Disclaimer: Harry Potter and Battle Royale don't belong to me.

Warnings: Slash (boyxboy), incest (sort of, kind of; they're not really brothers but in this story they are…)

Note: Takes place in the Battle Royale universe, so no magic.

Crimson Butterfly

October 28th, 1999; 8:30 a.m.

Everywhere was white, a startling white. There was no color in the space. No blues, reds. Just white. "Onii-chan!" Kazuo stopped walking. Who was calling him? "Onii-chan!" Who did that voice belong to? He turned, right, left, but couldn't find the owner. As Kazuo was about to give up, a small hand grabbed his own. He stared in shock at the beautiful emerald eyes. "Onii-chan, let's go home." A bright, breathtaking smile from that angelic face. Kazuo opened his mouth to reply, when his eyes snapped open. Staring at the blank ceiling of his room, he slowly sat up, bringing his hand up to his face. Why was he remembering something from almost ten years ago? His little brother was long gone now. He sighed, falling back onto his bed, which was really just two twin beds shoved together, making the decision to not go to school today. It wasn't like it made much of a difference. No one bothered to show up anymore.

He hated school. He hated life. What was the point? Kazuo narrowed his eyes when a fist pounded on his door, trying the handle only to find it locked. Drunken slurring ensued before an annoyed kick to the wood was delivered. The shadow from under the crack of the door slowly stumbled away and then silence. Kazuo hated his father. At one time he loved him, but now, he would gladly kill the bastard. He toyed with the pocket knife tucked under his pillow. What was stopping him, a voice whispered in his ears. Kazuo gripped the knife tightly. What was stopping him from just ending it all, to feel the warm blood dripping down his fingers, to see the life drain out of those permanently red-rimmed eyes, to be the one in power for once? His heart beat slightly faster at the thought, pupils dilating.

Yes, let him suffer at my hands, show him what it's like.

November 1st, 1999; 11:30 a.m.

Harry looked at the house. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it seemed a lot more depressed than the last time he had seen it, the cheery paint chipped and faded, weeds sticking out of large cracks in the pavement. The once green grass were bent and dried, straining to live under the neglect. The flowers that he remembered lined the picket fences were nowhere to be seen, long dead. Of course, that was well over three years ago, and he had left on rather sad terms. When he was separated from his brother, from his twin, from Kazuo, Harry screamed, cried, begged, refused to budge from his place next to Kazuo, but his mother was adamant on leaving and wrenched him away. He loved Kazuo, more than he probably should. But he wasn't the only one. Kazuo loved him, too. The two shared hidden kisses, tucked away in their shared room at night with only the moon to witness them. They looked nothing alike, so that made the situation marginally better. That's why his mother never understood the deep affect the move had on Harry. He lost his friend, brother, and lover in one. It was wrong. He knew it was wrong. And that was why he threw himself into homework and classes at the new school, thinking that if he just forgot all about Kazuo, then he could be normal. A normal boy that plays sports and has girlfriends instead of thinking about kissing his brother.

It was difficult, and the environment didn't help at all. At least with Kazuo, his brother warded off most of the bullies, and with two, they tended to avoid picking on them. They had each other. But now, he was alone. And his appearance was that of a foreigner, adding to their jibes along with being a new kid in a class filled with students that knew each other for years. Harry took after his mother, which wasn't a bad thing in itself, but children can be unnecessarily cruel in their ignorance. A half-breed, they called him. Some were more physical about the in-acceptance of him, Harry coming home with bruises more than once under his uniform. He always brought a jacket to school just in case for this reason, so that should his shirt rips open from particularly vicious encounters, he could hide the injuries from his mother.

But she died. And Harry was here, back at his old home. He shifted nervously before ringing the doorbell, anticipating the reunion. Harry heard the voice before he even saw the person it belonged to.

"We don't want what you're selling." A gruff, scraggly voice scraped its way to his ear, a yellowed eye glaring at him through the door cracked open. Harry jerked back at the sound, wondering for a second if he had the right house.

"This is the Kiriyama residence, right?" Harry asked hesitantly. A part of him hoped it wasn't, otherwise this behavior of his father's greatly changed for the worse.

"What do you want." Well, that proved this really was his father, and Harry couldn't stop the curl of disappointment in his stomach.

"Dad?" he called out softly, breath hitching, trying to peer into the door crack. There was silence before a loud slam. Harry stood there, staring in disbelief at the closed door, nursing his hurt. As he contemplated simply leaving his old home, the clicking of a latch on the other side had him pausing. The door swung open and Harry was met with a teary-eyed man, one who although he knew was his father, looked like a shadow of what he was years ago. Papery skin, bloodshot eyes, Harry just barely resisted the urge to cringe away when the man launched himself at him, breathing in the alcoholic stench.

"Harry! My son, my beautiful son!" his hands darted out, almost clawing his face had Harry not ducked away in time.

"Where's your mother?" the man wildly searched behind him, stepping around Harry, eyes darting to and fro.

"She's dead," Harry winced, looking down at his feet, hating how he had to break the news to his own father.

The light that had entered into those tired, weary eyes extinguished, leaving a blank look, and Harry startled at the abrupt change.

"Are you okay?" Harry softly asked, unsure of how exactly to comfort him. Time and distance had changed his father, and he wasn't sure if he knew the proper way to handle him.

"I'm fine," he wheezed out, stepping aside to let his son in.

"Get settled in," the man collapsed on the ground, waving aside Harry's concern. "I want to stay out here for a while."

Harry glanced once more at the still man staring off dazedly at the ground before walking into the house, dragging in his suitcase. It was significantly emptier than he had last seen it, his mother taking in a majority of the belongings. A whole lot messier, too. He spied dust bunnies gathering in the corners of rooms and along the edges of walls. Stopping in front of an old picture frame nailed to the wall, Harry smiled at the happy family, blinking back the tears. He took a deep breath, shaking his head slightly before climbing up the stairs, following the familiar route to his room.

He lingered outside the room, biting his lip as he reached out, turning the knob slowly. Catching sight of the prone body on the conjoined bed, something he and his brother pushed together as they grew older to increase space, Harry tiptoed closer, leaning forward to see Kazuo's sleeping face. A surprised yelp left his lips when a hand flew out from under the covers, pulling him down and shoving him on his back. The movement was too quick for Harry to keep up and before he knew it, a stinging sharpness on his throat had him stiffening.

"Nii-chan," his voice cracked in the middle but Harry paid that no mind as he stared up at the cold eyes assessing him. Swallowing, the knife, for it had to be a knife, pressed down deeper and Harry shied away from the metal as far as he could, not moving much under Kazuo's unrelenting hold. The hard brown eyes narrowed down at him but he eventually withdrew the weapon, swinging his legs off of Harry and onto the floor, presenting his back to his brother.

"What are you doing here."

Harry sat up, gazing at the oddly captivating motion of the opening and closing of the pocket knife.

"Mom died," Harry whispered. Kazuo's hand didn't stop the action.

"Is that so?"

Harry made a confirming sound, wondering why the unbearable pain from before seemed to just fade away. He was numb, unfeeling. The world was nothing. He was fine now if Kazuo was here. A small ounce of guilt stirred within Harry for feeling, if for a brief moment, relief that his mother died, as long as he got to see Kazuo again. He squashed it down, ignoring everything but his brother. The soft clicking of the pocket knife lulled him to sleep, subconsciously curling onto his side of the bed, leaving just enough room for Kazuo but close enough for them to nestle next to each other. For a moment, Harry could pretend that everything was fine. His mother was alive, his dad was happy. They were that happy family in that picture, and everything was fine.

Because nothing's hotter than a psychopathic killer, right? But, no, really, I'll be meshing together the novel, film, and maybe the manga versions into this story. So, yeah, Lily died on Halloween. This won't be a long story, under ten chapters at the most. Just wanted to get this out of my system. First time writing something like this, so I hope you don't cringe away at my attempt at violence (and smut, but that'll come up much later) - Aldira~