Chapter Text
Reborn becomes a regular at his little shop. Regulars are not unusual; he has many of them. The unusual part is the hitman himself.
Reborn is the World's Greatest Hitman. And Harry is not surprised at the comments of him being the strongest sun, either. He assumes it’s why he was cursed. But the cursed man has many of his own contacts, many relationships with other famiglias to exploit for information.
So he wonders why the baby comes to his shop.
He probably brought it upon himself, like most everything that happens to him these days.
Oh well.
Anyway, their relationship is an amicable one, so Harry doesn’t mind it. The hitman will stop by for various reasons about once a week when he's in the country. Sometimes he will ask for information. Sometimes they end up gossiping for hours about different mafioso or famiglias. Sometimes the hitman will just come in and complain about the work. In return, Harry will feed him innocent little tidbits of information or personal snippets.
On one memorable occasion, he even got the coffee-addicted hitman to try tea. That was an experience. He could tolerate black tea well enough but he still doesn’t know what to pay Harry with to delete the picture of the face he made when he first tried it off his phone.
It’s his lock screen background now.
But some things are shifting in the mafia scene, now. Harry’s sense of important events has been nagging at him, so he poked around as he has become quite skilled at doing.
Now, he knows many of the Vongola's little secrets, including many involving the Varia. But perhaps he had been too hasty to brush off Sawada Iemitsu.
Harry takes a calming sip of his tea as he looks over the paperwork again. He makes sure to loosen his death grip on the mug, as well. It's his favorite, and while he could fix it easily if it broke, he'd rather avoid it.
He ends up setting it aside so he can gather up the paperwork. He has it memorized, now, and he might as well store it away. But as he holds the stack of papers, he finds himself staring at the face of the miserable little boy in the attached photo.
He decides then that he hates Sawada Iemitsu and, to a slightly lesser extent, Vongola Timeteo.
He files the papers away and pulls out a book so he can finish his tea in peace.
“I have a new assignment.”
Harry hums, mostly distracted by the newspaper in his hands. It's a German one; he’s trying to pick up the language.
“In Japan.”
Another hum. Leon nibbles on the corner of the page.
“I’ll likely be gone for a long while.”
“Wonderful,” Harry mutters as he tries to turn the page Leon has a grip on.
Reborn watches their struggle for a while before getting to the point.
“I want you to come with me.”
That gets Harry’s attention. He looks up and stares blankly at the baby hitman.
“I’m sorry, what?”
Reborn raises an eyebrow.
“No, I mean it. What in the world are you talking about? Why would you want me to accompany you on a perfectly reasonable and easily handled tutoring job?” Harry gives in to Leon and just surrenders the paper, still staring at the baby.
“So you know what my job is, then.” It’s not a question and Harry continues to stare. “Alright, I believe you discount your own abilities. Though I haven’t seen you fight I know you can take care of yourself, so I wouldn't have to worry about you. I could do with some company.”
Harry raises an eyebrow in an expression of utter disbelief.
“Fine,” Reborn concedes, “I have reason to believe that this job is going to be… troublesome. Nothing I couldn’t handle, but I would appreciate your presence being readily available.”
I won’t ask you to come right away. Take your time, do what you need, but I can easily help you locate a little shop in Namimori.” Reborn’s gaze never wavers from Harry’s.
Harry rests his head on his propped up arm, his hand cupping his cheek. He stares right back at Reborn. To be honest, he really isn’t sure about what brought this on.
Reborn is an egotistical man who hates relying on anyone or anything. He can do the impossible easily and doesn’t need others to help him on jobs.
But Harry… Harry sees a tug on Reborn’s strings of fate. He looks and sees them branching off, twisting and turning and impossible for any mortal to keep track of. But Harry sees and Harry knows. The friendly bond they share is Fate's playground right now, leading their fate this way and that.
He glances down at the pacifier, such an innocuous thing at first glance. But such a terrible thing on second.
He’s going to regret this, but he’s always been a Gryffindor.
“Fine.”
He wants knock that smugly satisfied smirk off his face.
Harry knows that one very likely reason for Reborn wanting to have him come along is to keep an eye on him. The hitman is probably still feeling uncertain as to his motivations, regardless of the fact that they’ve known each other for over half a year now.
Then again the baby hitman is probably the most paranoid person he knows, so it’s not a big surprise.
But here he is, packing his belongings for an indefinite trip. He has a luggage bag and a carry-on bag to avoid suspicion, mostly from Reborn. He's not sure where he’ll be staying but he's sure there will be a hotel of some sort there and he can stay there until he decides on a shop or an apartment.
He has no delusions that this is going to be a short trip.
He locks up the shop, activating the lockdown wards. It wouldn’t do to have anyone to try and break in, after all. He already sorted the paperwork and the money will be taken for the lease automatically until he comes back. He’s all set.
He calls a taxi and asks for the airport.
Reborn left a while ago, and Harry had wanted to tie up some loose ends before following. He will continue at least some of his info brokering, for the income and for the entertainment. But he's not going to disclose his location for his time in Japan.
Harry, trained as he is, decides against economy class and goes for the roomier first class. It’s a bonus that there’s more room with the one seat on each side, so he's not trapped by other people.
As the plane takes off, Harry stares out the window, contemplative. He knows the main reason he decided to do this is that he was feeling restless. He loves his shop, of course, but a life being hunted and time on the run leaves its mark.
His hand comes up to play with the ring on the chain around his neck. It’s a habit to play with it, now that he can without turning the stone on accident. The metal is always cool against his skin, reagardless of always being on his person.
He leans back and closes his eyes.
Life is about to get even more interesting.