A.N. PLEASE READ!
Confession time: neither of us planned on continuing this. Neither of us has watched/read Katekyo Hitman Reborn/Home-Tutor Reborn. Um…but we are planning this out? We are researching as much as we can to make sure we've got the basics?
We didn't expect the sheer amount of readers and followers and reviews that you have gifted to us, so we thank you. Hopefully, this story will live up to your expectations.
We also don't own KHR or HP, so…plot's ours, everything else…isn't. Kinda.
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WARNING: AU. Much AU, Very OOC, definitely non-canon, let's pretend it's a parallel world, shall we? Hamlet, scorn, and bashing of peasants.
Again, so much AU.
You have been warned.
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"Be not too tame neither…" Hamlet: Act 3, Scene 2
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The story starts something like this.
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Prince Selaphiel was three when he realized that his older twin got far more attention than he did (equaltwinwhataboutme) and he hated it. Sure, he had the nice peasant (warmsmileshugs) that took care of him, but she wasn't his mother (thespareonlyaspare). The Prince learnt an important lesson early on; he didn't matter to his family.
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Selaphiel was six when his twin tried to murder him in cold blood. He was six when he eviscerated his mirror image, and proceeded to slaughter all that resided in the castle that was never his home (coldeyescoldheartscoldwords) in a fit of pure, blackout rage. He did not come back to himself until he came face to face with the nice peasant whom had taken care of him (go, my Prince, she had smiled at him, darkness in her eyes, be free, and do not forget your place.) She had a merciful death, resigned to her fate, but with a smug grin on her face (warmthtocoldsaltwetremorse) even as he slit her throat. Her last gift was a cache of cash and a passport in his name that he used to escape the country (coldalwayscoldsnowsorefeet), travelling over the mountains near the end of winter, weeks before the thaw.
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(It was the snow that froze his heart, the villagers would whisper, froze it solid as he ghosted through towns. The Ice Prince, the Bloody Prince, the Red Prince of the North.)
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Selaphiel was seven when he stumbled upon the Varia, picked up by an equally bloodthirsty Cloud (blood and death is my Territory, the Cloud had declared proudly, just as much as it is yours). The Cloud (Anan, he had declared himself, Anan is what they call me) had taken his bloodlust, his uncontrollable, blackout rages, and moulded it into a weapon (burnbloodragedisintergratedestroy). His mentor had, unbeknownst to him, been the Cloud Officer under the Head of the Varia, Tyr, at the time, and had already notified the correct people about the little bloodthirsty demon he'd picked up (the bloodthirsty demon who matched the bloodthirsty Cloud and caused the mooks to tremble). Selaphiel was seven when he joined the Varia, Named Belphegor within moments when he eradicated the previous Storm Officer (ash on the wind, burned by the pretty red fire). Anan had laughed himself sick, the newly dubbed Belphegor joining him with the signature laugh that would haunt the lower ranks for years (ushishishi, peasants. Bow before the Prince of Hell).
Then Tyr was beaten by a wild-eyed, loud teen with silver hair, who removed his left hand before fighting the Head (he and Anan had laughed in delight as the blood splattered the concrete in lovely patterns), defeating him after two days and collapsing from blood loss (the sword peasant has spine, he'd whispered to Anan, even if he is stupid). Even though the new Head of the Varia (rite of conquest, Anan told him, the Varia does not accept weakness) was a Rain (bluesoothingcool), Belphegor had no issues following the Second Sword Emperor, Squalo Superbi (voi, just because you're a Prince doesn't mean you can slack, Superbi had growled, fix your division to Quality, brat, because it reflects badly on you as their Officer).
Anan was killed by Tyr's partner, Ottabio, two months later. It was Squalo who held him back from slaughtering the scum (notAnannotmymentorDIE!), the new Sun officer (flamboyantbrightsmilesbrighthair) murmuring in his ear that Officers couldn't kill other Officers (because the Sun would have burned away the Mist months ago otherwise). The filthy Cloud (usurpertraitorscum) had the nerve to strut about Headquarters as if he owned the place (notroyal, Belphegor would hiss to himself, fakepower), and it made his skin itch.
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Belphegor was eight when he met his Sky. The red-eyed, hot-blooded teen who stalked in with a scowl and flames coating his hands (prettywrathrageangerburning), incinerating the Rain Officer as Superbi declared him the new Varia Boss, Xanxus, the other teen just as quickly shoving Superbi into the now empty Rain Officer position with a mutter of 'shark trash'. Belphegor had narrowed his eyes, and stared hard at the two, noticing with an increasing sense of jealousy that the sword peasant had Harmonized with their new Boss (notfaironlyaspareonlyaspare). The Lightning Officer was being sickening (fawningfalsewordsdespicable) and the Mist was being suspicious, and Belphegor still wanted the Cloud to burn. The Sun was cooing over the feathers in Boss's hair (red for courage, passion. Red for blood, and an approaching storm), and he (was not sulking, sword peasant, leave) was analysing everything he could about this new Sky (wrathburnfireanger), when the Sky was right there.
"The Storm Officer, Belphegor, or Prince the Ripper." The sword peasant introduced (proper manners, good manners). "Belphegor, this is the new Head of Varia, Xanxus Vongola."
"Wrathful peasant." He had greeted, giggling to himself. "Such pretty fire. The Prince approves."
"A pleasure, Prince Belphegor." Xanxus drawled, and Belphegor had given him a sharp smile, detecting no lie, no condescension in the teen's words.
"Ushishishi, the wrathful peasant has manners." Xanxus had laughed then; a low, throaty chuckle that promised Dark things, promised blood and gore and death and revenge, infernos and magma and fire.
"No one told me the Storm Officer was a vicious little thing. You'll keep."
A hand descended to ruffle his hair, and Belphegor was set to slice the Boss's hand off, Sky or no, when he felt it (skywarmthhomebelongingprotection). He froze, and Boss's hand carded through his hair, avoiding his crown (his birthright, his title, a reminder), and Belphegor purred (warmthwarmthsafeprotectedwarmsowarmbelonging), startling a chuckle out of his Sky. His Sky.
"I will not bow to you." He had gritted out (I am a Prince, I do not bow to anyone), before the hand went through his hair again, and he unwittingly leaned into the touch, because deep down, he was still an affection starved child (equaltwinwhataboutme, his mind would scream in his darker moments, donotleavemeagain).
"I would not ask you to, Prince Belphegor. Only to guard my back, and walk by my side."
"Ushishishi, the Prince agrees to…who told you to stop, wrathful peasant?"
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He was eight when the original Mist Officer disappeared (there one day, gone the next, the mooks had gossiped, replaced by one of the Worlds Strongest), and he met Mammon, whom had Bonded with Xanxus as soon as they touched. The Arcobaleno had the office next door to Belphegor's, and he often went in there to escape the dreariness of the peasant's reports, the miser only charging him a glass of quality strawberry milk for the use of their couch (the baby was adorable, he would think sometimes, even if they charge excessively).
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Belphegor was eight when his Sky was frozen (he was frozen, coldcoldcoldtoocold, Mammon had been the one to pull him out of that cursed room), eight when the most significant person he looked up to was gone. Prince the Ripper immediately went on a spree of violent murders, clearing the backlog of assassinations (because his Sky wasn't there, homebelongingwarmthwrath wasn't there), and it wasn't until the sword peasant (rainbluesoothingdelugepaingrief) came to collect him personally once the bloodlust has cleared and he found himself in a small town halfway across the world half a year after the incident that he realized that he'd worried them all (because they lost their Sky, and they couldn't afford to lose their Storm as well). Not that the peasants would admit it. He was paired up for every single mission after that (Mammon, mostly, and some with Lussuria, never with Levi), and the Sun, Storm, Mist and Rain grew closer (fakeharmony, he wanted to scream, but it was better than nothing).
The next mission had been deemed acceptable for him to go on his own (carefulcautiousbesafe, the Sun had implored the Storm, comehomebequick) and the Rain had let him go with less complaints (Voidon'tmessup) than usual, and the Mist had merely sniffed (I'llchargeyouifyoudon'treturninonepiece) and the Lightning and Cloud didn't know, and he was on a plane to the land of royalty. The target was pitifully easy (please don't, the peasant begged. The Prince knows no mercy, he'd replied, only blood, death and riches), and he sent the Rain a message to inform the peasants of his imminent return as he walked out of the alley, coat covering the blood on his shirt.
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Belphegor was nine when he went missing, presumed dead (and the Rain wept, the Sun scorched and the Mist choked).
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Belladonna Vulpecula Potter was nine when she woke up feeling as though her head had been stuffed full of cotton, a hollowness under her ribcage (it would plague her for years), and a strange disorientation at the cupboard she was in (thepeasantsshallpayfortheslight), red flashing over her vision before fading as quickly as it had appeared. There was a shrill voice screeching at her to rise, and her body obeyed instinctively. Something was wrong, something was very, very wrong (and she wanted out). The horse's eyes were skittish, and wouldn't look at her, and the casual abuse from the two pigs (notblood, she would hiss to herself in the dark confines of her cupboard, notroyalty) and the fact they looked nothing alike made something in her on edge and wary. Something inside her felt blocked and restrained (cagedtrappedOUT) and hatred boiled beneath her skin (howdaretheycageme). She wore boys clothes because that was what she was given and they felt right, she played dirty, fought dirty (bitescratchclawknives), learned fast (too fast, her teachers said, slow down) and snarled inwardly at the gaps in her memories, before intense migraines would leave her unable to function for days (weakweakweak).
Belladonna had memories of the cold when her relatives had locked her out of the house when she was six (frozencoldnumb), of a bone-deep ache that plagued her during the cold months. Had scars from when Ripper (beastmonsterkillkillkill) took a bite of her ankle (she'd taken a bite of its ear, and it had run off), from 'Potter Poking' and the scars on her shoulders from where the big pig had taken his belt to her back (oh, she was going to make him suffer when she killed him), and images from various incidents in her 'childhood' that still filled her with hate and loathing (burnhatewrathragebloodspillblood).
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Belladonna was eleven when she met two of the most influential people of her life; the ones who would support her, come life or death- Fay Dunbar (trapspanickedfalsecalm), the only tolerable person in Gryffindor, and Theodore Nott (shadowspainquiettooquiet), the quiet, unassuming Slytherin who shared her study table with Fay. They had all shared a compartment (traintrappednausea), and kicked out anyone else who tried to disrupt the quiet. They needed no more than an exchange of names, no more than a quiet 'hello' or a request to swap books (no talk of houses, Nott had said, don't ruin…this). They were an odd Trio, and no matter how hard some tried (falsesmilesshadowedeyeslieslieslies) no one could ever come close to separating the three (slimy snake, they'd hiss. Foolish lions, she'd growl back, because Theodore was hers).
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Theodore Nott possessed flames of the darkest green that made him Hard to see, Hard to hear and Hard to focus on; a by-product of a rather abusive childhood. His father, known simply as Nott Senior, or Sir, had murdered his mother one night after having one too many drinks and reminiscing on the 'glory days' of the Dark Lord Voldemort. He had shown his only son and heir the faded Mark, and told him the stories behind how he got it, boastful and proud.
Theodore hated it, hated him, hated Him, and hated the other heirs that he had to socialize with.
Then he'd shared a train compartment with Belladonna Vulpecula Potter, and his world-view had shattered and reformed into something beautiful.
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Fay Dunbar had first summoned the blackish-purple fire when she had been picked up by a strange man in a lab coat. He'd locked her in the back of a van and had started to drive her away from home, and she had reacted. Badly.
She had never told her parents how exactly the man had died, only that the post mortem showed that his heartrate had increased at a fatal rate. She had never told anyone about the purple fire that had saved her; it was her filthy little secret.
Then she shared a room with Belladonna Vulpecula Potter, who had the prettiest red fire that danced between her fingers, and she knew that the strange girl who had Blackness and Death hidden under Clay would be worth following.
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Belladonna was twelve when she slayed the beast that lay beneath the school, armed with nothing but a sword and her fire, rage burning in her veins as the diary that had possessed shy Luna (hermoonhermistHERS) turned into ash at the force of her ire. She had not shied away from the blood and gore splattering her robes, and the peasants had quailed and recoiled in the face of her wrath (monster, they screamed, killer), and she had smiled, teeth covered in blood. (Yes, she had crooned back, I am a spider. And you invited me into your parlour).
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Luna Lovegood had known about the indigo sparks that had followed her around since forever, because her mother had possessed them too. They showed her things that no one else could see, she could do things that no one else could do, and it was freedom from the dull existence that she was plagued with. She had never told her father that it had been the indigo sparks that had killed her mother when she tried to do something impossible, and that Luna had only survived by Constructing a barrier, and she had resolved to never tell anyone the truth.
Then Belladonna Vulpecula Potter had snarled at a group of her housemates for bullying her, and set one of them on fire, and Luna had smiled for the first time since she had arrived at this cursed place.
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Belladonna was thirteen when a convict escaped from a high security prison, supposedly the one whom had betrayed her parents (foolish peasants, she had complained to Fay, the only good traitor is a dead one), and had the nerve to threaten her Fay by breaking into Gryffindor tower (desperationguiltneed) and stealing something (the red troglodyte lost his stupid rat, Fay sighed, and he's whining about it). Then he was not guilty, and on the run still from werewolf hunters after eloping with that years Defence Professor (the Defence Professor is a werewolf, she had told Theo, Luna and Fay after, but he is more akin to a puppy just coming into his teeth), and Belladonna had despaired at the lack of brain cells the majority of this world possessed.
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But that is not where the story truly begins.
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Belladonna was fourteen when the Tri-Wizard Tournament was announced. The crescent moon on her side burned (witch mark, the horse had stuttered, freak mark), and she felt the sudden need to cover her eyes (noneshallseemyeyeesagain), already hidden under a thick fringe (hiding the scar, the damn scar. Sowilo was victory, but not for her). Behind her, at the Ravenclaw table, Luna hissed under her breath, and muttered something about a trap (toomanycages) and to be wary of bees (she hated the things anyway), and Theodore caught her eyes across the hall, and shook his head (trapchainsbewary). Fay's absence was a gaping hole by her side (weakpeasantsdonotapproach), and many times during the announcement she had found herself going to make derisive comments about the planning to her fellow Gryffindor, only to find her right-hand missing (besafebealivedonotdie), and irritating peasants left in her place.
It had been the most cursed of nights, the announcement of two foreign schools arriving only mollifying her momentarily (escapeplantransfersafe), and the thought that perhaps there would be worthwhile peasants among them to satisfy her need for intelligent conversion (Theo and Luna don't count, she told herself, because they're always around, but I need something…different. A new perspective on things). But, there was still that sense of danger that only increased as the night went on (trapslaidplotsplanned), and the new Defence teacher made her skin crawl in revulsion (fakefakefakefake), and the empty feeling in her chest intensified (coldcoldnohomenowarmth).
Red sparked under the table where her hands were clasped, and she took a deep breath (bracebracecalmcalmserene), preparing to face the oncoming storm.
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(She'd always had the gift from divining truth from lies, Professor Trelawney had told them, and she'd excelled at the art of Haruspicina. It was the Peverell blood running through her. Perhaps that was what made her leave; she had foreseen some ill-fortune that would befall her).
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A voice inside told her to be patient, but she just wanted the world to burn.
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She didn't know how much more she could take.
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Umm...Review? Give us some feedback, maybe some ideas? Who you want to see more of? What you want to see more of?
The format will be changing slightly as we shift from Background to Present, so...yeah. There's that.
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Haruspicina (Haruspicy) is the art of Divining stuff from entrails. Usually animals. Humans is a different name (but definitely one that she'd be good at later).
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Cheers,
Siofra and Victoria