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Prodigal son beyond time - Part 1

Ra's Al Ghul had a son. No, it's not Dusan we spoke of right now. Ra's Al Ghul's first born child was a peculiar boy that was forged by the Lazarus Pits—or so what he says.

Talia has never met her brother.

Her brother, it has been years since she's found out about him yet her father never gives them a name—he thinks them unworthy of it. Even if he was not present, her brother continues to be the favorite, to be the child their father praised most. His absence is a glaring hole in her father's heart (though she is not sure if he has one).

It is no secret amongst the league that Ra's nameless son was unofficially the heir, even when Damian was born.

Talia has doubted her brother's distance many times, and yet she finds evidence of him over and over again.

Her father writes letters, strange ones that vary in language, dialect, grammar, writing styles. She did not mean to read one when she was young, but she couldn't help herself when she had seen it.

My dearest, son of mine,

It has been an age since last I beheld your presence. I find it most disquieting that you have not seen fit to visit, though I am not ignorant of how poorly time aligns itself with your affairs. Yet still, I dare to hope that you might bestow upon me a portion of your time, if but briefly.

Your siblings have inquired after you once more. Yet I am acutely aware that it would be unwise to bind you to this mortal realm for too great a span. Their hearts, tender and unfortified, lack the endurance I possess to weather the long absences your path necessitates. Nevertheless, I am not blind to the hope you carry—to one day stand before them, whether that moment lies near or far in the veiled expanse of time.

She could not finish the lengthy letter before the letter vanished from her hand, a burst of green and strange liquid slipping from her fingers. Talia had been startled, too young, assuming that this was Lazarus water that has stolen her father's letter.

And she found her father looming behind her, his expression stern get there was amusement in his eyes.

"Your brother is a curious person." Her father hummed, "He's powerful."

"We are not... Allowed to meet him?"

"Not yet. Until you steel your hearts." Ra's nodded, "Your brother does not stay in one place for long. But he is soft hearted and loyal to the family. You give him reason to stay and he will stay."

His hand, firm and guidind, pressed against her shoulder in a tight grip. "And I will not let any of you weaken him."

On that day, Talia realized that her father truly did love her brother. In his own strange way.

The next time she reads a letter, Damian was but a babe of one, cradled in her arms as a letter written on green paper rested in her father's hand. It was open, the wax seal carefully sliced from the envelope.

"Father."

"Talia." He replied nonchalantly, eyes flicking to Damian, his eyes softening momentarily as a longing look slipped to the letter.

Talia's heart tightened, resentful that her father was beginning to see his favorite child on her own son. She could not allow that...

"Your brother has written to me. It has been... Almost a year... Since the last." Ra's hummed, turning to Talia, then Damian, before flicking yet another letter to her. It startled her.

"From your brother." Ra's sighed, "I made the mistake of writing about Damian and now he wishes to meet you first. Not Nyssa, not Dusan—you."

"My brother?" Talia hesitantly accepted the letter. "I do not even know his name..."

Ra's clicked his tongue, "He signed it in his name. You will know from that letter." He paused, glancing back at her. "You have yet to prove yourself worthy, Talia, but... Damian's birth will surely being your brother back home."

Talia's heart palpitated in her chest.

The prospect of her baby, her son, her child—the mere thought that her baby would be the thing that successfully brings her brother home was... Outstanding.

"Read it in your own time... After that, seek me out."

Talia does not know... What to particularly do...

But she takes Damian, watches as her father leaves, and hurries along to her own quarters.

Talia tucks her son into the crib, narrowing her eyes at the nursemaids that were hired to nurture her son. She dismissed them immediately, watching as they silently leave the room. It is only when silence reigns does she takes a seat on her bed as Damian slumbers in his crib.

(Her hands tremble as the letter rested in her hands. It was light, not heavy, her her hands tremble as if she could not handle the weight.)

She takes in a deep breath, takes a dagger and carefully slices it away from envelope. It's intricately made.

The letter is written in the same green paper that her father received.

The letter read as thus:

My Dearest Talia, It would seem that I am now to be regarded as your brother, for Ra's has deemed me his son. Admittedly, this turn of events is of my own doing, as I endeared myself to him centuries past and found solace in his companionship, coming to view him as a father in truth. Yet you, his daughter by blood, remain a stranger to me, as do Nyssa and Dusan. How peculiar it is that Father should act in such a manner, withholding such introductions with his customary inscrutability.

She takes in a deep breath, awes by her brother's penmaniship... And then suddenly the writing style changes. Morphing from the olden age, the formality of a noble, to...

Anyways! Since you're my sister, I don't think I have to keep writing to you the same way Ra's does. It feels awkward to me, y'know?

She was not expecting that change but...

I've always wanted to meet you all. But my duties to my realm are hard. I can't freelt leave. It's especially worse since my world's time doesn't correlate to yours.

You might find the change of writing styles weird, but in all honesty, I'm from the 21st century. It's just that time never did agree with me. Had to comply with the old man on writing like that since he likes it. Weird, right?

But anyways! I heard you had a son! Congrats by the way. I'd like to meet him too, actually. Aside from that, I heard from Ra's you don't know my name.

Well, he's decided to call my Danyal as it's the Arabic version of my original name "Daniel". Though I often go by my nickname Danny. But it has been a delight to write to you, Talia. Hopefully, I'll be able to meet you and your son in the future.

Since you have my name now, you can write me letters too! It'll find me eventually.

Your brother,

Danny

Her brother's name was Danyal... Her brother went by Danny.

Talia blinked.

Her strange brother was a being that traversed through time, a person who was born in the 21st century... Her brother could be somewhere in the world in that moment and in another time the next.

She pressed the letter to her lips, unable to hold back her smile.

She had quite the silly brother...

And amongst her siblings, Talia was the first to know her brother's name. That bit about being able to write letters to him made her finally understand why her father was so possessive of a name.

(In the Infinite realms, High King Phantom received a letter from his estranged younger sister. He really didn't mean to find family in the Demon's head, but he found it anyways.)

Part 2 | Masterlist

Had the silliest idea while making breakfast.. what if Damian’s Favorite Brother is Tim, but for the Dumbest Reason...pancakes

My idea is that Tim is Damian’s favorite brother, but not for the reasons one might expect. It’s not because of Tim’s skill, his smarts, or his ability to stay three steps ahead in every fight. Nope. Damian’s real reason for favoring Tim over Dick, Jason, or even Bruce is much simpler.

It’s because Tim makes the best pancakes. Like, legendary pancakes.

Not even kidding.

One morning, Tim casually whips up a batch of pancakes in the kitchen—y’know, because Alfred’s off running errands and the rest of the family doesn’t know the first thing about breakfast beyond opening a box of cereal, and Tim's been feeding himself since he was six. So Tim steps up to the stove, and bam—fluffy, golden stacks of heaven.

Damian, who never really cared for breakfast, takes one bite of Tim’s pancakes and is sold. From that moment on, he’s obsessed.

“Drake, you will make me those pancakes again tomorrow."

And Tim just blinks, completely confused, but shrugs it off like, “Uh, sure?”

The next morning, Damian’s right there in the kitchen, bright and early, waiting for his daily dose of pancake perfection. By the third day, he’s even dragging a chair next to Tim, watching like a hawk as Tim cooks, making sure he’s using the right ingredients.

Meanwhile, the rest of the Batfamily is just like, “Really? This is the thing that bonds them?”

Tim, being Tim, just rolls with it. He doesn’t ask questions. If Damian wants pancakes, Damian gets pancakes. He’s just trying to survive his new role as “Pancake Master.”

But Damian? Oh, he’s serious about this.

Damian tells anyone who will listen that Tim is the only one who knows how to make breakfast properly. He’ll give the other brothers side-eye anytime they dare to suggest they could cook for him. Even Alfred raises an eyebrow, but Damian’s already set: Tim’s pancakes or nothing.

What’s even funnier is that when Damian gets pissed off at anyone, he refuses to eat their cooking. But Tim? Untouchable. The one person who can screw up as many times as he wants and still be in Damian’s good graces—because those pancakes? Irreplaceable.

So, while the Batfamily argues over strategy, patrols, or who gets to drive the Batmobile, Damian's priorities are clear:

"You’re all amateurs. Drake’s the only one who makes pancakes worthy of the Wayne name.”

And now, Tim’s been promoted to Damian’s favorite brother for the silliest reason imaginable. But hey, if the key to Damian’s heart is pancakes, Tim’s got that title locked down.

Silly Idea: Through some portal/dimensional mishap Danny and a good majority of his Rogue Gallery get scattered across the DCU. Luckily they’re mostly in the same temporal range so he doesn’t have to really ask Clockwork for help beyond making sure he was the first to arrive. They don’t all appear at once and either appear in pairs with whoever shares a “Soulbond” with them or just by themselves to cause havoc for as long as they can before Danny captures them again. Danny is trying very hard to protect this new delicate dimension along with his wayward rogues for both sides own good. His rogues have their own power classes that he made up just for his Ghostpedia.

Damage: Box Ghost, Lunch Lady, Amorpho Danger: Cujo, Johnny 13, Shadow, Youngblood, Skulker Emergency: Ember, Kitty,  Sidney Poindexter, Penelope Spectra, Bertrand Disaster: Desiree, Ghost Writer, Walker, Bullet Cataclysmic: Undergrowth, Vortex, Nocturn Catastrophic: Dan Phantom(Contained), Pariah Dark(Contained)

Danny has to remain disguised as a normal human and live a normal life out while he waits for his rogues to appear. Then he can do his magical girl transformation and go out and fight them until they’re weak enough for capture. He even designed new comfortable containers for them to replace the thermos so they wouldn’t all be stuck with each other and cramped inside one small container until he could get them all back to their own dimension. They look like very fancy futuristic cards and act as very comfortable sleeping capsules for them. Much better than the thermos, like taking a nice rejuvenating nap really. The cards will have a nice fancy caricature of them to show who is inside too! So he doesn’t accidently forget who’s in what card. He’s out there catching his rogues like Card Captor Sakura. XD

Maybe Danny just appears in Gotham one day because the ambient ectoplasm is just what he needs to stay healthy and Lady Gotham thinks he’s adorable; vigilantes are her favorite after all. She’s never had a magical boy vigilante, how fun~

Meanwhile Damian and Jason are losing their fucking minds because this kid just appeared one day and no one is questioning it. They all act like he’s always been there but they are damn sure he only appeared like 3 days ago at most. Why are they the only ones aware? Perhaps Damian’s super long term exposure to Lazarus pits over half his life but just living practically on top of them. Maybe because Jason was dead for so long before he got brought back and he was brought back wrong. Maybe they go straight to paranoid stalking but despite the weird memory manipulation he doesn’t actually do anything wrong. Maybe they watch him for so long they get kind of frustrated about it because this bastard is just so nice all the time and despite the weirdness around him he’s so clearly non-malicious that he cried over a box of kittens abandoned in an alley and they felt more awkward about seeing that then any family dinner they’d ever been to.

Maybe nobody notices for so long that these two get attached by the time the JL Dark even notices that there’s anything wrong about him. But by then it’s way too late, that’s their magical boy fuck you very much.

Fish Are Friends Not Abominations

The entire Justice League have been on edge lately watching as a giant creature the size of planet dart around the Milky Way galaxy in an almost panicked state. Despite it's very appearent size it hasn't done anything harmful, passing through planets and stars with intangibility.

Constantine on the other hand was freaking the fuck out. There was a giant realms being with a crazy amount of power searching for something and it felt like the universe itself was holding its breath. He was honestly at his witts end when he felt it.

"YOU! What do you have?" He stopped his pacing to look at Batman's traffic light child.

"That's none of your concern." Robin snapped back.

"Robin." Batman's voice cut through their little conversation. By now every JL memeber was watching them.

"It's nothing–"

"Oh yes it is, now let me see it."

As if on que a tiny glowing humanoid creature popped into view ontop of Robin's head cooing and making warbled noises.

Constantine paled.

Robin took the being from his head and held it in his arms, pulling out a batarang and giving it to the thing which then began to bite it.

"Robin." Batman started, voice firm but sounding tired.

"This one found me first." He countered.

"It doesn't matter how you found it, we need to–" Constantine's words were cut off as the large creature released a noise that sounded almost like a whale but something like warbled speech mixed into it. What happened next sent his heartbeat into a marathon and his stomach to a deep trench.

Robin's little creature stopped chewing on its toy and responded with a cry of its own.

Welp they were fucked now.

The large creature's head snapped to their direction, eyes directly on the watchtower as if it could perfectly see them from such a distance and sped towards their location.

DPXDC Prompt: Who is Danny Fenton?

Warning: This one will be dark as it contains character deaths and violence.

Danyal replaced Danny Fenton a long time ago. As in the original died and Danyal needed a place to hide.

He could have killed him or maybe there was an accident. But he's been masquerading as Danny Fenton for a long time.

But imagine Danyal Al Ghul did kill a kid to take his place. Or at least might have put him out of his misery of something tragic that happened.. as if he wasn't stalking homes to try and pretend to be someone's else's child after leaving the league.

Wasn't "his" fault the kid was stupid enough to cross paths and get hurt.

Though guilt does follow him as he pretends and easily slides into the kids life. Reason he "starts" to drift from Jazz, she's the only one that eyeing him too closely and he doesn't like it. Blame it on her being a nag.

Its why he survived the portal incident. He was already contaminated.

All this to avoid having to fight his brother and being kicked around by his grandfather.

Only to have karma bite him in the ass. Not only he failed to come back fully- unlike the pit rage that made you forget yourself- this form seems to make every regret and terrible action dig its claws deeper in every painful way.

Even worse if you play the whole phantom is a ghost combined with Danny.. so phantom is danny fenton.

Now he's lost anything he could have pride in. Thanks to his accident, he's had harder time controlling his body.. especially with his powers. Clumsy. Uneven. He knew he was out of sorts from not practicing but he doubt he be this bad.

His life forever now half of either existence. He couldn't pretend anymore. Once his new parents find out- they would try to kill him.

Back to square fucking one.

And this time. He doubt even his brother or mother would lend a pity hand. Not like he would want it.

AMG just now thought maybe he would go to Gotham after he killed Vlad and was caught by the Fentons.

He warned Vlad and told him he was getting onto his last nerve. Even told him that Jack wasn't his dad and Maddie wasn't his mom, hell he wasn't even Danny Fenton. But if he had to tell him who he was he was going to regret it.

Vlad went even harder losing interest in Danny- only for Danny to make a sword with his powers and show Vlad WHO he was.

He was trying to be like his father- batman. He is the grandson of the demon king- and former member of league of assassins.

Vlad begging when he realizes Danny been holding back and actual death is on the horizon. "I'm Danyal Al Ghul. And I'm tired of you."

Danny did do it to save everyone permanently but after brutally killing Vlad- is when first his friends show up to warn him about his parents just to see what he done.

Danny laughing awkwardly like.. you-you saw that.. didn't you? heh- Then Fentons barge in. Jack is emotional wreck.

Actually getting a few good hits in, before Danny decided to play dead again and let Jack think he destroyed him.

Flying back to gather his stuff to leave permanently. He couldn't take the guilt of looking at Jack's face. Danny Fenton is dead anyways.

Only to be confronted by Jazz later who shakily asks if Danny is her brother.

Danny being honest, "no."

"For how long?" Jazz saying she knows it had to be before the accident.

"…we we're 8."

Jazz asking trying not to sob did he kill him.

"Mercifully." Then explains he was going to die anyways-

"You don't know that-"

"Actually I DO. I know what it takes to KILL someone, what could allow someone to live. That's something I DO know. And if he had managed to live he would be a vegetable." Explaining how the injury to his spinal cord was not recoverable. just imagine its so bittersweet, because Jazz does love her brother still. But Danny has been a lie this whole time.. or at least being Fenton was. Most of the laughs have become real, jokes, the friendship.

But Danny knows he can't fix this.. so he leaves.

Jazz torn whether to beg him to stay or to go.. and just ends up choking up watching him leave.

thus Danny not sure where to go decides its bout time he at least sees his father.

whether he let him see him or not is undecided.

Jack will either be blame for the murder of Vlad, or Phantom will be exposed.

Either way. Danny knew he royally fucked up.. again.

Ooo what if Danny does join the bats but insist he just wants to be a normal teen. Has a fully researched and planned backstory… mostly leaving out things because its "hard" to talk about. How he lived from foster home to foster home pretending to be different children until he just escape.

Until Jazz , Sam , and Tuck come to find him. Having audio where Danny stated he was the son of batman. Danyal Al ghul. So they figured if they find batman. They might find Danny.

Sam and Tucker want answers.. also mixed about Danny.. but dammit they been through so much.. HOW COULD HE keep that from them? They're not going to let him runaway from this. Tucker also adds unless he threatens to kill us.

Jazz had resolved her feelings. Analyzing everything since Danny was 8. When the switch happened. What was him acting and when the real Danyal appeared.

And had decided she didn't care. Danny was her BROTHER. And honestly is the only thing she has left right now. And she wants him back. Wants to help him heal, wants to help him.

Sam and Tuck want their answers then decide what to do from there. They don't WANT everything they knew to be a lie.

And now Batman is aware of more of his son- Damian knowing more of what his twin been up too.

Its a race to get answers out of Danny before he figures it out and disappears for good.

Can see Damian being the best to help Danny through this. Especially since Jon and Dick helped him not feel so bad about the league.

Danny though pointing out- "Difference, the league didn't make me kill a kid, nor a pathetic billionaire."

"You're right. It would have made you kill me."

Danny just breaks.

Thus finally able to admit all his guilt and how terrible he feels about himself. How he TRIED to be like Father but.. he failed so hard. He failed. He failed EVERYTHING. Just a loser. A failure. A waste. Only to be reminded that if he was one- he wouldn't have so many people wanting to know him. He's scared to face his friends' and sister. He knows its gonna hurt. And it does. But even though he isn't forgiven there is hope things can move on from it. Sam and Tucker will have some serious trust issues and take a while to decipher what part is Danny and what isn't. Meanwhile, yes Jazz feels betrayed. She understands and mostly just want to get to know HER brother more.. Danny more. Hope this opens up the wall she wanted to break down this whole time. And as long as Danny shows her who he is, and tries to work on himself. She doesn't care who he was or how he got there. Also he has to show her what he done with her little brother's body and give it a proper burial. Which Danny happily will- giving it a proper burial.. not showing jazz. He's still afraid she'll immediately hate him once she does. Also can see Bruce being so conflicted but Damian, Dick, and Jason all standing up for Danny. Especially Jason once hearing why Danny killed Vlad was to PROTECT his family and town. He gave him fair warning.. So imagine Bruce and Danny having hard time getting along after everything is revealed. But more so just Bruce unable to comprehend the conflicted emotions. Danny tried to emulate him.. but failed. But he tried to do good.. yet he still killed. So its more so awkward than anything. Bruce still wants to give his son the best. Then I can see Danny helping out- though he keeps phantom a secret from the public. He's always invisible or barely seen.

The Eyes of Death.

This story is mostly inspired by Jaybirbie's prompt | Master post | Next?

"Hey, sweetheart?" Danny called, quickly jotting down the last sentence for his paper. He'd have to remember to go back and reread it and make sure he didn't trail off into another tangent. He swears he wasn't this bad at managing his ADHD back in Amity...

"Yes, Danny?" Damian asked, turning back from the door to face him as he scrolled further down the story he was reading. The familiar font of Gotham City's gazette blurred as a picture of Mr. Freeze and Penguin finally loaded. So that's what was going on. Danny should have known; the bats already dealt with the other usual rouges, and these two were next on the list.

"Can you walk with me? I just know Nancy and her boyfriend are out there, waiting. I really don't want to deal with them again... We could spend more time at my place? Tucker sent me another movie, and I'm unsure if I should watch it alone after last time." Danny pleaded, quickly shoving all of his papers into his bag. He'd deal with straightening them out later, it wasn't like his professors weren't used to his wrinkled essays at this point.

However, he should probably redo the blueprints for Workshop. Mr. Anthlow was a hardass, but nothing could compare to his anger when a student handed in wrinkled blueprints; he claimed he wasn't going to have another 'Tanner' incident on his watch, whatever the heck that meant.

He was not looking forward to whatever Nancy wanted to talk to him about, she looked excited. Which could only mean bad things for him; considering the last time she was excited, he ended up spending time with Bane of all people. And there was no way her boyfriend was just going to let Danny get away again.

Damian grimaces, finally looking up and away from his phone. "I'm sorry beloved..." he held up the device just in time to show an incoming text from his Father, "I promised Father I'd be home a while ago. And with what's happening down on-"

"It's ok, I'll just head out the back door," Danny cut in, seeing the start of guilt on his boyfriend's face. He knew how much Danny hated having to deal with those two, and the fact Damian hasn't been able to even introduce himself to them hasn't helped. With a smile, Danny scooped up his textbooks and made his way to stand in front of Damian, "They can't bother me if they don't see me!"

Unsurprisingly, Danny could feel the guilt grow and start to float around Damian as the boy glanced at his phone, the message tone sounding out again in warning.

Danny only met Damian's father once; it was just a simple shake of hands and sharing names before the man ran off, but it did leave an impression. The man felt tired and paranoid; like, to the point Danny kind of wanted to drag Jazz over and lock the two of them in a room, paranoid. (Danny wants to say he's never seen someone that paranoid, but he'd be lying. He looks in the mirror after all.)

The point is; Danny's only met the man once, but that was enough for him to know that the man would tear down the world if he thought for even a second that one of his kids was in danger. This meant, that if Damian didn't go and reassure his father that he was alive and safe within the next sixty or so seconds, then there was a possibility that there wouldn't be another date for at least another week.

And considering this "study date" was supposed to make up for the last one Damian had missed because of his Father? Yeah, Danny wasn't going to be happy if Damian got grounded or dragged into another 'surprise' family road trip because his father was convinced his children would be dead before the 'yearly' planned get-together in November.

They had a trip to the zoo planned for tomorrow, and Delilah was supposed to be allowed out with her kids. This would be Delilah's first public outing since her kids' birth. There's no way Danny was going to allow Damian to miss that. (he swears to the ancients, if there was a rouge attack he was going to kill someone, Dark Dan's future be damned.)

Lifting his heels off the ground so he could stand on his tiptoes, Danny snagged Damian's arm and pulled him down so he could kiss his cheek. "I'll get home safe, just focus on keeping your dad from going insane. We've got a date at the zoo tomorrow and we're not missing it even if your father becomes the next city rogue."

Damian wrapped his arms around Danny, trapping him in a hug as he sighed in fond frustration. "I promise I won't miss it, ok? I'll be there."

Danny rolled his eyes and pushed Damian back, dropping back to stand on the ground, "You better, 'cause hell hath no fury like a gorilla denied the chance to meet her human best friend's boyfriend."

Damian snorted, before looking away and pretending to cough. Danny moved his textbooks to rest more securely in one of his arms, so he could point at his boyfriend. "I'm not kidding, if I show up tomorrow and tell her all about my life and you're not there, she will break out and track you down. I won't stop her either, you'd deserve whatever she does to you."

"Alright, alright. I get it, and I already promised I'd be there didn't I?" Damian chuckled, raising his hands up in surrender. Which would have been cute if it wasn't for the fact that his phone went off again, this time in an insistent buzzing. His eldest brother's ringtone; which meant Damian was going to be busy for a while.

Cursing, Damian turned and answered, "I'm in the middle of something, this better be important Grayson," glancing back at Danny, he mouthed for him to wait a moment as his brother started talking.

Smiling, Danny shook his head, snatched Damian's jacket, and started making his way out the door. There was no way Damian would finish this phone call any time soon. Danny's learned not to wait after the last four times this happened. Damian turned back with betrayed eyes, but the urgent voice of his brother buzzing even louder held him back. Waving goodbye with a smile, Danny shut the door and started making his way down the hall.

He'd have to ask Damian what happened tomorrow, Grayson didn't usually call him, especially when he knew Damian was spending time with Danny. He said it had something to do with how it was sacrilege to interrupt time spent with a significant other. Danny had wanted to ask him more about it but hadn't gotten the chance when The Riddler crashed their spontaneous meeting.

Speaking of The Riddler, Danny's social science paper wasn't looking too hot right now. He'd have to block out a time for him to work on that at some point this week. He wasn't doing anything on Friday, well, besides his early morning classes. That should work...

"Hey, Danny!" someone called, pulling him out of his musing. Glancing up, Danny internally groaned when he noticed Nancy waving at him in sheer delight. Giving her a half-hearted wave, Danny sped up and continued making his way to the back of the library. If he was quick enough maybe he could-

To his dismay, Nancy's boyfriend stepped out from behind one of the shelves and latched onto his arm. Tightly.

Just great, this is exactly what he wanted to avoid. Curse his inability to pay attention when he got lost in thought. Damn ADHD. Blasted non-existent spatial awareness. This was what he got for relying on his ghost sense, he just knows it.

"She said hi, kind of rude of you to just keep walking, Kid." Wyatt huffed, roughly dragging Danny back and towards his girlfriend. Nancy smiled brightly as Wyatt let him go, allowing Nancy to weave her arm with Danny's and practically drag him toward the front of the building.

"There's this big party going on tonight, some Jr invited us. He said it was going to be a night to remember! You should totally come with us, Danny! My friend Shela said she was bringing her nerdy freshmen too! I just know you'd fit right in with them!" Nancy squealed excitedly, shaking Danny as they finally made it to the front doors.

One of the desk attendants rolled their eyes at them as Danny glanced over, hoping that Barbara might intervene. No such luck, she was nowhere in sight, probably off somewhere shelving books. So much for that plan.

"uh, thanks, but I already-" Danny tried, stopping when Nancy scoffed and yanked him out the door and into the frosty night. "Damn, it's cold!" Wyatt cursed, taking his jacket off and quickly handing it over to Nancy. She let go of Danny and pulled it on, then stared at Danny for a moment, "Put your coat on Danny, no way in hell am I letting my kid catch a cold!"

Rolling his eyes, Danny wrapped Damian's coat over his shoulders. He was too lazy to actually put it on, not when that meant handing his textbooks over. The last time he did that, Nancy got bored and started doodling all over them. (how she had managed to do that in the little time it took to put a hoodie on, Danny wasn't sure.)

"I just want to go home, Nancy. I'm not really a party person." Danny sighed, allowing Nancy to drag him down the dark streets. His apartment was in this general direction anyway. Nancy turned to her boyfriend with a huff, "Wyatt! make him come with us!"

"Let the nerd do what he wants, it's not like it affects us if he kicks the bucket all alone," Wyatt grumbled, rolling his eyes.

Ouch, but true. Please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen to your grumpy boyfriend, please listen-

"But Shela said she was bringing Carly!" Nancy turned back to Danny, a pout clear on her face, "You two would be so cute together! she's nerdy just like you! And she's totally into all those murder mystery shows you watch!"

Damn it. Not this crap again.

"That's nice, Nancy, but I'm not interested. I already told you guys, I have a boyfriend," Danny sighed, trying to gently extract his arm from hers; for a human, Nancy sure had one heck of a grip.

"Yeah, right," Wyatt snorted, patting Danny's back, completely ignoring the fact that Danny was literally wearing someone else's jacket. "We'll believe you when you introduce us, until then. You're a virgin loser."

And there we go, people; the reason Danny wanted to crawl into the sewer and die whenever he saw these two. They were nice, don't get him wrong, but they were also stubborn idiots.

"Being a virgin has nothing to do with my relationship status, Wyatt. I'm ace. you've known this since the first time we talked." Danny grumbled, allowing Nancy to drag him down another street. He wasn't sure exactly where they were going now, but he was too tired to care at this point.

If these self-claimed 'Parents' of his wanted to drag him to this stupid party, then fine. Whatever. It's not like Danny had any other plans tonight anyway.

"Asexuality isn't a thing man," Wyatt huffed, speeding up so he could guide them in the right direction now that they were heading into a rougher patch of buildings. Danny could see the man was shivering, though trying to act tough in front of Nancy. Smirking, Danny sent a cold breeze his way. The man scowled up at the sky, cursing quietly.

"Yeah!" Nancy agreed, smiling brightly down at Danny without a care in the world. Like they didn't have this conversation every other week. "You just haven't met the right person yet, Danny! And I know how awkward it is to admit that you're staying celibate until marriage, but you don't have to hide it behind being ace."

Taking a deep breath, Danny closed his eyes and focused on not shouting out of frustration. The celibate comment was new, the acephobia, not so much. "Ok, first of all; Asexuality is a thing, which many people ARE. Literally, 1% of the world is ace. That's over 70 million people. Second of all, I'm not celibate, and I'm not sure if you even know what that means, considering you know I was raised Atheist."

"What does being an Atheist have to do with celibacy?" Nancy asked, tilting her head to look at him. Danny groaned, smacking his forehead against his textbooks. He was NOT going to explain this to them tonight.

"You know what, Nancy? It doesn't matter." Danny huffed, trying again to gently pry her hands off. He wanted to go home. He wanted to cuddle with his boyfriend. He wanted to go back to Amity. Maybe go to the realms and play with Cujo. He did NOT want to deal with these idiots.

Wyatt stopped walking and turned to face them, rolling his eyes as Nancy pouted at Danny. "Come on babe, let the loser go. He obviously doesn't appreciate your efforts."

"but who else is going to convince him to live a little? He's just going to go back to his apartment and sulk by himself!" Nancy cried, tightening her grip again.

"Who cares what the kid does, Nancy? let the dude die a virgin loser. Now let's go, we're already late as is."

"But I really want him to-," Nancy tried, cutting herself off, as both she and Danny spotted a cloaked person appear out of the shadows behind Wyatt.

Wyatt lifted his brow before slowly turning to see what the two of them were staring at. The cloaked figure suddenly whacked him over the head with a metal pole before he could fully turn around. Wyatt's body dropped to the ground with a heavy thump, making Nancy scream, "Wyatt!"

Shit, Danny stepped back, trying to pull Nancy with him as the cloak dude tossed the metal pole to the side with a loud clank. Which was confusing, why would he through away his weapon?

"Shut her up!" the cloak dude cried, bending down to grab Wyatt's arms. He better not be telling Danny to do that, because that would just be stupid and- Suddenly, a dozen more cloaked people flooded out of the darkness and surrounded them. That answered Danny's questions at least.

Danny tensed up as a couple of the people tried to grab onto him. Quickly pulling Nancy back, successfully this time, Danny glanced around to try and find an exit. He couldn't do anything crazy right now, not unless he wanted to give away his secret, but some self-defense should be fine.

Nancy suddenly let go of his arm and smacked one of the cloaked people in the face, "Don't you fucking dare touch me! Wyatt! Kid, get out of here!"

Danny turned to her in alarm, eyes wide in horror as she quickly disappeared into the cloaked crowd. Another cloaked person managed to latch onto Danny's shoulder, reminding him to focus on his situation. Quickly stepping back, he slammed into the man grabbing him, knocking his grip loose. Ducking under another attempt, Danny swung out his leg and tripped the dude into two others.

Twisting to try and make his way over to where he figured Nancy was, Danny dropped his textbooks and punched someone in the face. Damian's jacket was yanked off his shoulders, making him turn with a growl. Punching another person in the face, Danny lunged at the group.

"Hurry! before the bats find us!" the supposed leader cried, making even more cloaked people surround Danny. There was no way a normal civilian would be able to fight their way out of this, so Danny would have to allow himself to be caught soon. Only after biting and scratching the fuck out of them though. Just because he had to let them catch him, doesn't mean he has to make it easy.

~30 min later

Danny stared at the leader as the man droned on and on about needing the right sacrifice for the ritual to work. Nancy and Wyatt grumbled behind him, agreements from the other kidnapped victims filling Danny's ears like bees.

"The sacrifice shall be the one who treads the veil between life and death, the one who's beloved by the spirits as their own! He shall be pale as a corpse, his body kissed by death many times throughout his life. His hair as black as the sky on a moonless night, cradled by the moon since birth." Mr. totally-read-one-fake-ritual-book-when-he-was-a-teen-and-now-has-to-make-it-everyone's-problem droned on dramatically, reverently dragging his finger down the old dusty tome's page,

"so Mr. Wayne?" Nancy huffed, pressing her back into Danny's side. Wyatt chuckled, shoving his foot into Danny's knee, "No, it's totally Mr. Drake he's talking about. Have you seen that dude's eyebags? they make him look like a ghost."

One of the strangers leaned over, rolling their eyes, "No, it's got to be Mr. Dent. The dude's literally half living half not."

"No, Two-Face is half insane, half burnt chicken. Ain't nothing about him going to please ghosts. He was a fucking lawyer, for Christ shake." another guy added.

"the dude said 'he' which crossed out half of y'all," Danny added, glancing at the group around him. The women blinked and then rolled their eyes; only in Gotham would they get kidnapped and not actually be needed.

"Assholes," Nancy huffed, she glanced over her shoulder and down at him, her face set into a frown, "You good, kid? you're like freezing cold."

"I'm fine," Danny huffed, focusing back on the leader. He could just feel the old magic rolling off the book; this was something dangerous, especially in this dipshit's hands. Ancients, he was going to have to do everything he could to keep the man from actually doing the ritual or mess it up if the bats didn't get here in time.

One of the cloaked people suddenly dragged a camera out from a side room, grumbling about networks and livestreams being shit. Huh, well that would definitely help provide their location to the bats. They must be really inexperienced cultists then...

"The sacrifice shall fall into our hands by fate's design. The sacrifice is here and waiting for what his whole life was meant for. Now-"

"Elder!" one of the other cloaked figures cried, waving their phone in the air in excitement. Dread quickly filled Danny's stomach.

"All the bats and birds are busy dealing with those scoundrels they call rouges! If we hurry, we can complete the ritual before they can interfere!"

"Perfect!" Mr. 'Elder', cheered, slamming the tome closed and handing it off to one of the others. "So?" Mr. Elder started, turning to face them with a sharp grin, "Who's it going to be?"

Danny glanced at the group behind him, all of them having gone silent as the cloaked group started pulling out their ritual things, one of which was a very blood-stained knife.

Mr. Elder started circling them, humming and hawing as he studied each one of them. He stopped next to Wyatt, studying him intently.

Quickly weighing his options, Danny straightened up and glared at the man, "I'll be your sacrifice."

Immediately Nancy leaned away from him with a gasp, Wyatt's foot dropping to the floor with a thud. "Danny, no!" Nancy hissed, turning her body so she could face him. Danny didn't glance at her, just continued glaring at the cultist. The cult leader laughed, "Well then. So it shall be! You heard the sacrifice, tie him to the chair!"

With everyone watching, all Danny could do was tense as four of the followers walked over and pulled him up. "No!" Nancy shouted, leaning over and grabbing onto him. Wyatt reached out to Nancy, wanting to pull her back. The men tensed up, ready to interfere. Quickly pulling back, Danny frowned at Nancy and Wyatt, "I'll be ok, just don't do anything stupid!"

They harshly pulled him up and away again, before Nancy could reply. And because he was already pissed off, he made it as difficult for them as possible as they dragged him to the wooden chair. The camera person focused the lens on them, recording it as they shoved him down to sit and wrapped a bloody rope around his limbs.

So much for thinking they were inexperienced... They've done this before, he knows now. How many times? He wasn't sure, but if he had any say in it after tonight, they'd never do it again.

Once he was securely tied to the chair and gagged, because Danny couldn't help himself but insult them, the cultist started preparing the ritual. Why they hadn't done so beforehand, Danny wasn't sure; that is until one of them sliced a deep gash into his right arm and collected his blood into a bowl.

With a grimace, Danny watched as they mixed his blood with black paint and started drawing a circle around him. The camera dude stepped closer and practically shoved the camera into his face. leaning back, Danny glanced between the camera and the people drawing with his blood.

Suddenly, his arm tingled with ectoplasm, making him panic for a second. he can't heal the wound! not with all the people around him and being recorded! Shit, what had Vlad done last time?? Uh, right! core smothering. He could just smother his core to stop his body from healing. Man, acting like a civilian was a pain in the ass.

Glaring up at the camera now that he wasn't as panicked, Danny watched as the dude stepped back, pulled out a paper, and started reading out loud. "GOTHAM! tonight you shall join us as we summon the most powerful being in the world!"

Did he seriously need the paper just to remember that?

The leader stepped forward when the circle was complete, "Now!" His voice echoed around the silent warehouse, startling the other kidnapped victims. The cameraman turned and focused on him, stepping out of the circle altogether. Danny watched the kidnapped people out of the corner of his eye, wanting to make sure they weren't hurt during this whole fiasco.

"Let us begin!" the leader cheered, suddenly gripping Danny's shoulders tightly. "Join me as we summon our lord and savior! The great tyrant of the dead! The embodiment of war and bloodshed! The one named PARIAH DARK! THE HORRIFIC GHOST KING!!!!"

Immediately, Danny was both completely terrified and amused. He had been worried that they were going to try and summon some great evil demon, not the fucking old tyrant. He could fight Pariah any day of the week.

No, what terrified him was the fact that because Danny won the right to the crown by defeating Pariah the first time, he had no idea what this summoning was going to do. Was it going to work like they wanted and summon Pariah? cool, great even. He can deal with that, might have to reveal his ghost powers if the fight got dirty, but nothing too bad.

or was it going to summon him because he was the king, and if so? how? Would that even work considering he's the sacrifice? would he just disappear and reappear? This could lead to a lot of questions Danny was NOT ready to answer. Gaslighting everyone here into believing he could fight Pariah as a 'meta' human would be easy, convincing everyone that he's not the ghost king or a ghost AFTER getting summoned; not so easy.

The leader released Danny from his grip as he walked over and snatched the tome from one of his followers. Snapping the book open, the man started chanting without warning, pointing at random people to notify them when it was their turn to start.

It was like watching a school play; all the student's doing as they were taught as their teacher directed from the side. Cultist A slammed the bowl of leftover blood on the ground, splattering the black remnants all over Danny and the circle. Which was gross, Danny was going to have to burn this shirt, because there was no way he was going to get this stain out. Cultist B tossed salt at Danny a few minutes later, smacking him in the face with the small white crystals. Shaking his head, Danny glared at him. Cultist B threw the salt again.

The leader's smile grew as he continued chanting.

Seven other cultists joined in the chanting, waving their hands up and down as their voices echoed around them. Danny glanced nervously around the warehouse, hoping he'd spot one of the bats. This was being broadcast, they should be on their way at the very least.

After another minute of looking, Danny glanced back at the other kidnapped victims. Nancy was balling her eyes out, burying herself into her boyfriend's chest. Wyatt was staring at him with wide eyes, clearly unsure about what to do. Probably feeling guilty because they both knew the leader was going to choose him. A few others were looking away, clearly fearing for his life. The rest watched on, trying to show him through their actions that they were there with him till the end. (whether he 'died' or not)

It was weird, but Danny had to give it to them; Gothmites were badass. He doubted anyone in Amity besides his friends would have been brave enough to watch what was happening. Even if they didn't know if he would live or not.

His core crackled, making him choke a little as he finally felt the pull of the summoning. Well, that's just great. Shaking his head, Danny tried to clear his throat. The summoning was making him feel weird and he did not appreciate it.

The chanting got louder as one of the people walked up to him, holding the knife in a white-knuckled grasp. Danny eyed it wearily, glancing between it and the rafters above. Where the hell were the bats when he needed them???

The cultist kneeled before him and raised the blade, slamming it down into his chest right as the leader stopped chanting; Danny gasped, more out of surprise than pain as he stared at the knife. The dude gave him no warning that he was going to stab him. Usually, cultists slit people's throats, right? What the fuck was up with stabbing him???

His blood slowly bubbled up and around the knife, slowly staining his shirt red. Yeah, there was no way in the realms he was going to be able to save this shirt now. Man, he had liked this one too.

He could hear Nancy's sobs turn to wails as the cultist yanked out the knife and handed it to the leader, who Danny just now noticed had joined them in the circle. His blood started gushing down his chest with every beat of his heart, again he held back his core. (what does he do now??? faint? scream? how do normal people react to getting stabbed?????)

"Take this lowly sacrifice as a sign of our eternal loyalty, and grace us with your presence! Your humble servants plead that your godly ears hear our prayers! Join us in this mortal realm and bequeath us your power and name to rectify the sins of our brethren!"

Ok, first of all Danny was no where near lowly you piece of fuck-

Danny's core pulsed, sending out nauseating pain up and down his spine. Gasping, Danny leaned as far forward as he could, trying in vain to grasp at his chest without using his powers. His core crackled, striking a blinding flash through his brain. The echoes of his death crawled up his left arm, waking the old dead nerves into firing signals at his brain.

Danny couldn't help himself, he screamed as the pain grew worse and worse. His thoughts turned hazy, his body cold as his core pulsed again. His heart stuttered and then froze, his core flooding his body with freezing ecto not a moment later. Absently, he could feel the wash of ectoplasm crawl over his body, changing his body minutely. He didn't transform, but he definitely looked more ghostly than human.

All the pain disappeared a moment later, allowing Danny to slump forward, his head hanging low and blocking his face from view. His chest did not rise in ragged breaths, nor did his fingers twitch with life. His mind was still sluggish and clouded with something, making it nearly impossible to think. Squeezing his eyes shut, Danny tried to focus.

"Your Highness?" someone asked, their voice too loud as it rang in Danny's ears. His core pulsed, another flood of ectoplasm flooding his body. His eyes slid open again, allowing him to see the green glow lighting up his chest and lap as he stared down at them.

Slowly, Danny lifted his head, his bright green gaze locking with the man in front of him.

Next

8k, tomarry, fluff, time travel, murder mystery with magic, MOD HP

(or) Tom Riddle keeps stumbling over things that don't make sense, until they do. There is a magical cat, an antique shop and a string of murders, when life has been nothing but boring lately. (Chaos ensues).

There was a one eyed cat sitting on the still of Borgin and Burke's.

It looked up lazily, sleepily as Tom's shadow obscured its form where it sat against the rotting black wood Burke refused to replace no matter how many times it fell apart, only to be reluctantly stitched back together with magic and intent alone.

One eye had been meticulously shut with care, the scar leaving faint grey lines against its skin. The only one eye visible was as green as an emerald and so intense Tom had the brief unwelcome thought of carving it out with a spoon to make a pendant for himself.

The black cat cast a singular penetrating gaze at him and seemed to find him lacking, as it resumed the meticulous grooming it had been adamant on doing since before Tom arrived. Being dismissed by such a small creature felt like a personal offense somehow. Tom readied a mild hex at his fingertips.

One tail swung back and forth, agitated, before splitting down the middle into two long wispy tails made mostly of black smoke. There was an old japanese tale, he recalled, of cat spirits who possessed two tails (they also consumed human meat, and were said to be rather malicious in nature). They could also summon magic with their tails and had a particular affinity for necromancy .

"Move then, I need to open the shop." Tom sidestepped the cat once it scooted towards one side and took out a big ring full of long skeleton keys from the pocket of his coat, knowing from experience the lock refused to settle for only one key, no matter how many times it was changed over the years. The door knew too, that making Tom try more than two keys each morning would lead to a flammable disaster.

The door opened on the first try.

Tom turned to look back at the little creature still sitting on the still.

It held no collar and no identification he could see.

"Well?" He prompted, holding the door open with his shoulder as he looked down. "Are you coming in or not?"

~

There was a new store on one of the few unnamed side Alleys that branched off of Diagon.

It sat by the end of a cobblestone street, alone. Most of the surrounding shops had closed or given away to rot or decay, the war with Grindelwald stretching far and wide and making more and more people flee in hopes of finding a home away from War.

The shop had a front entirely made of old oak wood, dark and polished as it curved over the entrance door like an archway come alive right out of a renaissance painting. Below, a dark green wooden door with four little glass windows awaited, a sign painted in delicate strokes indicated the shop was open.

The only window visible from the outside was filled to the brim with plants, from big ones to smaller ones, from cactus to succulents and all the range of interior plants in all shapes and sizes, climbing up and down the wooden frame of the window like vines. One would think, perhaps mistakenly, that it was a herbology store.

However, inside was absolutely crowded from top to bottom with an innumerable amount of... things .

It was an antique shop.

~

Abraxas had been against Tom working at Borgin & Burke's for the longest time.

As much as the shop had a frequent clientele of Dark Witches and Wizards of all origins and held the most foul and interesting objects one knew to find in a decrepit corner of Knockturn, it was also terribly unsafe.

Tom was meant for grandness . Not... whatever this was.

Abraxas had begged and pleaded and tried to reason with Tom, to drag him out of there and into his Manor countless times. He had sat and talked to Orion Black about it more times than he cared to mention, only to be turned back and again by the cold freezing silver eyes each time he brought it up.

"It's his choice." Had been Orion's only answer, the second time Abraxas had tried to reason with him.

' His choice ' he'd said, but was it really?

Tom had always been a man striving for the top, he never contented himself with anything less than exceptional and he was not a man so prideful that he would not accept help from the outside.

And yet.

Yet, there he stood, behind the counter of Borgin & Burke's each morning, shadows pulling at his blue eyes and curls falling just over his nose, hair the longest Abraxas had ever seen him wear.

He was, perhaps perplexingly enough, speaking to a cat.

He looked up as Abraxas approached, blue eyes as intense as ever.

"Tom." Abraxas side eyed the black cat sitting on the counter, knowing from experience animals had a blatant dislike for him. He looked back at Tom, who wore a rather indulgent look about him so out of place in the decrepit shop that made Abraxas remember mornings spent bent over cauldron's and shared breakfasts at the Slytherin table. That look had been rather absent as of late.

Tom hummed in greeting, long fingered hand petting the black cat from head to tail.

The cat had only one green eye, looking down at Abraxas like he was a particularly nasty bug and was weighing the pro's and con's of eating him whole.

An impossible notion, surely .

A shudder went through him. Perhaps best not to test it.

"We have been invited to the Samhain gathering." Abraxas took a step down the counter, trying to get away from the cat as he took an envelope out from the depths of his robes. The hellish creature followed him with its unnerving eye, pupil slimming down to a thin long line in the center.

"Who is hosting this year?" Tom waved a hand and the envelope floated up and away from Abraxas, seal breaking and opening before him.

"House Lestrange." He answered back. Tom pulled a face, before closing his eyes and letting out a sigh. Abraxas felt much the same about the whole situation, already dreading the long hours of having to deal with the new Head of the Family without the possibility for an escape.

Sadly, as much as the invitation was that, an invitation to attend, they could not be absent.

"Orion?" Tom asked, letting the envelope fall and taking a step back and away from the polished wooden counter, arms crossed over his chest.

The cat turned towards him, forgetting Abraxas entirely as it stretched towards Tom with languid movements. Tom indulged it a bit, one hand reaching out to rub against its cheek and up an ear. The cat leaned into the touch, purring loudly, the sound not dissimilar to the Draught of Living Death boiling on a cauldron top.

Abraxas watched the exchange with wide eyes, before remembering himself.

"Attending. Lord Black has been more and more insistent he start to take more responsibilities as the Heir." He could remember both Lucretia and Orion standing side by side as they walked behind their father on their way to a Wizengamot meeting. Orion was burning two silver holes on his Lord's back, while Lucretia walked a half step behind him, an old anger pulling at her features like a vulture.

Lord Black had picked Orion over his twin sister for the Heirship, and neither sibling seemed to be particularly happy about it.

Since then, Orion had more or less disappeared from their lives entirely.

"It'll be a while before he retires." Tom stated, eyes looking to a point far away, considering.

And it certainly would. They both knew Lord Black would not cede control of the Black Estate to anyone if he was not on his deathbed. Far too many hands were reaching out and hoping to take the Lordship, but Arcturus was nothing if not tenacious and particularly immune to poison.

If it were anyone but Arcturus Black sitting at the Head, Abraxas was sure the House of Black would have fallen in the same fate House Lestrange currently faced.

Tom sighed. His hand fell away from the cat, leaning one arm on the counter to gaze down at the offending letter.

"Let's meet at Black Manor." He said, his tone clear that Abraxas would be the one to inform the Blacks. "Salazar knows I can't stand Callum Lestrange speaking anything more than a greeting."

"Hopefully his wine will be poisoned." And hopefully both Abraxas and Tom would be far enough away from the power vacuum when it happened.

A slow smirk made way on the other boy's face. The cat let out a discontent sound, clearly put off by the lack of attention.

"Oh, Abraxas. It'll certainly be a show worth watching. "

~

Unbeknownst to most of the residents of Diagon, the antique shop had been one of the first buildings to appear in the Alley. Of course, it had been a different time, and the streets were not shaped quite the same.

As time went past, new shops had grown from the ground up like tenacious weeds around the shop, warping and changing the map as they pleased.

The antique shop, of course, had not always been an antique shop. It had started out of all things, as a library .

A public library for all witches and wizards who desired knowledge and craved stories from somewhere deep in their hearts. Only those curious enough would find themselves obscuring its doorstep.

The library had been home to countless books and grimoires, plants that crawled between shelves and faires that made houses out of sticks and notes left forgotten on tables. Despite its deceptively small exterior, inside it was a whole world on its own.

Floor upon floors of knowledge harvested through the years by peers from all over stood on shelves, or stacked on top of one another on tables or on the wooden floor, and even hanging from the ceiling.

The little haven was open at all hours, if not always manned by someone up front. The lights were scattered throughout, coming from oil lamps and candles and small magical fires, all perfectly safe to be within a library, as was standard after the burning of Alexandria.

Some people only found the library once in a lifetime.

Others would come across it quite often.

Some others, the ones who did remember a time where they had entered such a place, vowed to stay between its books the next time they encountered it. As such, it was not strange to find people making a home for themselves between the shelves, transfiguring armchairs and tables into beds and tents to sleep in.

The air inside was cozy and warm, filled to the brim with magic and in the background there was always a lonesome tune coming from a piano abandoned somewhere on the third floor. Sometimes, if people came across it, they would sit and play to their heart's content, and the piano would play something cheery and joyful for days after, before remembering its loneliness and playing mournful tunes after. Someone at some point had thought to leave a plant to keep it company, and ever since then the music had been less melancholic and more something along the lines of classical tunes. It always depended on the mood and tilt to the leaves of the plant, that over the years had grown exponentially under the care of the piano, and reached across the floor towards a window quite easily.

However, curiosity and creativity in all its forms seemed to die a slow painful death in Britain.

From countless Wars, to witch burnings, to the Great Depression, made the library literally inaccessible to the average witch or wizard just going through the motions of life hoping for better days ahead.

After all, if one didn't seek, one wouldn't find.

The library and its occupants remained alone for a long time.

Soon enough, even those who had ventured into its depths forgot such a magical place existed.

~

Someone was trying to kill the Lestrange Head before he even made his introductions, stuttering and twitching, glassy brown eyes moving from place to place as he motioned for Lord Black and his wife around the parlor.

It was not the fact someone was so blatantly trying to kill him (as that was rather usual) it was the dark threads woven around his body like a particularly dark marionette moving him around like a fool. It was rather distasteful.

House Lestrange would be a case study for historians to come, that was for sure. After Corbin Lestrange had fallen prey to Dragon Pox a year prior, the continuity of the legacy of his House had been put to question. After all, the man had no children to call his own.

What followed had been a bloody path of betrayals, murders, back stabbings and public executions that left the House a fraction of what it once was.

Hence the fact that Callum Lestrange, a boy two years his junior and barely reaching the eighteen years of age required to take up the Lordship was being displayed like a marionette. His older brother, who had been Tom's classmate and a fellow Slytherin, had taken one look at the bloody throne and had let the Lordship pass down to his younger brother. Corvus was no fool, and yet, if his little brother fell he would be sure to follow.

Whoever was behind the fall of House Lestrange would not be content to leave anyone alive, it seemed.

The threads around the Lord —a boy really— wavered and tensed as his body was moved. Lord Black was growing increasingly irate at the whole display, and simply scoffed as Callum's bottom lip wobbled as he showed them towards the ball room with stiff and violent movements.

The ambient magic around them suddenly became oppressive, heavy and thick. Malicious and void-like. The threads tightened around the puppet's neck like a noose. A warning for others to not intervene. The boy choked and reached for his neck with desperate hands, only to be stopped by the very same threads, a whimper fell from his lips as the noose tightened and closed off his air supply.

Tom watched with dispassionate eyes as the show continued. He wondered at what point the Aurors would be called in.

Then, a single movement came from the heavy magic that had settled around them, distinctively different from the one surrounding the threads around the boy. It wavered in the air, there and gone again in an instant.

All the strings holding the boy were cut, the magic snapping back like a sling towards the caster. The boy fell with a thud, unconscious.

Somewhere deep in the ballroom, someone fell to their knees with a scream.

"How unpleasant." Lord Black murmured, eyes on the fallen boy. He walked towards the ballroom with his wife, not looking back.

Tom looked around for the one responsible, but no one was anywhere near the entrance, all the attending parties more than put off by the offending display of power.

Tom peeled away from Abraxas and Orion, who both stood gazing down at Callum, half tempted to help him.

A witch appeared from between the crowd in the ballroom pushing people out of her path, robes fluttering about as she made her way towards them with purposeful steps.

She wore a look so angry and violent Orion took one look and grabbed Abraxas to move him out of her way.

Cassiopeia Black kneeled by the unconscious body, uncaring for her pristine black robes and started casting diagnostic spells around, all the while cursing and bad mouthing people left and right.

Orion stood by his cousin's back and waved them off, knowing the whole process would take a long while.

Cassiopeia's wife walked sedately towards them, a put off look on her face that signaled she might have puked somewhere along the way.

Tom left them to it, steps taking him away from the entrance towards the main room where music was playing in the background.

He let his magic reach out, trying to find the threads of magic of the one that had so beautifully snapped the strings like they were made of paper.

He found a man –a boy really, going by the baby fat clinging stubbornly to his cheeks– stood by himself in a corner, dressed in a black robe that touched the ground each time he moved. Dark grey antlers had been stitched on his back, curving delicately up and over his shoulders like a necklace.

A glass of wine was dangling from one slack hand, gaze set somewhere far and out a window that looked to the gardens below.

He turned to Tom as he came to stand by his side. His eyes were as green as two emeralds, and a scar in the shape of lightning ran down one side of his face from temple to cheek. The hairs at his temple where the scar began, along with the eyelashes on the same side had turned white.

He was beautiful .

His magic felt more tame now, less hungry.

"You shouldn't have." Tom prompted as a way of greeting.

The boy smiled, indulgent as he turned to face him. The grey antlers stitched in the fabric that extended from his back ended somewhere around his chest, from where leaves of dark green and yellow dangled down his front like vines.

"Shouldn't I?" He tilted his head, and curls fell over his forehead as he looked up at Tom. A small smile played at his lips.

He smelled like vanilla and roses.

"I'll be sure to have consequences." He leaned forward a bit, into the boy's space, trying to get a feel of both his magic and sweet scent.

" Will it? " A real smile stretched then, full of teeth.

Samhain at Aviary Manor was terribly dreadful. He had known it would be since he accepted the invitation.

In fact, he was sure each family that had been invited knew it would be a shit show, and yet not one of them had come forward to take the host mantle from the Lestranges.

To be sure, no one wanted that kind of family drama in their own homes.

On top of that, Tom was growing rather bored of the stagnant conversations floating around, every single guest present trying to one up the other with useless accomplishments, or new positions within the corrupt Ministry, or new houses bought on foreign land for an extraordinarily inflated price, and so on and on it dragged on.

Finally, when he thought he wouldn't be able to stand another story about a breeder who liked to sell Kneazles bred with Wampuses (and what dreadful creatures, so wild they would bite the hand that fed them) , a hand gently laid on his back.

He turned his head to find two green eyes curiously gazing up at him, a knowing look about him that said he knew he was interrupting and he just didn't care.

The boy leaned in to whisper in his ear, standing on the tips of his toes and using his arm for balance in a display not often seen in the crowd Tom was used to frequent. Too close. Too improper .

"Do you dance?" His voice was breathy and playful, their faces close together.

"Obviously." He muttered back, face turning to lock onto green eyes.

" Obviously . " The boy repeated back, expectant and unabashed at his own forwardness.

Well. Dancing certainly seemed more entertaining than standing around listening to people trying to tilt their noses any more closer to the ceiling.

He adjusted the arm the boy was already touching, prompting him to hold on.

"Let's go, then."

He dragged the stranger somewhere towards the outskirts of the dancing crowd, grabbing onto his cold hand and turning him about. He guided him to hold onto his shoulder, while his own hand settled right above his hip.

"They really don't know when to let it go, do they?" The boy mumbled, gaze locked towards the direction they had just come from. "I swear this looks like a dick measuring competition."

A startled chuckle left Tom's lips.

"What, you didn't want to join?" He couldn't help himself, even if he tried.

"Do I look like someone who would want to– don't answer that ." He cast a suspicious look up at Tom, green eyes narrowed. "Do you like to watch the dick measuring?"

A smirk stretched across Tom's face.

"I'm not opposed." And Salazar knew just how far Tom had gone in the past to get the things he wanted. The amount of things he had to stand by and shoulder just to get a glimpse of what should have been his in the first place. He didn't lower himself quite so hard as of late, more than angry enough to strike if looked at with even a hint of contempt in the faces of his peers.

"Of course you aren't." The stranger shot back, aggravated.

"Are we still speaking of pricks? " The smile on Tom's face was somewhere between predatory and entertained.

The boy tilted his head to the side, green eyes framed by silver wire glasses glinting with mischief. Up close the scar looked more like a natural discoloration of the skin rather than a carving down his flesh. Tom could count the white eyelashes obscuring one green eye with how close they stood together.

"Dunno, are we?" There was a hint of teasing in his tone, light and airy as he leaned a little into Tom's space.

Tom retaliated, and grabbed onto his waist more firmly, arm going all the way around forcing the boy to take a step (a stumble) towards him.

The boy scoffed, a look half offended crossing his face. His nose scrunched up and the light dusting of freckles across his skin moved in unison like stars reflected on water.

"How about introductions before you insinuate yourself to me?" Tom settled on, as he moved them from side to side, steps easy and measured.

"Is that what you think I was doing?" The boy muttered back, eyes falling towards their feet, trying to find the rhythm. He took a stumble and a sidestep, almost stepped into Tom's shoes twice before he leaned more heavily onto him.

"Weren't you?"

" You're the one who approached me in the first place!" He looked contrite and impossibly offended, an impatient hand moving the curls around his face back and away before settling it back on Tom's shoulder.

A smirk broke onto his face before Tom could think to stop it.

"Perhaps I was the one doing the se–"

"Harry." He interrupted, before Tom could continue. "Well. Hadrian , technically." He clarified, an uncomfortable shift to his step letting Tom know he didn't like the form of address. "Peverell." He added, more as an afterthought than anything.

"Tom Riddle."

" I know ."

"Oh?" Well . Wasn't that interesting? After all, Tom knew little to nothing of his surname. He was sure, however, he'd heard it somewhere. Perhaps a foreign name?

"You came with Lord Black." Harry said, as if that was any form of explanation.

"I did." Tom's tone hinting at Harry to continue, but the boy only looked away towards the dancing crowd.

"I can't believe they let them Host with the smell of cooling bodies in every corner of the Manor. They even planted roses at the front, the disrespect." He spoke in a low voice, only meant for Tom's ears. He was looking towards the entrance door.

Indeed, in the front garden white roses had been planted besides the main path, unusually in full bloom for the time of year, too late into fall for them to be so full of flowers. The sickly sweet smell of roses had almost made Tom gag as they approached the front door.

"Why roses?" He couldn't help but ask, as the boy seemed impossibly offended by this fact alone.

He looked back at Tom, green eyes searching for a moment. He answered back slowly, carefully and with a patient tone about him that said he knew much more than he let on.

"It has been described to me, multiple times and on countless occasions, that death smells sickly sweet ." He said, with a put upon look that said it was all bullshit. "It really doesn't. It smells foetid, sour and pungent. Meat is meat, after all, and death comes whether or not it's a muggle or a witch or a rat. The bitterly sweet smell of vanilla and flowers is to cover it all up. But you can definitely tell it's not just the roses up at front."

Tom hummed, swaying them gently away from the warpath of a couple intent on twirling out of orbit.

"They really are smearing their name through the mud. Soon enough there will be no one to sit on that god awful throne, and the vultures will pick at their bodies like a feast."

The infamous throne sat in the corner of the ball room. It was tacky, Victorian in nature. Multiple ravens crawled on top of one another made out of metal and glass. In some parts it was rusting, and hints of red here and there could be caught in the light of the candles.

"Another show." Tom agreed, as soon as House Lestrange fell, another would take its place. It was a matter of survival.

Harry sighed in his arms, dragging Tom away towards the edge of the crowd as the couple circling around had once more almost bumped into them.

"Enough of that. What about you, Tom Riddle?" There was an air that said Harry had much more to say about the Lestranges, but he withheld his tongue.

"Shouldn't you know? You knew who I came with, after all." He teased.

"Excuse me, I don't pretend to know every single one of Orion's little friends." He had the vague notion that he'd never been referred to as such.

"I resent that."

"Good." A mischievous smile settled on the curve of Harry's lips.

"How do you know each other, then?" A groan left Harry as he tilted his head back towards the ceiling, exasperated beyond measure.

"Lord Black invited me over for tea last month, he tried to coax me into a marriage with his daughter—"

"To Lucretia?"

"–I should have known, really." He continued, as if he hadn't interrupted him. However, the pink tint to his cheeks betrayed him. The freckles became more prominent against his blush, going from beneath his eyes all the way up his temple and around his nose. "After I told him I really wasn't interested he changed tracks and started on about how Orion would be an excellent match and–"

"To Orion? " Harry turned impossibly redder.

"– shut up! Anyways I barely escaped that conversation, only for him to try and corner me to introduce me to his son on each and every place we cross paths–"

"Terribly dreadful." He mumbled beneath his breath, however Harry was on one track and speaking a mile a minute.

" Isn't it? I can't even look at the twins in the eyes knowing their father is trying to set us up–"

"Do you want to be set up?"

" No! It would be like... marrying into my own family, I don't know." He grimaced.

"That isn't a deterrent to most people in this room." Tom threw in, just to watch Harry glare back up at him. When Harry noticed the playful gleam in his eyes he tossed his head back with a groan.

"Don't play into it too." He whined, hitting the back of his hand lightly against Tom's chest.

"Why not, darling? You look possibly entertained, dare I say." Tom swayed them from side to side at the rhythm of the music, a possessive hand still curved around Harry's waist, keeping their bodies flush against each other.

"Do you want me to marry Orion?" There was an accusing tone somewhere deep in there.

"You would make a dreadful consort." Tom said, poking at him a little.

The whine Harry let out in response was truly delightful. He leaned forward into Tom's chest, hiding his red face somewhere in between the lapels of his robes.

"You're awful."

Tom bit his lip, endeared beyond measure and terribly fascinated.

"I've been told. Many times ."

"I'm sure you have."

They danced for a while, sharing comments on the dress of some or another, critiquing a Lord who was way too drunk for the time of night, or the god-awful wood one of the witches at the far corner called a wand.

Tom wasn't blind to the looks they were getting as more and more time went on, when neither of them changed dancing partners.

Lord Black looked personally offended by the whole thing.

Harry was an easy weight on his arms, comfortable and self assured as he found his footing in between their steps, following along both Tom and the music as they moved across the room.

Their dance was interrupted just as Harry was starting to slow, clearly tired of going around in circles. Tom had wanted to ask if he wanted to sit down and eat, but he didn't get the opportunity to do so.

Orion appeared by their side like a particularly uninvited dark cloud. Harry turned away to hide his face on Tom's chest, far too improper and impossibly amusing.

"Would you like to dance, Hadrian?" Orion asked in the most monotone Tom had ever heard him utter out. He looked as enthusiastic as Harry at the prospect. He was only being polite for the sake of his father, Tom knew.

It didn't make the curl of anger and jealousy any less intense.

" No ." Harry mumbled against the fabric of his robes, face still buried.

"I could get you a drink, perhaps?" He continued, as if Harry hadn't spoken.

Harry only grabbed tighter onto Tom, and if he had been anyone else but this endearing boy he would have cursed them black and blue.

Orion looked at him in the eyes and took a careful step back. He wouldn't want to step on a serpent ready to strike, after all.

"How about a walk outside?" He said. But he was not addressing Harry. The question was turned to Tom, begging him to get them away to have an out of the situation just so Lord Black wouldn't come breathing down his neck again.

Tom nodded, prying Harry's hands away from his robes as he walked them down towards the gardens.

"They really don't know when to quit, I swear." Harry mumbled as they lost sight of Orion and the surrounding crowd.

Tom wondered what made Harry so special Lord Black wanted him in his family by unbreakable ties so insistently.

~

The Library had fallen slowly to decay, after a time. The books remained unread, gathering dust and magic, forgotten where they sat for years and years and years. The armchairs remained unused, moving from side to side of the library wondering why no one would come in.

A ghoul had moved in at some point, and after the last of a long dynasty of shopkeepers died in their sleep, it took over manning the desk.

The ghoul didn't much understand the concept of time, and much less the use of Wizarding money. But it kept the shop clean of other plagues, such as insects and rats and the occasional ashwinder , a magical snake that grew from the everlasting magical fire by the corner of the main floor when the ghoul wasn't looking.

For a brief period of two years, a kind witch had tried to convert it into a cozy little coffee shop. As one can imagine, it didn't last .

Both the ghoul and the magical fire had refused to leave, the books had been crammed into the attic one on top of another and the armchairs reluctantly repurposed.

Yet, the buildings falling apart around it, and the fact that the little side alley's entrance, branching from Diagon, was covered by bigger, flashier shops made it impossible for the café to survive.

Years went by, and the building sat sad and (mostly) empty.

Then the Childe of Death came along.

~

The smell from the gardens at the back of the Aviary Manor was less intense than those at front. It probably had something to do with the lack of rose brushes set up on every inch of the path leading up the front door. It had clearly been a statement, for those who knew to read into it.

Like Harry.

Tom spied at his companion from the corner of his eyes, from his slim build to the dark circles most people would cover behind a glamour. It was clearly intentional on his part, as he seemed to leave nothing for speculation.

His hands were covered in silver rings carved with runes and stones inlaid in between, and pendants and piercings hung from his ears and glinted in the moonlight every time he turned his head.

He wondered what the antlers at his back meant.

Everything about him was slightly dark, and he carried something heavy with him Tom could not name, but he could feel deep within himself.

A sense of uneasiness, despite his rather cheerful and harmless demeanor.

A mask of sorts.

It felt like a pull, as if Harry was a black hole and Tom nothing but a dying star waiting to be sucked in, stardust and magic wavering between them, dancing around just as their bodies had, not a moment before.

Harry looked up at him from beneath his bangs, green eyes curious.

They were finally far enough for the music in the ballroom to be nothing but a murmur in the night.

The Estate where the Aviary sat was within a valley split by a roaring river flowing from the surrounding mountains, water clear most of the year, except for a few weeks where rainstorms fell with the fury of gods seeking vengeance, water tearing apart stones and earth in it's path down the mountain, dark and muddy and dangerous.

The water was clear now, a mirror of silver flowing calmly and without rush.

A wooden bridge had been erected at some point, curved over the river bed. On the other side there was a long stretch of green tall grass, seemingly unaffected by the cold.

Tom and Harry walked close together, shoulders brushing as they made their way down to the water.

Harry slipped a hand on one of his robe pockets and pulled out a brown piece of paper that was crinkled at the edges. The strong smell of dark chocolate reached Tom's nose before his eyes could settle on the dark treat between Harry's hands.

A smile had settled on Harry's face when their eyes met, and he offered up a piece without being prompted.

The bittersweet taste, mixed together with the feeling of Harry's heavy magic made Tom sigh and close his eyes as they walked down the slope of the hill. The calming sound of the water and the chill feeling of the night made the knot stubbornly sat between his shoulder blades, tighten and let go.

Harry slipped his arm on the crook of his elbow and leaned towards him a little, just resting his weight as they walked down in tandem.

"Do you think either Callum or Corvus will be dead by the time we walk back?" His voice stretched far in the night.

"I don't know." Tom responded, a lightness to his tone he hadn't had in himself in a while. "Depends on how much time you want to spend out here with me." He teased. "An hour? Perhaps two?" He let a beat pass between them. " Three days? "

A startled laugh left Harry, light and fleeting in the night.

"An eternity ?" Harry shot back instead, green eyes looking far into the night sky. The stars seemed to twinkle in answer.

"I can deal with that."

~

The antique shop was filled to the brim with objects.

Just as the library had, the items had been collected from hand to hand and passed down a long line of people to reach the shop.

The shelves that had once made up the library had been repurposed with loving hands, and narrow paths stretched between them as they stood side by side. If a person were to enter they would have to dodge items that refused to stay on the confines of the shelves themselves, sometimes on the floor or floating around trying to find a spot to call a temporary home.

Not one item was the same as another, on the main floor. From priceless heirlooms of long lost families, to stones and jewelry lovingly crafted by Goblins, to paintings and statues on all shapes and sizes.

The top of the shelves themselves acted as a middle floor, between the main floor and the first one, connected by planks of wood and ladders to open a path between each section. Even more objects had been placed there, and the plants hanging from the ceiling looked down with apprehension as people walked on the precariously placed paths on top of the bookshelves. Little kids, as usual, loved to climb.

The second and third floor functioned mostly as the original building had intended: a Library. The books had been more than pleased to be put back on the shelves, on the floor and tables and even windowsills. Muggle records and books had been added, and even if they didn't hold any magic themselves, they soaked the ambient flow around them like sponges, filling up to the littlest atom with magic. The surrounding books found it funny, so they let the muggle things stay.

The armchairs moved from place to place, and sometimes they even came down to the main floor and helped people along the shop like particularly enthusiastic puppies.

The ghoul still manned the desk sometimes, but more often than not it sat behind it by an open window that was sunny year round, a couple of plants had been placed by it's stool and it grumbled and grunted from time to time to remind the rude people that visited the store, it was still very much alive (as much as a creature such as this could be) and would not hesitate to being harm if they were being disrespectful. The plants around it seemed to agree with the sentiment, and they would curl around the shoulders of the shop owner with a possessiveness not seen anywhere else in Britain.

The basement had been a new addition.

It was not easily accessible for those witches and wizards that came from the world above looking to buy or sell, looking to read and wander.

The basement was a transition place for some.

A train station for others. A pit stop on a long ride that would take them elsewhere.

Sometimes it served as a tea house, or a coffee stop, or even a forest.

For Harry, it was the place where he saw the most people come through.

Somewhere simply lost and trying to find their way back, even if their souls told them they had to go on. For others, it was a place to share tea and stories and wait for just a little more. They were not ready yet.

Sometimes all they needed was an ear to listen. Someone to tell all the troubles they'd had in life and still wrapped around them in death.

Some were angry beyond measure, and they would lash out and try to find a way out to hurt the people above. Harry could not let those go.

The ghoul manned the desk for days and days after the angry ones visited. An impatient and concerned tone to its grunts that informed the local shoppers it was not to be aggravated too much, lest it would attack. The plants sometimes had to hold onto it for good measure.

Most of all, the shop was filled with magic. And stories. And the occasional ghost.

Harry was quite proud of it, even if it wasn't the life he would have envisioned for himself once upon a time.

Sirius' death during his fifth year, and the consequent hunger that had haunted his every step had been more than enough for Harry to take the wrong train one night.

Enough to end up in the tea house below an abandoned library-turned-shop.

Death had been more than pleased at the company.

~

Harry stepped first into the wooden bridge, and dragged Tom by the hand until they stood together in the middle.

The calming sound of the water was a balm to his soul. He had seen way too many shadows clinging to people for one night. He didn't need to know exactly how many people would obscure his doorstep in the next few months, thank you.

He turned to the boy by his side.

Tom Riddle both looked so much like the shadow of the Diary he had met in his second year, and yet nothing like it. He looked older, and a tiredness that could not be fixed by sleep or rest pulled down at his blue eyes. His hair stood long in loose curls, the point between having to cut it or commit to a ponytail not far now. He looked pale and a little hollow, and yet he stood tall by Harry, and impossibly warm.

He was half a Soul now, he knew. It should not be possible for this boy to stand as warm and as sane as he did.

There was a void in the tear of his soul Harry had felt as soon as he had stepped on the dance floor. It sucked light and magic with a tremendous pull, and Harry wondered how it was Tom hadn't noticed.

His magic worked overtime to fill the void that would remain open like a wound left to fester and crawl with foulness if left alone.

Harry turned to face him, eyes closed and hand resting somewhere in Tom's chest.

He could feel it even now, trying to pull his own magic in the black hole in hopes it would fix it.

The amount of magic required to keep it going made Harry intimately aware he stood beside the most powerful wizard he had encountered, ever.

A second coming of Merlin, perhaps. If only he hadn't been so foolish to think a simple Horcrux would be enough to stray Death from his path.

Half a Soul was half the magic, after all.

It was impressive the only tales of soul sickness were the dark circles and the pale complexion. It spoke more about his strength than Harry was careful to admit, even to himself.

He let his magic be sucked by the boy, and he felt more than heard the sigh Tom let out.

They were standing already very close together, but Tom brought him even closer by putting an arm around him.

When he lifted his head he found two dark intense eyes gazing down at him, perhaps a little perplexed at the mystery package that was Harry himself.

He couldn't help the hand that moved the curls away from Tom's handsome face, a thought between grabbing a pair of scissors or using magic to get rid of the extra length.

Tom must have sensed his intentions, as his eyes turned a little mischievous.

"I know." He sighed, put upon.

"Yet you let it get this long." Harry tugged a curl down and stretched it as far as it could go. It reached somewhere around his chin. "Either commit to it or cut it. Terribly improper of you to go around with a mop for a head full of hair."

A sharp smile was all the warning he got, as a hand tugged down the satin piece of fabric holding his hair in place and mostly away from his face. Black curls settled around his face like a mane. There was a reason Harry didn't wear his hair down without an excessive amount of hair products. His curls were not soft and tame like Tom's, rather they stubbornly wanted to fit one on top of the other in tight circles and twists. It had been worse when he had short hair, as the ends spiked every which way they wanted.

"Hey!" He went for the cloth with small hands, even as Tom held it out of reach and above their heads.

"You are one to talk about cutting down hair."

"Don't you dare shame me for my hair, Tom Riddle. It was all well and good before you got your hands on it!"

Perhaps Harry should have worded it differently.

Hands sunk into the back of his hair, warm and big and playful. They tilted his head back and Harry had no choice but to meet Tom's hungry gaze.

There was no question needed between them, no confirmation for the next step in their dance.

Tom's lips met his in a slow kiss, languid and wet and right .

Harry sighed as he leaned more weight onto him, knowing his hands would hold his body firm and the warmth of their magic met in the middle, in all the points where they touched. His hands went from Tom's chest up his neck and up his cheeks.

Tom's hands traveled down his back to his waist, and held Harry more firmly in his place against him.

Tom Riddle smelled oddly sweet. Like a half blend between vanilla and chocolate fighting for its life, a hint of bitterness and spice making its way in between.

It reminded Harry of the times Remus Lupin had slipped pieces and bits of chocolate into his hands for all of his third year, between classes and recesses and times when Harry stared a little too hard off into the sky with words stuck on his throat.

Oddly enough, the House Elves had taken it upon themselves to leave handmade (homemade) chocolate carefully wrapped in paper in between the lapels of his robes, in his pockets, in his trunk. He often found the pieces when he least expected it, and when he most needed them. Like at the Dursleys during the long summer months, or when he went on walks along the forest and found his hands reaching for his pockets, or more often enough: when he was sad and in need of a pick me up.

(Fifth year had him eating chocolate every day, enough to make him sick more than once. Madam Pomfrey had huffed and puffed at him for such an unbalanced diet).

(Luna, oddly enough, seemed to be the only one to notice, the only one to not shy away from his anger or look away at the depth of his sadness. Somewhere in December that year she had slipped a potion to the House Elves to mix with the chocolate so it wouldn't upset his stomach).

(He doesn't think he deserved the kindness, but Luna had only smiled at him as they sat between the herd of Thestrals and ate their chocolate).

They kissed for a long stretch of time, the river and the stars their only witness.

Harry had the question at the tip of his tongue.

Tom bit down on his neck with hunger, leaving bruises and kisses on his wake.

At some point his hands wandered even lower, and two big hands grabbed onto the back of his thighs prompting him to let himself be lifted or fall backwards.

Tom grunted against his mouth at the added weight, but stood sure and still as Harry wrapped his legs around his middle. The hands on the back of his thighs hugged him beneath his bottom and let Harry sit a little higher.

He sighed against Tom's mouth, leaning back a bit and trusting his hands to hold him up.

Tom's eyes were two black holes as they looked up at him. His gaze was half lidded, hungry and wanting. His magic seemed to simmer beneath the surface of his skin, calling out to his own magic and awaking it in a way nothing had before.

He desperately wanted to ask. He wanted to drag Tom home and never let him leave.

An explosion at their back startled them enough for Tom to take a hurried step back, turning them about so whatever had caused the ruckus would hit Tom head first.

Harry was deposited back on the ground before the wave of magic could reach them. Both of their wands dropped on their hands.

A fire started somewhere deep in the Manor and climbed up with a hunger that said it could only be of magical origins.

The shape of a Phoenix eating smaller birds could be seen through the flames.

Someone had cast a fiendfyre inside a small space crowded with the most influential people currently in power in Britain.

It was an act of War.

They waited for half a heartbeat.

Then they ran towards the fire.

(OR) the horror and the wild on AO3, 21k words, two shot, completed

Unpleasant Revelations - DPxDC Ficlet Idea for the Stillborn Au

"Have you met my youngest, Damian, Mr. Masters?"

Its only from twenty years of long, hard experience and practice that Vlad doesn't increase the room temperature from 'borderline uncomfortably cool' to 'unbearably hot' the moment Bruce Wayne pulls his youngest and "only" biological son out in front of him.

He puts only in quotations because twelve year old Damian Wayne looks scarily, uncannily like one Daniel Brown. Jack and Maddie's foster son, second victim of their foolishness, and only other halfa in existence. Second only to him.

It's nauseating how similar they look. From the scowl and terrible glare on the young boy's face, to his brown skin -- which was only a few shades lighter than Daniel's, the shape of his nose, and even the strange winged edge of his eyebrow. Something that Vlad has long since come to find endearing on the child he considered a son of his own. The only difference was that Damian had dark, sharp green eyes.

Daniel's eyes were blue. The same glacier shade as his father's, who stood behind Damian with a proud, oafish smile on his visage.

It was infuriating how similar they look. Vlad might not have rapidly swung the room temperature from one extreme to the other, but he can't stop himself from letting the fury burning within his core from slipping out and raising the temperature up a few degrees.

Because it really only meant one thing.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were related.

Damian Wayne and Daniel Brown were brothers.

Standing in front of him, it was clear as day. He can already picture a phantom image of Daniel standing beside Damian, the same scowl written on his face, the same glare carved into his eyes. The only difference being the dark, exhausted circles beneath them that seemed to be permanently painted onto his skin. The only thing missing being the permanent loneliness and vigilance permeating his being like a scar.

This, if revealed, would be enough to ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation. Or, at the very least, darken it quite a bit. The great philanthropist Bruce Wayne with another secret blood child? One related to his youngest? One that had been put into foster care? Seemingly thrown away?

It would be a firestorm.

One that Vlad is not keen on starting.

It would ruin Bruce Wayne's reputation, yes. But it would hurt Daniel in the process -- the harassment he would face alone might just be enough to break that fragile child completely. That was just not something he could allow. Or, even worse, bring him into his biological father's care and custody -- something Vlad was even less willing to allow.

It's not out of kindness to Wayne that Vlad will keep mum about this.

His grip on his champagne flute tightens, just a bit. He's still aware enough of the world around him to not let it shatter in his hands. His plastered, pleasant smile tightens around the corners, and he forces his focus to slide from Damian to Wayne.

"The resemblance is uncanny, Mister Wayne." He says, slanting his smile to the side slyly. Although he's not talking about the resemblance between Wayne and his son. Rage simmers beneath his skin, burning coal and embers in the core of his chest, nestled between his lungs, as he meets the man's eyes.

Wayne swaggles his head proudly, his ditzy smile widening as he squeezes his son's shoulder affectionately. Bastard, Vlad wants to spit.

He breathes in through his nose, and exhales out through his mouth. The champagne in his hand cools, and stops its unusual bubbling.

The Damian boy scoffs under his breath, his mouth still coiled upward into a scowl. With the revelation of his blood relation to Daniel evident, Vlad's not sure if he should find it endearing or not.

He is not Daniel, so he decides that it's just simply irritating. He decides to ignore it.

"And you said he was your only biological son?" He asks, voice lilting and head tilting. He knows its a suspicious question at worst, insulting at best. But considering Wayne's past proclivities, he can hardly call it an unexpected question.

Damian puffs in great offense, face twisting angrily. It reminds him of Daniel when Vlad insisted that he was wrong about something or other, and for a moment his heart swells, fond.

But this is not his child, and so the feeling quickly crashes and burns, simmering back into rage. This was not Daniel -- this was his replacement. A replacement that Wayne was free to keep.

Wayne chuckles, idiotically, as if he'd said some funny joke. Vlad's other hand, the one gripping his cane -- something he's required ever since he was dispatched from the hospital all those lonely years ago -- tightens instead. He grinds his teeth -- him and Jack Fenton would get along like a house on fire, he hates it.

"I can understand why you'd ask that, Mister Masters," Wayne says, squeezing Damian's shoulder again, "but yes, Damian is my only biological son. Although that doesn't mean I don't love my other children any less."

Bastard.

For all his posturing and flouncing about caring for his city and his children, Vlad never would have thought the Prince of Gotham capable of abandoning one of them.

But, well.

They all have their dark secrets.

And what one man throws away, another man picks up. If Bruce Wayne didn't want the treasure child that was Daniel Brown, then Vlad Masters was more than happy to take him instead.

"I see."

It occurred to me how incredibly chaotic and delightful Cheese Melt would be when put in the same room as Danny and Jack, so yeah. More silly comic doodles.

Jack, Vlad, Danny, and Danielle go camping! Vlad only agreed to this because he's frustrated and jealous of how much Dani seems to like Jack despite his best attempts to brainwash her into hating him, and he's sure that two nights in the woods will prove to her that Jack is an idiot and not nearly as good of a parent as Vlad is. Vlad knows he can't simply forbid Dani from ever talking to Jack again, because she's already such a free spirit who barely listens to him. So it's obviously the best plan to ensure that Dani comes to the correct conclusion all on her own. Unfortunately for Vlad, he yet again has utterly played himself (or rather, has let Dani play him like the master of psychological manipulation she is).

Meanwhile, Danny is just here to hang out with his dad and Dani, and point and laugh at Vlad's rising blood pressure while ALSO ensuring Vlad doesn't end up legitimately killing his dad. And Jack is of course utterly oblivious to the intensely complicated dynamic of his three half ghost companions. He's just happy to go hiking (they immediately get lost) go canoeing (they immediately capsize) and share a tent with his best friend (who immediately politely declines)

Dani and Danny then encounter a small army of blob ghosts in the woods and Dani convinces Danny to pretend to get captured with her, in the hopes that it will force Vlad to work with Jack to rescue them (and maybe fix some of the tension). Comedy and vaguely heartwarming moments ensues.

Idea: Danny isn't called a halfa because he's half ghost, he's called a halfa because the accident/his death(rebirth) gave him the ability to literally fuse with ghosts Steven Universe style in order to make more powerful beings. Phantom in this case is actually a full ghost that accidentally fused with him for an absurd amount of time causing them to become synchronized. But they can unfuse any time they want. Danny does have a ghost core(space), he just doesn't have a ghost form yet. Phantom is a separate being and has his own ghost core(ice). They have separate obsessions too, Danny's being Space/Love and Phantom's being Helping/Protection. The reason no one pegs Danny as Phantom isn't just because Phantom is dead but that when you get an actual look of them next to each other they don't actually look all that much alike besides being about the same height and having similar face shapes.

This brings me to Danni, Dan, and Vlad. All three different variations of the same thing.

Vlad isn't considered a halfa by other ghosts because he can't fuse with other ghosts and isn't actually a human. He's possessing his own corpse but hasn't accepted his death and the ecto keeps his body from rotting away. He is not a halfa.

Dan is essentially something similar in that the clone body he is possessing is alive, but it had no soul before him. Dan isn't actually Danny's future self he's Phantom's; well a Phantom that devoured Vlad's core in an effort to fuse with him the way Danny could have. Phantom felt betrayed by Danny choosing to force Phantom to unfuse with him because at the time he had not actually known they were separate entities so he killed his human half thinking it would stop the horrible grief inside him. But it just made everything, him included, even worse.

Dani on the other hand is the closest to an actual halfa the three of them get. She's as successful a clone of Danny as there can be because she's more Danny than Phantom. This works both for and against her because she started off as a mostly human clone but with Phantom's specific ecto signature forcefully infused into her. That made her permanently fused with a barely formed neverborn that is essentially just a blob ghost because Vald doesn't have the understanding or ability to properly create a neverborn, nor does he actually understand what a halfa actually is or what they can do. He just assumes he does. This is why all the clones were so violently unstable.

Unfortunately for the others the stabilizing factor was not just the ecto-dejecto but the acceptance of her technical ghost parents. She needed stabilizing ectoplasm from her “parent source” Phantom and from Danny because though none of them realize it she is technically the fusion of Danny and Phantom's neverborn and a living human clone. Because of how they were made though they can never be separated or become fully separate people. This prevents her from being able to fuse with other ghosts as well. Luckily Dani and her blob have the same obsession with Exploration/Freedom so there's no real conflict. She doesn't know that she could have been/kinda is a halfa if she hadn't been permanently forcibly fused with a blob ghost/neverborn by Vlad trying so hard to create a being he didn't actually understand anything about.