Summary:

If you're looking for 'pleasant', Death is always very pleasant and agreeable. It's Life who's the brutal one. [Death!Harry] [Life!Tom] [God!AU] [HPxTR] [Drabbles]

Disclaimer:

I don't own Harry Potter.

In a metaphysical concept somewhere and everywhere, mainly resided the consciousness of the anthropomorphic personification of Literature.

It bore a profoundly distinct resemblance to the idealized Library of Alexandria, although of course it didn't exist in every world/reality/universe and at times the anthropomorphic personification became rather worried about whether or not it existed as well...

Really, it was better to not think too hard about it.

"You're thinking too hard about it again," Honesty said candidly, firmly grounded by his solid if not always correct grasp of certain truths.

Honesty is subjective, and Honesty is also a concept that prefers to take the form of a rather tall male human with eyes like watered-down cerulean Crayola chalk, short curly hair lingering somewhere between garishly orange cartoon carrots and garishly cliche red flames, skin like someone took a piece of printer paper then freckled spots of paint over it, and dressed in a plain but high-quality maroon one-piece suit that probably wasn't made from materials you can get from a craft store.

Also, he identifies as male, at least currently, and gets tetchy if you don't call him by his selected human alias of 'Ronald Bilius Weasley', the middle name being something he freely admits to having picked by flipping through a random Book of Names with his eyes closed.

(He borrowed the Book of Names from Death, rather, the incarnation of Death he was most familiar with.)

Literature scowled at him.

"But there is so much written about concepts becoming reality, or at least 'real' for the given value of real, and so much of it contradicts each other, and by Ourselves, Ronald, do you never question all this?" 'she' demanded in exasperation, the dull brown curls of 'her' avatar twisting free of their prim librarian bun to writhe in wildly lashing corkscrews.

The female humanoid avatar shifted abruptly into a male humanoid avatar, hair strands shortening dramatically as height shot up, the bulky gray sweater-dress and leggings with silver-buckled flats accommodatingly melting into a fitted navy sweater-vest, over dark skinny jeans and silver-accented boots.

'His' attitude took an equally sudden about-face, as 'he' calmly stopped pacing agitatedly, and took a seat across from Honesty.

"It's all good and well to say we gods and goddesses exist because of belief. The problem is, who supplies the belief? Must it be humans? Cannot plants, beasts, elements, and other beings provide belief as well? I see you, and can touch you, and can hear you. I believe that you are here. Are you really here, though?"

Ron sighed.

He reached forward, over the library table.

He smacked Literature across the face.

.

Literature blinked, the library-esque surroundings wavered uncertainly, and then reality for the given value of reality asserted itself once more with feeling.

Slightly sheepish, Literature coughed in a female hand and adjusted 'her' nametag.

It contained symbol of the godly language, which worked, oddly enough, through transferring impressions directly into one's... well, whatever and where-ever their thought processes were.

The symbol 'she' used read, approximately, the impression of literature, for the given value of 'impression' and 'literature.'

(When you're a god, quite a lot of things aren't really things and work on the given value of non-thing things.

Honesty advised that you ignore that as well.)

"Sorry," 'she' apologized, 'her' hair tying itself back up into a luxuriously flowing ponytail, golden hairclips with book motifs sliding into being, as 'popping' was for amateurs.

Literature has pride, thankyouverymuch-ly.

"I'm always in at least two minds about everything, and something I lose track of... well, everything. There's so much literature and so much of it is-"

Here, 'she' performed a helpless, hapless kind of two-handed, complicated wiggling motion.

"-and it just gets so very confusing. Did I slip into Hartley again? No, don't tell me, of course I did, that was a Stupid question."

"Not 'stupid'?" Honesty raised a teasing eyebrow. "Oh, noes, Hermione Granger was Stupid, not merely 'stupid'?"

Hermione threw a bucket of acid over Ron with 'her' eyes alone, arching a far more imperious brow.

"Stop being Stupid, Ronald," 'she' scolded loftily.

They held out for an impressive twenty-eight seconds, twenty-five of which were spent in an impromptu staring contest, before Honesty sneezed and they both crumbled into gradual giggles, Ron's giggles considerably more giggly than Hermione's.

.

"Okay, okay, now that that's over, why are you here?" Literature asked, stopping 'her' laughter first.

"Molly sent me to make sure you don't get drunk off of thought fumes at another genius convention again and miss tonight's group dinner in her Realm," Honesty summed up snappily, shrugging.

Crinkling her nose at the overbearing but occasionally lovable Aspect of Motherhood, Literature considered the ramifications of not attending the dinner she'd foolishly agreed to ages (or was it days?) ago.

'Tonight' really didn't mean much to a godly being, but Molly Prewett was generally respected and obeyed, if only because she had a fearsomely wide net of connections and favors and was not afraid in the slightest of resorting to less savory tactics in getting her way.

And she made a mean lasagna, even if, again, a godly being didn't need food.

(There's a lot of things and non-thing things a godly being doesn't need.

Still nice to have them, though.)

"Right, fine," 'she' conceded. "We're leaving now, then. Her Realm sometimes gets persnickety at letting me in, but if I have you with me, I should be fine. Harry's going, of course?"

"Of course," Ron agreed, standing up to offer 'her' his arm. "I think Molly's up to something, actually. She looked rather smug about getting Harry to agree, even though he always attends, and she finagled an agreement out of that on-again-off-again boyfriend of yours."

"Who?"

"You know, the one you complained about a lot to me 'n Harry. I don't meet him much, Harry does?"

"Oh, Tom. Magnificent bastard with a brilliant mind. What's Molly thinking, though, inviting Life and Death to eat a civil meal with each other in the same room?"

Honesty shrugged, honestly.

"Who knows what mothers think."

Then they blinked out of the metaphysical library into a metaphysical grassy backyard of a metaphysical white-picket two-story red-brick house.

Smoke rose cheerfully out of the cutesy, picture-perfect chimney.

Hermione grimly clapped Ron on the back, and then strode towards the house, hoping it wouldn't be on fire and emitting considerably more smoke by the end of dinner.

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A conversation between Honesty and Literature.

No, not 'about.'

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-Review, please.-