Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns Harry Potter and Amano Akira has Katekyo Hitman Reborn!

Spending time in the backyard during a summer afternoon sounds enjoyable. You drink a glass of cool lemonade while sitting under the shade of a mature oak tree. With a large sip from your beverage, you stare at the cerulean sky, and wonder if anything can get better than this. Well, at least that's what Harry thought, as he wiped the sweat from his forehead, and stared at his hard work on the gardens. Tulips were planted on the side, arranged nicely with the hydrangeas.

'Yeah, that's what I want to do.' He took off his gloves and tiredly walked to the cooler part of the backyard. The shade of several bushes covered him quite nicely and Harry lied on the ground ungracefully, happily smiling when a fresh breeze passed by. The temperature was steadily rising in Surrey and his relatives were all away on their own businesses, but Harry was stuck with a list of arduous chores. They were annoying and uncomfortable for the scrawny child to complete everything under the time limit that his aunt set up for him. So, he decided while lying on the bed of grass to stop for the day. And it was that steaming July day when Harry decided to recreate those wonderful flames for his own. But it was probably not the best time to start, since he was a "dangerous" boy in the eyes of his neighborhood.

It was really obvious when the housewives, who had no lives of their own, often gossiped with Aunt Petunia about the mischievous escapades he committed for the past few months in school. Mrs. Collins and Mrs. Barrons had surprisingly informative details of his adventures on the roof during recess and the times he dyed his teacher's hair blue because of minor disagreements. Often at times, Harry could hear his aunt complain to Uncle Vernon when all of the housewives returned to their homes later at night.

However, the conversations didn't bother Harry, who lived in an opinionated household for more than nine years. There was nothing much he could change since nobody would bother to stop by and listen to him anymore.

There were times when a random stranger would actually stop, Harry would tell them of how he became a common tool for the Dursleys to use every day. For so long, he was a gardener, housekeeper, and butler all rolled into one boy. With minimal amount of breaks, Harry would tell the strangers that his life wasn't exactly the perfect childhood scenario.

And no, they didn't physically abuse him with Uncle Vernon's enormous fists or a frying pan for him to comply with their demands. They're both too paranoid about the loud shouts from him because he could possibly attract unwanted attention. But, that didn't stop them from being neglectful or using their lovable son to stomp and push away any possible "rebellions" from him at home and at school.

Harry Hunting was always a great game for Dudley and his gang of misfits; it was a great method of stress relief and well - for Harry, it was great stamina training. Before that fateful night, the 'game' was just another painful block in his life. It was something to be considered as a learning curve for him to imagine, as one of the teachers would tell him whenever Harry reported it.

Now, this stranger would either be angry on his behalf or suspicious of how terrible the ordeal was. This was where Harry himself got confused, as the strangers would bring him to the police station, and report his problems. But somehow, he would always be sent back to Privet Drive 4 after a night or two. He could still remember the first time he attempted to do so.

He approached the friendly looking woman with her child across the sidewalk. Both persons didn't look like they were from Surrey, as they walked together with smiles on their faces.

"Definitely does not belong here," Harry muttered and gathered the courage to walk the street, and tug on the lady's skirt. The mother looked down in confusion, but as she noticed his poor apparel and dirty condition, she immediately crouched down.

"What's wrong dear? Are you lost?" He heard an American accent when she spoke and he mentally cheered. She didn't know of his "reputation" and he could use it to his advantage.

Putting on a classic pitiful face, Harry looked at the lady. "Um, I'm not lost. But, my uncle told me to get out of his house 'cause I'm not worth it."

He watched as the mother gripped her child tighter in an embrace and felt a stab of jealously. He wanted to have an affectionate touch from someone. But, he couldn't do it now; he was on a mission for his freedom.

"Don't worry, we'll get you to the nice officers, and see what they could do." The mother smiled at him. "My name's Theresa, what's yours?"

He gave her a tiny smile. "I'm Harry."

"And my name's Lauren," a toothy grin appeared on the daughter's face, brown curls framing her face. "Hiya!"

So forth, they walked to the nearest police station, with Theresa asking pointless questions to him. But for Harry, he couldn't keep his focus. He was finally going to be free from his relatives' negligence and abuse.

On that day, it all went wrong after that. He remembered what happened right after he came home from the station, as he overheard the neighbors that same night. The police reported his uncle and brought him to jail, putting down his information and case in the system. He was going to report to the courtroom for his sentence and everyone else would be sent somewhere else. But as the officers in charge were going to Privet Drive No. 4 for evidence, they completely forgot the reason and called off the case.

His uncle was sent free and Theresa didn't know who Harry was at all when he confronted her the next day. He was shocked and couldn't believe what was going on. The little Harry at the time thought all of the adults were playing a joke, but as he continued to try over and over. He noticed it wasn't a prank, but rather a serious problem for him. Everybody seemed to forget everything, except for those occasions, where freelance journalists would come by and publish stories in nearby newspapers after their visits. With that tiny hope, Harry would always try every year with new schemes created in his imaginative mind.

He wondered if his parents were ever like him, pulling off plans to run away from a stressful household. But, they probably weren't since they didn't have adults that dictated his life with sadistic glee.

Nevertheless, with all of these combined together, of course Harry was going to try to learn those flames that gave him so much happiness within such a short span of time. Yet, it was a difficult challenge for him to carry out due to the main fact that he didn't know how to even start.

He thought of several things that could start a fire, but could only come up with the heavy immobile stove and matches. A heavy stove that was attached to the wall would not give any benefits to the yearning Harry. Besides, stoves were machines, cold contraptions that couldn't possibly hold any kind of warmth he was searching for.

And, nobody would want to give a "delinquent" some matches, especially when Harry was also a kid as well. With all of the parents gesturing their children to stay away from the rebellious kid, he was pretty sure that he couldn't ask for a favor. All that was left was a last resort: stealing.

Along with creating these schemes to get rid of his relatives, he was able to maintain a somewhat healthy lifestyle by becoming a thief. Stealing became a habit when the negligence came into play. Often at times, when Harry was punished to his little room, his relatives forgot the tiny fact he was a human as well. From there, he decided and enact on the act of stealing. He stole multiple bags of crisps from his cousin, sweets from random children during lunch, and several fruits off the basket from the dining table.

So when Harry noted that one of the senior teachers taking a smoke one bright afternoon, it was pretty simple to sneak in the teacher's lounge later and dig in for a lighter or matches, and take off right away.

That was around two days ago and he still had the matches in his trouser pockets. He wasn't quite sure how he'll recreate the flames that Reborn possessed, but he believed it was now or never.

Harry sat down with his legs crossed over, and gently took out the match box. His hands were dirty from planting the hydrangeas without the gloves. His hands were trembling, as he broke the entire bunch from the case, and stored the majority in his pockets. Bringing only one, Harry brought it to eye-level, and then struck it against the flat side.

A sudden pop was heard and then a bright amber flame appeared. Harry watched it in wonder; it was so similar to the ones he saw that night. The flickering flame wavered, as a weak breeze pass by the neighborhood. Then, the match went out and Harry frowned at the quick departure.

"That was rather quick." Harry muttered and dug a little hole in the gardens. He dropped the burnt match and picked another one from his pockets. The second one was a bit rough, as the wooden part had a crack in the middle. "This one should still work."

He struck it once more and a fiery red tip appeared from the match. This time, Harry covered the flame with his hand, trying to preserve it as long as he could. The boy watched with a bit of awe; it was beautiful to see, creating this natural phenomenon by himself.

Harry didn't know how long he stayed in that stance. He was entranced by that single flame, watching it burn the wooden stick until it gradually became a nub. He was about to extinguish the match when he felt a sudden shake on his shoulders and turned around to see it was his aunt.

She looked furious, her nostrils flaring with "righteous anger", and hair flying all over the place. "What are you doing with that?!"

Harry couldn't insert a reply because Aunt Petunia kept on going.

"You have no manners, no common sense! You're off in your own world like a clueless freak!" Spittle covered his face, but Harry didn't dare to remove it in case that would enrage his aunt even more.

Blah, the hag continues to nag for the sake of her own satisfaction. His thoughts, or rather his subconscious, started the inward conversation; a rather mature and sarcastic voice that always distracted Harry from the "outside world".

"First, it was with Ms. Poppins and next the jumping accident on the roof during school!" His aunt dragged him inside, where the neighbors wouldn't look over their wooden fences, and enjoy the rather dramatic one-sided conversation.

At least, she could stop referring to the incidents before today. It wasn't our fault. The voice in his head continued to converse, creating counter arguments to each point Aunt Petunia made.

But, it wasn't his fault exactly when his teacher, Ms. Poppins decided to dye her hair an eccentric shade of blue.

Yeah, she was picking on us just like Dudley. The subconscious continued to rationalize his excuses, bringing back memories from the earlier seasons. It was rather painful to remember them, as most of the kids isolated him due to his adorable cousin.

He sighed, watching with dull eyes as his aunt continued to drag him down the hallway, and stopped where his room was. The door to the cupboard was worn-down and padded with locks. The paint was starting to peel off at the corners, but Harry was pretty sure Uncle Vernon would repaint it for appearances.

"You'll stay there until I find out if anybody was watching!" With a last round of flying spittle, she shut the door with a loud 'bang', allowing Harry to feel a brief breeze.

That went well. His subconscious brightly said, filling in the dark silence of his cupboard. You still have the other matches in your pocket.

His hand moved to his trousers and inside his pockets, where he felt the smooth texture of the matches. They were all carved well and Harry wanted to experiment once more. Yet, he thought of the possible scenarios, including the idea that both of his relatives would actually raise a hand against him.

But, it wouldn't matter. We're in an isolated cupboard. His thoughts reasoned and Harry nodded in agreement.

Striking another one and another, Harry thought it was absolutely beautiful. It was maybe because of the shades of bright colors that made up this flame or the fact that it brightened the dark room; he loved it. It was a comfort, but a new start to an addiction, as he continued to litter the ground with burnt matches.

Suddenly, he stopped when he could only feel two matches left. He wanted to stop and patiently wait for the next day to come. He didn't want to lose the rest of these matches and look for more. However, the temptation was too much. He brought one more match and lit it.

But this time around, Aunt Petunia came to the hallway and pounded the door with her palms. She thought there was a suspicious light in the supposedly dark room and scowled at the ridiculous and strange magic emitting from her nephew.

"STOP WITH YOUR FREAKISHNESS!"

In surprise, Harry dropped the match on the cot and watched his sleeping area go up in flames.

It started to spread, consuming several dust bunnies and blanket threads. From there, the cot caught on fire and Harry turned away from the fiery destruction. He could feel his calves burning from the intense heat, as he raced to the door.

He needed to get out of the cupboard; he felt his parts of his arms scorching from the blazing fire. Its ferocious heat brought damage to the walls and then his personal clothing, turning them into ashes. Harry could hear his heart racing, his pounding fists on the locked door, and the screams that came from the kitchen.

Rushing footsteps from there to the door was obvious to Harry, abandoned by his aunt.

'I don't know what to do now.' Harry thought, as he turned his body around, his back sliding down the door. The smoke he accidentally inhaled was starting to take an effect. His vision was starting to darken, the room swirling around in circles. His body was weak, he couldn't get the strength to start taking down the door once more.

'I don't wanna die.' Tears trailed down Harry's face. 'I just wanted to feel it again.'

He closed his eyes, his strength drained away to the point that he could only lean on the door. The flames came closer to where he was, consuming everything in its path.

'I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die.'

It was terrifyingly hot, the unbearable waves of heat becoming stronger.

'I don't wanna die!'

Suddenly, Harry felt a stir in his chest, wild energy swirling in his abdomen, and up his body. His thoughts cleared, empowered by the increasing strength.

'I DON'T WANNA DIE!'

A motive stood out, his mind driven on that one goal to survive. His mind centered and vanished any other thoughts except on that one dying will. Harry couldn't understand anything else, and concentrated on bringing that exhilarating energy around his body. It coursed through his veins and he wanted to expel it away. He wanted to protect himself and then started to push it out his hands.

"AGHH!" With a loud yell, Harry saw scarlet flames spring out from his hands. It crashed into the orange bonfire and did a phenomenal thing that Harry swore wasn't his imagination. His own scarlet flames started to disintegrate the fire, freezing it to the core, and then breaking it down.

For those few minutes, Harry watched with half-lidded eyes; his body started to calm down, as he breathed in deeply. The rest of the fire died down and his disappeared.

His body suddenly felt heavy again and he dropped his hands, feeling an aching sensation in his hands. He closed his eyes, knowing that the danger was over. The remaining smoke filtered through the windows and out the house, while he remained inside. Through his filthy glasses, his room was black. Nothing was there anymore, except for a few melted toy soldiers and broken electronics.

Then, the door opened and Harry felt his body being carried out the door, worn cool leather gently covering his burns, and then he drifted off to unconsciousness.

"What do you mean we have to still take care of the freak?! He burned down most of my house!" Uncle Vernon's raging voice became louder and eventually he woke up.

Harry covered his eyes when he saw the white ceiling and eventually turned his head to the right. A heart monitor was giving off a constant rhythm of beeps, rugged lines indicating his pulse. 'Where am I?'

Slowly, he lifted himself against the bed frame and looked around. There were several pieces of furniture lying around and a window showing the London view. A wooden door located at the front and a curtain indicating a divider for other occupants.

'Did I die?'

"I don't want him under my care anymore! He's one of your kind!" Harry listened to his uncle complain to the elderly man. What did the fat lard mean by "one of your kind"? Did he have some kind of genetic disease special to some people? But whatever it was, his uncle was clearly affected and angry by that and the overall situation. He could imagine his reddening face and his fists shaking in the air. If that was out there, Harry was sure he didn't want to get out of bed.

"Now, let's calm down-"

"I will not listen to the likes of you anymore. Your demon brat became more trouble than ever this entire year and I will not tolerate it any longer!" Vernon interrupted the aged voice without any regards to his manners. He continued to yell, and Harry could imagine the rapidly purple face of his uncle.

"Mr. Dursley, try to listen to reason now. Harry is not safe without the blood wards surrounding your house." The wispy ancient voice calmly talked to his uncle, as if he wasn't listening to the increased anger in Uncle Vernon's tone.

"I don't give a damn about your freaky rituals! I want the boy out of my life, my family's life, and nowhere in this neighborhood!" His uncle declared, giving his demands to the elderly gentleman with a final snap.

With that, heavy footsteps walked away from the door, becoming quieter as seconds passed by. A heavy sigh was heard and Harry wanted to return to the comfortable hospital bed. But, he had an inkling that there was more to expect.

In the meantime, Harry released the breath he was holding. He didn't understand the situation, but what from what he could recollect, he was in an emergency hospital. His uncle was arguing with some elderly official and just left the building without even checking on him. He brought his hand to stop the chuckles that were coming out. Yeah, that sounds like the fat lard.

He checked on his injuries and noticed it wasn't that bad. Wrapped in white cotton bandages, his arms and hands were covered by the hospital gown. He tried to move all of his fingers, but winced as a shot of pain went up his arm.

Never mind, it was kind of bad. After, he felt his hair, which was tightly covered with some gauze.

Okay then, we're stuck in the hospital with an old man near our room. His subconscious concluded the situation at hand and tried to listen to what was going to happen next.

"I told you about the Dursleys, Albus. All of them are not capable to take care of Harry Potter." Another voice entered the conversation. Harry thought it belonged to a rather stern female adult. The sound of boots clicking against the marble floor was loud, as it kept on going until it stopped right in front of his door. "How are we going to settle this issue with the Aurors?"

"What are you going to do?" She asked one more question, before being silenced by the voice of this 'Albus'.

"Minerva, I'm afraid that Harry must still stay with his relatives; we need to make sure that everything is going to plan." The aged voice started to sound exhausted, as if the owner never slept or relaxed for just a moment.

"That shouldn't matter Albus! Harry Potter is only a child. Can you imagine what Lily and James would say if they saw this? Blasphemy!" The woman outside started to raise her voice even more. Even though Harry felt happiness from this random stranger's concern, she was still an unknown thing, and was starting to turn annoying.

"I understand the consequences that could come with this. However, we do need to move along and continue this for the sake of the greater good."

"… What greater good? This "greater good" is nothing but garbage now. It has done more harm than good. The female voice was determined, and the sound of the boots returned. The doorknob shook and Harry nimbly ran to his bed. Sliding under the covers, he turned to his side and closed his eyes. "I will not comply with you anymore Albus. I warned you once and twice. But now, it's over."

If you're going to change the situation, then at least show your face. Harry agreed with the voice.

"I'm sorry Minerva, but that cannot happen." Albus' voice gained a harder tone, making the clicking boots stop.

"And I'm sorry Albus," the doorknob turned to the right and the entrance opened a few inches. Harry's ear twitched at the sound of the door and began to breathe at a steady rhythm. He didn't want to scare this Minerva woman if she was going to be responsible for his escape from the Dursleys.

"No, I am the one to say sorry." Minerva turned around, closing the door by reflex. "Obliviate."

A bright flash and someone's head crashing against the door was heard.

Harry's entire body twitched, shocked from the escalated dramatic scene outside. He hid under his covers, scared of the bright light that would've blinded him if he didn't react fast enough. He wondered where the security guards and the rest of the doctors were. This entire thing sounded like a murder scene from one of the Dursley's horror movies.

"Oh Albus, what're you doing in a muggle hospital? There have been several complaints about Peeves from the paintings." Minerva sounded compliant and obedient.

"Don't worry about that Minerva. Return to Hogwarts and I'll follow you soon." Harry partially took off his covers and tried to see what was going on.

"Alright then," a loud crack and Albus' shadow could be seen from the slight space of the door opening. Harry covered his head once more and waited for the man to walk away. His heart was beating rapidly, his mind wondering if the strange man will enter and do the same thing to him.

Luckily for him, Albus only closed the door and disappeared with another one of those strange and loud cracks.

He was left alone now in his empty hospital room. He could hear the noise becoming loud and alive, with older patients strolling around with their nurses. The speakers were announcing the next surgical procedure and the assigned doctors' names. It was almost as if none of the weird sorcery happened; he took off his covers and ran to the semi-closed door. There were no marks from the head crash nor blood on the white marble floor.

Dazedly, the ten year old boy walked to his bed with swirling thoughts. He couldn't believe it; nothing was there.

When he viewed the window, it was already evening. The full moon and stars were up in dark obsidian sky. Suddenly, Harry felt alone and unsure of what do do. What could he possibly do in this case? His relatives were probably out of the neighborhood and to the nearest airport. The people that actually seemed to know him were either injured or didn't care for his being at all. No one was here to take care of the mess he was left with. The pattern he went through for so many years was stripped away from him. It was all because of those desirable flames he wanted to have as his own.

He didn't blame his wish to obtain them at all. If anything, Harry wanted to do was bring back those flames once more and comfort his pitiful state of mind.

At least, you don't have any chores anymore. The Dursleys are done with you. You're free now. The voice in his head switched to a different topic, effectively distracting his hurting brain to the present situation at hand. Even though all of what his subconscious was saying should make him joyous, it bothered him.

Everything was going way too fast. First, he started a fire that could've killed him and his uncle abandoned without another thought. Now, with these mysterious people that have these powers, it was just too fast.

He wanted to know what happened to the Minerva lady after the bright flash. He didn't catch any screams or panicked reactions behind that door, but only a subtle farewell from her. Especially after that weird one-sided talk with Albus, he only had more questions.

'What is going on?'

"Reborn, bastardo! Fermare questo ora!" A lean blonde haired student screamed at his tutor, who was casually sitting on the edge of the cliff.

"Hm," A hand grasped the handle of an espresso cup and brought it to its owner's lips. In a smooth transition, Reborn sipped the caffeinated beverage and watched his no-good student dodge the falling rocks and explosives.

"REBORN!"

"Stai zitto Dino," Reborn replied back and read the article. Apparently, the boy was playing with matches and started a fire in the little cupboard under the stairs. His relatives escaped safely, leaving the boy to fend the disaster for himself. However, there was no sign of serious injuries on the boy's body except minor first-degree burns when the firefighters rescued him.

"This is interesting." The hitman murmured and skimmed through the rest of the article. But as he reached to the end of the column, Reborn noticed that his student was finished with the course, and was trying to run off from training.

A smirk appeared on his face and a gun appeared in his hand, the newspaper neatly folded next to him. Pinpointing a few centimeters away from the boy, Reborn shot two bullets. He watched with amusement, as Dino gave a yelp and turned back with a scared look.

"Where're you running off to Dino?" Switching the language to English, Reborn asked, his gun cocked at Dino's chest.

"Um, I'm going to get some more espresso?" Dino replied, his body language obviously betraying to what he was saying.

Reborn sighed. His no-good student has a long way before he becomes the head of the Chiavarone family. "Then, let me help you with that."

"NO! No, it's alright. I can go-" Another bullet was shot, mere millimeters away from Dino's face. With a loud shriek, the teenager ran away at high speeds, hoping to lose the hitman inside the mansion up ahead. However, it was futile for him as Reborn simply stood up from his seat, readjusted his fedora, and took off.

'He has a long way to go.'

A/N: I want to say how thankful I am to receive all of these emails about new followers, favorites, and reviews. They helped me find the motivation to check over the chapter twice, but I'm pretty sure that I still made some mistakes. When I re-read it, I feel like it's going a bit too fast. I don't know, maybe you guys can review and tell me if I am?

Here are the Italian translations! I used google translate to find the expressions, so I apologize for my non-existent knowledge on Italian.

1. "Reborn bastardo! Fermare questo ora!" = "Reborn, you bastard! Stop this now!"

2. "Stai zitto Dino," = "Shut up Dino,"

Thanks!