Notes: I'm experimenting with my first crossover. You don't really need to know much about Black Butler. It will not follow any of the past story lines, only mentions. I'm just using the setting and the characters. Actually, this will lean heavily toward Harry (main character) and Sebastian.
Summary: He'd tried everything to get rid of 'them', the Hallows. But they kept coming back to him, recognizing him as the one and only Master of Death. He was cursed with immortality, eternal youth, and gifts he never asked for. Even when 'murdered', he immediately awakens in a new time, a new era, just to restart living again. Jaded and desperate for eternal sleep, Harry immediately becomes wary of a possessive demon that could curse him further into the pits of hell.
Pairings: Sebastian/Harry, past Harry/others
Warnings: Grey!Harry. Slash. Dealing with "mates" (Harry is Sebastian's mate- no its not going to be cliche). May include some OOC. This is based off the Manga, not the Anime- I haven't even seen the Anime. Also, I do not own anything.
Deliver Us from Sorrow's Hold: Chapter One.
"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen…"
The words were so redundant, Harry wouldn't be surprised if he spoke them when he slept. Of course, he would have to be sleeping in order for that to happen. Nowadays, sleep came to him rarely. Burdened with the past, the memories, and the dead loved ones, Harry would be lucky to sleep a consecutive three hours before waking up from nightmares. Though, that wasn't entirely true. He didn't wake up from his nightmares.
No, he woke up to his endless nightmare.
Harry took the edge of his cloak, throwing it dramatically behind him as he bowed to the audience. "…to tonight's show." He straightened, smiling thinly at the crowd. Tonight was an audience of high-class Muggles. It was always Muggles who came to these showings. Then again, he wasn't expecting anything less. He was trying to attract attention from his new prey.
What number Dark Lord was he on now? It's had to be at least number four. Perhaps five. He'd lost count after becoming lost in the eight alternative timelines he'd traveled to. However, there was one thing he was certain about. This was 1889 Britain and Harry was hired by the Ministry of Magic to identify and hunt down the Dark Lord. Of course, it had taken the Minister a long while to trust him, especially when Harry didn't have a previous record in this timeline.
He told the Minister that infiltrating into this mysterious group of wizards would require someone who was independent from the Aurors and the Ministry. The Dark Lord would become more interested than threatened with just a sole wizard. If Harry played his cards right, which he would, he could impress the Dark Lord enough to warrant a private audience with him. It was all about the chase and the game. If a Dark Lord found someone worthwhile, they would eventually let their arrogance override their common sense and reveal themselves to him.
Dark Lords tended to mirror each other quite frequently and Harry had enough experience with them that he could identify a pattern.
Reluctantly, Minister Brown had agreed to hire Harry and they formed a fragile bond of trust. He'd only told a handful of Aurors about Harry's existence, and in return, Harry gave him frequent updates on his progress. So far, it was pitiful progress. He had been doing this, these magic shoes, in hopes of drawing their attention.
Straightening from his bow, Harry swept a cool gaze across the audience. Expecting, but mocking eyes looked back at him. He stifled his dry irritation. It was incredibly amusing how different the nobles were to common-folk. After Harry first began these shows, word began to spread that this 'magician' was the real deal. His pay was increasing, which he needed, and he was gaining attention. He had been especially eager to gain the attention of the nobility.
And here he was. The Dark Lord was targeting Muggles, specifically the nobility. The killings certainly weren't as wide-spread as Voldemort's attacks had been; no, the killings in the Muggle world were subtle while the attacks in the Wizarding world were larger.
Harry and Minister Brown believed this new Dark Lord was connected somehow to Muggle nobility.
Vivid green eyes took in one man's bored and unimpressed expression as he gazed up at Harry. The nobleman gave Harry's appearance a once-over, finding it too youthful for his tastes. After all, a teenager couldn't possibly impress the audience, it must be trickery.
"Good sir," Harry greeted softly, doing nothing to stop the cold chuckle that escaped past his lips. "I have yet to start my show and you already appear bored." He stepped fluidly off the stage and onto the floor. Bloody aristocrats.
A few of the guests tittered, but refused to stay anything but composed in public. As Harry passed the chandelier, it darkened. The audience murmured excitingly as he entwined between the tables, dimming the small candles on the center of their tables. He almost hesitated when he caught sight of a man and a young boy in the corner of the room.
The boy was sitting cross-legged in his chair, facing Harry with an expression that was far too mature for a child of his age. Behind him, near the wall, stood a tall man that appeared to be the boy's butler.
It wasn't uncommon to see servants against the walls during the show, but Harry had never seen a butler quite like this. Cloaked in an aura of sinister darkness, the handsome man watched Harry with sharp interest. The unwavering attention took Harry slightly off-guard, simply because no one had ever looked at him like that before, especially a stranger.
Could this be the Dark Lord? Impossible. A Dark Lord wouldn't come in person. He would send someone to scout Harry out. Nonetheless, Harry eyed the man back, matching the butler's expression with cool nonchalance. He'd lived too long to be affected by things such as a stare.
He recovered easily enough, but spied the smirk lifting the butler's lips before he turned around. Harry's eyes were half-lidded in indifference. He had a show to do and complete.
Looping around the table, Harry approached the nobleman who had clearly expressed his earlier distaste. The nobleman watched Harry's graceful movements, clearing his face of his earlier misgivings. "Do not worry, good sir, this will be worth your while, I assure you." Harry stopped in front of the tables of peering nobility, pivoting into a stable stance. "I enjoy including my guests in the show. What better way to introduce you to the world of magic?" he whispered softly, making sure it reached the ears of all the guests. "I must ask for the first volunteer. Who is brave enough to come up here and assist me?"
And this was another example of how nobility was different from common-folk. Nobility refused to volunteer; afraid they would humiliate themselves and their family name. Common-folk had all jumped at the chance to come up on the stage.
Before he could remark on this to the guests, to taunt them and provoke them, a steady and strong voice answered.
"My butler will volunteer first."
Harry turned in the direction of the voice, spying the young boy with the eye patch. The butler easily pushed off from the wall and gave a small bow toward his master. The tall man seemed to move with grace that could easily rival Harry's own. Those eyes were focused on Harry as he approached the stage, never releasing his gaze even to entwine between the tables in front of him.
Harry smirked at the predatory gleam in the butler's eyes. He could easily play along. He was no longer the intimidated young wizard he was back in his original timeline. "Sent by your master to do the dirty work, I see." Harry bowed mockingly at the butler, finding the traditions back in this era ridiculous. Servants and masters? Men serving children and forced to be outcasts among higher nobility? Then again, 1889 was certainly not as bad as some of the other eras Harry had experienced.
"Always," the butler replied with an absurd smooth baritone. And he also spoke with sharp truth, a sort of ironic amusement.
Harry straightened from his bow, motioning for the man to walk up the stage. Upon closer inspection, Harry took note of the butler's appearance. He was relatively handsome with the same shade of black hair Harry possessed and the same pale skin. The man was taller though, at least by three or four inches. And besides the abnormal crimson eyes, there was something positively sinister surrounding this man.
He was almost positive that this was a higher-ranked follower to the Dark Lord. Harry would be on guard and ready for an attack.
The butler remained at the foot of the stage, his eyes half-lidded as he scrutinized Harry just as closely. Whatever he saw there, it appeared as if he was pleased. "I insist you lead the way." His crimson eyes pinned Harry with dark amusement. "After all, I am but a mere butler."
I'm sure you are…
Harry covered his suspicion with a smile, turning his back on the butler and taking the stage. He was confident enough to expose his back, only because he had his wand firmly in his gloved-grip. "And what is the name of my first volunteer?" he inquired as soon as they were both settled on stage.
"Sebastian, butler of Phantomhive household."
There were quiet murmurs from the audience as they recognized the surname. Unlike the audience, the surname didn't faze Harry in the least, simply because he didn't take much interest in society's highest ranking families. Then again, it might do him some good to know the prey his prey hunted after.
He didn't bat an eye as he flicked his wand, causing a stool to roll onto stage. He placed it directly between the butler and himself, forcing Sebastian to take a step away from his smothering proximity. "Well, Sebastian, butler of Phantomhive household, I would like you to look in this box." Harry plucked a medium-sized box off the stool and passed it to an observing Sebastian. "Is there anything inside?"
The butler took the box from Harry's hands, but not before his index finger lingered a bit too long against his wrist. Harry ignored the touch, his expression stone as he watched the man open the lid and look inside the box. His crimson eyes then jumped toward Harry, inquisitive. "Yes," he acknowledged, taking out the object inside. With a white-gloved hand, the tall man showed the audience. "A quill."
Harry hummed softly. "And nothing else?" He leaned closer peering closely at the man. "No false bottom? Nothing unusual?"
Sebastian cast him an amused glance before he knocked at the bottom of the box and tinkered around with it. With fluid motions, Sebastian set it back on the stool. "No, nothing but the quill."
The young wizard then grabbed the box from the stool, opening it and showing the audience the truth to the butler's words. "No false bottom, nothing inside but a mere quill." He then placed the quill back inside the box and placed it on the stool. He waved a hand through the stool's three legs, revealing there was no mirror or illusion. "No secret mirror, nothing that could possibly cause trickery." He then straightened and patted the box with his fingers. "Name one thing you desire, Sebastian."
Burning crimson eyes suddenly pinned Harry with a heated stare. The overpowering hunger in those eyes twisted Harry's stomach uneasily, but he pushed it away, intent to keep his cool. The smile Sebastian gave drew Harry's close attention. His eyes zeroed on the butler's sharp teeth peeking slightly past the parted lips. The butler made sure only to give a smile wide enough to reveal his teeth to Harry and not the audience.
Harry placed his gloved hand against his mouth to hide his blossoming smirk. It would certainly explain the few mysteries around this man; the sinister aura, the grace, the red eyes, and the fangs. It could also explain the butler's obvious blood-lust toward Harry.
He blinked, bringing himself back to the present. He patted the box again, hard enough to cause a few members in the audience to jump. "Something that can fit inside this box," Harry continued, urging the man to give a palpable answer. "Something other than a quill, I hope." A few aristocrats chuckled.
Sebastian tore his gaze from Harry and looked at the box. Harry expected the butler to inquiry what his master would want, but he surprisingly answered for himself.
Harry scoffed in delight, not expecting that answer from this man. And it was such a simple request. "A cat," Harry repeated, smiling at the audience. In the past, his smile had always been fake, broken, but this one time, he was able to give a semblance of a true smile. "Then a cat is what you shall have." He tapped his wand against the box lid, nonverbally transfiguring the quill inside to a small kitten. He'd gotten pretty good at Transfiguration throughout the years. This time, especially, he made sure to research more. Being a magician meant he would need to transfigure things quickly and subtly.
He stood back, nodding at the box. "Please, open the box and claim your prize."
Sebastian easily opened the lid off the box and peered inside, his earlier sinister aura somehow disappearing quickly. The butler's face softened and he reached inside, picking up the black kitten with abnormally gentle hands. Stars seemed to grow in the man's eyes as he cradled the kitten close to him, oblivious of the world around him. He paid particular sharp interest in massaging the kitten's paws.
Harry stared, torn between disbelief and amusement. He barely remembered to give a bow when the audience began clapping their approval. That seemed to snap Sebastian out of his haze as well. "Thank you for volunteering, Sebastian, butler of Phantomhive household." He flashed the butler a mocking grin as he ushered the man down the stairs.
He was tired. He just wanted to finish this show. Unfortunately, his suspicion regarding Sebastian was for naught. A simple vampire wasn't even worth his attention, it didn't even register on Harry's radar. This hunt was getting ridiculous. The Dark Lord was completely incognito and his followers were just the same. Minister Brown would think Harry was lacking if this continued. Granted, the Ministry could hardly do anything either. The Dark Lord had been a factor in the Wizarding world for a good year now and a few months in the Muggle world. The Aurors hadn't even caught a simple follower.
Harry turned back to the audience, going through the motions and having a bit less enthusiasm than before. He still performed the tricks correctly and the guests still expressed their enjoyment and excitement. At the end, Harry had taken a deep bow in mock gratitude and had abruptly Disapparated from the stage.
After the show, Harry found himself sitting quietly in his bare dressing room, waiting.
He stared at himself in the mirror that was given to him, a gift from his employer. A deep sneer marred his handsome features and his green eyes seemed unnaturally bright. He angrily turned the mirror away from him, banishing the sight of his pale and youthful appearance. He had lost weight again. The skin was stretched across his face, causing his cheekbones and jawline to stick out far more than usual.
He pushed the hand-held mirror across the vanity with his fingers, sliding it off the edge and onto the ground. It shattered pleasantly and Harry turned his head to the side, staring at the broken mirror with haunted and hallow eyes. "What a fool you are," Harry whispered to himself. "To think you could simply just throw them away!" For a long moment, he stared at the multiple Harry's before sharp nausea burned his stomach.
Leaning forward in his chair, Harry pressed his forehead against his knees and gave a heave. Nothing came out of his mouth, as there was nothing in his stomach. His was still human, despite it all. His body began to tremble and he gave a choking gag, sick and broken. He inhaled sharply, squeezing his eyes shut, hating the endless whip-lash he now lived with. It was endless, it was… endless.
Death really was a cruel and sick bastard. He had granted Harry what many men and women desired; immortality. Death had been careful to make certain this gift was also considered a curse. The Master of Death could never escape this fate, this gift of immortality. Harry had foolishly believed burying the Resurrection Stone and snapping the Elder Wand would make it go away. At the time, he hadn't given much thought to the consequences of possessing all three items.
And what made him even more qualified as the true Master of Death was his acceptance of death.
It was five years later, after thinking everything was back to normal, when he began noticing that he was still in his seventeen-year-old body. After that discovery, he had found the Resurrection Stone sitting neatly on his nightstand the next morning. The morning after that, he had found the Elder Wand, pieced back together, sitting innocently on his desk.
The feeling Harry had gotten when the Hallows came back to him had been sheer panic. With Hermione's help, Harry had tried to destroy them again. It seemed to have worked, but then they'd show up a year later and his body had never aged a bit. That was when Harry grew creative with his plans of destruction. He did rituals, he did potions, he did Muggle means, and he had even tried to get others to take possession of the Hallows by a duel.
By the time Hermione and Ron turned fifty, Harry realized that nothing was going to work. Death had deemed Harry the true and only Master. It was simply because Harry didn't want this power that Death was pleased to keep the Hallows forever in Harry's possession.
And then Harry tried to kill himself. He didn't remember how many times he had committed suicide in desperation.
The sensation of dying and awakening again was always horrific. What made it even more horrific was the fact that he would awaken to different timelines. It had been the 1700s first. Out of sheer desperation, Harry killed himself again and ended up waking up in the 1600s. After that, it was the 1900s briefly before he slit his throat out of overwhelming misery.
There was no pattern, no reason. Even when he was murdered he woke up to alternative times. He didn't know if it was really the past he traveled to or the past of another alternative dimension. Hell, he didn't even know if he was actually in a damning nightmare. He stopped caring. He stopped researching. He stopped living.
He was pushing one hundred and fifty-years-old. He had traveled to eight different times. He had died eight times. At first, he refused to get involved with the Dark Lords that seemed to pop up whenever and wherever he was. But by avoiding the Dark Lord and any other interactions, Harry had almost slipped further into the depths of his insanity from boredom. He needed something that would challenge him, excite him. He'd found that his methods were becoming more brutal, more dark than the first two times he'd hunted after Dark Lords.
It was frightening how far he'd fallen. How long could he go before he turned into the Dark Lord? He paused at that thought, the idea somehow entertaining him more than it should have.
Harry sat up from his chair, pushing his darkening thoughts away and twisting the ring on his finger. Wherever he went, they followed. The Hallows. He stopped throwing them away and began wearing his Resurrection Stone on his finger. When he wanted to torment himself, he would summon his mother. Always just his mother.
Suddenly, someone rapped sharply on his door, tearing Harry away from his depths of hell. Leaning further against his chair, he placed his feet upon the vanity and angled the Elder Wand toward the door. "Come in," Harry murmured softly. His dressing room, given to him by the owner of the establishment he performed at, was dim, lit only by a few lanterns across the room. There was no personal affects inside, only a vanity, a couch, and a small kitchenette.
The door opened and Harry prepared himself. Would this finally be it? Was there going to be a confrontation?
"Mister Harrison," a familiar voice greeted. "I hope we're not disturbing you."
Harry relaxed his hold on his wand but refused to lower it from the other side of the vanity. They didn't need to know he was pointing a wand at them. "Not at all, do come in." Harry had an idea that Sebastian would find him after the show, perhaps in an attempt to suck him dry, but he hadn't expected the younger boy to accompany the vampire as well.
He supposed he could have stood up in the presence of nobility, it was probably expected, but he was far too indifferent to acknowledge traditions of this world. Harry watched through cool and suspicious eyes as master and servant entered the room with an invisible air of royalty surrounding them. They were both dressed for the era; ribbons, ties, ruffles, and cloaks. They both had some sort of family seal on their person, indicating that the Phantomhive estate was influential.
"Please, sit down," Harry invited impassively, bored. "I would offer some tea, but I'm afraid I'm fresh out," he said dryly.
They both studied the barren room. "It looks like you're fresh out of many things," the boy remarked, his gaze falling on the pouch of money on the vanity. A few coins were spilling out, and a few were on the floor next to the broken mirror. "I am Earl Ciel Phantomhive, it is a pleasure to meet you, Mister Harrison." He didn't smile, the boy. He appeared brooding as he held out a gloved hand to Harry.
He stared at the dressed-up boy playing the part of an adult enforcer. If it wasn't for the stubborn frown and those haunted eyes, Harry would assume this was a complete and utter joke. But there was something familiar in that wide blue eye. If the boy was already an earl, that simply meant he'd lost his parents already. And it had to have been a tragic accident, judging from the boy's extreme determination to appear capable.
Just as the child was about to withdraw his hand, Harry dropped his crossed legs on the vanity and stood up. He was inches taller than the child, but not so much that the scene would look as ridiculous as it truly was. He shook the boy's hand firmly before dropping it. He'd play along. "What do I owe this pleasure?"
Sitting back down on his chair, Harry crossed his legs and set down the wand on the vanity. Two sets of eyes jumped to the Elder Wand before they looked back at him.
"I would like to ask if you've heard of the recent killings in London." The boy, Ciel, went right down to business as he sat on the couch opposite of Harry. He copied the wizard's posture and crossed his legs, a lazy hand holding up his head. "Four noblemen and their staff members were killed. Their cause of death still remains a mystery. The authorities believe it was a type of poison to kill them all efficiently, but the autopsy turned out negative."
Harry splayed his fingers across his cheek, peering at the boy between his index and middle finger. Harry set his face into a cool and impassive mask, not giving a sliver of emotion away. But just what was this child's business? Why was an earl after answers involving a murder case? From the boy's tone, it appeared as if this wasn't the first time he'd investigated cases.
That interested him. For the many eras he lived in, he knew some members of royalty often did 'deeds' for their queen. Some of those deeds involved covering up crimes that connected to the royal family. Other times it was using underhanded means to solve cases. It was a strong possibility that this child was the heir of an accomplished family and had to pick up where his parents left off. Poor child, running errands for corrupted royalty and power-hungry aristocrats. Harry supposed that was why the child had a vampire as a body-guard.
Vivid green eyes jumped to Sebastian, looking at the vampire for the first time since he entered the room. The tall figure was standing motionless behind his master, his eyes intense as he watched Harry's reactions. Pity, they would never get anything from looking at his face unless he wanted them to.
"I've certainly heard of the killings, yes," Harry replied, looking back at the boy. He waved his opposite hand in a lazy manner. "It's all over the newspapers." His lips quirked into a self-satisfied smirk when he noticed the anger rippling across the boy's face. He wanted to feel pity for the boy, he truly did. But this was Harry's case, not some mere Muggle and his vampire butler.
"Yes, I understand that." Ciel uncrossed his legs and leaned on his cane, inching closer toward Harry. "I want to know if you are aware of anything more concrete, something that would clear up the—"
"What are you really implying, child?" Harry interrupted, giddy at spotting the insulted flare of the boy's nostrils. Earls probably didn't get interrupted and this earl probably didn't like being addressed as 'child'. "It sounds to me like you already have your own conclusions for this case."
Ciel and Sebastian traded a look before the boy directed a stubborn frown toward Harry. "I refuse to believe magic is real," he said firmly. "I know there has to be an alternative way these noblemen are being killed. And I think a gifted magician who appeared out of nowhere could accomplish such a task."
Harry gave a closed-mouth chuckle, startling the boy. "Ah, you think I am the perpetrator. And what would be my motive?"
It was if he had handed the boy a challenge and the young earl was eager to complete the task successfully. The child grinned callously. "You have the appearance of an aristocrat. Could it be that you are a bastard child of a high nobleman and was given up at birth? You may not know the identity of your father, so you're jumping from nobleman to nobleman."
It was an interesting notion and something that Harry had to keep in mind for this Dark Lord. It was eerily similar to Tom Riddle's past, with the exception that he'd already known who his Muggle father was. He hated to admit that he hadn't thought of that angle before. It would explain why the killings of the Muggles were so sparse and subtle. The Dark Lord could simply be looking for his father or mother.
Harry removed his gloved hand from his face and stared down at the shattered mirror. A twisted smile crossed his lips. "Interesting theory, child, but I'm well aware of whom my parents are and they were both murdered when I was a small child." Emerald green eyes snapped up to catch Ciel's. "Much like your parents were."
Ciel stared at him and Harry stared back.
"Does it bother you?" Harry murmured in question. "That you're being used by the queen to do her dirty work?" The slight widening on the boy's eye affirmed Harry's suspicions. "It is often in my experience that the manipulator is the one behind the destruction. How do you know your parents weren't as loyal as the queen would have liked them to be? You may be succumbing to the very same woman who had a hand in your parents' downfall."
The rage in the boy's eye was tantalizing. Harry watched, intrigued and satisfied. He wondered if the child had ever considered that before.
"You are very skillful at the dance," a voice purred before Ciel could respond. Sebastian smiled darkly, his crimson eyes seeming to glow. "You easily avoided the topic concerning you and turned it around on my young master. It's a pity I'm not as easily distracted from you."
Harry stood up abruptly, certain those eyes were glowing. Vampires' eyes did not glow. In fact, the only creature that fit Sebastian's characteristics was a bloody demon. A demon! He'd only encountered a demon once before. The thing had been insane and Harry only ended up wounding it enough to get away.
He turned away from Sebastian and focused on the stewing child. It would be best if he'd play oblivious and not encourage the demon's wrath or awareness. "I am not the killer you're looking for, Earl Phantomhive." Harry pivoted, collecting the gold pouch and pocketed it. He then raised his hood, covering his features. It was time to depart. He wouldn't be contacted tonight by the Dark Lord's associates and he had no reason to stay here.
Stepping over the broken mirror, Harry approached the child, grinning softly despite himself. He kneeled before the boy, reluctantly seeing his old self reflected back in that single blue eye. This child was being used, perhaps by more than one manipulator. The queen wasn't the only manipulator here. Demons weren't exactly known to think too highly on humans, unless they were expecting something in return. Harry had also been used on more than one occasion. Dumbledore and Death were just two of the major players.
He held out his hand, motioning for the boy to take it. Next to him, the demon shifted, most likely ruffled at Harry's close proximity to his master. "I'm not going to hurt you. Your butler won't let that happen, will he?" he inquired dryly, sensing the child's stubborn refusal.
Ciel didn't look too thrilled as he held out his hand, allowing Harry to drop a coin in his palm. Before the boy could angrily demand what he was doing, Harry curled Ciel's fingers over the coin. Upon his finger, the black Resurrection Stone glittered maliciously for the room to see but Harry ignored it pointedly. "For your own good and well-being, I will give you a warning. Find a way to avoid looking further into this case. You must realize things aren't always what they seem to be." He patted the boy's closed fist and stood up from his half-kneeling position.
Ciel opened his fingers, revealing a single white lily. He stared at it, twirling the small flower between his fingers with veiled awe. His lips then tugged down as he looked up at Harry. "Magic is real."
"Is that a question or a statement?" Harry wondered, smirking down at the boy. Fool, he'd given the child many hints already. Surely someone wasn't that stubborn to believe there was no magic? Especially when they knew demons were real. "You'll have to determine that answer for yourself and the implications that come with it."
He turned toward the door, intent to leave the dressing room for tonight. Only, Sebastian stepped in his line of sight, preventing him from leaving. Harry stiffened, his eyes narrowing and his fingers tightening their hold on his wand. They stared at one another, sizing the other up. For a brief moment, Harry experienced a thrilling anticipation at the possibility of a worthwhile battle. The demon he had encountered before had been insane and starving. This one looked intelligent and capable of doing some harm, of presenting an even larger challenge.
"Your soul is absolutely divine," the demon murmured in controlled yearning. Sebastian had most likely picked up on Harry's awareness of what he was. There were no pretenses between them now, only, it wasn't certain the demon knew what Harry was in return.
"Sebastian, what are you—"
The demon cut Ciel off with ease. "Far more tempting than anything I have ever encountered before, it's almost implausible." He tapped a finger against his lips as he watched Harry's motionless and unimpressed figure. "It's such a pity I can never hope to eat it. I can only possess it."
Harry's eyes turned to slits. Riddles. He hated riddles, especially when they were presented by creatures who stunk of manipulation and greed. He raised his wand, pointing it steadily at the demon. Crimson eyes seemed to widen in pleasure and a pleased smile crossed the butler's face. "Get out of my way, demon."
"Can you really do much damage with that?" Sebastian wondered in amusement.
Was he playing ignorant or did he truly not know what a wizard was? Harry smirked. Whatever the answer was, Harry was eager to prove to him that there were wizards in existence who could knock demons off their imaginary thrones. "Why don't you continue standing there and see for yourself?"
"Sebastian, step aside and let him leave," Ciel commanded sharply.
It was if the boy held a certain power over the demon. Harry vaguely remembered reading something about contracts between humans and demons, but he'd have to look it up again and brush up on his knowledge. He watched as Sebastian's face slipped into ugly fury and displeasure before it quickly morphed into a calm smile. The demon stepped aside and bowed to Harry, holding an arm toward the door.
Lowering his wand, Harry approached the door, pausing next to the demon. Elation cursed through him as he leaned in close to the demon. "You heel nicely for your master." He smiled sweetly, reaching forward and patting the butler's head. "Good boy."
The demon's pupils turned to cat-like slits and he hissed softly, revealing the sharp teeth. Harry chuckled darkly, removing his hand and exiting the door to his dressing room. It was best not to push his luck.
At least not yet.