Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn! or Harry Potter. Though I wouldn't have minded if I did. But that would defeat the purpose of writing fanfiction.

Title: Chaos and Devastations

Summary: If Reborn was the well-honed weapon that leaves Chaos in his wake, then his brother Harry would be the force of nature that leaves Devastations in his trail. (or in which Harry Potter had the dubious pleasure of being the World's Greatest Hitman's baby brother)

Author's Notes:

After a long hiatus and revision of all my stories, and the change of a penname (previously AppleMay), I have come back with the improved (in my opinion) of my KHR and HP xover story. I hope everyone will enjoy this as much as I did writing it!

Cheers,

Deaconicas

'Love give me strength, and strength shall help me afford.'

William Shakespeare

Renato Sinclair was one of the many orphans who haunt the back alleys of Florence's Underworld, he began stealing when he was six and was handed a knife when he was seven. He killed his first man at the tender age of seven and a half, a quick slash of the throat, the spray of blood, and the life of a man was suddenly ended.

Just like that.

Renato hadn't ever really thought about it. He had never questioned his morality, never hesitated to stick that deadly knife into someone's gut, never cried over the sight of those rivers of blood.

This is because he had always understood, from the moment he was handed a bundle of blankets by a man in a suit in an empty apartment, that things like mercy and hesitation and fear are luxuries he cannot afford. So he soldiered on, gritting his teeth and curling his sideburns and waited every day, at one of the numerous dingy alleyways that spread the entire city of Florence, for the unfortunate soul who was stupid enough to cross his path.

But when his baby brother who had only began to talk suddenly started coughing uncontrollably, he knew fear, that burning sensation at the back of his eyes, that heart gripping urge that closed his throat and numbed his body and shut down his brain. It wasn't something he had ever experienced, and for the first time in his short life, he was at a loss of what to do.

So he stumbled out of his apartment, tripping and cursing and clutching that tiny bundle of flesh, the only family he has left in this world, in his arms as he cried and begged and pleaded to the people who passed them by without so much as a glance.

For the first time, he knew what it was like to be helpless.

Finally, the young boy collapsed onto his knees in front of a small clinic, he can see the light through the wooden door, the hushed whispers beyond the walls that separated his brother from the help he needs. Shakily, he raised his hands again, fisting his fingers together and knocked on the doors.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The sound rang heavily in the empty twilight, the whispers beyond the door stopped, footsteps was heard, one click, two clicks. Renato counted in his mind, he held his breath as he heard the clicking of heeled shoes stop. He waited, eyes fixed on that brown wooden door with the knobbly handle slightly askew, for the man, the doctor, behind the wooden door to turn the knob and open the door and rescue his brother. Alas, the kind doctor did not come, and the person clicking of the heeled shoes began again, sounding further and further away from where the little boy and the pale, dying baby lay collapsed on the cracked pavement.

"Please." Renato whispered through cracked lips.

Only silence answered his pleas.

Trembling, the black haired little boy clutched at the door knob, he tried twisting it, but it would not budge. Twilight has given away to the darkness of the night, dimly, a stray thought about an unlocked apartment door and the possibility of a robbery floated in his mind, but the cooling body of the little babe in his arms was more apparent to him with each passing second.

The babe's breath had become shallower, his emerald green gaze now hidden behind eyelids so pale, it was possible to see the intricate patterns of veins and capillaries beneath that thin layer of skin. The babe's inky black hair was as rumpled as ever, parted slightly to the side to show the beginning of a lightning shaped scar on his forehead.

"Please." The boy whispered again.

'Please what?' He thought, 'Please god, do not be so cruel to take his brother away? Please father, to come back from wherever he is and help his dying brother? Please mother, to return from death and look after her son? Please doctor, to listen to your morals and open the door?'

The wind howled as the lamps crackled to life, illuminating the tiny space in front of the clinic where the boy stood shaking. A thin, worn out summer shirt the only protection between his gangly body and the chill of the night.

Slowly, the boy's thin, pale lips stretched upwards into a mockery of a smile. His eyes, twin black pools of abyss stared blankly at the tiny baby that lay ever so quietly in his arms, looking for all the word like he was sleeping, if it were not for the lack of movement in his chest.

Please, the boy prayed for the first time since his mother's death, if there is anything I can do,

As if in response to his prayer, a gust of hot wind whipped past him, making his shirt bellow in the breeze.

Then I will do it,

Tendrils of yellow began to creep up from the ground, dancing and swaying and climbing skywards until the boy was surrounded by a wall of captured sunlight.

With my Dying WILL!

The roar of fire sounded in his ears, and with an almighty push, the wall of flames shot upwards violently and closed itself into a yellow dome, obscuring the boy and the baby in a haze of sparkling, wild flames.

Roberto Shamal swore for the umpteenth time that day as he stepped into another puddle on his way back from work.

'Damn his brother for being a lazy arse, double damn his boss for selecting the most difficult case ever for him, and triple damn the entire bloody mafia for being a bunch of fools cracked up on flames.'

Lifting his leg to inspect the large water stain now gracing his plain brown slacks along with the numerous other stains of more questionable origin, Roberto signed and flicked the half-finished cigarette in his mouth onto the ground. He dearly wished that he has inherited his mother's mist flames instead of his father's sun flames, if only to avoid the disgusted gazes of the few pedestrians still lingering outside at this time of the night.

"Bloody hell."

He swore in defeat when a curious stray dog bounded over to sniff at him, only to turn away in disgust moments later at the no doubt horrid smell of burning chemicals and dried blood still staining the legs of his slacks. 'Great, now he was being passed over by animals.'

"Bloody hell!"

He swore again when he felt the familiar burning of an activated Dying Will Flame at his back. He whirled around just in time to see a column, a COLMUN! of pure, untainted, unblemished wall of sparkling yellow flame shooting five feet into the sky!

Great, it was just his luck to round off this shitty day by witnessing the activation of a baby Sun with a Dying Will Flame so pure it could make Skies go into Rivalry for him.

He was so done with life.