i'm sorry. I have no excuse. I didn't want to write this, but it just wrote itself. It's also unfinished, so yeah. I'll probably take it down soon. big sorry!

/ cheap bad (dance) moves /

/

/ part one / IF YOU LOVE ME IN GROOVE CITY /

The way his old man tells the story, there was a time when humans truly lived in fear of Demons.

They were feared, exalted, worshipped and scorned at equal turns; humans were a confusing bunch and rarely agreed on anything, so Demons tended to rotate the spectrum of human sentiment once every century or so. That was a little beside the point though, it did not matter what, exactly, the humans felt for them; the point was that they remembered them at all.

These days humans seem to have forgotten all about Satan and his Princes of Hell; aside from horrendous cinema representations, and marginally better representations on Supernatural, Hadrian very rarely saw references to them at all.

They didn't even recognize him, the deadliest Prince of them all, wandering about the city streets with a pretentious hat and a sweet pair of kicks. For the most part, they either thought him a questionable hipster or a surprisingly poorly dressed college graduate. To be fair, back in the day when even speaking Hadrian's name was banned on penalty of death by stake or drowning, and only the truly evil or truly desperate dared to call upon him, they still didn't really know what he looked like either. It's not as if there was any real way to know, aside from his awful and uninspiring portrait in the Ars Goetia. Unlike today, where Hadrian's prolific insta following could pick him out of a crowd anywhere from Seoul to San Francisco, despite the fact they had no idea that he wasn't actually just a questionable hipster with great hair and shoes, but a Demon Prince.

At any rate, these days Hadrian doesn't have much to do by way of wreaking havoc on civilization and owning up to his reputation as the prince of death and calamity. He spends most of his time listlessly wandering his way through eternity and getting into petty drunken arguments on Twitter. It's not as if he doesn't enjoy this life, but occasionally he'll reminiscence on his time as a servant of evil with sentimental nostalgia and wonder where all the time has gone.

He's not bored, persay. He's just - not engaged. Nothing inspires him anymore. Eventually he's going to conquer social media and then what is he going to do? He supposes there's always professional gaming, but even the thought of trolling everyone in Rocket League doesn't rouse much else but a mild interest from him. He supposed he could join his brothers in bureaucracy management 101 and take up a desk job in Hell, but he's really not about that life.

This is what Hadrian contemplates as he finds his feet dragging him off to the side of the street, where a muted peach awning yawns over the sidewalk, a brief reprieve from the sudden downpour.

Humans dart passed him, cursing liberally about the weather. Hadrian slides his hood off with a scowl of distaste, rearranging his hat as he fights half-heartedly with his damp hair. Weather. Why must it always be so temperamental? They never have this problem down in Hell. Which is unfortunate, now that he thinks on it. Hell could really do with some other weather patterns aside from scorching hot and eternally burning black hellfire.

"So we meet again, Mr. Calamity and Chaos."

Hadrian blinks, focusing out into the faceless, formless crowd sifting through the rain and steam. He blinks again, before turning to the left where a few pieces of perfunctory patio furniture are pushed up against the storefront.

A little girl with twin pigtails stares up at him with gleaming eyes. She props her head in her hands, swinging her legs beneath her.

It takes a moment, but then Hadrian is frowning. "Oh, it's you, Death. Would it kill you to look like something other than a pedophile's wet dream?"

"I happen to like being jailbait." Death protests. "And you have no room to talk. You look like you could be the third-singer of an angsty teenage boy band."

Hadrian is insulted. "Why am I third?"

"Because the first always looks like a girl, and the second is always forgettable." Death waves his hand vaguely. "You're the perfect mix of cute and effeminate but still mostly unremarkable."

Despite his general apathy towards reality at large, Hadrian is not quite bored enough to get into petty arguments with Death about the aesthetic state of boy bands. He's above that, anyway. He sniffs pretentiously, crossing his arms as he turns up his nose the other way.

"Do you have something of actual importance to tell me?" Hadrian drawls. "Or did you really come all this way to tell me I look like Harry Styles?"

"Don't flatter yourself - he's a lot hotter than you are." Death snorts. "And of course I'm here for a reason. Do I ever do anything without one?"

Hadrian stares at him flatly.

Death stares back.

Rain continues.

Eventually Hadrian scowls darkly, breaking their staring contest. Death doesn't technically need to blink, so it's not very fair.

"Well? Are you going to tell me? Or am I to guess?"

Death tilts his head, blonde bangs sliding across his forehead and into his big, baby blue eyes. "What do you think I'm doing on Earth?"

"I honestly don't know, and quite frankly, you're too boring for me to even want to guess." Hadrian blinks, straightening up as a thought occurs to him. "Wait, is someone starting a genocidal campaign? Without me?"

Death sighs. "Humans have figured out how to commit mass genocide without you since World War II."

"Just wait till they start having to fend off alien invasions. Then they'll be summoning me all the time again, and then we'll see how much they know about genocide." Hadrian retorts smugly.

"I'm looking forward to it." Death drones, bored.

Hadrian is about to reply, when the cafe door creaks open and a young waitress shuffles out holding a tray. "Sweetie, your smoothie is done. Are you sure you don't want to sit inside?" She frowns with concern. "The weather's really taken a turn for the worse."

Death grins at her with the sweet smile of a small child. "Oh, that's alright! Look, it's already clearing up!"

Hadrian turns back to the street; the clouds are parting at an alarming rate. Too quick to be natural. He pivots back to spare Death a long, unimpressed glance. He definitely did it on purpose. Hadrian had half a moment to wonder why Death would bother to change the weather at all, before the waitress is setting down the large drink in front of the little blonde girl and turning to him.

"Hello sir, did you want to come inside?" She gives him a sunny smile.

"Oh, he's with me." Death drawls imperiously. He turns to Hadrian, his smile turning slightly menacing. "Why don't you come sit with me, big brother?" That is not at all a request.

The waitress giggles. "Well aren't you two just the cutest pair of siblings? Did you want anything too, honey?"

Hadrian spares her a tight smile. "I'm fine, thanks."

She nods, returning to the interior of the cafe, leaving Death and Hadrian to their table alone.

Death stares at Hadrian.

Hadrian stares back.

The little girl slurps noisily, returning to swinging her legs. Hadrian is just getting annoyed enough to break their staring contest again when Death beats him to it.

"Hadrian," he intones, solemnly, as he pushes his smoothie away. "I am in need of your assistance."

Hadrian raises a brow. Now this, he wasn't expecting.

"My assistance?" He repeats, warily.

He can remember the last time Death needed him badly enough to actually lower himself to ask in person; death, chaos, and a lot of saving the world ensued. Suffice to say it had been a rather catastrophic event that Hadrian wasn't all that eager to repeat. Death rarely asked him for anything, mainly because Death hated him. If Death was a superhero, Hadrian would be his arch villain. They were mortal enemies. Okay, mortal enemies that often ended up shit faced together, were in the same fantasy football league, and occasionally had hate sex. The point remained that Death was responsible for, well, things dying, and Hadrian was responsible for things that never died. He was the only Demon Prince capable of granting immortality, after all.

And Death still hadn't forgiven him for that one time he pretended to be Death and gave those dumb kids some powerful, death-defying objects. In his defense, he'd assumed they were all dumb enough they'd die anyway, and he had been right. It wasn't his fault one was marginally smarter than the others and eluded Death under his cloak. And he ended up dying anyway too, so Death really just needed to man up and get the fuck over himself.

"My assistance with what?" Hadrian prods again, eyes narrowed with caution.

Death turns to him very seriously.

Then he thrusts out his phone, waving it in Hadrian's face.

"I only need four more candies to evolve my Magikarp into a Gyardos, and for the life of me I can't find them anywhere."

He blinks.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" But this is rhetorical; everything in Death's expression is deadly serious.

"Hadrian, this has been a long and trying endeavor." Death retorts, flatly. "Do you have any idea how long it takes to gather four-hundred of these stupid candies?"

"Why don't you just cheat like everyone else?" He returns, confused and incredulous.

"What am I, a peasant?" Death snorts in a most undignified manner. "Cheating is beneath me."

"But wandering around planet Earth in search of fake monsters isn't?" He points out, genuinely perplexed.

"I intend to get this stupid water dragon thing, and then take over all of the gyms in this city, and rule them all in a most nefarious manner." Death decrees, imperiously. He slams his smoothie down with great finality, and then hops out of his chair, blonde pigtails swinging behind him. "You can either join me, or stand with the masses in defeat and agony."

He pivots around smartly, hands on his hips. "Well? Are you coming?"

Hadrian is still in a floundering state of disbelief, not quite over the absurdity of it all.

Then he thinks about all the gyms he and Death could conquer if they work together. It'll be like the Crusades all over again, without all the scurvy and the Christians.

"Alright, fine." He snaps. "But you're trading me your Nidoqueen in return, do you hear?"

/

Hadrian returns to Hell feeling oddly triumphant, despite the fact he did literally nothing useful at all and spent the entirety of the day playing Pokemon Go. He stops by the office to grab some things before heading back to earth to con some Korean barbeque.

"Oh, Hadrian. What are you doing here?"

Once upon a time, Duke Barbatos was a fearsome demon Prince with thirty legions beneath him. He often took the form of a towering white suit of armor, with a lance in his left hand. He could speak the past and future, and lead men to hidden treasure. These days he wears reading glasses and sells a lot of insurance.

His brother and fellow Prince spares Hadrian a nonplussed look as the boy pops his head into his office. His hair is probably a riot, and he's spent so long walking around his feet are starting to hurt, but he doesn't think either of those are deserving of that look.

"What do you mean, what am I doing here? I live here." Hadrian returns lazily.

Barbatos puts down his files, pushing away from his desk to ferret through a file cabinet shoved up haphazardly against the wall. There are at least a dozen of them, some taller than others, all equally full. "I thought you had already left."

Hadrian frowns. "Left for where?"

"To meet your client."

"I have a client?" He gasps.

"You didn't know?" Barbatos returns, distractedly, as he wrenches out a manila folder and splits the spine open.

"No," Hadrian says, with feeling. "I had no idea. Why is it every time I need to get somewhere I get waylaid by jackassery?"

Barbatos makes a half-hearted noise of commiseration, flicking through a bunch of stapled files. "Waylaid?" He asks, sounding only vaguely interested.

"Yeah. Death, as usual, was being a total pain in my ass. He dragged me all across the city to play this stupid game and wasted so much of my goddamn-

Hadrian's eyes widen, as suddenly everything makes sense. "That scum sucking road whore!" He cries loudly. "He did it on purpose!"

"Huh?" Barbatos finally looks up, but at that point Hadrian is tearing out of the office.

/

/ new anime groove / android52 /

/

So Death thinks he's gonna pull a fast one on him, is he?

Hadrian snorts derisively. Not a chance. Death might think he's the slickest cat on the block but at the end of the day he's still just an evil and better-looking version of Santa Claus, except his helpers are dementors and bone minions instead of oddly color-coordinated elves and north pole residents. But he's still lazy, old, married, and has a lot of other people doing his job for him. Except for when it's time for him to shove himself down people's chimneys and reap their souls; he always saves the fun part for himself.

At any rate, Death's random appearance makes sense now. Death often finds ways to fuck with him, but he rarely goes out of his way to troll without a good reason. He also doesn't care that much about Pokemon Go.

Hadrian isn't entirely sure why Death went out of his way to make sure he missed his appointment, but whatever the reason, it was important enough to actually make that lazy old man get off his ass and distract him in person.

Suffice to say, it's at least worth a follow up visit in person.

But what Hadrian finds is decidedly not worth all this effort.

First, he realizes with no small amount of horror that he appears to have been pulled almost a century into the past. Good god, what is that person wearing? That hat is heinous. He forgot how tragic the fashions of the past tend to be after a couple decades. Except for the Bubble Era. The Bubble Era was a classic.

It's not the first time he's time traveled for a job, but he does wonder why it happened this time. He would ask the old man, but Lucifer has been pretty pissed at him lately because he keeps falling asleep at the quarterly business development meetings. In his defense, those chairs are comfortable, and the coffee is shit.

Hadrian finds his client easily enough, in the library of a vast and vaguely familiar castle.

The demon prince settles himself on top of a tall bookshelf, sprawling out comfortably as he takes a moment to observe his new client.

He's hot as fuck, but otherwise looks boring.

Usually people who summon him are so evil they look disfigured, or are so desperate they look crazy. He doesn't look like either. If anything, he looks like a normal school boy. Hadrian contemplates him further. Well, he looks like a normal school boy, in that unassuming, upstanding and sweet class president with a secret asian rope fetish kind of way. That pleasant face looks like it could be hiding some really kinky shit. He has long, nimble fingers that grip the tip of his quill as he scrawls notes down onto a piece of parchment. Hadrian spares a moment to be incredulous; the forties might seem like the stone ages, but he's fairly sure they've invented normal paper and fountain pens by this point. He looks around. And lightbulbs. And air conditioners. He turns back down at the boy, before taking stock of his uniform. Ah. Hogwarts. No wonder this castle looked familiar. He must be a wizard. Suddenly the unnecessarily flamboyant and inefficient writing utensil makes sense.

Magic aside, the young man appears to be tragically uninteresting. And here Hadrian had been half hoping for someone with a revenge vendetta and an inexplicable love of Death Note.

Hadrian watches for a few more moments, listening to the soft scritch of the top of his quill as it dances across his parchment. At the very least, he has very pretty penmanship.

"You're a really boring person, aren't you?" Hadrian says, bluntly.

The boy bolts upright, eyes growing wide. His chair almost clatters to the ground as he stumbles out of it, but he catches it just in time. He snaps his head around, gaze narrowing as he surveys the quiet library around him, searching for the owner of the voice.

"Up here," he calls lazily.

Tom Marvolo Riddle cranes his head up, stunned into silence as he finds a beautiful boy lounging on the top of the bookshelf like a satiated jungle cat. He has perfect, soft features that lend an alien, almost androgynous look to his face. He looks foreign and yet familiar; too perfect to be human. Yet his expression is wholly human, mischievous and playful with a roguish grin showing off a row of perfect, dangerous teeth. His eyes are bright and endless. Enchanting. Tom does not think it's any stretch of the imagination to assume the deadly promise glinting in those eyes is legitimate.

For a long moment, he simply stares up at the boy, mouth thinned into a firm line of consideration.

"You're him, of course." It's not much of a question, or even a statement. It's an observation of incredulity, really. He hadn't expected it to work. "Prince Hadrian."

"Who exactly did you think would come when you summon a Demon Prince - Yeezus?" He snorts.

"What?"

"Nevermind." The boy leaps off the top of the shelf, elegantly sailing through the air to land smack in front of him on the table. He crouches directly before him, perched on his stack of books with an inhuman grace, staring down his nose at him with those beguiling eyes. "Yes, I am him. Prince Hadrian - seventy-third Prince of Hell, the Prince of Calamity and Chaos, the patron saint of necromancy, death and immortality."

Hadrian pauses. "Can Demons be Saints?" He wonders aloud, before shaking his head. "Well, whatever. The point still stands. State your piece, human, and depending on my mood I might actually grant your wish."

Tom finds himself at a loss for words.

"You can't be a Demon Prince." He chokes out, after a long beat of horrified silence.

"Why not?" Hadrian frowns. "Because I'm not a firebreathing half-wolf half-lion carrying a trumpet? Because I'm not a three-headed serpent? Because I'm not a warrior king dressed in the skins of my enemies? Because I'm wearing a pair of Yeezy's?"

"Because - because..." Tom sputters, ineffectual. "You just can't."

Hadrian stares at him, unamused.

Then he straightens up, sighing as he shrugs his shoulders. "Well, believe what you want." He replies, balancing on Tom's Transfiguration Encyclopedia. "Your loss."

That's enough to stir the boy out of his shock.

"Wait, don't leave!" The human is quick to say.

This gives the demon pause.

He clears his throat, schooling his features back into a pleasant neutrality as he returns to his seat. "I apologize," he amends, suavely. "I didn't mean to offend, Prince Hadrian."

The boy's glowing eyes blink a few times, before his shoulders seem to settle like ruffled feathers. He doesn't move to step off the books, or the table, simply staring down at Tom seated before him.

Then he scoffs. "You're a real smooth talker, aren't you?"

Tom says nothing. His attempt at innocence would have been rather deceiving, if Hadrian wasn't convinced this guy was hiding an intense passion for bondage.

"Well, alright then." The demon prince continues. "You summoned me for a reason. What is it?"

This is not how he thought his summoning of a feared demon Prince of Hell would go at all.

First of all, he performed the ritual a fortnight ago. He had expected the Prince to show up then, not randomly a week later in the middle of his free period. He knew the Princes took many shapes and forms, but still this boy's appearance surprised him. Perhaps he had vastly underestimated the Ars Goetia's definition of 'beautiful', because he knew academically that Prince Hadrian was said to appear as a beautiful young boy, but he hadn't expected someone so beautiful, or so young, for that matter.

He expected someone intimidating; a creature with a ferocious voice and stature, or at the very least a terrifying magical aura. As of now, he couldn't feel a thing from the boy in front of him, although that meant very little. He could very well be masking his aura, as to not draw attention. And if not that then maybe even an alluring seductress of some sort, a demon of such beauty that all of mankind was compelled to fall under their thrall. Academically Hadrian was stunning, and in possession of such a striking appearance that he could probably seduce anyone he wanted - if one happened to overlook the personality, clothing, and general demeanor, that is.

"I did," he agrees with a nod, once he's composed himself again. "I wanted your expertise with a certain ritual…"

Hadrian raises a brow. "Yes?"

Tom's eyes slide down the rows of shelves, looking for other students. He sends a quick charm to echo through the library; there are two students at the desks by the entrance, and the librarian is behind her desk. He flicks his wand again to cast a muffling charm around the whole area, before he turns back to Hadrian. The demon looks amused, making Tom think that he might have already cast something similar around them before even appearing in the first place. All the same, better to play it safe.

"The horcrux ritual." He reveals. "I want to know everything about it; I want you to show me how to perform it; and I want you to be there when I use it."

At first, Hadrian does not have a response.

Then he doubles over in laughter. Tom rears back, surprised. The demon prince crumples in on himself, shoulders shaking as he dry heaves, slapping his knee.

Tom's surprise quickly turns into annoyance at the demon's response. If this was anyone else but a Demon Prince of Hell, he would have cursed them for their disrespect. As it is, he can't do much but scowl crossly at the laughing demon.

"God, if that's not the best thing I've heard all day." Hadrian straightens up, wiping at his eyes. The pile of books sways slightly with the abrupt movement, but otherwise does not move.

"Are you done?" Tom asks, unamused.

"Yes, yes." Hadrian's expression clears into something thoughtful, his lips curling into a smirk. "I see someone's told you how to make deals with demons." He remarks, sounding slightly impressed. Normally humans asked for fickle things, or were too vague with their wishes, leaving plenty of opportunity for demons to exploit them. Someone must have told the boy to be as succinct and direct as possible.

Tom finds a smirk of his own growing on his face. "I was not about to summon a demon without adequate preparation beforehand."

The demon prince makes a noise of acknowledgment. He tilts his head, dark curls sliding across his forehead as his bright eyes look down upon Tom with a curious air. "And what are you prepared to sacrifice in return?"

The human looks up at him with a flash of surprise.

"Sacrifice?" He repeats. "A human life. Is that not the price for a horcrux?"

Hadrian laughs. "For the horcrux, yes. But I'm referring to myself." He grins, before repeating with a drawl; "I'll ask again, what are you prepared to sacrifice to me?"

"But the pomegranate and moon stone-"

"Are offerings to summon me in the first place, not sacrifices." Hadrian interrupted easily.

The human's eyes grow wide once more, as he purses his lips. "The book said nothing about a sacrifice." He murmurs.

"You probably have an outdated copy." Hadrian shrugs.

Outdated? Tom thinks, blindsided. It's the Ars Goetia, it's not as if it has a publisher's stamp on it-it's one of the darkest books in history! It's banned by the Ministry! Just owning it is a one way ticket to Azkaban!

"I thought you said you were adequately prepared." He adds with a cruel laugh.

Tom scowls fiercely.

He had spent this past Yule holiday researching everything he could about Demon summoning while he had the opportunity to get his hands on the Malfoy library. Abraxas was more than accommodating, even showing Tom to a few of his ancestor's portraits that could tell first hand accounts. They all said that the sacrifices involved varied from prince to prince, and depended heavily on the difficulty of the task in question.

Tom had assumed a human life would be enough. It was the highest sacrifice you could make to a Demon Prince. Aside from your own soul, that is.

He was not prepared to offer up anything else; but he was also not prepared to walk away from this meeting empty-handed. He needed the demon's help, as loathe he was to admit it.

The information on Horcruxes was painfully small, and all of it was littered with blessings and sacrifices to Prince Hadrian.

Prince Hadrian, the seventy-third demon prince. He is the cause of death and chaos, and can bring about calamity. He is a trickster and is known to be sly and manipulative, and a dangerous demon to make deals with. He makes men cunning in all arts, but especially rhetoric. He teaches Alchemy and Astronomy, and is the master of soul magic. He can make men immortal, for a price.

Tom had spent months debating on which Prince to summon; there were many to choose from, many princes that were said to help with death, with principles of the soul, each with their own talents and skills. But Prince Hadrian was the master. And he needed a master's help. His knowledge was necessary in order to create a successful horcrux. If anything, all the accounts he could find specified that without Hadrian, it would be disastrous.

Tom grits his teeth.

He needs him, yes. But Hadrian is a trickster. He is deceitful, and he is known to twist deals in his favor. Tom could not afford to give this demon even an inch. He knew he was walking a narrow line with this one, knew that he was playing with fire. But he had no other choice.

He had known better than to ask Hadrian for true immortality. Neither the Ars Goetia nor the Lesser Key of Solomon defined what, exactly, the price for immortality was, but Tom was not foolish enough to think it was a price he could pay. But horcruxes were the perfect loophole. He was not really asking for immortality, he was asking for the knowledge to split his soul and house it within an object. Immortality was simply a byproduct of that.

"What price would you ask me?" He asks, stoic as he peered up at the demon with an impassive face, refusing to give away his inner turmoil.

Hadrian rears back a bit, looking surprised.

He taps his chin. "Hmm… hm… what would I ask of you?" He repeats, thoughtfully. "What would I ask, in return for the knowledge of horcrux creation? The mastery of soul magics is not cheap, you know."

"I had assumed so, yes." Tom replies, bitingly through his clenched jaw.

"You know what? I don't really know." Hadrian decides, cheerfully, by not deciding anything at all.

Tom's mouth opens in shock, as Hadrian laughs.

"How about I make you a deal instead, Tom Marvolo Riddle." He continues, grinning winsomely. "I fulfill your tasks, and in return, let's just say I'll come up with something at a later date."

"How stupid do you think I am?" Tom accuses, affronted.

Hadrian laughs again; it sounds like sweet chimes in springtime, and haunting church bells before dusk. "Well, I had to make sure." He winks. "I can't give such a discount to someone stupid enough to fall for that."

Tom narrows his eyes, scrutinizing the demon carefully. "What is your real offer, then?"

"There is no offer." Hadrian replies.

Tom's features darken considerably, as his expression morphs into anger. "What-

"I'll do it without a sacrifice." Hadrian finishes, causing all of Tom's anger to evaporate as quickly as it had come.

"You…" His mouth opens, then closes. He hesitates, blinking rapidly. His brows furrow with consideration. "No." Tom says. "No. This is a trick."

"How is it a trick if I haven't made you agree to anything?"

"And how am I supposed to believe you'll stick to your word, without a contract?" Tom points out, voice rising with hysteria. "Without a binding contract, there's nothing keeping you to uphold your end of the deal."

"You want a contract? Okay. I, Prince Hadrian, seventy-third Demon Prince of Hell, swear to teach Tom Marvolo Riddle the creation, implementation, and execution of horcruxes."

Tom sputters inelegantly. "You-what? That can't be it." He leaps up out of his chair, eyes wide. "I didn't feel anything."

"Why would you feel anything if you aren't bound to anything?" Hadrian points out, nonplussed.

"It can't be that easy." Tom retorts, two angry splotches of color rising on his cheeks. "You didn't even ask for anything in return!"

"You don't have to believe it." Hadrian rolls his eyes. He digs into his pockets, before unearthing a white breath mint still in its wrapper. He tosses it Tom, who is so startled he almost doesn't catch it. "Use this to summon me whenever you're ready to learn."

"You're summoned by a breath mint?" Tom asks, perplexed.

"It's all I have on me right now." Hadrian shrugs. "Look, does it matter? I'm granting you your wish."

"I still don't believe that." Tom retorts. "It can't be that easy. You have to be getting something out of this."

"Of course I am." Hadrian returns. "Why would I ever make a deal that doesn't benefit me?"

Tom frowns. "But then how-

"But who says you have to be the one to pay for it?"

The human boy stares at him, frown deepening as he stuffs the mint into his robes' pocket. "Someone paid for me?" He asks, quietly, after a moment passes.

"That's one way of putting it." Hadrian hedges with a quicksilver smirk. "Anyway, use that to call me when you need me. Try not to die until then!"

Hadrian hops off the table - the movement reveals just how short the demon prince really is, stunning Tom even further. He spares him a lazy, two-fingered salute, and then dissolves into a fine black mist that drifts off in the still air. Tom watches with disbelief as the dark dust disappears with a soft hiss, leaving nothing behind. He would almost believe he made the whole thing up, if he didn't still have a foreign mint in his pocket.

/

/ star struck / thoughts /

/

Hadrian returns and laughs himself sick. Then he mentally congratulates himself.

No wonder Death tried to distract him.

Tom Marvolo Riddle was going to be immortal whether he wanted to or not; Hadrian would be damned if he let Death win this round.

Death was going to be fucking furious when he finds out he's been thwarted.

Hadrian snickers under his breath, finding himself in a fantastic mood. There's nothing that cheers him up more than cheating Death.

It had been a long, long time since he had granted someone immortality. The last time he'd done so was through the Philospher's Stone, but that, once again, was through proxy. Technically the Philospher's Stone could do a lot of other things besides grant immortality, like turn water into wine, lead into gold, heal all poisons; not to mention it works fabulously as a stain remover.

Come to think of it, he couldn't think of an actual time he'd granted someone real immortality. Despite it being perfectly within his abilities, and the numerous people who had summoned him over the years in hopes of gaining it, he'd never really wanted to. Immortality seemed wasted on humans, and maybe there was even a small part of him that didn't want to wish this sort of fate onto anyone. Immortality was a waste, really.

The demon prince finds himself wandering about the main office with a beaming smile and ineffably good mood. Not even the more irritable of his demon prince brothers can bring him down. He eventually finds himself returning to Duke Barbatos' office, which seems to have come into an inheritance of at least eight more tons of paperwork since Hadrian had last seen it. The Duke himself is swimming amidst the sea of paper, impeccable suit jacket tossed somewhere in the rubble, tie loose at his neck. Prince Vassago is sprawled in one of the office chairs, one shiny patent leather shoe resting on a stack of paperwork as he uses magic to sign his name through sheet after sheet, not even bothering to look up from his latest issue of Wired.

"For the last time, the printer is the laser jet, not the desk jet." Barbatos roars, without looking up. "And it only prints in -

"Hadrian." He cuts himself off, once he finally looks up. "My apologies. I thought you were my intern. Are you busy right now?"

They have interns? He's never good with being put on the spot like this. Hadrian squints as he debates the merits of both answers. "... No?"

Barbatos shoves a small city's worth of paper stacks at him before he can even think about turning around and running. "Good. Sign these, would you? The fiscal year ends today so I need to use up all my budget before it disappears."

Even architecturally sound paper skyscrapers aren't quite enough to derail Hadrian's good mood. He takes a page out of Vassago's book - not literally - and magically duplicates his signature on every page. He supposes if he wasn't the seventy-third, and youngest, of all the Princes he'd probably be just as stuck behind an office desk as Barbatos, but fortunately at around his fiftieth son Lucifer just stopped giving a fuck about their life choices. Quite frankly, he's satisfied with Hadrian as long as he isn't causing irreparable mass destruction, and these days he never has much cause for it.

They're about halfway through the room when Barbatos finally appears to remember that he's even there at all. "Oh, Hadrian." He remarks, when he finally surfaces himself once more. "What are you still doing here?"

Hadrian turns an uncharitable look his way. "You asked me to be here."

"Did I?" Barbatos scratches his chin. "Ah. Well, I thought you had a job. Whatever happened to that?"

"I do have a job." At the very thought, Hadrian brightens again. "It's going great."

"Is it? I'm happy for you." Although nothing in his tone or expression would ever hint at that.

"You still take human offerings?" Vassago interrupts in a bored drawl.

"Why not?" Hadrian shrugs.

"What sort of value do humans have to offer you?"

"Their souls." Hadrian returns, deadpan. "And their porn."

Vassago blinks. "Fair enough."

"I hope you aren't taking either of those." Barbatos cuts in disapprovingly, as he frowns down at a stack of folders.

"Actually, I'm not taking anything." Hadrian reveals cheerfully.

Both his fellow demons stare at him incredulously.

"Seriously?"

"You're doing something pro bono?"

From Vassago and Barbatos respectively.

"Charity is good once in awhile!" Hadrian retorts defensively. "You know, not everything in life has to be about further capitalist gains."

The unimpressed looks say all that is needed.

"Okay, fine." Hadrian rolls his eyes dramatically. "It's not really charity. I'm settling a score with Death. He tried to distract me into forgetting about this client, because you know how he is with immortality."

A look of understanding crossed Barbatos' face, and he made a noise of acknowledgment as he returned to shuffling through his folders. "I see." He intones. "Well, I suppose that's to be expected. Nothing displeases Death more than a human who can't die."

"He should just get over it." The youngest demon prince snorts. "Not the first time, won't be the last and all that."

He doesn't mention the horcruxes. Barbatos will probably just reprimand him for teaching that to humans. To be fair, Tom practically taught most of it himself, but without Hadrian's blessing his soul would eventually have just deteriorated until he grew insane from it all. At any rate, Horcruxes were bad because they screwed a lot of people over, Death included. Stealing souls was the worst offense one could make. Anyone who dared to practice such a forbidden art would spend the rest of eternity in the deepest, most torturous pits of Hell. Anyone besides the Demon Princes, of course. Although even they rarely committed the act, since it was the highest form of payment, and humans were so cheap these days.

And not only did a horcrux steal a soul away from Death - because it kept the human who made a horcrux alive - the act of making horcruxes also stole souls from Death because a horcrux required the death of someone else and the use of their soul as energy to fuel the ritual. So in essence, depending on how many horcruxes a human made they could be cheating Death out of a lot of souls.

No one would be happy Hadrian taught a human how to make horcruxes, again. His father especially. So Hadrian casually refrained from mentioning it.

Vassago shook his head. "I still don't understand why you're doing it for free, even if it's to spite Death. What's so special about this human?"

"Ah, well," Hadrian scratches his cheek. "His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. Um, he's really good-looking, if that counts. I guess there really isn't anything all that special about him, but I've given up on Dark Souls 3 and I just got banned on Twitter - "

Vassago spares him a level look. "Again?"

"And I really don't have anything better to do than help him out." Hadrian finishes, grinning. "And if it has the added bonus of screwing over Death, then why not?"

"What do you mean, you don't know what he wants you to do?" Barbatos interrupts. "You signed a contract, didn't?"

"Well, not really." He hedges.

"Hadrian," Barbatos says, sounding pained. "Why."

Vassago palms his face. Barbatos looks indignant enough for the both of them. "What possessed you do to something so stupid? You made a deal with a human without a contract? How do you expect to receive payment without a binding contract?"

"Ah, well, you see… I don't." Hadrian replies cheerfully. "Expect to receive payment, that is. His continued existence is payment enough, as far as I'm concerned."

Death is going to lose his shit, and you can't put a price on that.

But Vassago and Barbatos take the news an entirely different way. To be fair, there is a precedent. The last time Hadrian made a contract with a human with no strings attached it had all been a shameless ploy to sleep with the guy.

"Is he really that hot?"

"He was very good looking." Hadrian replies, shameless and wholly unrepentant.

If anything, Vassago looks more alarmed.

"Hadrian, no. Not again. Don't you remember the last time?"

"Yeah Hadrian, is that supposed to be reassuring?" Barbatos snorts. "I dare say the only thing that rivals your terrible taste in clothes is your terrible taste in men."

"...I have great taste in clothes." Hadrian retorts after a beat. He would argue the second, but true shit. He really does have awful taste in men.

"You're missing the point here."

"You're worrying over nothing!" Hadrian waves them off. On that note, he hops out of his armchair, stretching his arms over his head as he makes for the door. "Look man, let me do me. What's the worst that could happen, anyway?"

In hindsight, it was probably a bad idea to tempt Fate like that. If there was ever a being to exist that hated Hadrian more than Death, it was probably Fate.

/

Tom whirls around, shocked as he hears a choked cry, and the thud of something heavy hitting the floor.

His eyes widen when he sees the unmoving form of a young Ravenclaw girl, lifeless eyes peering up at him from beneath the fringe of her hair. Her glasses clatter to the ground beside her, as her head lolls to the side for the final time.

Shit. She was dead. Very, very dead.

A soft hiss and the sound of scales sliding against concrete remind him of what's behind him.

He holds the Basilisk back with one hand, attention still focused on the dead girl. "Return to the chamber." He hisses.

"But my master, you promised me mudbloods to eat-

"You'll have your snack later." Tom cuts it off, impatiently. "Now, return to the chamber and wait for me there."

The Basilisk makes an unhappy hiss, before it slithers back down the tunnel.

Tom closes the entrance, making sure it's correctly sealed before returning his attention to the girl.

"Fuck," he says. He hadn't meant to kill her. He hadn't even realized anyone was in here.

And then it occurs to him that there is a dead girl on the floor of the bathroom, and he has no idea what to do about it.

He curses again, his breath uneven with the realization that he actually killed someone. He'd been planning to, of course, but planning it in theory and executing it in reality were two entirely separate things. Not to mention, it had more or less been an accident.

He ran a wary hand through his hair. What a waste, though. Her death could have meant something, if only he had planned it better.

It occurs to him that it could still mean something. He digs into his robe pocket, unearthing a wrapped mint.

He holds it out in front of him, taking a deep breath. "Come to me, Prince Hadrian," he commands.

For a long moment, he wonders if the command didn't work. When it's been at least a minute with no change, he wonders if Hadrian was going to be a week late again.

"Well, that was fast." A light voice remarks from behind him.

His shoulders drop with relief, as he turns around to see the familiar form of Prince Hadrian comfortably seated upon the rim of the sink behind him.

"It wasn't entirely intentional." He admits. "But all the same she is dead, so I may as well make use of her."

"How very pragmatic of you." Hadrian smiles slyly. "Very well. Do you have the object you intend to house your soul in?"

Tom frowns for a moment, before digging into his pockets again. This time he unearths a small leather bound journal. He had actually intended to turn it into a horcrux at some point, so it's a good thing he'd been carrying it around lately.

Hadrian nods, before hopping off the sink. He walks closer to Tom, coming to stand right in front of him.

Tom looks down at him apprehensively. Hadrian observes him just as closely.

And then, out of nowhere, he kisses him.

Tom gives a muffled cry, wrenching his mouth away from the demon's. He wipes his lips on his sleeve. "What are you-

His protests die off when he sees a tiny ball of light hovering right in front of Hadrian's parted lips. Hadrian's eyes lower as he looks down at it, the haunting green obscured by thick lashes. He draws a finger up to his lips, and the little ball balances on the tip of his index finger when he pulls it away.

"For future reference, you need to kill your victims with the killing curse." The demon murmurs, as he lowers his hand between them, palm up. They both watch the glowing blue orb as it floats above his palm. "Otherwise, your soul won't actually splinter off."

His eyes flicker up to Tom. "I did it for you this time, but in general the process of splitting your soul is quite painful. Don't let that surprise you."

Tom nods, once. His gaze wanders back to the form slumped on the ground beside them. "How long do I have to complete the ritual, once I've made the kill?"

Hadrian directs his gaze towards the girl as well, tilting his head appraisingly. He waves his other hand over the body, and suddenly decrepit, black monsters appear around it. Tom rears back; they are small and almost goblin-like, with beady yellow eyes, and appear to be covered in a film of smoke.

"Death's minions." Hadrian explains, rolling his eyes. "He's a lazy bastard, so he normally sends his minions out to collect souls for him. It normally takes them about an hour to harvest the soul from the body."

Tom frowns. "What spell did you use to turn them visible?"

"They were always visible to me." The demon prince replies, amused. "But I used a bit of demon magic so you could see them as well."

He frowns further. "How will I see them otherwise?"

"Well, you could always make another deal with me for a pair of eyes that let you see all sorts of things." Hadrian winks, laughing lightly as he sees Tom's expression turn into a grimace. "But something tells me you don't want to pay that price. As a more economic alternative, you can use an adder stone."

It occurs to Hadrian that he's being exceptionally nice to this human, and he's not entirely sure why. He could have made this boy's life a great deal more difficult, but for some reason he's oddly uneager to do so. At this point, it's going a bit beyond trolling Death.

It's disconcerting. He actually wants to help this human. He has no idea why he decides to help this young man; why he is going out of his way to be helpful. Yeah, he was attractive at all, but he wasn't that hot. There was really no reason for Hadrian to be so charitable. Despite what he had told Vassago and Barbatos earlier, he never did anything for charity. He was a demon, for god's sake. When were they ever anything but vain, narcissistic, self-serving assholes?

"But on the off chance Death does come to collect a soul personally, turn around and walk away." He finishes, turning to Tom with a serious, almost ominous expression.

Tom feels a thrill of foreboding shiver up his spine. He swallows thickly. "And why would I do that?"

"It's better if you don't confront him; don't give him any more reason to hate you. Immortality or no, cheating Death is not an easy thing. And once he finds out you've bested him, he's going to be pissed as all hell."

Tom blanches.

"Not to mention, every time you make a horcrux you're using the soul of your victim as energy for the ritual. So not only will he lose your soul, but theirs as well." Hadrian adds, darkly. "By doing this, you're making an enemy out of Death. Are you sure you're ready for that?"

The human takes a deep breath, the brief fear in his eyes settling into determination. "I am." He answers, crisply.

"Very well." Hadrian draws his demon sword. With a couple of quick swishes of his blade, he banishes the minions back to Hell. "Can you draw the ritual circle?"

"Yes." Tom replies, crouching down as he summons a pot of ink and a brush.

"The surface of the ritual doesn't actually matter," Hadrian reveals helpfully, as he watches Tom go about his work. "You can actually draw the circle on a piece of paper, and it'll work the same." Or print it off the internet, he thinks with amusement. But that's probably not going to be useful information to Tom in this day and age.

"So you can prepare the ritual circle beforehand?" Tom asks, as he paints a long seal across the top of the circle.

"You can actually perform the whole ritual beforehand." Hadrian returns, stepping out of the way as he scrawls runes down where Hadrian's feet would have been. "All the preparations for the horcrux can be done before you actually make the kill. That way, you already have the object ready, and it will automatically use the victim's soul as energy to complete the ritual and consume the splintered off fragment of your own soul."

"That would certainly make the process a lot smoother." Tom notes, still focused on his runes.

"Yeah, well, that's why you summoned me, isn't it?" Hadrian smirks. "To show you how to do it, and give you some helpful tips?"

"I suppose it is, yes." The human murmurs.

He gives his seal one last look, before standing and straightening up. He turns to Hadrian with a dark look. "And now?"

Hadrian gestures to his book with one hand, the other still holding aloft the fragment of soul he sucked out. "Now you place the object on top of it."

Once he does that, Hadrian continues; "You do know the incantation, right?"

Tom nods, raising his wand into the air.

The spell is long and complicated; his voice echoes hauntingly against the flagged stone room. The demon watches him with unblinking eyes, his gaze searing and intense. Tom has to tear his own gaze away, focusing onto the ritual seal painted onto the floor.

The soul piece in Hadrian's hand dives into the book. Likewise, the girl's soul flies into it as well. His diary glows slightly, shudders once, then twice, before it seems to settle. The glow disperses, leaving nothing but an innocuous leather book and an overwhelming black aura.

"That's it?" Tom blinks.

"That's it." Hadrian confirms.

He scowls. "What was the point in summoning you, if it was that easy?"

Hadrian tilts his head to the side, appearing thoughtful. He grins slyly, looking as if he knows something Tom doesn't.

"Well," he drawls casually. "I guess there isn't a point. Aside from the fact that without me your soul would slowly crumble apart and take your sanity with it, until you were a mindless shell incapable of dying."

Tom's eyes widen, first in shock and then in rage. "And you didn't think it fit to tell me until now?"

"What does it matter? We have a deal already, don't we?" He shrugs, shamelessly. "You've got nothing to worry about now."

"Yes, now." He agrees, waspishly. "But what if I had decided to try it without you?"

"That would have been very unfortunate." Hadrian replies, solemnly. Then he brightens. "Good thing you didn't, huh?"

Tom grits his teeth. "Yes. Good thing." He replies stiffly, moving to retrieve his new horcrux. "I thank you for the assistance then, Prince Hadrian."

/

/ heeled shoes / samashi /

/

Tom should have known better.

As it is, he can barely keep the rage off his face.

"Class, this is Hadrian Skywalker, he just transferred here yesterday from Durmstrang." Slughorn introduces the small boy by his side with great aplomb. "He'll be joining us for the rest of the semester, so please welcome him warmly."

The evil demon smiles beatifically. Tom wants to punch him in his stupid, perfect teeth. "It's nice to meet you all!" He greets, cheerfully.

It appears the class at large has no idea what to make of this absurdly handsome boy. All but Tom, who stares him down with a glare that even Death would cower in front of.

Hadrian is ushered into a seat at Tom's table, and the boy realizes with great consternation that the demon is wearing Slytherin colors. But of course.

Abraxas Malfoy immediately leans across the space between their tables, grinning flirtatiously at the new student. "Durmstrang, huh? Kind of odd to transfer in the middle of the school year, isn't it?"

Hadrian smiles pleasantly. "I guess so." He hedges, demurely. "But I'm happy to attend Hogwarts."

Beside him, Eileen Prince spares the new student a decidedly unimpressed look. "Are you a mudblood?" She asks, bluntly. "I've never heard of the name Skywalker."

Hadrian chokes on a bubble of laughter, hiding his amusement behind his hand as he fakes a coughing spell. "Oh, uh, well that's-" He snickers behind his fist. "You probably wouldn't have. I'm from Tatooine. So my family's not from here."

Tom's eyes near bulge out of his head.

No one else seems to notice the fact that Tatooine definitely is not a place that actually exists and Hadrian is making up total bullshit, taking his words at face value. "So are you a mudblood, or not?" She prods, her acerbic voice more acidic than usual.

"Oh, definitely not, no." Hadrian looks amused. "I'm about as pure as it gets."

You're not even human, Tom wants to point out.

"I see." Eileen leans back, looking satisfied. "Well then, welcome to Slytherin."

Hadrian blinks. "Thanks?"

"Tatooine, huh? Never heard of it." Abraxas cuts in. "What's that like? Where'd you say it was?"

"Well, you know. It's hot. It's like a giant desert. Um. It's near Mongolia. Yeah. A desert near Mongolia. There's nothing but sand as far as the eye can see. And no water. It never rains."

Abraxas and Eileen listen attentively with wide eyes. How the hell does he even come up with this shit? Tom decides he doesn't actually want to know. Hadrian's mind is probably a terrifying place, and he is a trickster demon, after all. Making up heinous lies for his own amusement is probably par for the course. All the same Tom narrows his eyes at the boy, but Hadrian casually does not meet his gaze as he continues.

"I lived a very humble life with my aunt and uncle. My parents died, you see." He starts, gravely. "My mother was a Queen, and my father was a - a knight. Of sorts. It's such a tragic tale…"

He can't even believe this.

By the time potions class is over, Hadrian has convinced the entirety of the class that he is an orphaned farm boy of sorts, which makes absolutely no sense, since he had stated earlier that he was a pureblood, and no pureblood would ever grow up on a farm. No one else seems to notice the gaping holes in the boy's story - first and foremost the fact that Tatooine isn't even a real place - probably too caught up gazing into his luminous green eyes.

Tom is in a right foul mood by the time the class is over, not even slightly appeased by his perfect grade on his potion. All he can do is curse that damn demon in his head, over and over again.

"Hey! Wait up, Mr. Head Boy!"

Tom curses liberally under his breath, stopping abruptly in the middle of the hall. Fortunately there is no one around to see him pinch the bridge of his nose in agitation.

He's not surprised that the demon doesn't make a sound as he approaches. "You know, one would think you aren't all that happy to see me." He accuses childishly.

"That's because I'm not." Tom hisses, dropping his hand to glare at the demon. "What are you doing here?"

"I don't see what your problem is." Hadrian sniffs. "You don't want to die. I'm here to make sure you live forever. Why are you so pissy?"

"By posing as a schoolboy?" Tom retorts, ignoring the insult.

"It's easier to keep tabs on you if I'm here." Hadrian protests.

Tom grits his teeth. His hand once more rises to his face, where he presses his fingers into his temples, trying to stave off the inevitable headache. He takes a deep breath, before releasing it. When he opens his eyes, he still looks annoyed, but not approaching the homicidal rage from earlier.

"If anyone finds out who you are -

"Just who do you think I am?" The demon cuts him off with an undignified look. "I've been doing this for longer than you've been alive, you know. No one's going to find out." He turns a sly look towards Tom. "Don't worry, no one's going to find out about our dirty little secret."

He finishes the sentence with a suggestive wink that makes an involuntary flush rise on Tom's neck. Dammit. He doesn't want to think about Hadrian doing anything dirty. Or something dirty that they could be doing, together.

He shoves the thought aside. "If you put even one toe out of line -

"You'll what? Spank me?" Hadrian gives him a suggestive look.

Tom's mouth snaps shut as his cheeks redden even further; with anger or embarrassment, it's really hard to say.

It only gets worse as Hadrian only continues to laugh.

Tom fears he has no one to blame but himself.

"I'm just kidding." He says, with a shit-eating grin that means he totally isn't. "I promise to behave, okay? Hadrian Skywalker is a model student, you know."

"No, I don't know, because Hadrian Skywalker doesn't exist." Tom scowls. "How did you even manage to get yourself here, anyway?"

"Mr. Riddle, I feel you are vastly underestimating the extent of my powers." Hadrian sniffs.

/