ANGELS AND DEMONS

-a Harry Potter fan-fiction-

TOM/HARRY

'Merlin Beard, Tom! First Soul Magicks and now Demonology? Is immortality that important to you?' A panicked attempt at placation. 'You know Harry, a man like me can't possibly keep all his eggs in one basket. Metaphorically speaking, of course.' Tom ducked. 'TO HELL WITH YOUR METAPHORS!'

He he. Er, hello. This one popped up in the shower. Phew, I starting to wonder if I had lost my HPLV/TMR slash-iness muse. Short, but hopefully sweet. A gift-shot for Shinning-Darkness for releasing Chapter 3 of her fic, Crossroads. Live long and prosper.

12th APRIL 2011

{immortality was overrated, anyway}

"This is madness!" Harry raged.

"Calm down, calm down dear." That was Tom, trying to placate Harry.

"NO, I WON'T- YOU HAVE GONE MAD! TOTALLY AND UTTERLY LOOPY! I WON'T STAND FOR THIS! I'M FIRE-CALLING LUCIUS!"

"Now, now. Don't be so hasty." Lucius Malfoy wasn't afraid of Tom enough as he was of the short, emerald eyed boy, oddly enough, and that fearlessness carried over whenever Harry sic-ed Lucius on Tom, for a lesson well-learnt.

Ah, what was that word Severus used often in conjunction with relationship, and Pansy and Draco? Ah yes, whipped.

That's it, Tom decided, he was definitely whipped.

So the Dark Lord went down another route.

"You know Harry, a man like me can't possibly keep all his eggs in one basket. Metaphorically speaking, of course."

He ducked, narrowly missing a precious jewel that Harry had thrown at his head in an attempt to 'knock some sense' into him.

"TO HELL WITH YOUR METAPHORS!"

It all began a few minutes ago...

Tom showed him a crystal vial of what looked like an inky black substance.

"Is that...?" Harry breathed, and Tom grinned widely.

"Demon blood. From Michaela herself." He gave the vial a little twirl, light flashing off its faceted surface and highlighting the shadows within, as if showcasing an insanely expensive and precious artifact at an exhibition. And it was an insanely expensive and precious artifact, to Tom and Harry anyways.

"You've outdone yourself this time, Tom. Give it here. I want to have a good look." Tom gave a wicked grin, and dangled the bottle just out of reach, Harry scrabbling on his tip toes to try to wrench the bottle from Tom's fingers.

He gave up a few minutes later, cursing his now-dead Muggle relatives - (the Dursleys, of course, were rolling-no, thrashing in their graves) - for the years of malnutrition and undernourishment that had left him with a short stature.

"What are you planning to do with it?"

"What else would I do with it, love? This is an opportunity of a lifetime, of course. Many men would die to be in possession of this."

"And many men have," Harry muttered under his breath, but inhaled sharply when he realized what Tom really planned to do with it.

"UTTER MADNESS!" Harry burst out, surprising Tom into nearly dropping the precious vial. Tom transfigured his golden watch into a luxuriously cushioned box for the vial. He then proceeded to cast all the protective charms and wards in the world on it, then tucked it into his vest pocket. There, all safe. No need to worry now, just in case Harry decides to bring out the big guns.

No-one, save for Harry and Tom himself, knew that Tom's ultimate weak spot could be triggered with a well-aimed tickling charm. Harry had found that out in another, altogether more pleasant activity, though.

In fact, the weak spot, when tickled, made Tom elicit some of the most interesting noises...

And Tom didn't need to employ Legilimency this time to figure out Harry's devious scheming.

And then there they were...

"ARE YOU EVEN LISTENING? MERLIN BEARD, TOM! FIRST SOUL MAGICKS AND NOW DEMONOLOGY? IS IMMORTALITY THAT IMPORTANT TO YOU? HORCRUXES, RITUAL SACRIFICES, DEALS WITH DEMONS! WHY NOT JUST SELL YOUR SOUL TO LUCIFER OUFRONT!"

Tom winced; Harry could get quite vicious and loud when he was having one of his 'moments'. Tom suspected a sort of male-PMS, or maybe just hormone problems.

Or maybe it was because Tom had slipped out early that morning, to prepare for an important meeting with the Chinese Minister of Magic, leaving Harry with no morning sex.

If so, then maybe next time I should leave a note.

"I SHOULD BEAT SOME SENSE INTO YOU!"

Okay, that was it; time to use some of Harry's methods against him. Tom inhaled deeply, then smoothed down his crisp linen shirt and vest- (surreptitiously checking if the box holding the vial was safe) - and spoke.

It was all about guilt tactics, after all, but damned if Tom didn't feel plenty of guilt himself over manipulating Harry. But it couldn't be helped; it was for Harry's own good. So what if Harry was the Master of Death? Tom wouldn't be around for much longer, if one were to measure in lifetimes. Demon blood was the only reliable way to go about immortality. Or rather, a semblance of it.

"Harry," he tried for subtlety this time, "not all of us are Masters of Death, possessor of all three Hallows." That shut Harry up, quick smart, and Tom moved in for the kill, his 'Harry senses' tingling 'weakness' and 'uncertainty'.

"Think of what this means to me; you have your Hallows for immortality, of course, but I no longer have any Horcruxes. You took care of that for me, remember?" Tom raised an expectant eyebrow, and, as expected, Harry flushed a brilliant shade of crimson.

"Well-but, no- at least you look human now. And saner."

It was true, the Horcruxes had been taking a great toll on both his sanity and physical attractiveness, and by destroying all seven of them, the one in Harry's forehead included, Tom had managed to regain a modicum of lucidity, which was quickly remedied by Harry, bringing Tom to full consciousness of all his actions and decisions made in the past three years.

And then he rebuilt his army, and with that, his empire, Harry by his side. No one dared oppose them, for doing so would mean a mysterious appearance at the hands of his soldiers.

"Look, I am going through with this, whether you like it or not, and you are going to put-up or shut-up." Tom stated firmly, not breaking eye contact with a currently simmering Harry.

In the end, it wasn't Tom to give in first, but Harry.

"Fine, I'll help you with your stupid ritual. Just- if anything goes iffy, I'm jumping in, consequences be damned." He grumbled and complained, but Tom knew that Harry was sincerely worried over what would happen if anything went wrong.

Aah, that was his Harry. Always so caring.

"This means no morning sex for a week, you know that?"

Tom groaned; his Harry, always so cruel and merciless.

{immortality was overrated, anyway}