I got a question about further clarifying exactly what Black and White magic is; that will be coming in chapter 12 so hang tight a bit longer.

No matter what happened, Harry knew the meeting wouldn't be ending in any manner which could be considered 'good' by any even marginally sane person. The question wasn't if the night would result in a disaster, it was how bad of one. Having given himself enough time for his racing heart to calm and successfully push questions regarding what in Merlin's name Tom had been attempting to offer him-it couldn't possibly be what he thought it was, could it?-aside and without any other excuses left for him to stall even a moment longer the little raven haired wizard took a deep breath and strode down the hall. Opening the door which led into the kitchen.

Countless pairs of eyes immediately turned onto him with rapt attention and Harry had to physically hold himself back from cringing. He hated, hated, hated being the center of attention almost as much as he hated politicians and being the Boy-Who-Lived. But he knew, already, that things were only going to get worse. It was, after all, simply a matter of time before Tom would come walking through the same door he now stood in and all living hell would break loose.

With nothing in his power to stop the matter, Harry figured that he'd just have to brace for it well ahead of time. Ron and Hermione, intermixed amongst the rest of the rabble which were as of yet unaware, seemed to have much the same idea. Neither of them looked particularly thrilled with the bedlam they were all three well aware was soon to come.

Deciding it was better not to dwell on it, the little raven instead turned his attention to taking stock of who else was in the room as he made his way to the seat at the head of the table. Arthur and Molly were both there, as were Bill and Fleur and both the twins. Lupin was there, though Tonks, understandably, was not. To his surprise McGonagall was there-how she'd gotten away from the school Harry didn't know (though he suspected Tom had probably said something to Snape)-and seemed to have worked out at least a portion of what was going on because she kept looking towards the doorway of the kitchen as if expecting someone else to come walking through it. Kinglsey sat quietly, arms crossed, waiting for whatever might be happening to happen. The remaining handful of people in the room, all of whom the little raven was less than familiar with, shifted about and muttered nervously.

"We called you all here not because the war is over, but because things have changed." Harry sat back in his rickety kitchen chair, hoping to make himself as comfortable as possible in the few seconds remaining before the fire and brimstone all started. "Voldemort," a number of them flinched but he ignored it, "isn't who we should really be fighting. He's nothing more than a smoke screen for the real enemy, who's far more insidious than the mad man he created could ever be."

Harry paused, less for effect and more for the chance to gauge the reactions of his only somewhat captive audience. They were…rather split. Those who knew him well, like the Weasleys and Lupin, were reserving judgement until he finished. The rest seemed to be reconsidering their decision to disagree with the Daily Prophet's coverage of him during his fifth year.

"As I'm sure we all know Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindlewald fought a historic duel in the 1940s." Nods all around. "The startling truth of matters which I'm certain that most, if not all of you, aren't aware of is the reality that Albus Dumbledore didn't win. Gellert Grindlewald did, and used the cover of the duel's chaos to glamour both himself and Dumbledore to looking like each other. The real Albus Dumbledore was thrown into Nuremgard, the ruthless Dark Lord seamlessly taking his place, primed to take over the wizarding world in more subtle ways certain that no one would notice or act to stop him. But he was wrong. A student, a sixth year Slytherin Prefect, a true Dark Lord born to protect magic, recognized that 'Albus Dumbledore', with whom he'd never gotten along, wasn't acting as he should have been. He moved to confront him, in a Slytherin manner designed to wheedle him into divulging incriminating information with which he could then go to the Ministry and have him unmasked, but Grindlewald, unlike Dumbledore, was not a Gryffindor and easily saw through his deception. Tortured him. Used the Imperius Curse and forced him to murder a fellow student in the girl's bathroom on the first floor and then preform a Black Magic Ritual which robbed him of his sanity and split his soul in half. He created Horcruxes, seven in total and six on purpose, and broke himself into eight pieces. Descended deeper into madness with each one. And Grindlewald took advantage of the chaos he unleashed to tighten his hold on Wizarding Britain."

The little raven glanced at the doorframe. Still empty, though he couldn't tell if Tom was lurking further off down the hall.

"He ultimately went on to fake his death last year atop the Astronomy Tower, though admittedly we don't know exactly how, and waits in the shadows to swoop back in in the wake of the final duel in which Voldemort," another flinch, "and I were meant to kill each other. Because the only way to kill the Dark Lord, and at the time we'd been led to believe that killing Tom was our only choice, was to destroy all seven of his Horcruxes. And, unknown to him, on the night he tried to kill me in Godric's Hollow he accidentally turned me into one of them. It was the source of the link between us, though it's since been removed, and allowed me by chance to view a memory hidden within Malfoy Manor titled 'The Promise I Failed to Keep'. In it, Tom Riddle asked his lover Abraxas Malfoy to kill him if he ever turned to Voldemort's methods, if his confrontation with Grindlewald went wrong, but Abraxas loved him too much to do it."

Another pause. There was movement in the hallway at last, much to Harry's relief. For a time it had seemed as if the Dark Lord had begun to get cold feet.

"We managed to perform a Ritual which put him back to rights, for the most part, and he's here with us tonight to help start on plans to put things right and stop Grindlewald once and for all." He said. When the brunet didn't immediately make an appearance the raven sighed and said "stop lurking, Tom!"

There was a quiet shuffling sound and then the Dark Lord edged into the light of the doorway. He looked a great deal more ruffled than Harry remembered, no doubt from having torn through the entire house looking for something to use to hide the more unnatural elements of his appearance with little success. His once neat clothes were in a notable state of disarray and a set of pince-nez sunglasses with the right lens severely cracked perched on his nose like a misshapen raven. Needless to say 'sane' was not the first adjective which popped into his mind.

"Riddle," McGonagall's clipped tone's cut through the stunned silence of the room, "you look like you've been dressed by a drunken monkey!"

Tom's face scrunched up as he peered through the broken glasses. "Hello, Minerva. It has been…quite a while." He said. "Thought I'd go for a bit of Koroviev…but there's no reason to be mentioning Russian literature….Muggle Russian literature no less…. Would it be remiss to ask about your cat?"

"My cat?" she repeated. "Tiddles, if you're referencing the cat I enlisted your assistance in relocation on the Express, is dead. Has been for a number of decades now."

"Oh." Tom grimaced and then, more as a question than a statement, said "condolences?"

Harry face palmed, Ron snickered and Hermione covered her eyes. Tom, for his part, seemed to at last succeed in plucking up his dignity despite looking like he'd just escaped the Cuckoo's Nest and cleared his throat before regally sweeping through the room, lowering himself onto the empty chair to Harry's left. Fred and George, who were on his other side, seemed torn between cringing away and properly looking him over.

"Are you just going to wear those around everywhere now?" the raven asked. Tom nodded, not turning his head to look at him though Harry was close enough to know he was being watched out of the corner of his eyes. "It's not that you can't pull off the 'I just fell out of a lorry' aesthetic but…isn't it painful to wear sunglasses inside? All you're going to do is give yourself a headache." Not to mention the fact he hadn't bothered to repair them.

"You wear glasses." He pointed out.

"Because I'm blind without them, and I don't think that you can say the same." Harry said. "Then again, being blind without glasses and being without a nose with which to wear them would explain Voldemort's utter and repeated failures to kill me through the years."

"My vision is twenty-twenty when I don't have cracked lenses in front of my eyes, but seeing as it isn't imminently necessary for me to have the best vision possible, as all we're doing is talking, I figured that the people here would prefer that I hide as much of my disfigurement, and yes that includes my demon eyes, as possible."

"I'm sure we speak for everyone when we say we appreciate the effort," Fred said.

"But it's probably better you came down like this instead of trying to hide in one of Mrs. Black's fur coats." George said.

"Though I think all of those were tossed."

At the image of Tom wrapped up in piles of moth-eaten fur formerly owned by the hag whose screaming portrait hung in the hall Harry had to bite down on the urge to laugh. Tom sighed.

I'm pleased that, at the very least, I can serve as a source of mild amusement for you. He said. The brunet tried to hide behind a mental smile, but without the distance which had formerly existed between them Harry could clearly detect the deep sadness which underlined his every thought. It was the same abyss he'd dipped his toes in after losing Sirius but-though it hadn't seemed like it until he'd been confronted by someone who was truly drowning-hadn't fallen into. It wrapped around his mind like thorny vines and the raven was quick to pull away, wincing in pain. "Shall we move on with things, Harry?"

"Yes." The little wizard nodded and shifted in his seat. "That's probably a good idea."

"Indeed." Tom said.

A long pause. "…Well, I've been unconscious for the past week so if anyone has a plan going forward it would probably be you. You or Hermione."

"Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley have been quite busy this past week gathering everyone who is here tonight. I myself have been busy as well, attempting to reign in my followers, but I have spared some time to think things over. We won't be able to do anything truly affective towards stopping Grindlewald until he reappears. Which he'll do on his own accord when he realizes that his plan of subtlety has been ruined." Tom tapped his fingers against the table top, the leather padded tips making a dull thud against the dried wood. "For now, we should concern ourselves with preparations for the coming fight, the first order of which, aside from alerting the Ministry and mobilizing the Aurors, would be freeing the real Dumbledore. I think the man has suffered in undeserved imprisonment for more than long enough."

"The coming fight?" All eyes turned to Lupin when he spoke up. "You seem to believe that Grindlewald, if what you say is true, will be pushed into not only resurfacing but revealing who he really is. Certainly you don't think people who believed in his pretense will continue to follow him then?"

"My Knights believed in my goals of protecting the Magical World, regardless of blood, but none of them are left now. And most of the Death Eaters follow Voldemort's ideals, not mine."

'Nothing good' Tom had said. Harry stiffened. "That was what you meant." He said. "They won't give up what you campaigned for while you were out of your head! You think they'll desert and join Grindlewald!"

"They already have deserted, Harry." Tom informed him, focusing his gaze on his hands. "Almost all of them. The Lestranges, Greyback and his pack, and with him most of the other werewolves. The Giants. The Dementors. Countless others. I only have a few left: Severus, the Malfoys, a small handful more. Things don't look too well for us in regards to numbers-Grindlewald may not have much support among the Light side of the public but we won't either once my hand in things is revealed-and such will remain so unless we managed to get a foreign nation involved. The Nordic Countries are Dark oriented and more likely to side with Grindlewald. France will want nothing to do with me. Neutral nations like Italy won't even want to get involved."

"The M.A.C.U.S.A will help us." Harry said.

Tom looked down at him; he'd likewise recaptured the full attention of the rest of the room. "You sound very certain of that."

"Quahog blew more than enough smoke up my ass for me to be absolutely certain of it."

The brunet raised an eyebrow. "When did you speak with Samuel Quahog?"

"When we were in New York."

"When were you in New York?"

"Recently." The raven dead panned. "We needed access to a magical library and with you still completely barmy at the time we couldn't exactly go strolling into any of the ones in Britain. Besides, none of them were big enough."

"So you went to the largest one in the world: the Magical Library of Congress. Quite brilliant, really." He said. "But…where did you get the papers?"

"We didn't?"

The Dark Lord let out a long suffering sigh and dropped his face into his hands. The smaller wizard sat primly by his side, much too occupied by a cavernous yawn to verbally reply.

"You're exhausted." Not a question, but a statement. Even if the yawn hadn't given him away Harry knew the brunet would have felt it through their link.

"Maybe a little." He begrudgingly admitted. "I did only just wake up a couple of hours ago."

"You should go back up and sleep some more. You need your rest, Harry, and I'm certain that I-with the help of Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley-am more than capable of managing the close of this little meeting on our own." Tom said.

"I don't know, Tom-."

"If anyone has experience leading meetings it's me."

"But-."

"He has a point, Harry." Hermione piped up from where she sat near the opposite end of the table. "Those shadows under your eyes make you look like a raccoon."

"Bed." The brunet prompted.

The younger wizard huffed, but obediently pushed himself to his feet; he really was tired but, at the same time, didn't want to leave Tom alone in the meeting not knowing what would happen or might go wrong. –Yes, Mum.-

-Watch your cheek.- Tom watched the raven shuffled reluctantly from the room, ignoring the way the others sitting around the table shuddered at the sound of the snake language. Once he was gone, he folded his hands in front of him. "Let it be known that I am not a fool. I'm very much aware that, 'of my right mind' or not, I'm still guilty for all the crimes I've committed and must pay the consequences. One way or another, the end of this will see me dead."

"Dead?" Hermione repeated. "I wasn't aware Wizarding Britain even had a death penalty!"

"It's rarely used. Reserved for the worst offenders. What did you think the Veil in the Department of Mysteries was for?" Tom seemed to be fighting a gallows smile. "They'll want to make an example of me, of course."

"Harry won't-."

"Allow it? He has no choice, Ms. Granger, but the knowledge he would try until he's as blue in the face as I am regardless is precisely why I waited to mention this until he was no longer in the room." He said. "We are not dealing with man's law, not really, we're dealing with Magic's law. I betrayed my purpose by tipping the balance in the opposite direction rather than bringing it back into order. The only way to atone for that, as per the ancient laws, is in blood. And it's not as if I've much left to live for." Tom picked at the bottoms of the leather gloves he wore and reclined in his chair. Looking strangely at ease with the prospect of his greatest fear looming over him. "But we've more immediate things to be concerning ourselves with. Onto the matter of preparations."

Even as tired as he was Harry had only slept a couple of hours before he'd woken up again; it was now the middle of the night, with hours left until dawn, and Grimmauld Place was quiet. The meeting had ended a long time ago. Ron and Hermione were probably asleep. Tom, for all he knew, had gone back to Malfoy Manor for the night. He could have called Kreacher, he supposed, if he'd really wanted the company but he was fine with the silence. At least for the time being. It gave him time to think (of course, 'thinking', at the moment, might well get him into even deeper trouble; hopefully Tom was sound asleep or otherwise occupied enough by something else that he wouldn't be paying attention to anything which might leak over through their link) over the things which were currently weighing the most heavily on his mind.

The old springs buried in the mattress he'd been lying on creaked in protest with the shift of his weight as Harry stood up. The little raven had since changed into a pair of old sweat pants (the only thing he was currently dressed in) and they hung low on his hips as he crossed to the window. Looking out at the less-than-charming street outside and shivering delicately in the draft which filtered through the loose wooden frames, leaving a trail of goosebumps along his exposed skin.

Harry could understand the brunet's motivations for spending the amount of time at Malfoy Manor that he did. Not only had it been his pseudo-headquarters ever since his return, and there by the best place for him to easily meet with his Death Eaters (what few of them were now left), it was the site of Abraxas' grave as all Purebloods (with a few exceptions, like his parents) were buried in family plots on their manors' land and the home of his lover's son and grandson. The last link he had to the man whom he'd been so deeply in love with. It was, of course, only reasonable then than he'd want to repair his relationship with them. Rebuild the bridges which he'd burned.

It was only natural. But that didn't stop Harry from feeling jealous. And then feeling guilty that he was jealous. Merlin, had he no control of himself?

A knock on the door, so soft that Harry wasn't entirely certain that he'd heard it at all, pulled him from his thoughts before he could answer his own question in a vindictively self-deprecating manner. The little raven paused to listen and when the knock came again, slightly louder this time, moved away from the window and crossed the room to answer it. The red eyes gleaming out of the darkness at him would have given away who it was that stood there even if he couldn't instantly recognize the cut of his figure despite the uniform black which the shadows had reduced it to.

Flustered by that realization and with the awkward wariness returning beside the memory of their last conversation Harry took an involuntary step back. "Tom." He said, surprised. "What are you still doing here? I'd thought that you'd gone back to Malfoy Manor by now."

"I've spent more than enough time at Malfoy Manor, I think, to last me quite a while." It was painful for him to be there when all that was left were bitter memories of what he'd lost. Of all that he'd missed out on. Still wearing his leather gloves but having finally dispensed with the pair of Pince-nez, the brunet motioned passed the raven's left shoulder and into the room behind him. "We need to finish speaking of repayment. May I come in?"

Damn it all, he'd begun to hope that the other man would have left the 'repayment' issue drop. Harry really should have known better by this point. "How did you know that I was awake?"

"Your thoughts were troubled." He said. "I could sense them through our link; nothing tangible, I'm not certain what you were thinking about so don't fear I was prying, simply interference like what one might find on a Muggle radio, but more activity than is typical of sleepers. So I knew that you were either awake or having a nightmare, in which case I figured I should wake you up." A brief pause, and then he asked again, "may I come in?"

"Oh," with nothing else to do but allow it short of shutting the door in the other man's face (and Tom hadn't yet done anything to deserve such treatment from him) Harry stepped aside to allow the taller wizard to pass through the door, "yeah, come in."

The brunet stepped over the threshold and Harry closed the door behind him.

"My offer."

Caught out, the little raven could only blink at him dumbly. "I don't follow."

"My offer, Harry, which I made to you earlier. Before the meeting." Tom had come entirely too close again but the younger man didn't give ground; his Gryffindor nature choosing, as usual, a poor time to kick in. "My repayment. Did you not understand what I attempted to insinuate or have you simply forgotten?"

"If you recall, Tom, we were interrupted before you could finish making your offer so I really, honestly, have no idea what you were trying to 'insinuate' to begin with." He said.

Red eyes bore into him, something in their depths which the little wizard had never seen before and couldn't place. It wrapped around him like a serpent and devoured him like a flame. Tom's answer was a single word, verging closely on slipping into Parseltongue. "Pleasure."

Harry's mental process ground to an abrupt halt and his heart began to pound. What was he trying to…surely he wasn't…all of the sudden the Boy-Who-Lived's mouth was very dry and he had to lick his lips a few times before he could speak. "What are you talking about?"

The Dark Lord's answer wasn't verbal, yet clarified matters far better than words ever could have. The man swooped down on him like a great crow before he could react and, moments later, soft warm lips were pressed against his own. Harry's yelp of surprise was swallowed by the other, the brunet taking advantage of the opening to slip his tongue into the raven's mouth. Sliding it enticingly against his own. Coaxing it into a hesitant dance. Large, gloved hands holding him tight. The taste of spice and citrus heavy in his mouth. The scent of Tom, rose water and petrichor, overwhelming him. Harry wanted to give in to the way that his body seemed to fit perfectly against Tom. To melt into the warmth of his taller form. But he couldn't bring himself to satisfy his own desires when he knew that he'd just be tearing at old wounds which would never fully heal. And there might have been a small spark of injured pride in there as well, offended that he'd be looked at like a duty.

Gathering all his strength and courage, the raven placed both his hands on the other's wide chest and pushed. "Don't!"

Tom barely moved, his stance stronger than Harry had expected (he'd likely anticipated the raven's reaction) but gave the smaller wizard the needed opportunity to slip out of his arms like an eel. The taller male followed him. Stalking forward like a predator as the raven backed away.

"Tom." No reaction. The backs of his knees collided with the bed and he collapsed onto it amidst the creaking of springs. "Tom, stop!"

The Dark Lord did indeed, eventually, stop but not until he was between the smaller male's legs. Flush against the side of the mattress. "Need I say it again, Harry? That I know your heart and soul? That I've seen your desires in great detail? Tell me you don't want this."

"I don't want this!" He spluttered, too quickly. It sounded unconvincing even to his own ears and he winced.

"Don't lie to me." He spoke softly, and without Voldemort's susurrus, but there was danger clear in his voice. "Abraxas is gone now and perhaps, had I met you years ago, I'd have moved on as he'd urged me to; wanting, as he did, to see me with someone who could truly be mine. We both get something out of this arrangement: pleasure, for you, and a distraction for my mind for me, as well as relief from the debt which I owe you. Don't let 'guilt' or 'pride' get in the way of that." Slowly, never breaking eye contact with him even for a moment, Tom sank down onto his knees. Gently placing his hands against the raven's legs and running them along his thighs, making him shudder. "Swear on your magic that you do not want this, that you don't want me, and we'll work out something else. Though it will be paltry by comparison."

He couldn't. And even though Harry had begun to doubt that Tom would hurt him he knew the consequences of continued dishonest to the man would be anything but pleasant. The brunet was the one hounding him, so perhaps it was stupid of him to feel guilty. As for his pride…he could nurse those wounds later.

Harry's acquiescence was silent but none the less clear to the brunet, though whether it was through their link or something in his expression which gave it away he wasn't sure. His focus was quickly derailed by Tom's attention. The brunet's warm, soft mouth nuzzled into the pale skin of his stomach. Spattering open mouthed kisses along the elastic band of the sweat pants he wore. Delivering a handful of swift teasing tugs on the bottoms, near his feet, but always stopping just short of pulling them off.

Much to Harry's relief the older male tired of his game relatively fast and switched his grip from the bottoms of his sweats to the waist band. The backs of gloved fingers trailed along the sensitive skin of his stomach as he was stripped of both remaining articles of clothing, leaving Harry bare against the sheets and Tom still fully dressed. The Dark Lord peered up at him with his ruby eyes, slitted pupils dilated to the point where they almost looked round. Soft leather trailed once again up and down along his now bare thighs, grinning almost feral when he caught the brief hitching of the raven's breath.

Slowly, without breaking eye contact, Tom leaned down, hot breath fanning across his leg, and bit him. Gently. Sinking perfect teeth in just deep enough to leave a bruise before releasing his hold. Moving a little to the left and repeating the process until a trail of marks littered his pale skin and the little wizard was left painfully hard. Tom's eyes were nearly black, now. Harry attempted to glare at him the best he could while biting down on a needy whine.

"Need something?" the Dark Lord purred, running the barest touch of gloved fingers up along the length of the sensitive flesh. Holding him still with his other hand to prevent him from bucking upwards to find more friction than the older male was providing. He glared a bit harder but Tom seemed unruffled. "I'm here to please, more than willing to do exactly as I'm asked, but you need to be a bit more vocal." Another teasing brush, a bit harder than before, still wearing that lascivious grin. "So I'll ask you again. Need something?"

Harry was well aware of the fact that he was likely as red as the other wizard's eyes and that the blush had likely spread down his neck and across his chest. "I think, Tom, that it should be fairly obvious what I 'need'."

"Obvious?" mischief trickled along their link clear as day as he looked down at Harry's 'little problem', never ceasing his gentle touches. "No. No, I'm afraid it really isn't."

"Help me with…with this!" Harry didn't even know how to begin to go about asking in a more specific manner.

Another chuckle from the older man as he leaned in once more. "As you wish." The soft scrape of teeth. The questing touch of a slick tongue as it traced blue veins. The tight wetness of a smoldering mouth. Tom stared at him, unblinking, as he hollowed his cheeks. Harry groaned, head lolling back as his fingers buried themselves deep in silky chestnut hair, nails scrapping at the scalp underneath. Hips still pinned in place to keep him from choking Tom. When the brunet hummed around him, sending vibrations straight into his core, the knot which had formed there came undone. The little raven saw white, his back arching, and had to bite down on a yell to keep it from escaping.

Tom released him with a quiet pop and licked him clean before he rose. Banishing their clothing with an easy flick of his wrist and allowing skin to slide seamlessly against skin. Scars to trace scars. "No need to be coy, Harry." He said against his ear, forcing him back with his larger body. Bare chest fitting to bare chest as he pressed the younger male into the mattress beneath them. "I've already silenced the room; we can be as loud as we wish."

The little wizard didn't know if it was his tone or his proximity or simply the natural consequences of what they'd done and Tom so clearly intended to do but something stirred him back to life. He could feel where the brunet pressed against him, feel his warmth and the thudding of his pulse, and it pushed his arousal higher. Tom kissed him again. Deep. Needy. Overwhelming in its intensity; Harry could feel nothing on the other end of their link except for buzzing static.

A distraction. That was all that this was for the brunet atop him. Empty. Just sex without intimacy or feelings behind it. Harry knew he shouldn't have expected more. Didn't truly know if he was attracted to Tom aside from his looks. Knew he shouldn't attempt to unravel that mystery to find the answer because all it would do was put unfair pressure on Tom. Not to mention the fact that he was in love with Ginny. Yet his pride sparked up again, sharp along his spine, but not enough to pull him back. They'd already gone too far.

Harry moaned again as an insistent finger breached his body and, again, the sound was swallowed. The finger became two, and then three. Odd, at first, then uncomfortable, and then he adjusted. When Tom found that bundle of nerves deep inside him and pressed against it a flood of pleasure which verged on dangerous washed through him. He gasped out a swear as the brunet began nipping at his collar bone and the column of his throat. Aligning himself with his newly stretched entrance and pressing forward. Larger than his fingers. Filling him. Pressing folds and ridges into sensitive flesh as he continued to attack his upper body with a diversion built of teeth and tongue. One hand attending to Harry's own neglected length while the other skillfully tortured his chest as the raven adjusted to the intrusion.

When Tom moved again after what seemed like a small eternity Harry almost choked on a throaty mewl. Hands coming up to grip broad shoulders. Nails cutting red furrows down the blue-tinged skin of his back. Sweat. Moans. Skin slapping in ways which could only be described as obscene. Hands everywhere. He tumbled over the edge for the second time that night, evidence of their tryst spreading across both their stomachs as Tom's hips juttered a few more times before he spilled himself inside him.

Heart pounding and breathing hard, curls pasted to his forehead by the thin sheen of sweat which covered them both from head to toe, Tom freed himself and sat back on his haunches. Red eyes studying the gasping raven lying near boneless in the damp sheets, the size of his pupils steadily reverting to normal.

"I'm at your beckon call." His voice was so soft it was difficult to hear over the combined volume of their chest-arching breaths. Tom never had removed his gloves, the raven belatedly realized, as the brunet trailed a gentle touch along the pale skin of his inner arm. "For this and other things. Just ask and it will be done."

Harry didn't want him jumping at his command. Hated even the thought of having so much power over another person, but when the older man moved to pull away and leave the room he acted without thinking and grabbed his wrist. Fingers closing just above the mouth of his glove. Tom looked down at him. "Stay." His voice was small. Almost embarrassed. "Please."

He sighed and nodded and, after a bit of wandless magic to clean them and dress them both in thin night wear, crawled back into bed. Stretching out beneath the sheets beside him. Harry rolled onto his side and laid his head on his chest and Tom held him until he fell asleep.