Harry curled up in his cupboard. He was so hungry that his stomach felt like it was eating itself, and his head was pounding and throbbing from where Aunt Petunia had hit him with the frying pan. He hadn't eaten anything since breakfast the day before, and he had done so many chores that his whole body ached. Too tired even to cry from the pain, he closed his eyes and let sleep take him somewhere better.

This dream was different from normal. He was in a wide open meadow, with a forest in the distance. It was calm and peaceful, and it felt more real than other dreams he'd had. He bent down and ran his fingers through the grass that was tickling his bare feet. When he looked up, there was another boy looking at him. He looked strange, with purple-blue hair and bright blue eyes. Harry smiled shyly at him.

"Hello," he said. He would normally not dare to speak to another child but this was his dream, he was safe here.

The other boy didn't say anything, but he smiled back and bowed slightly. He didn't move, when Harry walked over and sat next to him he just smiled a strange smile that made his eyes crinkle shut.

As Harry made crowns out of the flowers that had appeared near him, he felt a tug on his hair. Turning round, he saw that the other boy had a brush in his hand and a determined expression on his face. Giggling, Harry turned back to his flowers and let the other boy try to tame his birds-nest. It wouldn't work; not even Aunt Petunia could put his hair into any kind of order.

When he had finished, he turned around again. The boy looked slightly shocked as Harry reached up to place a crown of bright red flowers on his head. He held up a mirror that appeared from nowhere to see how it looked, before giving Harry another crinkle-eyed smile. He turned the mirror around so that Harry could see his own reflection. Harry laughed. The boy had almost managed to tame his hair. Most of it lay flat, there was only a tuft on the back of his head that refused to behave. It looked like the other boy's hair now.

When he looked up, the other boy was gone. When he blinked, he found himself back in the cupboard, still aching with hunger and pain.

Harry began to look forward to meeting the boy in his dreams. He never spoke, but he was willing to listen to Harry chatter at him, or sit quietly with him and watch the sky, perpetually full of fluffy white clouds. He corrected Harry's maths and science homework when he brought it into the dream, and held him when he needed someone to cry on, when Dudley's bullying and his Uncle's shouting and his Aunt's disgust all became too much. Soon he was a brother and a mentor all rolled into one. There was a distance between them, caused by the boy's silence and Harry's near-worship of him, but that didn't matter to him. Soon, the boy and the dreams became the centre of Harry's whole world.

When Harry was six, the edges of the meadow began blur. They were filled with monsters and shadows and demons, reaching out to try and grab the other boy. Harry would cling to his friend, refusing to let the monsters touch him. The other would smile that strange smile, and laugh at his attempts to protect him.

Harry had been overjoyed when he first heard that laugh. It had been the first sound that his precious friend had made. The boy seemed amused by Harry's joy, and obliged him by laughing often, and at anything. Harry never tired of the sound, even if it was more of a throaty kufufu than an actual laugh. He carried a warm glow with him for weeks when he managed to make the boy actually open his mouth and laugh properly.

There were shadows in his friend's eyes now. When the shadows reached for him, he flinched. His smile became more brittle and false, until it looked like the one Aunt Petunia gave to neighbours she didn't want to have over to tea. When Harry told his friend that, he kufufued at him, and gave him a proper crinkle-eye smile, before pulling him down to brush his hair again.

When Harry was seven, his friend vanished for a week. Harry was frantic, searching his meadow in his dreams, refusing to wake up for anything, even food. When his friend came back, he looked awful. He was wearing the same white pyjamas that he had always worn, but they were stained with blood where they had always been pristine before. His right eye was red, instead of the beautiful deep blue of his left. He was grinning though, not just smiling, and he looked triumphant. Harry ran to him and threw his arms around him, pulling both of them down onto the soft grass.

"They're all dead," the boy said.

It wasn't what Harry had expected his friend's first words to be. He pulled back slightly to look at the boy's face.

"Who?" If his friend had killed them, they deserved to die. Mostly, Harry just wanted to know who had hurt his friend badly enough that he felt killing them was the only way.

"My family. They experimented on me," the boy told him, his voice full of anger and other emotions Harry didn't want to try and untangle.

"I'm glad you're back. I thought you had gone away forever." Harry buried his face in his friend's shirt, ignoring the bloodstains. He didn't want his friend to see him cry.

The boy pulled on Harry's shoulder until he sat up slightly, and then tilted his chin up so their eyes met. The red eye was strange and disturbing, but oddly beautiful.

"You are mine, Harry. I won't leave you," the boy told him softly. Harry stared at him, taking in the sincerity in his eyes. Then he grinned widely.

"The shadows are gone!" He had expected them to return with his friend, but the meadow was as pure as the first day he had seen it.

"I've beaten them, Harry. They won't return again."

With that, they lay down on the meadow, with Harry sprawled over his friend's chest. Both of them were quite happy to stay like that, quiet and still.

"Rokudo Mukuro," the boy said softly, breaking the peaceful silence. "My name is Rokudo Mukuro."

Mukuro wasn't exactly talkative after that, but he would talk to Harry. He told him about Chikusa and Ken, who had been a part of his family, and who he had saved. He told him about being found by a new family, one which seemed kinder than his old one, and hadn't tried to hurt them yet.

"They're teaching me languages. I already know Italian and English, of course, but they're teaching me Japanese, French, Spanish and Russian," Mukuro told him, as Harry constructed a castle out of water.

"That's a lot of languages." Harry was impressed. He could only speak English. "Will you teach me?"

Mukuro kufufued. "I'll teach you one, my dear Harry. Perhaps Japanese?"

Harry nodded, and found himself taking language lessons along with the maths and science that Mukuro gave him when he felt like being productive. Japanese was complicated and awkward, but it was a special secret language, just for them.

They carried on quite happily for a year, with Harry becoming more fluent in Japanese. Much to his friend's amusement, he insisted on addressing him as 'Mukuro-sama'. He tried to disguise it as teasing, but they both knew the respect was truly, deeply meant. For once, Mukuro didn't push, but simply accepted the title and the flimsy excuse with one of his rare, genuine smiles. In between language lessons, both of them learned how to manipulate the meadow, creating pillars of fire or castles made of clouds. Mukuro also had a new set of powers that came with his eye, and he practiced with them almost constantly. He had been impressed when Harry had been able to speak with the snakes he had conjured up, since not even his beast path allowed him to do that.

This life, of blissful nights spent in the meadow with Mukuro, and days full of chores and school and family to endure, was interrupted when Mukuro turned up in the meadow in blood-stained clothes once again. This time, he was crying.

"Mukuro-sama!" Harry rushed towards his friend. Instead of allowing the hug, as he always had before, Rokudo pushed him away.

"I don't deserve your comfort, Harry." Mukuro said, as he sat down heavily on the grass and pulled his knees up to his chest. "I don't think that even you can forgive me for this."

Harry sat down behind Mukuro and wrapped his arms around him. "There is nothing that you could ever do that I couldn't forgive. Nothing. Not ever."

In a sudden movement, Mukuro pulled himself from Harry's arms and stood, looking down at Harry with an ugly sneer on his face. "I killed them, Harry. The entire family. I stole Lancia's body and I made him murder the people that were most precious to him."

Harry stayed on the ground with his eyes closed for a moment, before he met Mukuro's eyes solidly. "You had a reason. You always have a reason. And besides, I don't know them, Mukuro-sama. I know you, and you are precious to me."

Mukuro collapsed like a puppet with his strings cut. He grabbed Harry and clung to him as though he was a teddy bear, looking like the heartbroken eleven-year-old that he was. Harry let Mukuro cling, holding him until the tears dried up and some of that awful tension loosened.

Mukuro never spoke about what happened there again. He stopped talking about his real life at all for the most part, only sharing amusing anecdotes about how Ken had spent a full hour chasing a squirrel or Chikusa had managed to knock himself out with a yoyo. For his part, Harry tried to be as happy as possible, to provide Mukuro with an escape from his awful waking life.

They continued like this until the letter arrived, addressed to the cupboard under the stairs. It was child's play to hide it so that he could read it later, since Harry was finally able to use his illusions in the real world as well as the meadow. When he had told Mukuro, he had earned a genuine smile. Harry treasured each and every one of them.

Mukuro didn't want Harry to go to this magic school. A secret society that used special powers sounded far too much like the Mafia. Harry was touched that Mukuro was willing to sacrifice all of the extra knowledge that he could gain in order to keep Harry safe, but they both knew that if Hogwarts was anything like the Mafia, they wouldn't take no for an answer. Harry resolved to simply be as naive and average as he could possibly be. Luckily, his introduction to the Wizarding world started with Hagrid, allowing him to perfect his persona with someone who wouldn't notice if his behaviour was slightly off.

Mukuro's commentary was the only thing that made the year bearable. Once he was sorted into Hufflepuff, everyone ignored him. The other Houses wrote him off, and his housemates thought that he was an attention-seeker and shunned him. Mukuro was his only company. He drove Harry to the library, to learn all that he could about this new world. When he asked about illusions, playing the part of the wide-eyed muggleborn, he was told that they would fall under very high-level charms, far beyond Hogwarts' standards. Mukuro preened at the confirmation of his superiority, but it did little to limit his disdain of magic. People used it as a crutch, he ranted to Harry. They had no imagination when it came to the ways that magic could be used, and they refused to do anything physically. Even Mukuro, who prided himself on his illusions and his ability to manipulate, knew how to use his trident to fight.

Not that being able to fight helped him against the Vindice. One night in the middle of March, he appeared blood-stained in the meadow once again. Harry had realised that the blood was a reflection of Mukuro's state of mind, rather than physical wounds, but it still distressed him. Mukuro always cleaned it off as soon as he realised it was there. Even in front of Harry he hated to appear weak.

"What happened, Mukuro-sama?" Harry asked, as Mukuro brushed his hair. Harry knew that it pleased Mukuro to try and tame his hair, and as long as Harry phrased it as though he was asking for his own sake, instead of Mukuro's, he would spend all evening on it.

"We were captured. I knew that we could not run forever, but I had hoped." Mukuro kufufued at the panic on Harry's face. "Don't fret, my dear Harry. We are only in the moderate security section, and they believe Lancia to be the mastermind behind our crimes. Chikusa, Ken and I are merely his poor misled subordinates. Even the Vindice will not mistreat children when there is no proof of them having committed any serious crime, especially when there is someone else to blame."

"Visit whenever you like," Harry told him quietly. "Prison must get pretty boring."

Mukuro gave him an eyes-shut smile and pulled his head around so he could get a particularly stubborn tangle. Of course, this world being an illusion, the tangles were only there because one of them wanted them to be, but they both quietly ignored the fact that hair could be styled with a thought instead of a brush.

The year finished quietly, with Mukuro spending more time in the back of Harry's head, commenting on the lessons and their general uselessness. Harry left that year with no more friends and little more knowledge than he had started with. They both decided that they did not want to return.

Of course, that decision was apparently unacceptable. Two days after he had sent the letter withdrawing himself from Hogwarts, Professor Sprout was knocking on the door. Aunt Petunia, who had been so pleased with Harry's rejection of the freakish school that she had moved him to the second bedroom, was not pleased. Not even the information that Harry would be spending the holiday with a Wizarding family to help him feel more at home with the culture placated her. Harry was bundled out the door and Apparated – an awful sensation he hoped never to repeat – to his summer home before even Mukuro could come up with a plan of action.

The Weasley family was large and loud. Harry barely managed to make it through the introductions before making his excuses and retreating to the room that he was apparently sharing with the Weasley's youngest son Ron. Harry had met Ron on the train on the way to Hogwarts, but since Gryffindor and Hufflepuff didn't share any classes, they hadn't kept in contact. Ron's room was an eye bleeding shade of orange. Only Harry's experience in falling asleep in any circumstance allowed him to close his eyes and find his way to the meadow.

Mukuro was furious. The sky in the meadow was full of storm clouds, and lightning struck in the distance. Harry watched him from a distance as he vented his anger through his illusions. He knew better than to approach when Mukuro-sama was in this kind of a mood.

The Wizarding world now looked entirely too much like the Mafia. They trapped people and didn't let them go. Now Harry, Mukuro's one source of freedom, was a prisoner, no matter how the Weasley's tried to dress up the situation. His angry ranting and biting scorn were Harry's main source of entertainment, and a welcome distraction from the people around him.

Mrs Weasley was overwhelming. She seemed to want Harry to see her as a mother-figure. Harry, who had long since outgrown his childish fantasy of an adult who would shelter him and protect him, found her smothering. He had Mukuro-sama, why would he need anyone else?

The twins were bullies. They might call it pranking, but for Harry, who was used to having to guard his food fiercely from Dudley, was driven nearly to tears by their insistence on pranking his food so that it tasted of mud, or turned his hair green, or made his tongue swell. It took him bursting into tears and a hunger strike – both suggested by Mukuro, the master of emotional manipulation – before Mrs Weasley would corral the menaces.

Ginny was shy enough that she was easy to avoid, and Mukuro found her crush amusing. But Ron, who he had thought he might be able to befriend, was impossible. He was upset that Harry didn't have to buy second-hand books, that he wouldn't tell him what he remembered about the night his parents died, that he wanted to leave Hogwarts, that he wouldn't play chess, that he wouldn't play Quidditch, that he refused to do chores. Harry was willing to write this off as a clash of incompatible personalities, but Mrs Weasley insisted on throwing them together.

Mukuro came up with the plan the make Ron leave him alone. Spend time with Percy. Percy was glad to have a studious companion, and Ron wouldn't any more time with his older brother than absolutely necessary. By dropping hints, Harry even managed to get Percy to suggest Harry switching rooms, so that Ron could have his back.

In that way, the summer passed. Harry spent more time in the meadow than ever before. Mukuro started teaching him German, and Harry learned how to create illusory fire that really burned. Other than spending time in the illusory world, there wasn't much to do. Harry wasn't even allowed to go with them to collect his school things, which was a shame. Apparently he missed Mr Weasley getting into a fistfight with Mr Malfoy.

He was much more closely watched in his second year. His housemates, obviously ordered by their Head of House, tried to befriend him. Harry ignored them. Compared to Mukuro-sama, they were petty and useless. He didn't need such disposable bonds, although Mukuro advocated picking them up and using them as tools. Harry thought that the risk of having things tying him to Hogwarts was greater than the potential gain.

He spent a lot of time in the meadow with Mukuro-sama. He practiced magic, and tried to find ways of performing the same tricks with illusions. Mukuro told him about people he had met in prison. Birds, a creepy old man who had even creepier twins as minions and M.M., a girl who loved money even more than a goblin did. One day in mid-April, he arrived at the meadow with a jubilant expression on his face.

"We're free, my dear Harry." It took a second for the words to sink in.

"That's amazing! How did it happen? Did Chikusa and Ken make it out alright? Won't the Vindice be after you?"

Mukuro kufufued at Harry's rapid-fire questions. Once Harry had run out of things to say, he regaled him with the tale of their escape, evading the guards, and cross-country travel.

"We're in Japan now. I regret that I cannot come to you, but I don't wish to draw the Mafia's attention to you. Besides, I have business here to take care of."

Harry heard about how the heir to the Vongola was somewhere nearby, and how Mukuro-sama planned to use whoever it was to bring down the Mafia, and from there move on to the rest of the world. Harry always enjoyed listening to Mukuro-sama's plans. They were grand and wide-reaching, but full of tiny details that would never occur to anyone else. To Harry, a world run by Mukuro-sama sounded like paradise.

Mukuro spent less time in Harry's head now that he was free. Harry distracted himself from the loneliness by trying solve the mystery of the petrifications and the hunt for Slytherin's heir. He quickly decided that the culprit was a basilisk, judging by the way roosters had been killed and the voice that Harry had heard from the walls, where Mukuro had only heard hissing. That puzzle was enough to entertain him for a few weeks, and watching the panic of the other students was amusing enough that the year passed quickly.

It was in May when Ron, who Harry had been studiously avoiding throughout the year, came and grabbed Harry.

"I need your help," he gasped without preamble.

"Why?" Harry just smiled. He couldn't manage the 'I'm laughing at you' smile that Mukuro-sama could, his always looked shy and friendly.

"Ginny's been taken. You're the Boy Who Lived, you can help, right?" Ron sounded desperate. Despite himself, Harry wanted to help. Ginny had been one of two Weasley's that it hadn't been a complete chore to be around.

"Maybe you should go to a teacher," Harry may have wanted to help, but wasn't sympathetic enough to risk his life against a basilisk.

"But…" Ron looked shocked, as though the idea that Harry might refuse had never occurred to him.

"Of course I'll come and help," Mukuro said, using his mouth. Harry's mind stopped for a moment. He hadn't known Mukuro-sama could that.

"This way! Hermione figured out that the entrance must be in the girl's bathroom, and it's a basilisk. There's a snake carved on a tap, so the secret passage must be around there," Ron told him as he dragged Harry through the corridors. Harry pulled him to a stop outside the bathroom door.

"I'll go in alone. You wait here, and if I'm not back before curfew, fetch a teacher." Not giving Ron time to reply, he went into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

It took hardly any time to find the snake, and even less to open it using parseltongue. As he climbed up from the floor at the bottom of the slide and made his way forward across the carpet of bones, he asked Mukuro why he was so eager to come.

"A basilisk cannot kidnap people, my dear Harry. There is a person controlling the snake. Wresting control of the basilisk away from that person will be a true test of my Path of Beasts." Mukuro told him, from his ever-present place in back of Harry's head.

"So it's not that you want to save Ginny?" Harry teased. Mukuro was silent. He didn't like it when Harry pointed out his possessive loyalty. Harry had had no idea that Mukuro considered Ginny his, though. He must have found her more amusing than he'd thought.

Harry commanded the giant stone door to open in the same way that he had the passage. Inside was Ginny, pale and unmoving on the floor. Over her, a tall brunet boy was standing and holding a diary.

"Harry Potter," the boy said. "I didn't expect to see you here. Poor Ginny certainly wasn't expecting a rescue."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Harry said calmly. He didn't recognise the boy, but that wasn't a surprise. He couldn't name all of his year mates, let alone the rest of the students.

"My name is Tom Riddle. Although perhaps you know me best by a different name."

The letters of fire he traced in the air spelled out his name and then shifted.

"Lord Voldemort? Why is the most feared wizard of our time wasting his time on schoolgirls?" Harry was genuinely curious, and so was Mukuro. This was fascinating.

Riddle didn't seem to know whether to be flattered or offended. "With this girl's life force drained away by my diary, I will have physical form once more, Harry Potter. A mediocre second-year will stand no chance against me, and there is no mother here to fling herself in front of you. Will you join me now?"

Mukuro was outraged. He was no minion, he was no one's follower. This time, Harry wasn't surprised when he took over his body.

"I don't think so, Tom. The girl is mine, you see. I don't like it when people break my toys."

Tom smiled. It was almost as creepy as Mukuro-sama's. "I have no choice then."

The basilisk was on them before they could even blink. There was no time to run, no time to plan. Just a heartbeat of panic, and then burning agony as a fang sunk deep into his stomach. The last thing that Harry heard was Mukuro-sama's voice.

"Rest, my dear Harry. I will take care of this."

Harry woke up in the Forbidden Forest, sprawled on the ground in his blood-stained robe. There was a startling lack of physical pain as he pushed himself to his feet. The most awful part of the situation wasn't physical, but mental. There was no voice in the back of his head. There wasn't even the faintest sense of Mukuro-sama's presence. He was alone.

Moving on autopilot, he changed his clothes to look clean. Then he made his way to the gates. It took him half an hour to reach the train station, where there was no Hogwarts Express waiting. From there, he followed the signs to Hogsmeade. Changing his physical appearance was difficult, but he managed to make himself look old enough that Madam Rosmerta didn't question him as he asked to use the floo. Copying what he had seen the Weasleys do that summer, he flung his floo powder into the fire, and made his way to the Leaky Cauldron. There he booked a room, curled up on the bed, and cried himself to sleep.

Mukuro was waiting for him in the meadow, blood-stained once again. Harry tackled him in a hug, clinging on as if his life depended on it. Rather than simply tolerate it, Mukuro hugged him back almost as fiercely.

"I am so sorry, Harry. So, so, sorry."

Mukuro never apologised for anything. Harry pulled back and stared at him in shock. Mukuro seemed to take his silence as a demand for an explanation.

"I was arrogant. I should never have taken you down there. If I hadn't…" Mukuro broke off. He was crying. He had only seen Mukuro-sama cry once before, and he had never wanted to see it again.

"What happened?" Harry made sure that his voice was light and calm. He didn't want to sound accusing, the last thing he wanted was for Mukuro to think he was blaming him. This was terrifying, far worse than any giant snake.

"I managed to keep control of your body. I commanded the basilisk to destroy the diary, which was what had tethered Riddle here. The girl was breathing when I left, and I commanded the snake back into hibernation. Then I followed another path, one that led to the forest. Controlling you was exhausting, and I collapsed before I could get far."

Reporting the facts seemed to calm Mukuro, so that he was no longer shaking in Harry's arms. It made Harry feel bold enough to ask a question.

"Where's the problem then? This is good; the wizard's will think I'm dead, Ginny is safe, and I never have to go back."

"You should be dead." The bluntness of the statement shocked Harry into silence once again.

"The venom dissolved a great deal of your internal organs. I found a vial of phoenix tears to cleanse the wound, obviously set aside by whoever last used the chamber in case of emergencies, but it could only stop more damage, not reverse what had already been done."

"How am I alive, then?" Harry wasn't as frightened as he thought he should be. Mukuro-sama would have a solution.

"I'm maintaining illusions of your organs. Your body believes that they are there, so it keeps functioning."

Harry smiled up at him. "So there isn't a problem. I'm alive, you're alive, and I'm not trapped by that world anymore."

Mukuro kufufued. The sound was like music to Harry. "You are a miracle, my dear Harry. Very well. I have almost finished my business here in Japan. Will you wait in England until it's over?"

"Of course." As if Mukuro-sama needed to ask.

"There are potions that can change your appearance. They will be easier and less exhausting than maintaining an illusion. I do not want to risk being distracted from necessities by cosmetics. You will need to withdraw as much money as you can, and you need a new name." Mukuro was in planning mode. Harry loved watching him when he was plotting.

"What should my new name be?" Harry was surprised when Mukuro blushed.

"What?" Whatever name he had come up with couldn't be that bad, surely.

Instead of speaking, Mukuro traced letters of fire in the air. Evidently the young Tom Riddle had inspired him. Was that what he was embarrassed about? It couldn't be - Mukuro-sama was the last person in the world who would be embarrassed about using someone else's techniques. Rather than spelling out Voldemort's name, he wrote 'MUKURO ROKUDO'. With a flick of his finger, the letters rearranged themselves.

KUROMU DOKURO.