he found out that she’d undone her bindings in the middle of the night and stolen Reborn’s fedora.

Reborn was usually very protective of his fedora and Tsuna couldn’t even move it without setting off a hundred traps. And Tsuna had seen Reborn kill and go on a rampage for his fedora. That the assassin got away with just a pout.

That. That was the problem.

.

The first time someone said the right words in front of Harry, something just seemed to click at the back of his mind. That unsettled, restless sensation that never seemed to go away went quiet.

Finally, something whispered.

Finally what? He wondered.

But no. The right words were still being spoken. And he still had to listen.

“It’s not fair,” they repeated foolishly in front of Harry. “I wish I had a better family.”

Every bit of Harry seemed magnetized to respond to those words. He didn’t understand it. At the back of his mind, where he had always thought about things that he didn’t say to anybody, he whispered to himself, NOTHING IS FAIR.

“What would you give for it?” he asked, the words seemingly tumbling out of his mouth. They felt like English, but he couldn’t be sure. “If I granted your wish. What would you give for it?”

The girl looked unsure and terrified. Harry wasn’t sure why. That was their wish, wasn’t it?

“What would you give for it?” he repeated.

Monotonous, but it had to be three times.

“I – I,” she stammered.

A smile stretched across his face. “Are you unsure? Do you wish to take back your words?” he asked, the latter sentence gaining a weight to it that can’t come from a human throat.

The girl ran off, and Harry came back to himself.

He wasn’t very troubled about the idea of being some sort of sinister version of a wish granting genie. Words were very important. Being a wizard had always meant a care on words anyway.

Still, he made a note to tell his friends. Prior warning would always be nice.

.

Tsuna to Kyouya: “Marry me?”

.

.

If Kyouya were a lesser man, the expression on his face would be described as flabbergasted. But Kyouya was not a lesser man. He glared instead.

“Herbivore, start making sense,” he snapped.

Tsunayoshi, the bane of his existence ever since the Herbivore noticed his weakness for cute and fluffy things, blinked his large doe eyes and snuffled.

“Marry me,” Tsunayoshi repeated. “Please?”

Not even a blink. He was secretly impressed by the Herbivores nerves.

“Nevermind that we are not of age yet,” he said dismissively. “Why?”

Tsuna’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears. It stuck on his eyelashes like diamonds. Kyouya’s breath caught in his throat.

“Please?” he asked with a wobbly voice.

Damn.

.

Tsuna wakes up with someone’s hand on his stomach.

It’s a pretty nice hand – large, warm and perfect.

Still, the fact is, Tsuna usually slept alone. It’s too much of a hassle to find partners that his Guardians won’t eviscerate when found in his bed. Or Reborn. Let’s not talk about Reborn’s reaction. The asshole probably thought Tsuna was still a child.

Tsuna had needs, alright?

He’s getting distracted. Who’s the owner of said hand?

With a sigh, Tsuna turns and opens his eyes.

And squeaks.

It’s better than a scream, alright?

Not everybody would be fine seeing Xanxus di Vongola in their bed.

Shit, it’s not even his bed. Which meant that it’s Tsuna in Xanxus’s bed.

He tries to process this. He fails.

Like an ill-timed alarm clock, there’s a shout of, “Voi!!!!!!” sounding through the doors.

“Fuck off, Squalo!” Xanxus roars back, making Tsuna jump. He didn’t even know that Xanxus was awake.

“Xanxus, you’re awake?” Tsuna asks, biting the proverbial bullet. It’s difficult to find his courage, given that he was naked, without his weapons and in perfect proximity for Xanxus to shoot. Or punch. Xanxus isn’t usually picky when it comes to venting out his frustrations on Vongola Decimo.

“I’m not,” Xanxus refuted. “Stop talking and go back to sleep.”

It’s very, very hard to remember that Xanxus can kill him with that bed head and that adorable grumpy scowl that makes Tsuna want to coo at him. Stone cold killers shouldn’t be cute.

Tsuna shakes his head and makes to get up, only to bite back a squeak of alarm when that hand – which he had forgotten was on his stomach – tightens its hold on him and drags him closer to that warm, sleepy torso.

“Stop squirming,” Xanxus grumbled. Tsuna sighed and doesn’t protest anymore.

Both of them get comfortable, sleep creeping up on the edges of Tsuna’s mind.

Of course, that’s when the door bursts open, Tsuna’s Guardian’s in a panic as they search for their wayward Decimo.

Xanxus gets off him in an instant, guns suddenly sprouting from his hands and shooting everyone moving, even any of the Varia stupid enough to go near Xanxus’s room without any coffee.

Tsuna just groans, covering his face with a pillow and going back to sleep.

It’s not use, his Guardian’s drag his unresisting body back to the Medical Wing, convinced that he’d been drugged.

He’s too embarrassed to tell them that he just fell asleep on Xanxus while both of them were consuming the wine he’d brought to the Varia as a, “my father sucks too, can we commiserate about it,” party.

.

.

And then, he does end up nearly assassinated and everyone’s too busy hunting down the perpetrators to find him regular bodyguards. Or rather, even Hayato is too pissed off to stay by Tsuna’s side.

Given that his birthday cake got poisoned with Bianchi nowhere near it, he did concede the point that it had been getting a bit personal.

Still, who volunteered the Varia to be the bodyguards of the week? They needed to be shot.

“You’re staying with me,” Xanxus tells him. “We can’t spare the people to watch over you.”

What Xanxus means about that is clear until it isn’t.

Well, it’s clear that he’s going to be making use of Xanxus’s office as he works on his paperwork. It’s also understandable that he’s going to have all his food tested and he’s going to end up eating with Xanxus.

What’s not clear is where he’s going to sleep until he’s dragged in his pajamas to Xanxus’s room, and to his large bed.

“What,” he asked, more a statement than a question.

“Get in,” Xanxus growled sleepily. “I told you I can’t spare anybody to watching you. So you’re with me.”

He climbed in. He’s willingly climbing into Xanxus’s bed. What even is his life?

Tsuna didn’t know, but he’s willing to bet that it’s Reborn’s fault.

.

.

And then it happens again.

By the third time, Tsuna’s resigned to the fact that fate wants him to end up in Xanxus’s bed. It’s no hardship, despite what other people think.

Tsuna gets cold pretty easily – a remnant of the seal that Nonno placed him under – and Xanxus was practically a bonfire. He’s also pretty comfy to sleep on, warm with all the right firm parts to lean on.

He also cuddled. It didn’t look like it, but Xanxus was a champion cuddler.

Tsuna, who had been touch starved by the time Reborn got to him, never refused cuddles.

So no, it wasn’t a hardship.

Except Tsuna’s Guardians refuse to accept that Xanxus was the perfect bedmate. They were pretty sure he was being coerced to staying put.

Tsuna didn’t have the heart to tell them that aside from the first morning, he wasn’t being coerced. In fact, he’s pretty much finding excuses to doing it.

.

.

“You’re weird, you know that, little Decimo,” Squalo cornered him on his way out one morning.

Tsuna’s learned to translate what Squalo means. Filtering out the curses and the yelling barely takes him any effort these days.

He blinked at this though. He doesn’t have the context so he doesn’t get offended. Yet. There’s still time for the offense. With the Varia, it’s practically sport.

“A lot of people want to sleep with the boss,” Squalo clarified. “But most of those people don’t stay once the wine glasses start getting thrown around. Or the cursing.”

Tsuna wants to sigh, but holds it in. People should stop underestimating him, he wanted to mutter, except it was so useful to be underestimated.

“I’m not ‘people’,” he said to Squalo quietly. “I’m Tsuna.”

Squalo smirked. “Yeah. So you are.”

.

.

A few months in, and Tsuna realized that his Guardians have stopped dramatically bursting into the Varia headquarters.

Not that he doesn’t appreciate it, but when his Guardians start behaving, that means something’s going to break soon. And he’s usually the one signing off on the repair bills.

“You guys are too quiet,” he accused Takeshi, stopping him on his way to breakfast.

Takeshi laughed. Whoever said that Takeshi was easy to interrogate was lying. “You’re so suspicious, Tsuna!”

Hayato would only sigh at him. Ryohei clapped him on the back and Chrome just kissed his cheek.

He didn’t even try with Hibari or Mukuro.

The only person who gave him some sort of insight was Lambo. The thirteen year old frowned at him, saying, “We’re just giving in to the inevitable. Everyone else was in denial? I think the only one you have to convince at the moment is Reborn.”

Tsuna blinked blankly. “What?”

Lambo blinked blankly back. “Reborn? Greatest Hitman in the World? Has the unfortunate habit of shooting people when they piss him off?”

Tsuna shaked his head. “No, I mean, what?”

At this point, Lambo started to smile. “Oh my god, you don’t know? I’m not going to tell you, I like being alive.”

Tsuna got nothing else from him.

He’s so confused, at this point, he really would welcome another assassination. At least that’s straightforward.

.

.

And then Xanxus gets drunk and Tsuna’s the one dragging his ass to Tsuna’s bed this time. Which is a novelty since contrary to popular belief, Xanxus only drinks in the Varia HQ, where he knows everyone and he’s secure of his own safety.

“I can’t believe you got drunk in the Iron Fort,” Tsuna muttered. “This must be what Nonno means about furthering the relationship between various allies. At least you trust me enough not to kill you.”

A heavy warm arm wraps itself around Tsuna’s waist and hauls him towards the sleepy figure.

Since he’s practically been Pavloved with cuddles, Tsuna just goes boneless and doesn’t resist.

“Don’t shoot me in the morning,” Tsuna said to the ceiling.

.

.

Tsuna doesn’t get shot, but Xanxus looks at him strangely in the morning.

He’s completely sure that the breakfast and coffee tray he brought was the shocker. Everyone in Italy seems to find it surprising that he can cook his own food.

“I brought you breakfast,” Tsuna announced, holding up the tray like an offering. “Is bacon alright? I also fried some eggs.”

Xanxus hesitated before eating, but his expression of delight at the edible food made Tsuna feel warm.

“Put the tray on the floor and come back to bed,” Tsuna announced after he brushed his teeth. “Squalo met me outside earlier and told me he cleared our schedule for today.”

“Trash, what are you doing?” Xanxus finally asked.

Tsuna looked at him in confusion. “Sleeping in? I swear, I spend all my vacation days sleeping. Riding herd on my Guardians gives me sleepless nights. They cause me insomnia, I swear.”

Xanxus stared for a few more minutes before huffing out a laugh. “Yeah. Mine too. Come here,” he gestured.

Tsuna willingly snuggled into those warm arms.

Xanxus’s expression was bemused, but he was also smiling. Tsuna took note, but didn’t really try to think about why. His Intuition tugged at him, but he ignored it. He was warm, sleepy and having a Vacation Day.

.

.

“Hayato-kun?” Tsuna asked.

Hayato shook his head. “It’s nothing, Tenth. Do you want to assign someone to pick you up from Varia HQ every morning so the Varia doesn’t have to send you with a car?”

“You make it sound like I’m moving in with Xanxus,” Tsuna said. “I’m not. It’s just. A phase.”

“A phase,” Hayato deadpanned. “Really?”

“Yep. Don’t worry, this’ll fade out soon enough. Xanxus is just. Warm to sleep with, you know.”

Hayato turned an alarming shade of green. “No. Don’t tell me. I don’t need the details.”

“Hayato?”

“No. I don’t want to know.”

.

.

Xanxus started coming to the Iron Fort with really nice food, plunking it on top of Tsuna’s paperwork.

“Trash,” Xanxus would say. “Stop killing yourself and start eating. You’re too skinny.”

The first time this happened, Tsuna hesitated to touch the food before he realized that yes, if Xanxus wanted to kill him, he would have done it a long time ago.

The second time, he just smiled in bemusement.

By the third time, he’s started to get to greet Xanxus with a smile and accompanying paperwork for him to sign.

“It’s great that you’re coming around so often,” Tsuna said. “I don’t have to email you everything.”

Xanxus huffed out a laugh. “Yeah, isn’t it?”

Tsuna beamed. “Are you coming tomorrow? I’ll handle drinks and the main if you can do the dessert.”

Xanxus shook his head. “Alright, I can do that.”

.

.

And then, just when the world was getting settled, it happens.

Xanxus, sitting across him and laughing. The sunlight passes through the window, hitting his cheek and lighting up his face.

Oh no, Tsuna thought with immense dismay. That’s going to be a problem.

.

.

Tsuna was well practiced in the art of denial, and doesn’t even mention anything to anyone for the space of five hours.

Then. He realized…

“Xanxus,” he said as he changed into his pajamas in Xanxus’s room. “Have we been dating?”

Xanxus spat out the wine he’d been drinking. “Sawada,” he rasped out. “You’ve been in my bed for months, and you just realized that?”

Tsuna blushed pink and he cursed his Asian genes for how easily it showed. He’s gratified, however, when Xanxus’s eyes followed the blush down to his collar.

“Get in here,” Xanxus ordered.

Tsuna took it as a yes.

.

.

Extra scene:

“Finally!” Hayato exclaimed when he saw Tsuna blush. “Who won that bet?”

“Squalo did!” Kyoko laughed. “I thought Tsu-kun would realize what was going on by the third week.”

Tsuna, of course, was more oblivious and deeper in denial than anyone really expected.

“How did Squalo win?” Takeshi asked. “I mean, he doesn’t even like betting!”

The Varia lieutenant passed by and held out a hand expectantly. “By paying attention. Boss was easy. Sawada was a fucking professional. Goddamn, what did Reborn teach that kid?”

Three of the participants of the bet cursed and paid up. Squalo’s smirk was smug as he left, counting out his winnings.

.

.

Uhm.

“There’s a hippogriff right there, Hagrid.”

“A different hipprogriff.”

“I’m… pretty sure that’s the same hipprogriff.”

You’ve got this world full of people who can destroy whole buildings or turn people into beetles or make vehicles fly just by waving a stick at them

And there is literally no common sense

Anywhere to be found

The Minister would NEVER EVER disbelieve in Gerald White. He’d buy it hook line and sinker. The wizarding world would buy it hook line and sinker. The GOBLINS wouldn’t but wizards have been shown to be pretty blindingly clueless. Still, Gringotts would grudgingly give Sirius access to the Black fortune.

But, but, but, you know the one person

the one person

who Gerald White would drive AB-SO-LUTELY FUCKING BATSHIT?

Severus Snape.

Snape would do everything, EVERYTHING, to get people to believe that it’s Sirius. But the Order would ignore it (they accepted Sirius as Sirius before anyway) and Remus would just be so… so affronted.

‘Severus, he is my cousin.’

And Sirius would love it. He’d love the fact that Snape just hated it. He’d be the BEST DAMN GERALD WHITE EVER b/c Snape is doing everything from dropping veritaserum into his firewhisky to capturing a dementor in a box and releasing it on Sirius when he least expects it

That one causes problems for a bare minute because SHIT A DEMENTOR ATTEMPTED TO GIVE GERALD THE KISS MAYBE SNAPE IS RIGHT except Harry comes forward and is like ‘excuse me, I’ve never committed a crime and dementors are ALWAYS attacking me, I think they’re attracted to glasses’

and the magical community is like ‘shit, yeah, you’re right’

and just

Tsuna had been desensitized by Reborn, that’s why he’s not screaming when a corpse drops beside him.

He rubs his eyes.

If there’s a thing as too much handcuffs, Tsuna has just seen it.

He blinks at the criminal hogtied in front of his desk, at the freaking ribbon on the man’s head and wants to walk out and go back to bed. The urge is very strong, especially when he realizes that the only person who has a cambio forma of handcuffs (specifically, Alaude’s handcuffs), is Hibari.

It’s hard enough to deal with Hibari when he’s in a mood, it’s gotten progressively stranger after Tsuna blew up the Vecoli base. Especially because Hibari has been proactively going out and looking for fights. And the thing is, nobody has been bitten to death. They’re all alive and well (or as well as one can be after having Hibari fighting you), and all dumped in Tsuna’s office.

It’s like Hibari has just realized that the sure-fire way to kill Tsuna is to dump living bodies for him to deal with. Dead people are easy, living ones are such a problem.

The man, who he vaguely recognizes as the asshole badmouthing him in the last party, starts to cry, proving Tsuna’s point. Dead bodies don’t cry so much. Ugh. So much tears.

“Decimo, thank Primo you’re here! I-I was…” the man trails off in horror and Tsuna, with well-honed instincts of a Namimori Middle School alumni, turns around and glares at Hibari lurking behind him.

“Tsunayoshi,” Hibari says, not even giving any pretence of guilt or shame. “This one was ruining your reputation.”

Then, he rocked back on his heels and stared at Tsuna, as though waiting for something.

Tsuna gives in to the urge and covers his face. He takes a deep breath, lets it out, and then drops his hands. He smiles at Hibari. He doesn’t know what kind of smile, but it makes Hibari smirk.

“Thank you, Hibari-san,” he manages to say instead of screaming. What he really wants to scream was, “What the fuck are you thinking, and why are you doing it to me?”

Nana raised Tsuna with more tact than that, thankfully.

“Call me Kyouya,” Hibari says in reply, that air of anticipation still around him.

Tsuna’s brain hurts.

It’s just. Too tired to deal with this shit.

For the past week, Hibari had been dumping living bodies in his office, usually people he wanted anyway, but Hibari had the tendency to induce sheer horror in his victims that it made Tsuna a little guilty for extorting and coercing them from all their assets and money just for the promise of never meeting that Demon Cloud ever again.

Just a little though. Reborn’s lessons stuck at some point.

And then. There’s the gifts. The other, non-living gifts.

They were extravagant, crazy, and above all, extremely expensive and Japanese. Once, Tsuna even woke up from his bed with his sheets changed to four hundred thread count, Egyptian Cotton Sheets. It had been changed. With him sleeping on it.

The Namimori Special Sake that appeared in his cupboards cinched who the culprit was, even if the flash drives with extremely sensitive information on their enemies consistently appearing on his desk.

And now this.

If he didn’t know any better, he would think that the air of anticipation around Hibari was of a teenage girl waiting for approval or rejection from their crush. But no, of course not. Hibari would never.

Yes, Hyper Intuition tugged insistently.

With Nana inherited denial, Tsuna replied, NO, just as insistently.

No way was HIbari courting him.

Nu-uh. Not happening.

Right?

.

How Reborn and Harry met and fell in love

It was the sleep deprivation, Harry would use as an excuse. That and how god awfully confused she had been feeling.

It wasn’t a nice thing, feeling that confused, and Harry was more confused than most.

The world she had landed on had magic, thank Merlin, enough that she her potions weren’t inert and her wand didn’t turn brittle. It just felt strangely hot, for magic. Magic wasn’t supposed to feel hot and coupled with the complete absence of Diagon Alley or the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was confused. Where had magic gone?

The answer, her sleep deprived ass mused, landed on her doorstep, bleeding, concussed and with several broken fingers and a broken leg, several lacerations on his back and a broken nose. It was a testament to how threatening Voldemort and  Death had been that a deadly weapon aimed at her barely made her heart beat faster.

It was a wonder that the man could even hold his gun and aim it at her.

“Do not call the hospital,” the bloody man commanded, swaying in place but hands steady and aiming at her head.

Harry blinked slowly. She could see it, the magic. It swirled around him like yellow fire, licking his wounds closed very slowly. If it continued, it might heal his bones wrong, then she’d need to re-break things and that just wouldn’t be fun for everyone.

“Alright,” she agreed. “But won’t you come in? You’re alarming the neighbors.”

The man swayed in place for a couple more beats before agreeing, entering her apartment like a cautious cat. He moved like a cat too, quietly and without a whisper of sound, despite how much pain he must have been in.

“I have some bandages, and some salves,” she offered. She just needed him off his feet and unconscious. Preferably two hours ago.

It took another moment before he agreed and Harry finally had him pegged. She knew his type. He was a controlling man. Anal retentive, Hermione had called it.

She doctored his tea with some muscle relaxant, and with the state of him, even as suspicious as he was, he fell asleep immediately.

Blearily, Harry thought it was a good thing that she was so good with fixing injuries while drunk, sleepy or tired. She waved her wand, fixing injuries and straightening up broken bones with a thought, her magic working overtime to compensate for her less than optimal thought processes.

And then she was left with a bloody man on her sofa, ruining the upholstering. Harry huffed a breath and cleaned him up too. She wanted her deposit back, dammit.

It really was the damned sleep deprivation, Harry cursed as she accidentally drank the tea she had given the man, the one with the muscle relaxant. It worked on her too well and she crashed on the chair with a curse.

I am never going without sleep for two weeks, Harry promised before a gigantic yawn overtook her and she finally fell asleep.

.

.

When Harry woke up, feeling weirdly refreshed and tired at the same time, she was starving.

She also thought that the man she had cured was a dream until she opened her eyes and almost screamed at the man still asleep on her sofa.

It made sense, she realized belatedly. He was healing from what must have been torture wounds. Nobody broke their fingers or concussed themselves intentionally.

She couldn’t leave him there of course.

An idea occurred and she giggled before she could stop herself.

Twenty minutes later, the man was in a motel in another country, asleep and with all his belongings. Harry’s couch was free of blood and she was indulging herself in chocolate fudge ice cream.

He was going to be so confused, Harry giggled over a mouthful of ice cream.

.

.

The man hunted her down and for a moment, Harry cursed her red hair for being so memorable. Then, the little devil peeked up at her and Harry mentally shrugged. Why not, she thought.

“I’m sorry,” she told him, her green eyes going confused. “I don’t understand. What? Who are you?”

He snarled at her and Harry played at being frightened. McGonagall was scarier than this man, and she could sniff liars within a heartbeat. Well, he probably could as well, but he couldn’t threaten her while she was working in a bookstore and all the employees there loved her.

“I’m trying to jog your memory,” he said, voice low to keep it private.

“I’m sorry sir, but I still don’t know who you are?” she said just as softly. “Do you need help with a book?”

He huffed and stalked out, footsteps still eerily quiet. Not that anyone else noticed.

When he was far enough, Harry allowed herself a private smirk.

.

.

He stalked her!

Harry blinked large eyes at the man on her doorstep, getting a flashback to the last time he was there, bloody and swaying. A blink, and he was clean and holding a cup of coffee to her.

He was also holding a bag of chocolate croissants.

Harry opened the door wider, eyes on the croissants.

“May I help you?” she asked.

“I won’t even drug you, just answer my questions,” he demanded.

Reluctantly, she let him in. She really shouldn’t, but she really wanted those croissants. It had been ages since she’d allowed herself a pastry and the sudden craving for it was going to be a problem.

At least he laid out his offerings on the table first, letting her have a sip of coffee and a bite of the pastry before starting out with, “So what family are you allied with?”

This time, Harry’s confusion wasn’t feigned. “What?”

He made a rude noise and waved a hand. “You healed my injuries and then moved me across countries. You obviously have connections. Who are your contacts?”

The truth, she realized. Was going to be more confusing than lies.

With an inner cackle, Harry said, “I’m alone. I’ve been alone since I got here. I mostly moved to Italy for the desserts.”

Though, if Harry really wanted decadent, she would have moved to France. Those people had ideas about butter.

He looked frustrated. “You…alone? You did it alone? That’s impossible.”

Harry finished off the pastry in four bites. If he was going to start shooting, at least she had something delicious in her stomach.

He didn’t start shooting, but he did leave looking more confused than anything.

Harry waited thirty minutes before letting out a cackle.

.

.

The man - and she still didn’t know his name, kept appearing in her apartment.

He also seemed to notice that she let him in faster if he brought baked food. Hermione always said that food would kill her, but Harry didn’t think she meant the food brought as bribes from a mercenary.

And he was a mercenary, she realized. He kept a gun on him at all times and Italy’s gun laws weren’t that lax. She’d read up on it once in the bookstore after he showed up for dinner three times in a row. Italy needed permits to carry. With how well cared for that gun was – and how well used it was, Harry didn’t think he had a hunting license.

He still kept asking her strange questions. Harry was just as confused as when he started this strange arrangement, but not as confused as he was.

“What Flames?” Harry answered the millionth strange question. “I don’t have fire!”

The man made a noise like a cat stepped on and left after washing the dishes.

Harry felt herself softening. He was such a sweetheart.

.

.

Once, he fell asleep on the table, clearly worn out and Harry let him sleep.

She knitted across him, making a tea cozy and amusing herself with the funny patterns.

When he woke up near midnight, he looked spooked - frightened.

Concerned, Harry let go of her knitting and held his hand. “Are you alright?” she asked.

He kissed her hand and left, still looking scared out of his mind but considering.

.

And then the flowers started.

.

The bouquet of orchids and red carnations had Harry blushing.

Did he?…she looked up at his guileless eyes and looked at the flowers again. He didn’t know the meaning of course. It was just a coincidence that the flowers meant exotic beauty and admiration.

“Thank you,” she told him. “What’s with the flowers?”

He held her hand between his, and she felt small. His hands were larger than hers and Harry shivered deliciously at the warmth.

“Can a man not give flowers to friends?” he asked. “And I just realized. It’s been three months and I never gave my name. It’s Renato.”

Harry smiled. “Harriet. Call me Harry.”

Renato looked dazed. “Lovely name,” he murmured.

.

.

If Harry thought that Renato showed up regularly when he stalked her, now that he had given her his name, he seemed to show up every day on a schedule.

He brought dinner, a startling difference to the baked goods, and stopped asking her strange questions. He stopped looking confused and instead brought a lot of flowers.

Harry felt harassed. The flower’s messages were enough to make her blush, and Renato still looked clueless at her embarrassment. The latest one seemed to be asking her to marry him. Harry wanted to die, it was so forward.

“You don’t like the Spider Flowers?” Renato asked. “I can get different ones. How about Chrysanthemum’s and Daffodils?”

There was no way this was a coincidence anymore. He’d all but announced he was in love with her. Unrequited love with her. His eyes were crinkled with suppressed laughter and Harry understood.

“Renato, you’re going to kill me,” Harry whined, face buried in her hands. “I love you, you bastard.”

Renato laughed, scooping her up in his arms. Harry was helpless to resist and she laughed with him.

.

.

They were still having miscommunication issues. Harry was undeniably British and Reborn was also undeniably Italian.

There also seemed to be a second layer of miscommunication that still seemed to be happening, no matter Harry’s or Reborn’s best efforts.

The answer to this was dates. Lots and lots of dates where they just talked, as honestly as they could to each other, so that it would resolve their issues. Renato promised to tell her when he was angry with her. Harry promised to ask him what he was feeling instead of just assuming what he felt. It was a work in progress.

On Harry’s days off, they went trawling through coffee shops, Reborn for the coffee and Harry for the pastry.

It was a good system and both of them loved it.

And then the shooting happened.

.

.

Ducked under broken tables and bandaging an arm wound, Harry whips out her wand and heals it, cursing the entire time when the bullet pushes out. It hurt so much more going out than it had gone in.

“What is that?” Renato asked in shock.

Harry blinked at him and swore. She had forgotten on important thing in the many things she had shared with her lover.

“Magic?” she said weakly.

He smiled, looking manic. “You don’t use Flames? You’re not in the mafia?”

Harry gave a weak giggle. “No. I’m a witch. You’re in the mafia?”

“I thought you knew?” he asked her.

Which, in hindsight, yeah. Why didn’t she guess it?

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he continued, gesturing at the wand she was using to reinforce the table against the gunshots.

Harry bit her lip and did her best to look innocent. “Would you believe me if I tell you that I forgot?”

Reborn hid his face in his fedora and laughed.

.

.

Read on AO3

“I can’t believe you’re the same woman I met in the bar last night,” Reborn remarked, surprised but so delighted by it that it made her wary.

Harry rolled her eyes at the ridiculous man, hands gripping a Flame-powered gun. She checked it automatically and holstered it on her thigh. It did not escape her notice that his eyes follow her every move.

“Why?” she asked, finally looking at him properly. His fedora was the only thing in the room not dirty or stained with blood. There’s blood trickling out of his mouth and dripping down his chin that’s steadily abating and a wicked smile on that mobile mouth. “Because I drank fruity margarita’s and complained about vodka to you?”

He laughed. It’s a deep and rasping thing that sent shivers down her spine. Harry does her best to ignore it.

“Because you looked more the type to go on seduction missions than shoot-outs,” he said.

Well. Point.

Everyone in Vongola knew that Reborn was married.

Even if he had no wedding ring, he occasionally had lunch boxes from his wife, which he proudly carried, and sometimes, he requested leave for certain dates, which he vowed was actually an anniversary of some sort.

This could only be the actions of a very committed man.

Strangely, barring the Arcobaleno who had crashed the wedding, no one had actually seen Reborn’s wife.

They knew she was gorgeous, because Reborn had a certain type. They just had no idea what kind of person she was.

When a beautiful redhead knocked on the Iron Fort’s gates with a very familiar lunch box, the gossip reached crazy levels.

“Is that - !”

“Oh my god,”

“She just petted his hair.”

“Fuck the petting, she just pulled at his side-burns!”

The staff and various Mafioso of different departments crowded around the windows and just. Stared.

“Is she going in?” someone asked what everyone was thinking.

Yes, she was.

.