Well. It's been a long time coming but the writing is now on the wall.

I'm officially leaving the KHR fandom, so I will not be updating any of my remaining fics. Sorry guys. It's been fun, but it stopped being fun a while ago. I stopped enjoying this fandom largely because of the people in it and when I moved in I found it so much more fun and less stressful in other communities. So I'll be posting what I had planned for each of my KHR fics, I ask that people please do not copy or continue them further, I worked hard on them, they're still my babies, and Rei and I have already shared a lot with this community. Please respect our wishes, mine especially, when it comes to my fics. Do not repost or continue them, please.

It's been a fun eight years (almost exactly) since I started writing here. But the time has come to say goodbye.

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LAST UNFINISHED CHAPTER OF BRIGHT AND BITTER FLAMES

Chapter Four

"Mafia school?"

The two wildcats were in Enrico's Cloud suite, the Mouzey was sat on the floor fiddling with a crafting kit of feathers and beads, scratching symbols into the coloured plastic with a needle while Xanxus sat on the bed, scowling down at the book his tutor had given him. Both children had to be taught how to read and write, with the Mouzey child pulling ahead of the Sky in that area simply due to experience, perhaps his family had taught him some basics before he was dumped on the streets for whatever reason (neither child had been particularly open about their origins, despite questioning).

Timoteo nodded from where he had taken a seat at the desk, "Indeed. As my son, your education will be held here with personal tutors as expected of the Vongola. In my youth I was forced to attend due to the events of the Second World War, and my mother's involvement as Donna Ottavia. I am, to date, the only Vongola to have done so since the school's inception, and will continue to remain such. However, as you are not of Vongola," he continued, looking to Free who narrowed his eyes up at him unhappily, "and are currently further ahead in your studies, we plan to enrol you in the Mafia school's various courses."

The child opened his mouth, no doubt to object, only for the Sky to kick him in the back, and shake his head when he whipped around to glare. The Mouzey wrinkled his nose and subsided into a snit.

"What courses?" Xanxus demanded shortly, cinder red eyes narrowed on his father. He knew how thin the ice that Free was skating on was, the man had been doing a lot to try and separate them one way or another, and Xanxus did not want his bestfriend to end up back on the streets while he was here in what was a paradise beyond their wildest dreams. If Free didn't calm down, then there was also a high chance the Mafia Don might just have him 'quietly' disposed of and blame a rival famiglia. The thought chilled him inside. But this? This was an opportunity. If Free could excel at this Mafia School place, learn useful things, become Useful (like he kept hearing the maids whispering about), then there was no way that his father would get rid of him, or try to separate them anymore.

"Assassination primarily. The Mouzey famiglia were famous for it, and Free should possess some natural talent in the art," the Don explained, prompting twin scowls from the two.

"Who are the Mouzey? Everyone keeps calling me that, but that wasn't my last name, or my Aunt and Uncle's," the nine year old protested suspiciously.

Timoteo arched an eyebrow down at him, "Oh? And what were their names?" he asked curiously. The child glowered at him, pointedly pressing his lips together, "If you don't tell me I can't find more of your family members," he tried to coax.

"Good," the child snapped viciously. "My parents were drunk, unemployed, drug addicts that got themselves killed in a car crash, good riddens to bad trash. My aunt and her walrus of a husband can burn in hell for all I care! And the dog fucking bitch!"

"Do not swear at me," the Don commanded coldly, his smile dropping dangerously. Free bristled but pressed his lips together as he bowed his head almost apologetically. "Now, let us try this again, what were their names?"

"I can't remember anymore... sir," the child mumbled, tacking on the last one belatedly.

"Truly?"

Xanxus fought not to sneer, "I picked him up out of an alley when he was four," he pointed out shortly making the old man pause for a long time.

The two children waited in varying degrees of patience as the Don digested this new information and revised several plans he had been turning over in his head, "Well then. Perhaps we will have to look at police records then. Now, the assassination course is only one, we also intended for Bodyguarding as you are already Guardian quality. The other two courses are for you to choose," he explained, presenting them with a small leaflet that was covered in little paragraphs.

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Assassination, Bodyguarding, Infiltration and Espionage, Administration, and a minor in Tactics. The two children argued back and forth over the courses and benefits there in for over half an hour with Timoteo listening in and only answering questions that they asked, letting the two of them hash it out. It let him get an idea of how they thought, and what they valued as people.

He was pleasantly surprised to find the two to be quite intelligent, if only uneducated and ignorant, neither of them were naïve and were both ruthlessly pragmatic and practical, with the Mouzey being the more logical one, and his son the maverick. In the end, there was a choice between the three courses, and it was Xanxus who asked if Free could take a minor in Tactics on the provision that his grades did not suffer in any of the other courses.

The next three weeks would be ensuring the Mouzey was up to snuff so he wouldn't be an embarrassment to the Vongola when he finally did attend.

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Free glowered at the book in front of him as if it has personally wronged him.

In a way, it even had, via its writer.

He had gotten so fed up of everyone calling him 'Mouzey' without explaining just what it meant, so he snuck himself into the library and had one of the maids help him cross-reference things and figure out the cataloguing system. He let her think he was looking up things for his school courses, and when she deemed him learned enough to navigate the library by himself and went back to her own work, he immediately abandoned his classwork and went hunting for information on this mysterious 'Mouzey'.

And found the personal accounts of one Alaude Dell'oro, the first Cloud Guardian, who apparently had a lot to say on the Mouzey famiglia – mostly about it's last known and most eccentric member, the biggest pain in his ass, one Bonaventura Fiorenzo Gasparo Mouzey.

A thief who called himself the 'Ghost', and spent a great deal of his time seemingly doing nothing more than yanking the Cloud Guardian's chain.

The Mouzey famiglia, before Ghost, were famous for being unparalleled assassins, so feared and powerful that twelve different Famiglias, big and small, banded together to collectively eradicate them from the underworld. Something that Alaude had been remarkably torn about as they were a threat to his own famiglia, but his rather explosive 'friendship' with Ghost rendered him unhappy with such an event. His Sky, Giotto, condemned the event in its entirety and refused to part-take. 'Understandable really' Alaude had written, but not explained.A Mouzey was always the most easily identifiable individual in any room when using their Flames. No one had been deep enough into their favour to manage an explanation from one, and likewise no one had ever managed to hold one down long enough for a thorough examination, but it was well known that their Flames were potent enough to not only colour their eyes, but also their hair when in use. Hence why Free's hair and eyes turned to purple when he used his fire powers. They skipped straight over the exhausting wild high-burn state of Dying Will, and straight into the concentrated, smouldering of Hyper Dying Will – running before walking in essence. Natural born Hitmen, and sometimes even able to manifest the Hyper Intuition that the Vongola were famous for.

They were supposedly wiped out.

Hence why it was such a big deal that Free even existed. And why Don Vongola was so keen to show him off at Mafia School once he'd been trained up some – and, he assumed, why the man kept pushing him towards his eldest son, the one that would be inheriting the famiglia when he was old enough.

Did he hope that Free would become his pet assassin?

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Mafia school was boarding school.

Something Don Vongola had neglected to mention when recommending their attendance.

Neither Free nor Xanxus were impressed, and the two were stonily silent and refusing to have anything to do with the man in reaction to that. His Guardians seemed to be mildly amused by this, the man himself merely resigned and somewhat amused by the childishness, his sons were confused with the exception of Enrico who looked equally as annoyed with his father as he sat next to Free.

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The uniform was stupid, restrictive, and pointlessly fancy.

A black blazer, black trousers, a white shirt, and a tie of a colour that matched his flame. Free had to sit through one of the maids brushing through his hair as the last time someone tried to trim his hair nearly got the scissors inserted somewhere. He didn't want to go to this stupid boarding school. He wanted to stay with Xan. But the Don wasn't going to let it happen. And Xanxus wanted him to prove his usefulness so he didn't get thrown away – the nine year old doubted that would ever happen, he got the feeling that if it came down to the wire it would Xanxus who ended up back on the streets, not Free. And that was as concerning as it was infuriating.

He dug his heels in as much as he could reasonably get away with that morning, but in the end, he was forced to give his goodbyes to Xanxus in the foyer and ushered into the black armoured car waiting for them outside. Casetta in the driver's seat eyeing him sceptically, while Visconti and Schnitten sandwiched him in the back.

The drive was short, not even an hour before they were pulling up to the beautiful sprawling campus, the yellow and red brick building hidden from casual observation by the long drive, extensive gardens, and huge trees. Many other children were being dropped off, their grim eyed and faced bodyguards watching the unknown vehicle pulling up with hands inching closer to their side-arms and various weapons. Many of them had made a point of memorising the cars of their charge's peers, and there was a strict timetable for drop-offs organised between the drivers to prevent incidents from occurring.

This was an unknown interrupting the smooth process of their mornings.

The sight of the Ninth Vongola's Guardians stepping out was going to set the rumour mill a light with speculation, especially when a sharp eyed child followed after them into the building's reception.

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"Casetta will be by to pick you up at five, do not be late," Visconti informed him shortly, handing over a small black backpack.

Free squinted at him suspiciously, and Schnitten smirked.

"We live close enough that there was no point in making you a boarder," he pointed out playfully, "You two just stormed off before we could explain."

Free huffed angrily as he snatched his backpack away from the Cloud Guardian, "With everything they've tried so far to separate us..." he trailed off pointedly, and at least Schnitten had the good grace to wince a little.

"Ahhh, you noticed?"

"I'm nine, not retarded," the child informed him repressively.

"Gratuito Mouzey?" a female voice called from the reception doorway, a matronly looking woman in a severe black skirt-suit eyeing him, "Let's go. The Assassination Course is this way."

Visconti cuffed him around the head as he moved off, "Behave yourself."

Schnitten ruffled his hair, ruining the hard work the maid did earlier that morning, "Try not to kill anyone," he requested before the two left.

Free sighed as he trundled off towards the severe looking woman who looked awfully tense and eyed him with something a lot like fear as she guided him towards his lessons, her heels clicking harshly on the wooden floors of the corridor.

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Everything in this damn place was pointlessly fancy and useless. Decorative. Designed to show off how much money they had, and put those snobby ass Heirs at ease in familiar surroundings. Just walking down the corridor Free could have swiped any number of object that would have kept him and Xan fed, sheltered, watered, and clean for five years on the streets. If he found a legitimate buyer for it, make that ten. And this was just the fucking corridor between classrooms.

The floors were handsome varnished hardwood, the walls were split with matching hardwood panels leading to clean white paint and white mouldings up to vaulted arch ceilings, and crystal chandeliers – not glass or plastic. Idly he wondered if anyone would miss a shard, the maids had thrown out his scrying kit, and a lot of his other 'street magic' stuff. The crystal shard was the only thing he was really annoyed about – dumpster diving outside fancy ass restaurants for months on end on the off chance someone was hamhanded enough to drop an expensive glass was a pain. And it nearly got him beaten and arrested more than once. He would steal a piece later, he needed to start refilling his kit anyway.

"In here is the Assassination Course," the woman escorting him announced coldly as they came to a stop, she thrust a packet of papers out to him, "Your timetable, student handbook, and letter of introduction. Your teacher is Enrico Valiante, you will be polite when you speak to him, or no one will be responsible for what happens to you. When you are to be picked up this afternoon, you will meet your driver at the front entrance." And with that, she turned on heel and stalked off, her heels weirdly soundless on the hard wooden floor.

He eyed the packet of papers, and wondered if he could get away with stealing that crystal shard now and hoofing it back to Xan – but, almost as if he could sense his thoughts, the teacher snapped open the door and glared at him.

Free stared back.

Enrico Valiante was a mountain of a man. He actually looked a little like Free fancied Xanxus would look when he got older, but bigger, more rugged, and hairier. His eyes were yellow though, instead of red. They stared each other down in silence, the bigger man's face getting stormier and stormier by the second, while Free's eyes narrowed slightly in confusion and suspicion. What was this guy trying to do? Psyche him out? Intimidate him for whatever reason?

The silence stretched a little longer, and then the huge man suddenly split a grin, all teeth, and glee?

"Now that is more like it!" the man rumbled happily, "Get in here," he commanded, standing aside to let him into the room.

Like the corridor outside, it was filled with handsome hardwood panels, white walls, and matching varnished oak desks and chairs, heavy green drapes at the slightly cracked windows, large blackboards, and only ten other students – the majority of which were older than him. Three desks were empty at various places across the room, and looking at the various ties of the others in the room, he was the only purple one, and four of them had black ties for whatever reason.

"Take the empty seat at the back. Carcassa, no one looks at their crotch and grins, you goddamn moron. Put your phone away or I take it and read both your Search history, and your text messages," Valiante barked across the room to a dark haired thirteen year old who hastily fumbled and sat up straight.

Silently, he made his way to his seat, feeling his skin crawling with the glances and side-eyeing he received from several of the other students, and fought not to bristle when one frizzy haired boy with a green tie went so far as to physically scoot both his chair and desk across the floor away from him as he passed.

End chapter.

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PLANS FOR: THE BRIGHT AND BITTER FLAMES

Free goes to Mafia school, people try to recruit him, they get rejected. Free actually recruits Squalo as the only tolerable person there. Enrico fails to pull him but that's fine, they both know where they stand in the grand scheme of things. Massimo tries to pull him a lot, he's a lot more stubborn about it but he takes rejection well. Frederico never tries to pull, but Free does not like him or feel comfortable near him.

Dumbledore appears when he's eleven to take him to Hogwarts. The Vongola agree, and Harry goes there for a single year but leaves in disgust, refuses to go back, and the Vongola instead fetch tutors for him to learn magic and nothing Dumbledore does can change it.

Triwizard Tournament happens, and the cup yanks Harry to Hogwarts and forces him to compete. In the meanwhile, things in the Vongola go completely shite tits up. Xanxus finds out about being adopted and believes that Timoteo is hiding Free from him to make sure he behaves, as a threat, because if Xanxus can't keep his mouth shut and do as he's told then it means Nono can kill his Cloud. This is what kicks off the CRADLE affair. Xanxus believes that if he kills Nono, takes over the Vongola, then he'll be safe, and he'll also be able to find out where Free was taken.

Free finishes the Triwizard Tournament and takes an assassination contract on Voldemort simply just to get these fucking wizards off his fucking back. It takes another two years but he manages and then returns home to find Xanxus on ice, Nono holding his life in the palm of his hand and commanding Free to toe the line or he'll kill his Sky. So Free toes the line. He heads the Varia with Squalo, but he refuses to harmonise with any of the man's sons despite commands to do so. Frederico then has Enrico and Massimo assassinated. He tries to do the same thing his father did and command Free to do his bidding by threatening Xanxus, all it does is have the entirety of the Varia turn him into nothing more than bones. And with no proof that they actually did it, Nono can do nothing to them.

Then Xanxus wakes up. It takes a long time for him to recover.

In the time that Xanxus has been out, Free has made a name for himself, he's second only to Reborn as an assassin, and considered the defacto leader of the Varia and the Vongola's deadliest attack dog. As soon as Xanxus wakes up though, things get more complicated because Free is old enough and has been around enough to understand the politics of the underworld. He cannot support Xanxus in assassinating Nono, not when it would destabilise everything, throw the mafia world into warfare, and potentially out flame users to the public.

Few bits and pieces planned here and there. The 10 yrs later arc, Free dies because of the Anti-Tri-Ni-Sette radiation, so when everyone gets memories of the future, Free is left out. He doesn't get any, but his famiglia all get the memory of how it took him eight months of screaming agony to die before his flame just couldn't keep regenerating his dying organs. Yeah. Xanxus has some major rage issues regarding Byakuran now. More so than previously.

Aaaaaand... that's about it, beyond Skull being a Black and reacting with horror to find Harry in the Varia.

And that was to be the end of the fic.

Again, please do not continue or repost these fics. Or regurgitate these ideas either.