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June 19^th 1980, Private Room # 3 of The Three Broomsticks, Hogsmeade

Alphard Black sat across from the thin, trembling slip of a woman and withheld the need to sigh for what felt like the hundredth time. She had no talent for the diving arts and if he so much as thought about hiring her on as an assistant he knew that Laimalae would have his head for making her put up with such an incompetent. Not to mention the consequences he would face from Tom- or rather His Majesty, The Dark Emperor (and Alphard would not snicker at such a pretentious epithet)- for placing such mediocrity within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

But, sadly, he was running out of options.

He’d been given a sacred duty to cultivate the education of the wizarding world’s finest students. No longer was Hogwarts simply the school for all those who resided in the British Isles. No, Hogwarts had a higher standard now- requiring tests of magical core power and critical thinking skills. The bar may be low for eleven year olds, but it was better than where it had previously been- on the floor. Those that couldn’t meet the standards weren’t completely out of an education, as His Majesty was very generous when it came to opening and maintaining schools for all people, but Hogwarts was considered the elite now. It was a very heavy responsibility being Headmaster of such an institution, to be handed at the young age of forty-five- barely a quarter of the way through his life- but it was a responsibility he wore with pride. He’d been running the school for nearly a decade now and he couldn’t be more proud.

When Tom (and really, he refused to call the man anything else inside the confines of his own mind, no matter how unsafe those confines were when around the man himself) had first tried to take over the entire bloody world, Alphard had thought they wouldn’t get very far. While he’d seen the feats Tom had achieved at Hogwarts, he thought it unlikely they’d manage the entirety of the World. He’d had enough hope for the control of Britain at least, however, and had long since pledged to stay by the boy’s side.

And then he’d conquered. And conquered. And now, now the whole world was under his thumb. Alphard still felt in awe of the man.

And the changes he’d enacted. The wizarding world had never thrived like this before. They were living in harmony with the muggles, living without fear. Coexisting like no one had ever thought they could. All under his command. And the infighting and blood-prejudice that had been tearing apart their community… it wasn’t gone, not yet, but it wasn’t quite as rampant as it once was. He’d never been one to buy into blood politics like the rest of his family and he fully felt that if it hadn’t been for Tom’s take-over that he would have eventually been disowned by them. Inbreeding was entirely distasteful and he, among others in Tom’s first Inner Circle, had seen its consequences as the upper echelons of pureblood families produced fewer and fewer children, fewer still that had viable magic. Before Tom, lines had been dying out and hereditary magicks were starting to disappear completely, lying dormant for generations at a time.

But the future held promise now. Those among Alphard’s generation may still be stuck in their ways, slightly resentful of the way Tom’s laws discouraged discrimination based on blood-status, but their children and grandchildren would grow up in a world that was ever-changing in favor of those who had magical power over those who had an interconnected family tree.

He’d seen it already in his nephews. Regulus was chosen to be part of Tom’s Harem because of his power, his intelligence, not simply because he was a Black- though many thought otherwise. And Sirius- the boy was a trouble maker through and through and he and his friends had fallen into a… questionable crowd, but there was no doubt the boy was brilliant and he certainly didn’t hold to the blood purity hogwash like his father, Alphard’s younger brother Orion, did. He’d befriended two muggleborn children! Both with immense power and skill. He knew the Potter heir had just married one of them and if the looks Sirius often gave the Lupin boy were any indication, Sirius was due to marry the other. Their children had the potential to carry immense power. Hell, Sirius and his wolf might just manage to bring the metamorphmagus ability back to the Black bloodline.

But, as they were all slowly learning, blood did not always indicate power. And poor Sybill Trelawney was a prime example. As the great Cassandra’s great-granddaughter, and Seer blood being a known hereditary trait, one might think she’d have a great deal of divine ability.

Alas, all the poor girl had been able to do so far was tremble.

Silently he stared her down and finished his tea, handing her the cup so that she might read something from the leaves. She’d already failed to accurately read his palm (his life-line was good and healthy according to Laimalae and his love-line was not filled with strife as he had quite the good relationship with his husband of twenty years now, thank you very much). And the nonsense she’d spewed after reading his cards had been nauseating to sit through (he was well aware of what the Wheel of Fortune Card meant and it was not his certain doom).

It was just as she was about to open her mouth and no doubt spew more nonsense at him when the cup fell from her hands with a loud shatter as she began to convulse. Her head thrust back and a mist began seeping from her mouth, quickly filling the room with a cold fog as a rasping sound echoed around them.

Alphard’s eyes widened, sitting back down from his half-risen pose from planning to help the poor girl through what he’d initially thought was a seizure. No. This was magic.

“The one with the power to ruin the Dark Emperor approaches…”

A prophecy. A genuine prophecy.

“… born to those who live in shadow, born as the seventh month dies… and the Emperor will know him as his equal, and he will have power the world knows not…”

A commotion just outside the room made him hastily cast a muffliato around the door. This was not something that needed to get out. It was far, far too sensitive to get out to what was left of the enemies of the Empire before Tom could assess its contents himself. It was all well and good to hear a prophecy, but another thing altogether to puzzle out its meaning, figure out if it was self-fulfilling or not, and then act on its contents.

He listened intently as the rasping voice of Fate spoke the rest of the prophecy, guided by the hand of Mother Magic, then slumping in his chair when she was done. He began rubbing his temples to soothe the burgeoning of a headache. This was an extremely weighty prophecy to have borne witness to. It would have consequences that could shake the entire globe.

Alphard was far too tired for this. He just wanted to go home to Quincy and call it a day. But alas, Sybill was already rousing from her divinity induced nap, blinking at him behind those entirely too large glasses and stuttering out timid apologies at the sight of the broken cup.

He sighed deeply. She wasn’t even aware of her powers as a Seer it seemed. Fantastic. Well, he couldn’t just let her go out into the wild after all that. They would need her in a place they could monitor and listen for any more earth-shattering mumblings of Fate. And seeing as she was the last candidate for the job…

He scrubbed a hand down his face and rose from his seat, disabling the muffliato with a flick of his wrist and heading for the door without looking back. He would hear hell for this, but needs must.

“I’ll see you on September first, Assistant Professor Trelawney, have a pleasant evening. Goodbye.”

He left without waiting for a response.

He had an Emperor to see and a headache to soothe.

*

October 30^th 1981, Umbria Cottage, Godric’s Hollow

Albus Dumbledore stood, disillusioned, on the steps of the quaint little cottage that housed the youngest Potter couple, taking in the lovely scenery before having to deliver quite terrible news.

Two alder trees guarded either side of the cottage itself, looming tall above the two-story structure and bathing the entirety of the property in shadow. Their leaves were still a stubbornly vibrant green, a great contrast to the rest of the houses on the street. He could also spot yew hedges peeking out from behind the stone walls of the back garden with hellebore and black baneberry plants lining the front. Billowing clouds of colorful smoke seemed to be emanating from a vent in the ground as well, likely an underground potions room. He’d always admired the little cottage that had stood empty just a few houses down from his own, though he’d never known it was named for the shade it stood in.

Which was precisely the reason he stood on the little stone doorstep this night.

“Born to those who live in shadow, indeed,” he murmured to himself, trying to lengthen the minutes between standing on the steps and knocking. “Bit on the nose, though, if I say so myself.”

Just as he had steeled himself to intrude upon the Potter’s pre-Halloween festivities and drop the spell keeping him invisible, the ebony door swung inward with great force and nearly caused him to knock upon young Sirius Black’s face rather than wood.

“Why, hello, professor,” Sirius greeted with a bemused grin, likely wondering why a Wanted Man was on his friend’s doorstep. “Just in time for the party!”

Albus smiled back, always warmed by Sirius’s charm, though his expression grew strained as he was ushered into the cottage. “I haven’t been a professor for many years now, young man.”

“Tosh,” Sirius replied, throwing a careless hand over his shoulder as he flounced from the entryway and into a cozy living room. “You taught me more than any of my professors at Hogwarts ever managed to.”

“And I’m sure that had nothing whatsoever to do with your wandering attention span, Pads,” came the serene voice of young Remus Lupin who sat sprawled over an overly stuffed maroon and silver paisley armchair. Albus found himself inordinately fascinated with the décor, everything done in dark reds, silver, and white. Hm, he’d have expected gold.

“Moony!” Sirius cried dramatically before bounding toward the armchair and gracefully draping himself across its arms, thoroughly smothering young Lupin. “How you wound me! If ever I had a wandering attention span, it was merely because I was sitting across from you.”

“Gerroff,” Remus grumbled from under the weight of the young aristocrat, managing to shove him up, off, and into the floor- where Sirius released a piteous wail. “Mangy mutt,” Lupin said, managing to sound fond.

Albus rose a brow at the display, “I was under the impression that the younger Potters moved to the Hollow to isolate from the Pox epidemic?”

Remus nodded, unbothered, “Yes, and seeing as how I’m incapable of contracting or carrying the disease, I was invited to stay and help out. Sirius just refuses to leave.” He kicked a foot at the still wailing young man now writhing on the ground. “Like a stray.”

Sirius scoffed, voice muffled as he was now lying face-down in the plush silver carpet (another fascinating décor choice to be certain). “It’s basic arithmetic, Remy.”

“And how do you suppose that? Can dogs even do maths?”

Sirius carried on, blithely speaking over Remus’s questions. “-Lily and James had both Fleamont and Euphemia to help before they came down with the Pox. Two sets of hands! Therefore they need two sets of hands again to fill in for the loss.”

“Two sets of paws more like,” Remus drawled, swinging a leg off the arm of the chair to press a foot to Sirius’s back, making him yelp.

“I only just got Harry to sleep,” and irate voice whisper-shouted as it came down the steps, “and I swear on all that is good in this world that if either of you wake him up-”

“Oh,” James Potter said as he rounded the last step and found an extra guest in his living room. “Good evening, sir, what brings you around here?”

“Nothing good, my boy,” he said solemnly. “Nothing good.”

The air of cheer in the room sobered quickly. Remus sat upright in his chair and Sirius pulled himself into a sitting position on the floor.

James’s expression darkened, gesturing for Albus to take a seat in the other armchair across from Remus. “I’ll grab Lils from the basement,” he murmured before turning from the doorway.

Albus sank into the offered armchair, bones creaking as he leaned into cushions. He was getting far too old for all of this. No matter that he’d only just hit one hundred; little over middle aged for a well-lived wizard. It wasn’t about the amount of years he’d lived, it was about the contents of his years. Full to the brim with strife and war. Two dark lords; one defeated and one- well. One that had actually achieved the dream of any dark wizard.

To have the world under his control.

Albus tried to mitigate the damage. Did as much as he could; recruiting like-minded youths to the vestiges of the Order that remained, keeping those left within the Order bolstered and in good spirits as they tried to find any thread of hope for a better world, making sure they all knew that the cause was for the Greater Good. They would find a way to release the world from the shackles of the Dark Emperor- somehow, someday. They’d already found an in with young Regulus- such a brave young man willing to go behind his “Master’s” back. Though Sirius was unaware of his little brother’s involvement. It was best to keep that a secret between as few people as possible, for the boy’s sake. And then perhaps, with just a tad more prodding and the safety of young Harry ensured, the first dominoes leading to the end of the Empire might fall.

All they needed was patience and caution. And, maybe, just a bit of divine intervention.

James reentered the room, Lily quick on his heels behind him. They both moved to the sofa and sat on the edge, grasping each other’s hands like they never wanted to let go. Albus’ heart felt heavier at the sight. They sat in that tense silence for a moment, Albus unwilling to start, dreading what he’d have to tell them.

“What’s going on, sir?” James questioned softly, breaking the silence.

He sighed, deeply, removing his spectacles to rub at the bridge of his nose before placing them back on and facing the world again. He braced himself.

“A year and a half ago- I was told of a prophecy. And though only half of it was heard, that half has the potential to change the world.”

Lily’s eyes were sharp upon him, he could feel that she already had some inkling as to why he had arrived on their doorstep specifically, though he refrained from dipping into her mind to confirm. He’d made an awful habit of that and he really needed to stop.

“It concerns your son.”

*

October 31^st 1981, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging

“We can’t leave him here.”

“You think I want to leave my baby boy at all, Jimmy?” Lily snapped back at her husband with a harsh whisper. “You think I feel perfectly fine about abandoning my son in the first place?”

“No!” James defended himself. “But there has to be a better place for him. There has to be. Your sister disowned your family years ago. Told you she never wanted anything to do with you again! Imagine how she’ll treat your son. Our son.”

“I know that, Jimmy,” she said softly, cradling a sleeping baby Harry to her chest, hiding the tears that threatened to fall into his downy soft baby curls.

James’s face crumbled at the sight of her so distraught, coming around to wrap his arms around his wife and child and hold them close. He didn’t want to let them go. “She hates magic. And Harry- he has so much. He’s got more magic in his little baby pinkie finger than I have in my whole core. She’s going to hate him.”

“He said it was temporary,” Lily whispered desperately. “A week. A month at most. It won’t be forever. It can’t be.”

James was silent for a long moment, savoring the weight of his family being held so close. Feeling the soft little movements of his son’s sleeping breaths where his palm rested against the baby’s back. Harry was here, alive in his and Lily’s arms, right now. If they delayed any further, if they chose not to leave him at the mercy of Lily’s estranged sister… He could be ripped away at any moment. They could lose him forever if they didn’t leave him now.

But James couldn’t help but think the worst.

“And if its not? If he has to stay here, because something happens to us? No one else knows about your sister, Lils. No one else will know where he is,” he felt like he was pleading with himself more than Lily. Trying to find a reason, any reason, that they shouldn’t leave Harry here. That he’d be better off with them. But the Dark Emperor, the Man Who Conquered the World, would soon be after their baby boy. They wouldn’t be able to protect him on their own.

“And that’s exactly why he has to be here,” Lily replied, steel entering her voice. “And if its longer than we hope, then- Then I just have to pray that Tuney’s sense of decency outweighs her hatred.”

Privately, James thought that wasn’t likely. He’d never met the woman, but he’d heard enough stories. Seen Lily cry enough times over the older sister she’d lost when she’d discovered her magic. For Merlin’s sake he’d thought she’d died for the longest time before Lily finally corrected him. But no, she just resented Lily for all the attention she’d gotten being a magical child. To carry that resentment so far into adulthood… It didn’t say good things about the woman. And it didn’t say good things about her fairly taking care of Harry.

But this was the only place no one would think to look for him. And Lily had already gone and performed that horrible blood ritual. And Merlin damn Sirius for giving her the book from the Black library that contained it.

He sighed. There was no going back from here.

“Ring the bell, Lils.”

And with a shaking hand, she did.

*

May 23^rd 1984, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging

“Loathsome little runt!” Petunia Dursley snapped as she looked down upon her sister’s repulsive, troublesome spawn. “You’ve killed my heirloom roses! Foul little freak, you do nothing but cause us problems at every turn!”

She watched with an ugly feeling still clutching to her heart as the boy did nothing but stare up at her and silently cry, his big green eyes almost glowing with an unholy light that turned her veins to ice. That aberration had long since learned not to make noise when he cried.

“We should have never taken you in,” she spat, standing above the monster and her ruined flowerbed. “But your parents made promises, so many promises, about coming back for you within the month.”

And she saw the glint of hope within those too-bright eyes. And she felt the vindictive need to squash it.

“And then they never did,” and she relished the tears that flowed anew upon those disgusting cheeks. “Just dumped you and left. They didn’t want you either. No one does. The only reason we keep you now is because there’s no one else to hand you off to.”

Magical children were supposed to be cherished within their society. Revered. But not this one. Oh no, not this one. Her wretched sister had foisted the vile boy on her and disappeared without a trace. She’d tried to contact that derelict Lily had called a husband and there was no sign of him either, or the man’s relatives. And there were only so many ways a muggle had to contact a wixen. Generally, it was frowned upon to mix. Which was all well and good with her. Magic was freakish and horrid and unnatural.

Once upon a distant time, when Lily had first shown signs of accidental magic and been praised and praised and showered with affection, Petunia had wanted nothing more than to have magic too. Wanted nothing more than to be loved and adored like that. To belong. And there weren’t many resources for a muggle to learn about magic, but she’d found them all. And she read as much as she could and she listened to everything Lily was willing to explain to her. And then they’d come and tested Lily’s core and called it exceptional and praised her all the more. And then they tested Petunia because she’d begged- hoping beyond reason that they’d find at least a spark, at least something small. Enough to work with, enough to be loved.

And she’d had nothing. Not even the smallest drop of magic. Completely mundane, they’d called her. Nothing special. Nothing.

So, Petunia was perfectly fine not being magical. She was perfectly fine living a life without such freakish things like wands or brooms or spells. She was content to be normal. Perfectly normal. With a family of her own that loved her as she was. Normal. In a nice little non-magical neighborhood with nice little non-magical neighbors. She had planned a long and fulfilling quiet life where she cared for her baby Dudders and tended to her roses and worried about nothing else at all.

But now she had that thing. That offensive, disagreeable, dirty thing. Ruining her idyllic little life with his strange pops of accidental magic. With his big, unnaturally green, pleading eyes; as if he deserved the love that was kept from her for all those years. If she hadn’t been good enough then he certainly wasn’t. That creature had invaded her life, taking time away from tending to Vernon and caring for Dudley. Wasting precious resources that should have gone to the family that cared about her, not the forgotten spawn of a sister she’d estranged herself from years ago.

And now he’d killed all her heirloom roses. In a matter of seconds, she’d watched them wilt before her eyes and die.

She’d been keeping him close beside her, like the misbehaving dog that he was, so she could keep an eye on him as she worked in the late spring sun. It’d been growing hot as the afternoon drew longer and she’d taken several breaks to wipe the sweat off her brow and drink a cool glass of water. She’d even done her due diligence and given the runt a half cup of lukewarm tap-water. He was small, he didn’t need much.

She’d seen him swaying in the heat. Knew it would be time soon to take him back inside. She’d have to make sure to give him more water next time. For however much she hated the boy, she didn’t want him dead. That would raise far too many questions. But she had stubbornly wanted to finish trimming that one last bush. The kind she kept were beautifully fragrant, but they would climb all over the place if you let them. She needed to keep them trimmed. Nice and neat and orderly.

And then the boy had dropped his hands into the dirt and she’d been seconds from snapping at him for getting dirty and making a mess, when she felt the stem under her fingers turn to dust. Like the life and moisture had just been sucked right from the plant.

Like the boy had stolen it.

“And now I’m left with you,” she sneered, “and a barren flowerbed.”

The boy ducked his head and she felt like she could breathe just a tad easier without those eerie eyes upon her.

“Stay,” she commanded, marching over to the water hose. She refused to have that filthy beast track dirt into her home.

When she stomped back she was vindictively pleased to see him standing as still as she’d left him. The only movement being the slight tremble to his little frame. No doubt he was still trying so hard to stay silent while he cried.

“Hands out.”

And then she hosed him down. And maybe she was being a little harsh with the spray and a little overzealous with the amount of water, but the boy needed to learn his lesson. There would be no magic here. No freakishness. If she couldn’t live a life like that then neither could he.

“In,” she ordered when she was done. “And don’t you dare track mud into my kitchen or you’ll never see the light of day again.”

The next day her roses were alive and thriving and the fear and hatred within her heart only grew. Magic was not supposed to bring things back from the dead. She may not know much about magic, most of what she’d read willfully forgotten to time. But this wasn’t something that could be done. It was the foulest of the foul type of magic. Of freakishness.

The boy was a freak among freaks- and that terrified her to her core.

*

August 15^th 1986, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging

“… attending the last day of third annual Harem Selection…”

Sometimes, if he stayed very still and kept very quiet, they’d let him watch the television with them. They didn’t know he was watching the television with them, but that was beside the point. The point was that he was allowed to watch without being chased away.

“…celebrating the birthday of the first set of Royal Twins…”

He liked these times, quiet and serene. When he could feel the sunlight from the window on his skin. When he could sit back against the wall and relax his tense limbs, bit by bit, and even close his eyes- doing nothing but curl up and listen to the soft sounds of whatever newscast or game show the family had playing. When he could feel warm for once, not freezing cold or burning hot. Just warm.

The boy imagined that hugs might feel like this.

It was one of the few times where he wasn’t forced to do this chore or that. Where he wasn’t being yelled at for doing something wrong again. (And he tried so hard to do things right, to do what they wanted so that they wouldn’t yell at him, wouldn’t shove him back in the cupboard, wouldn’t hate him so much anymore.) When they were all focused on the TV, they could share a quiet moment together. Nothing but the staticky buzz of the box and the murmur of voices of people on screen. Dudders sometimes liked to shout at whatever he was watching, but the adults only made soft comments here and there.

“… greatly anticipating another new addition…”

Usually, he didn’t care much what was playing on the TV. It was always ever boring news or some show he couldn’t follow because he hadn’t seen the other episodes. But today, today he couldn’t pry his eyes away from the screen for anything.

He’d never seen the Emperor before.

Not many people had. He tended not to make public appearances, even fewer where mundane cameras could film. He was a busy man with an entire world to run, and the boy was sure that took up quite a lot of time. The boy was busy enough just managing his chores- he couldn’t imagine doing that for the entire world! He had to be tired. But he also had a lot of pretty people at his side to help him, so maybe that evened out. The lady of the family liked to make mean comments about them whenever they were on the news, saying it was “unnatural” to have so many wives and husbands. The man of the family never said anything about it when she did.

“… despite rumor of unrest in the south…”

The boy didn’t think it mattered much when the Emperor was the one in charge of everything. He could do whatever he wanted. Make whatever rules he pleased and follow them or not. The Emperor was above everything. No one could tell him what to do. The boy yearned to be in his place. Wanted more than anything than to be the one in charge for once.

But that wasn’t the only reason the boy couldn’t look away. No, he watched the screen with fascination because of how pretty the Emperor was. Even through the fuzziness of cameras, through the fuzziness in his eyes, he could tell the man was beautiful. It wasn’t just the way his face was shaped or the even paleness of his skin or even the thick wave of dark brown hair that turned the color of honey in the sun. It was all of that and the bright red color of his eyes. He’d never seen anything prettier.

He couldn’t look away.

“… strengthening ties with the Monaco Territory by putting forward…”

The screen panned away from the Emperor and he shook his head a bit, finally able to blink after what felt like hours. He already missed the sight of those eyes. Already wanted to see them on the screen again. He wanted nothing more than to see the man in person. Deep, deep down within his young heart- where all thoughts of magic and freakishness were locked away- he hungered to know what the Emperor’s magic felt like in person.

He’d do nearly anything to find out.

*

April 5^th 1988, Number 12 Candytuft Circle, Little Whinging

Amelia was usually quite content to be the littlest librarian of the littlest library of Little Whinging; older patrons often found it charming that she could barely see over the circulation desk and younger ones found her more approachable since she was closer to their own size. But today, today she wanted nothing more that to be able to tower over the horrid woman that stood before her. She felt this way quite often whenever Petunia Dursley came to visit, dragging her pitiful little nephew behind her.

Amelia hated to see how Mrs. Dursley snapped at him, words always harsh and unforgiving, always making the little thing cower. He was such a sweet boy, always quiet and polite. Always smiling in awe whenever she helped him read a few picture books while his aunt was preoccupied.

Amelia heavily disapproved of the way she would just leave him for entire afternoons in the library. They had childcare services for those in need, but Petunia was neither in need nor properly trying to utilize those services. She would simply thrust the boy through the doors and walk off without looking back. But Amelia also preferred those times, because then she was free to help the young one learn and read and even coax a smile or two out of him without interruption. She’d sit him with her behind the circulation desk, often reading whatever books were being returned by other children that day and had yet to be reshelved.

But today was not one of those days. Today, Petunia towered over Amelia, ugly sneer on her face that twisted her otherwise pretty features. She had marched in, nephew being dragged in behind her in a tight hold, and slammed a book on the counter.

“The brat claims you are the one that said he was allowed to take this home,” her shrill voice echoed in the empty stacks. If there was one blessing, it was that they weren’t very busy today. No one else should have to witness this.

Amelia looked down at the small chapter book that had laid so innocently on the dark oak of the counter. Mundane and Magickal by Clarissa Butrecook. A children’s guide on the differences between the lives of muggles and wixen; how the schooling system differed, the differences in food, the different holidays and traditions and other such things. She had, in fact, not, given the boy permission to take the book home- he, unfortunately, had no library card. But she would never let Mrs. Dursley know that.

She looked at the boy, at the tears gleaming in his bright green eyes. At the fear in their depths as Petunia tightened her grip on his wrist. Amelia hated that she could never get him to tell her his name. Perhaps this would earn her a little more trust as well. She’d do it regardless, but nonetheless she could hope.

“Yes,” she said shortly, watching the shock spread across a small tan face. “There are a few books being taken out of circulation, whether for damage or disinterest, and this was one of them. They are either sold at a discount or given away to any who want them in such cases.”

This all was true, it was just that that particular book wasn’t being taken out and Amelia would be the one to eat the cost of it. She didn’t much care, however; her paycheck wouldn’t suffer greatly for it. And she'd still do it, even if it did.

“I see.” The woman snatched the book back off the counter, nails digging into the cover and threatening to puncture holes in the soft paperback. It looked like she was about to turn away when Amelia decided to speak up. This was an opportunity to strike that she needed to take full advantage of.

“I’m surprised he was so interested in this one, though,” she said, voice tempering to sound musing and politely curious instead of the raging bark she wished to unleash instead. “He should have a copy of his own considering its required curriculum for his age.”

She saw Mrs. Dursley stiffen, freezing at the underlying accusation that Amelia was throwing her way. She didn’t want the nephew to get in trouble because of her, though, so she softened the blow. “I know you home school him,” the excuse the woman gave on all the days she brought him around when children would usually be at school, but with how much trouble the boy had first had with reading when Amelia started helping him- she doubted he was getting an adequate education, “are you having trouble getting him textbooks? We have copies here that can be loaned to him.”

Amelia and Petunia stared each other down. Petunia had been dropping her nephew off at the library for years now. She’d had plenty of time to study the woman and what made her tick. How to threaten her and get away with it. Amelia never had enough evidence to report the woman for abuse, despite what she suspected, but she could damn well make the woman’s life hell. Making an anonymous, “concerned citizen” phone call might not achieve anything in the long run, but Petunia would be appalled at what it would do to her reputation to have the authorities called at all. Amelia had had these plans in the back of her mind for a long time now and made sure that the steel in her resolve to use them showed in their stare-down.

Petunia backed down first.

“What would we need to do,” she snapped, a demand to get this over with rather than a genuine question.

Amelia smiled brightly in triumph. “Just a library card for the young man there, and we’ll get him everything he needs.”

“I’ll not pay any late fees for the brat.”

Amelia waved a hand, already busying to get everything she needed to make a new library card. “Nothing to worry about there.”

Amelia would absolutely pay whatever fines might happen to accrue. She also had the power to waive them in certain circumstances as well. She had everything together before looking back up at the unpleasant woman.

“Alright, we’ll need his full name for the card,” she said, going for casual but uncertain if any of her excitement was bleeding through.

Mrs. Dursley huffed a breath through her nose, not unlike a horse, before replying in an even tone, “Harry James Potter.”

She had a name! Finally! Amelia had grown rather fond of Harry since he’d started being left on the library doorstep all those years ago. He was sweet and soft-spoken and very, very curious. She’d take him home herself if she could. Had thought about it often. But she knew it wasn’t possible, not now at least, so she contented herself with simply making his library card. She didn’t often use the one computer they had behind the desk, much preferring the physical card sorting system and hand-written ledgers, but new card-holders were always to be put in the system. However slow and clunky it was.

“Date of birth?”

Petunia seemed to grind her teeth before answering, “July thirty-first, nineteen eighty.”

Amelia refused to react visibly, but she felt startled. Harry was eight years old then. When his size made him look about six. She was the one to grit her teeth now. Was he just small for his age or was he being underfed? She’d have to start bringing snacks out, even if it was against the rules. She continued her typing for a few moments more.

“There we are,” she said and finished typing before moving to the little cards for new library members. She wrote Harry's name and date of birth herself, not bothering to ask for Petunia's signature like she usually would. She stood and leaned over the desk as far as she could reach and held it out. Little Harry still had to stand on his tip-toes to be able to reach back and grab it. She relished in his bright smile as he held it in his own hands.

Petunia sniffed with disdain, turning her nose up at the both of them before releasing Harry’s arm and whirling toward the door.

“Occupy yourself,” she demanded. “I’ll be running errands for the next few hours.”

When the doors slammed shut behind her, it was just Amelia and Harry.

She grinned at him. “Come round the desk then, dear, and tell me how far you got in Mundane and Magickal. Oh, and how about some tea today?”

*

June 20^th 1990, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging

Euphemia had been searching for her grandson for what felt like several lifetimes.

When she had awoken and recovered from her near deadly bought of Dragon Pox all those years ago now, it was to find the rest of the house empty. When she had awoken, it had been alone for the first time in decades. Fleamont had not survived the Pox. James, her one and only son, had died alongside his wife in a rebellion against the Empire that had lasted mere days. They were all gone. Within the blink of an eye, she was alone in an empty echoing Manor.

All she had left were an estranged nephew and a missing grandson. She had sent letters to her nephew that never garnered a response and all search for her infant grandson had come back fruitless.

For years she would continue to send letters and continue to hire anyone who was willing to help; Aurors, Private Investigators, muggle detectives even. And for years she had gotten no response, simply drifting around the Manor she had once called home like the ghost she dearly wished she had become. She felt an empty shell of herself, filled with nothing but grief and longing. The cough still lingering in her lungs from the Pox leaving bloodstains on her handkerchief, and brewing resentment in her bones that it hadn't just taken her fully. On days where an investigator came back to her empty handed, she would drift into the garden and simply stare at the yew trees. At all the oleander and foxglove. The nightshade and moonflowers.

Her James and his Lily were gone, killed in some foolhardy mission to change the world. A distant dream to make it better in ways it did not need. All because of that meddling old man and his sense of justice. Of the Greater Good. He preached of equality, of freedom, of returning to the Path of Light and refused to see the world around him. Things were far from perfect but they were a far sight better than they had been. Purebloods no longer ruled with impunity. Wixen no longer had to fear muggles and muggles were no longer unaware of wixen. Hogwarts was for the elite now, yes, but that was a matter of power level (or, unfortunately, family political and economic power) and intelligence- not purity of blood alone. And none went without an education.

Euphemia had her quarrels with the system; there were plenty of children who fell through the cracks and needed care they did not receive, plenty of purebloods who still held wealth and political positions they did not deserve for how they abused them, and there was a mildly frightening lack of regulation on Darker Magics. But it was still a sight better than what they used to have, cowering in the dark and hiding from the greater population of the world. Infighting that regularly threatened to break into all out civil war. And Dumbledore insisted that moving back to that was for the Greater Good. Insisted on indoctrinating her children that didn’t know any better. They were born during the Emperor’s reign, they didn’t know what it used to be like. 

He preyed on their good hearts and made them see injustice in the world. Made them think they had to die for it. James and Lily dead. Remus presumed dead. Regulus executed. Sirius imprisoned. Her husband dead to the Pox and her grandson missing. What had become of their family? Dorea, who was but a tenuous connection to her already- being a sister-in-law by marriage, had also passed from the Pox. Her husband and Euphemia’s brother-in-law had passed years before that from an accident. Her younger sister had been dead for many, many years. Her parents were gone and Fleamont’s as well. Her family tree was soaked in blood and barren.

And she had no one to ask where her grandson had gone.

She had no idea where James and Lily would have placed him. Or why they left no record of his whereabouts. Sirius was the only one who might understand and he had been locked away, inaccessible. They wouldn’t allow her to see him, the boy she had known as a second son. For the longest time she felt as if she had no hope left of seeing any of her family again.

And then, two years ago, she had received a letter back from her nephew. He had explained that he hadn’t been receiving her previous letters as he no longer went by his father’s name, but rather his mother’s (Euphemia’s little sister) maiden name. He had written that he would be willing to correspond if that was still her wish.

She had been overjoyed by the letter, though its contents were curt and distant- she had still found hope within the spidery slant of her nephew’s handwriting. If she could reconnect with one piece of her family, perhaps she could find the other.

And then, mere days ago, she had received word from one of the muggle investigators she had hired. They’d found him. Her grandson. His name and birthday had shown when a small local library system had merged with another. They had found him a little over a month before his birthday. She had been too sick to see his first, but she would be damned before she missed his tenth. All she needed to do was knock upon the door.

She didn’t know who these people were, the Dursley family, or why James and Lily had felt the need to leave Harry here with them and she felt nervous as she stood on their quaint little muggle doorstep. Had they treated him well? Would he even want to live with her? She hadn’t been in his life for the majority of it so far, so what if he refused to even see her? The Manor felt so dreadfully empty and she wanted nothing more than to hear little feet patter against the floors again, but what if the family kicked her out for even suggesting it? Harry had grow up here, after all. This was his home, his family, and she couldn’t just whisk him away like it was nothing. She was afraid, more than anything, that if she offered him the choice, he’d rather a life without her in it.

Nonetheless, she gathered up her Potter courage, and knocked. (She might not have been born a Potter, but she’d been married to one long enough.)

The sight that met her when the door opened made the breath catch in her throat. This could be no one but her grandson. His bright green eyes were all Lily, but the slenderness of his nose reminded her more of Fleamont, the tan of his skin a remnant of Aditi, Fleamont’s mother, the untamable curls of his hair made her ache at the memory of James and the pitch black color of it matched hers. But he wasn’t the height he should be. Fleamont had been rather tall, and James had certainly been taller by the age of ten. And his clothes, ragged as they were, hung from his delicate frame- the which looked as if a strong wind might tumble him over at any moment.

“Hello,” he said, voice so soft and polite and the sound of it nearly made her weep. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, dear,” she said softly, words matching the volume of his own, “might you be Harry Potter?”

He seemed shocked, green eyes wide behind cracked and dirty reading glasses. He hid himself just slightly behind the door at her words, looking at her distrustfully now. She wanted to plead with him not to turn her away, but she withheld the urge.

“Why?” was all he asked.

She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but was sure she missed the mark. “My name is Euphemia Potter and I’ve been looking for my grandson for a very long time now.”

“Your grandson?” he whispered, disbelieving, eyes wide and filling with the beginnings of tears. Euphemia could feel the hot streaks of her own tears already flowing down her cheeks.

She merely nodded in response, voice failing her.

“But-,” he looked wary all of a sudden, concerned and fearful, “Aunt Petunia said her parents are dead. And that my dad’s parents died too.”

She blinked, not expecting that response. Was this Petunia woman Lily’s sister then? It would make far more sense than any alternative. But she’d never known Lily to have a sister. Granted she hadn’t had much time to get to know the girl, having only briefly met before James and Lily had decided to marry, they’d spent barely a year or two in the Manor with her and Fleamont before they’d come down with the Pox and the couple had decided to move out to keep Harry safe from it.

“Boy!” a shrill screech came from further inside the house, interrupting her response and making Harry flinch back. Oh now, that, that was unacceptable. “Who is at the door?”

Harry didn’t respond and she heard the sharp clack of heels move closer to the entryway. A tall woman with curly blonde hair and a pinched expression on her face came to stand behind Harry, towering in a menacing manner above him. He shrank back and Euphemia stood to her full height at the sight, ready to confront the woman if she had to. She had worked too hard to find her grandson just to see him treated like dirt.

“Who are you?” snapped the woman, taking in her robes with a sneer.

“Euphemia Potter,” she snapped back, conjuring a tissue to wipe away her tears and watching with narrow eyes as the woman reared back in disgust at the small display of magic. “Here to see my grandson, Harry Potter.”

“In,” the woman said, widening the door and ushering her through. “We need to talk.”

And talk they did. It became very apparent to Euphemia, very quickly, that she needed to have Harry out of their home immediately. Even if he ended up resenting her for it, she couldn’t in good conscience leave the boy here in a place that treated him so badly.

He left with her at the end of the day without fuss, simply a promise to stop at the library to return his current stack of books and he’d be ready to go. Neither Petunia nor her husband Vernon seemed to care about Harry’s departure. The child Dudley seemed only to care in so much as he was losing a toy rather than a sibling, and Harry had rather clung to her skirts than go near him.

The walk to the library had been pleasant, Euphemia asking after his favorite subjects (and getting more and more concerned as he revealed he didn’t go to school) and what he liked to read and Harry asking after the family and what Potter Manor was like. She learned he was an avid reader, not having much else to do except chores- as he didn’t attend school. Learned that he liked to read about magic when he could, although Aunt Petunia didn’t like it much. She told Harry about her nephew and the letters they sent back and forth and about the abundant gardens and towering stone walls of the Manor.

She held his hand through the whole walk, refusing to ever lose him again.

Chapter Text

September 20^th 1997, Hogwarts Library

It was barely into term but Harry knew if he didn’t tell all his friends now, while they were all studying together, he’d put it off indefinitely. Hermione was already going to be furious at him for keeping it from her for this long, he didn’t want to think about how bad it could be if he kept it off for another few months. Best to get it over with now and maybe his friends will have forgiven him by Winter hols?

Harry took a deep breath, gathering everyone’s attention before releasing it and saying in a rush, “I’m going to enter the Selection next year.”

It was like someone had cast a silencing spell upon the library. No one said a word, no one even dared to breathe. Hermione’s gaze was burning a hole in his skull. Ginny and Neville were simply sharing wary glances between themselves and Hermione who sat between them, like they were waiting for a potion to explode. Luna, at least, was simply smiling at him- serene and unfocused. Blaise looked like he’d rather be anywhere else, as was the expression he often wore when around classmates that weren’t in their house, but he did raise an amused eyebrow at him when Harry looked his way. He’d be hearing about this back in their dorms, he was certain.

“Harry James Potter,” Hermione finally snapped with a vicious whisper, the tips of her curls sparking with volatile magic. “Do you have any idea how little time that gives us to prepare you?”

“What?” was all he could think to say in response.

She balled up a blank piece of paper and hurled it at him, “Less than a year! And we have NEWTs to worry about on top of that!” She crumpled another and threw that one as well, her tirade never pausing. “You have ruined my study schedule. I am only not eviscerating you because one, you admitted it so early into the year,” she paused with an imperious sniff, “and I’m very proud of you for that. It’s progress.”

His jaw dropped a bit and he could only stare in befuddlement as she switched right back to berating him.

“And two, because I already planned for this and made a second study schedule to include learning everything you’ll need to survive living in the Star Citadel. But honestly, Harry, if you’d just told us earlier I wouldn’t have had to make two study schedules- just in case. You were leaving it so late that I wasn’t sure you were ever going to officially make the decision. I was wholly prepared to research what I could and send it all in letters after you’d made the last minute decision to join. We’re lucky you gave us any time at all, frankly, given your track record.”

“Hey!” he protested before being shushed and remembering they were in the library- thankfully in the back where Madame Pince wouldn’t immediately send them away and under privacy wards. He hadn’t really an argument to protest with anyway. His track record was, in fact, terrible.

Hermione leveled him with a knowing look, lips pursed as she turned to rifle through her bag, likely for whatever secondary schedule she’d made, because apparently she made more than one. She was a Ravenclaw through and through.

“You-,” he paused to gather his thoughts a bit more, “you act like it was certain that I was going to make the decision to join the Selection. Just a matter of when instead of if.”

It was Ginny who answered him, brown eyes glinting with laughter, “Harry, we know you better than that. We were certain the only thing holding you back from the Selection of ninety-four was your age.”

At this he blushed heavily, red spreading from his cheeks to his chest. He couldn’t refute it because she was right. When their older friend Cedric had announced his intentions to them, he’d been insanely jealous. He’d thought he’d hidden it all better, but apparently not. He’d long since had this fascination with the Emperor, but it’d only ever been that- a fascination. A passing thought. A daydream. He’d never thought he’d actually go through with applying to the Selection, not until this summer. But apparently his friends knew his plans before he did. He’d have to work on being so openly read. He was already atrocious at it as a Slytherin. He’d get eaten alive in the Harem at this rate.

“You’ve had a crush on His Majesty for ages now, Harry,” Luna added dreamily, twisting a lock of her hair around her fingers and thoroughly breaking his composure; leaving him sputtering broken protests.

“It’s not- Luna! It’s not a- what?” He groaned and dropped his face into his palms. “Why would you say it like that?”

She smiled mischievously at him before her eyes turned slightly glassy and a light mist came from her mouth as she spoke, “A seed planted; can be watered, can be nurtured, can be grown to full bloom. Ignored, it will wither and die.” She blinked and her eyes came back into focus, the mist dissipating.

They sat in silence a moment, Hermione even ceasing her rustling around with parchment. It was not a full prophecy, not even close. But it was still a glimpse, a hint, at the future. It seemed a straightforward one, but those could end up being the trickiest to interpret, being certain it meant one thing and it meaning something else entirely. They’d grown well used to Luna’s moments of foresight over the years- used to interpreting them, rare as they were. Harry dared to hope that this one meant- well. If the seed was his- admiration (it was not a crush, it was not) for the Emperor then maybe… Maybe a full bloom meant he could come to truly love the man? Was it even possible? Even if the Emperor didn’t love him back… Although it hurt to think he’d live with a love unrequited, it could still be worth it. Harry- he has doubted for a very long time if he’d ever be capable of love as he hasn’t ever felt it before, not of the romantic sort at least. He’d loved his grandmother Effie, loved his cousin, and loved all of his friends. But this was- different. Not to mention what he was. How dark his soul must run to have the sort of magic he commanded.

Hermione broke the silence, resuming her search for the alternate study plan- her arm and then the top half of her body disappearing into her bag. He knew she had a bottomless bag! It was the only way for her to carry so many textbooks! He really should have realized it sooner. She emerged and slammed a hefty stack of papers onto the table. They sat in awe as she duplicated the stack and handed one to each of them, even Ginny and Luna, who wouldn’t be taking their NEWTs until next year. It was twice the size of the one she’d handed out before their study session.

“Merlin, Hermione,” Neville whispered, the Hufflepuff boy looking a bit pale at the amount of parchment in his hands.

Blaise absently flipped through the pages, “Why do we all have such a larger schedule if Potter’s the one going into the Selection?”

“I’ll be going too,” Luna said cheerily before Hermione could answer Blaise. They all gaped at the girl. Harry barely had a chance of surviving within the bloodthirsty castle walls of the Citadel as it were- they’d hunt Luna for sport.

In an uncharacteristic move, she rolled her eyes at all of them. “I’ll be fine. I’ve gotten through Hogwarts, haven’t I? Despite all the Nargles and Hinkypunks. It’s where I’ll need to be to best help Harry.”

He considered this for a moment. It was true that Luna was stronger than she seemed. She’d dealt with a great amount of bullying before being absorbed into their group and even then she dealt with more when none of them were there to buffer it. Having an ally within the other concubines would come as a great boon as well, especially one with Seer blood in her veins. But the sacrifices she was making… She wouldn’t complete her last year at Hogwarts. She wouldn’t be able to travel and become the magizoologist he knew she’d wanted to become.

He locked gazes with her, making sure her eyes were clear and focused on his own. “Are you sure?”

She smiled, silver eyes growing warm, “Yes, silly. I’m very sure.” And then she shifted to look at some far off place in the distance, fingers curling in her hair again. “Besides, I’ve heard that His Majesty keeps a herd of Crumple-Horned Snorkacks in his garden and I would so like to see them.”

Considering the existence of such creatures was still up for debate, he highly doubted it. But one never knew with Luna. She knew a great deal of things she shouldn’t.

Ginny was the next to speak, crossing her arms and glaring down at the table. “I’m going too.”

“What?” Harry and Hermione snapped at the same time. Ginny was committed to her quidditch career, already being scouted by the Hollyhead Harpies despite having another year in Hogwarts to go. There was no way she would give that up to be a part of the Emperor’s Harem. She had also voiced, several times, that she disliked boys who tried to tell her what to do in a relationship.

“Not to join the Selection,” she rolled her eyes with a huff. “Merlin, no.” She looked at Harry then, brown eyes boring into his green with a determined frown. “I’m going as your head maid.”

Harry sat back, still confused, but Hermione let out a thoughtful hum. “Yes, you’ll need people you trust by your side on the inside.”

“What?” he’d quickly lost control of the whole discussion it seemed.

Even Blaise joined in, “She’s right. Your grandmother only keeps a house-elf or two, yes? House-elves are banned within the Citadel and you can’t just hire anybody to be your maids. They’ll be the ones dressing you and feeding you and doing whatever task you need of them. Ginevra would be a valuable maid to have with her skills. And the position might just bring her family out of poverty with the pay maids receive.”

Ginny curled her lips at Blaise’s last words, almost making to lunge at him across the table before she stopped herself. “Fred and George have already made names for themselves. Bill and Charlie as well. We get on just fine you absolute wanker.”

She was right, too. Despite the shame her family had suffered as having sided with the Order of the Phoenix so long ago, her brothers had mostly proven themselves- powerful and smart and skilled. A curse-breaker, a dragon-tamer, and two creative inventors. He’d only ever met the twins (who Harry owed a debt of gratitude to considering the map they’d passed on to him), having been at school at the same time before they graduated, but Ginny’s family wasn’t exactly suffering and Blaise really hadn’t needed to bring it up.

But there was one thing that was bothering him. “What about quidditch?”

She slumped back in her seat, refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t- I don’t want to give it up, but. But, I need to get into the Citadel.”

The air around them sobered. They were dancing around the edge of treason with talk like that.

Ginny rolled her shoulders back and finally looked up. “I want to know what really happened to my Uncle Gideon.”

Harry released the breath he’d been holding in suspense. Not treason then, just a personal vendetta. And one that wouldn’t necessarily get him in trouble with the Emperor. Just with the other concubines, especially whichever ones might have sabotaged Former Noble Prewett. It would be a dangerous game, but no more dangerous than the one he’d already be playing.

Ginny’s Uncle had been inducted into the Harem under special circumstances during the Selection of nineteen-eighty-two. Three members had been, in fact. At the time, they’d been called ‘war brides’. Caradoc Dearborn, Gideon Prewett, and Benjy Fenwick had all been inducted in eighty-two as an option between serving in the Harem or serving time in Azkaban. Understandably, no one wanted to end up in Azkaban. He’d made it up to the rank of Noble when four years ago it’d been reported he’d died by suicide. None of the Weasley family believed it, but there was no proof to be found otherwise. Having been in the Harem since before she could remember him, Ginny wasn’t particularly close to her Uncle- but she’d seen the effect his death had had on her mother and Uncle Fabian.

He ran a hand through his hair, causing his loose curls to tumble everywhere and knot together. “Alright. If you’re certain.”

She nodded, resolute. “Besides, I can always finish my term of service with you and try out for the Harpies or whoever else will have me when I’m free. Once you’ve gotten a stable position, at least.”

He nodded again, feeling exhausted by all this planning already. He’d really just wanted to tell them his intention, not make the entire plan to go to war.

Hermione leaned forward then. “You’ll need power on the outside, as well,” she said, eyes flicking over to where Blaise continued to lounge and pretend to ignore them all. “And you know I’m planning to join the Ministry when we all graduate.”

He grinned at her, “And I’m sure you’ll take them all by storm.”

She lifted her chin, pleased with his faith in her but trying to hide it.

Neville surprised them by being the next to lean forward, words hesitant but free from his usual stutter, “The Longbottoms have seats on the Wizengamot and as Heir I’ll be taking over when I graduate. Da has no plan to take the seats since he prefers teaching here and Gran wants to retire soon.”

They all blinked at the soft-spoken boy. They knew his father taught at the school, being an assistant professor of Herbology, but they hadn’t known about the seats in the Wizengamot or that there was a plan at all for Neville to take them.

“Planning to go into politics, Longbottom?” Blaise questioned with a lazy drawl, sounding derisive, but his eyes were curious and sincere.

Neville grimaced and rubbed at the back of his neck, “N-not really. B-but Gran’s really been pushing for someone to take over and since its just me or Da… I can do it. I can always get my Herbology mastery while its not in session after all.”

Hermione smiled, “Fantastic. Now that that’s all settled, let’s review what all we’ll need to cover-”

There was a round of groans from everyone but they dutifully flipped open the packets in front of them anyway. Hermione hadn’t steered them wrong yet, when it came to studying at least.

*

September 20^th 1997, Hidden Corridor Before Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts

Blaise ended up cornering him just after dinner, pulling him into a shadowed nook and casting a silencing spell to surround them so they wouldn’t be overheard. Blaise leaned casually against the stone wall and looked him up and down with a frown.

“I can’t say I didn’t see this coming, Harry,” and Harry fought another blush at the insinuation, “but for some reason I still stand shocked at your audacity.”

“You really shouldn’t be at this point.”

Blaise snorted and cracked a smile, proper aristocrat facade melting just a bit. “You’re the most Gryffindorish Slytherin I’ve ever had the displeasure to know.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Zabini.”

He raised a dark eyebrow at Harry and smirked, saying with a dark drawl, “Au contraire. Flattery has gotten me many places.”

“Like shoved into the Black Lake by Padma Patil?”

Blaise scowled, “That was one time.”

“Three actually.”

Blaise narrowed his eyes and pushed off from the stone wall to hover more ominously above Harry. Curse his short stature. “You’ve gotten much better at deflecting, Potter, but we’re here to discuss your bloody insane plan for the future. Short as it might turn out to be if you proceed.”

Harry crossed his arms in defiance, “You really have such little faith in me?”

Blaise looked down upon him seriously, “No, but I have an older sister.”

Harry dropped his arms, confused. “And?”

“And,” Blaise stressed, “Mamma has taught her all she knows about poisons and killing without getting caught. And she’s a high ranking concubine within His Majesty’s Harem.”

“Oh,” was all he could think to say. He knew there was a Zabini within the Harem but he hadn’t known she was Blaise’s older sister directly.

“Yes, oh,” his friend continued. “You see now why I’m- bloody- concerned about you? You won’t make it past your first week.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully, though, preoccupied. “Just poison?”

“What?” Blaise said, rearing back, confused. “I don’t know? Yes? What?”

Harry grinned then and patted Blaise’s cheek in a condescending manner, “Then there’s nothing to worry about.”

With that he waved his hand lazily, dispelling Blaise’s silencing spell with ease and slipping back out into the main hallway, relishing in his housemate’s confused yelling behind him.

“What does-,” he could hear his unusually flustered voice rushing after him. “Potter! What the bloody hell does that even-”

Harry’s grin widened when Blaise was docked points for yelling in the hallway and he slipped into the Common Room without further discussion.

*

October 15^th 1997, Magical Theory Classroom Number 3, Hogwarts

“Potter,” called the familiar voice of his Magical Theory professor just as everyone was packing up after lessons. “With me.” It was a relatively small class considering few people took the optional subject so far and considering how strict the standards of Professor Prince were, not many people made it into the advanced class either.

But it was Harry’s best and favorite subject. At first he’d thought it was Dark Arts and Defense, but then he’d taken up Theory as an optional addition and fallen in love. It was such an intuitive branch of magic, something you felt first and explained later. All of which was Harry’s forte. Magic was something you couldn’t always explain into words, it was something you felt. Spell-crafting was about forming spells with careful research, yes, but sometimes it was also bursting out a new spell and trying to reverse-engineer it into stability. This was his best method and it baffled his professors every time.

But Harry was a prodigy and he couldn’t always explain his work, the spell worked because it did. You move your wand in this motion because it feels right. You use this incantation instead of another variation because it sounds better. It was like riding a broom. Yes, technically someone could explain the physics of it all and run the maths and calculations of when to make what move or where best to turn. But nothing would beat the sheer intuition of knowing with your body and soul how to maneuver. Taking a split second to calculate versus already leaning into the next curve was what had won him many a game before.

A rolled up piece of parchment hitting him over the head brought him out of his thoughts.

“If you are done wool-gathering,” came the drawl of his professor. “I would appreciate you not waste what precious little time I have without idiot children running about.”

Harry rubbed the sore spot with a grin. Professor Prince was all bark and no bite. He’d seen the Professor pouting in one of Grandma Effie’s handmade sweaters during Yule break after-all.

“Does that mean I’m not counted among the so-called idiot children?” Harry asked with a grin.

Cousin Severus rolled his eyes and whacked him again with the rolled up parchment. “Insolent thing.”

“What a way to treat your star pupil!” he exclaimed, pulling the chair in the corner over to Severus’s desk and settling down in it while Severus gracefully folded himself into his own. It was a familiar arrangement, Severus often keeping him after class to discuss family matters or go into more depth about the lesson they’d learned that period. He, somehow, always arranged for Magical Theory to be his last class or at least have a free period afterwards, every year. Harry strongly suspected Severus was the one to actually arrange Slytherin schedules rather than their Head of House, Professor Carrow.

“So humble,” the man murmured absently as he pulled multiple books from a drawer in desk and placed them with a heavy thunk on top.

Harry blinked. Those were not Magical Theory texts. He stated as much and earned himself a raised eyebrow in return.

“No, they are not Magical Theory texts. They are survival guides,” he stated firmly, pushing them in Harry’s direction. He picked one off the top, flipping through it and noting it’s contents. Most of the small text was on poisons and how to counter them. The next in the pile was a handwritten journal that he thumbed through- it was all in Severus’s spidery script, a header stating “Infertility Potions; How to Reveal Them and How to Counter Them.”

“What is…?” Harry trailed off, not even knowing where to begin. He had an inkling of suspicion why Severus had given him all this, but he was baffled still. He’d only told his friends, under privacy wards nonetheless, about his desire to enter the Selection.

“When Aunt Euphemia passed,” Severus started and both of them grimaced. It had been a hard time for both of them, Grandma Effie being the only positive role-model either of the men had ever known. But while the Pox vaccine had saved her from passing from the disease, her body had still been weakened greatly by the sickness and all it had taken was a cold and then pneumonia and she’d been gone. While a wixen’s magical core worked as a particularly efficient and robust secondary immune system- protecting them from many of the same diseases that continued to fell the muggle population, Dragon Pox was particularly insidious for it’s ability to deplete the magical core over time. The vaccine had been a booster, but it could not replace what the Pox had damaged forever. He’d hardly told anyone yet, her passing having happened over the summer and still feeling fresh.

“When she passed,” Severus said again, softer this time, “the duty to care for you fell to me.”

Harry opened his mouth, ready to protest. He’d already been seventeen when Grandma Effie died, there was no duty involved when he was already an adult. Severus raised a hand to halt his argument before it started.

“I am aware that legally you are an adult,” he leveled a flat look in Harry’s direction, “however, this only means that I cannot prevent you from making foolhardy mistakes. I must still endeavor to make sure you survive them.”

Harry ducked his head, feeling grateful for the man that was all that was left of his family. Family he cared about, at least. He never wanted to see Petunia ever again. In a small voice he said, “Thank you, Severus.”

The man sighed before pushing the stack of books closer to Harry and then leaning back in his chair. “Do not thank me just yet. While I am sure your friend Ms. Granger is already compiling a study guide even a troll could follow, that does not mean I am going to let you go without a good amount of knowledge you will need for the Selection from me,” he drawled with emphasis before leaning in with a shark-like grin. It was a rare expression on Severus’s face and it terrified him, frankly. “If you thought having me help you study for your OWLs was grueling, you are in for a nasty surprise this year, baby cousin.”

Harry was stunned to horrified silence. Forget the Selection, he’d never make it through the year between Hermione and Severus. While Harry wasn’t one to slack when it came to his studies, having grown up self-taught for much of his childhood- it was an ingrained habit, but the both of them were swots to the highest degree. Either one would likely live in the library if given half the chance- granted they’d have to camp out on either side, but still. Harry still liked to breathe fresh air occasionally, thank you very much. But his window for enjoying the outdoors was growing slimmer and slimmer by the second it seemed. He’d never see the skies again.

“Now,” Severus continued, barely giving him a moment to collect himself before moving on, which was typical really. “I am sure, being the impudent little brat you are, you have decided that the likelihood of you having inherited the Prince family’s innate immunity to most poisons is great enough that you need no further protection from such sabotages.”

Harry said nothing because it was true, but he knew Severus had a point somewhere in there so he stayed silent.

“And you would be outright, idiotically, astoundingly wrong.”

“Ouch,” he muttered to himself. Louder, he tried to defend his line of thought, “But I-”

“Inherited your great-grandmother’s parseltongue ability, yes,” Severus cut him off, predicting what he was about to say. Harry leaned back with a huff at that. “But only partially. You can understand snakes, but you cannot speak to them. If anything you have a parsel-ear not a tongue.”

Neither of them bothered to mention how this had become public knowledge in the disaster that was his second year at Hogwarts.

“That is not a word,” he protested.

“Irrelevant,” Severus shot back, refusing to lose steam to his tirade. “The point I am trying to make here is that you are an absolute imbecile for thinking that inheriting half of an ability from one line means that you have inherited the full ability of another. Just because you revived a dormant ability of the Patil family through your great-grandmother Aditi, does not mean you revived the dormant ability from Euphemia’s.”

Harry sunk down in his seat and said, petulantly, “You have it, though.”

Severus sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. Harry almost felt bad. Almost.

“Yes, and we only know this because your fool of a godfather accidentally tried to poison me in our youth. Forgive me for not wanting to test you in the same way.”

Harry sat up, he hadn’t known that. But whatever past laid between Sirius Black and Severus during their Hogwarts years was not a subject his cousin appreciated questions about. So he focused on something else.

“We could, though,” Harry said lightly, “test it that way.”

“No,” Severus responded with feeling, more forceful than Harry expected. “You twit. Just because you are immune from dying from most poisons, does not mean you are immune to all side-effects. It is a heavily unpleasant experience and if you keep this up I might just be tempted to make you experience it all anyway. If only to shut you up.”

“Ah,” was all he had to say, deflating. He’d hoped to avoid having to study and memorize various poisons and dangerous drafts. There were a horrifying amount of them, truly, and there were an even larger amount of antidotes and antivenins and preventative potions to consider.

Severus was back to pinching the bridge of his nose and now mumbling to himself, “I’m going to have to send you an entire box of bezoars every week, aren’t I, just to keep my sanity.”

Harry grinned and was about to answer that when he was interrupted for the thousandth time this conversation. This time, by a welcome sound. The dinner bell.

Severus rolled his eyes and gestured toward the stack of texts still on his desk, “Go, and take those. They are for you to keep. Take them with you to the Citadel as well. You will need them.”

Harry scooped them up with a smile. Saying to take them to the Citadel meant that Severus had enough faith in him to pass the Selection itself. The man was not prone to empty compliments, which implied he truly thought Harry had a chance.

“Bye, cousin Sev!” he called out as he skipped through the threshold of his classroom, knowing the man hated when he called him that.

“That is Professor Prince to you, Potter! Five points from Slytherin for disrespect!”

His grin widened. Worth it.

*

December 2^nd 1997, Third Floor Corridor, Hogwarts

Harry had been sneaking around the castle after curfew, hidden beneath his family’s fading invisibility cloak, when he’d heard the sniffling.

Immediately, because no matter how much his house-mates had tried to beat it out of him- he still had Gryffindor tendencies of utter recklessness, he’d pivoted toward the sound to investigate. Personally, since he was still practicing a modicum of precaution by continuing to wear the cloak, tattered and worn and losing potency though it was, he considered it less recklessness and more… curiosity. Hermione would just roll her eyes and call him nosy. But Hermione wasn’t here and he was nosy, so nose his way to the source of the sniffles he would do.

He almost regretted it when he found the small figure curled up in the corner of the corridor, crying his eyes out, and discovered who it was. His Royal Higness, Second Prince of the Empire, Kassios Alexander Walker-Slytherin. Age twelve. And… a Gryffindor. He and his twin sister were the youngest of the Royal children to enter Hogwarts, only two others having entered before them. But Princess Eudora was in Ravenclaw with their older sister Princess Delphinia and their eldest sibling Prince Hesperos was a year below Harry in Slytherin. Prince Kassios was the only one of the Slytherin Dynasty to sport the colors of red and gold.

He wondered if that’s what the Prince was upset about. Was His Majesty displeased? Publicly it had been said that he was proud of his children no matter the House, so long as they did their best in school. But privately… He also wondered where the boy’s guards had gone, always at least two around the children while they were outside of the Citadel, and how much trouble Harry might get in if he was found around the Prince alone.

Oh well. His bleeding heart refused to let the boy cry alone, damn the consequences.

He slid the cloak off his shoulders and stuffed it in his robe pocket. He took a few steps forward, making sure they were measured- slow and audible. He watched as the Prince’s shoulders stiffened and curled further inward, his sniffles stopping with a sad hiccup. Harry approached until he was a few paces away, turned so that his back was to the Prince, and slid down against the wall until he was sitting on the floor. He let loose a gusty sigh and spread his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his palms, like he was lounging on a blanket during a picnic. Then he channeled his inner Luna.

“What a lovely stone wall.”

He heard a strangled sort of noise, like someone who’d been surprised into laughing and trying to hide it. Good. His master plan was working. He didn’t really know what it was, but it was working.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pattern of cracks before. They look- well, they look rather like cracks of another kind. Slightly… rounded?”

There was a surprised bark of a laugh behind him and then muffled giggles. He grinned, arse jokes were always a hit with the twelve and under crowd. And if it hadn’t been he’d have at least shocked the Prince out of crying by his sheer audacity. It had been a no-loss gamble, but he’s glad he got the more favorable outcome.

He hummed absentmindedly, like he was simply looking for shapes in the clouds. “Hm, yes. I think that one in the corner looks rather… cheeky.”

There was another round of barely restrained giggles and the sound of feet scuffing against the floor, like the Prince was trying to contain himself by kicking against stone. Excellent. Time to really sell it. He’d need a little help, however.

He felt the warmth of the castle beneath his hands, her amusement and her disdain and her fondness all in one. She was willing to play along, it seemed, but she still resented the indignity. He focused on his core, feeding a little bit of his own magic down through his fingertips and down into the stone- the smell of rainwater washing over him- and giving a small piece of himself to her in thanks. She accepted it with an ephemeral impression, like the echo of a memory of being kissed on the top of his head. And he watched as she fulfilled his request. He could have done it himself, but he’d rather keep her favor.

There were now faint cracks on the stone where before there had been none. And they did, indeed, greatly resemble butts. He moved his arm, slowly so as not to tip off the still snickering Prince, and rolled up his sleeve so his elbow was bare. He did this with both arms to allay suspicion. Then he brought the crook of his arm up to his mouth and made a horrendous noise.

Silence. Disbelief.

Then Harry said, “Oh, I do believe that one just farted.”

Peals of heaving laughter echoed down the corridor, the kind of laughter that left you breathless and crying. This time for good reasons. Eventually, through great gulping gasps, the Prince collected himself enough to turn towards Harry and say, “There’s no way-”

Only to cut himself short and collapse into another bought of rolling hysterics at the sight of Harry’s well thought out piece de resistance. A wall of buttock shaped cracks. See, Harry could plan things sometimes. He could think ahead, Hermione, thank you very much.

After a good few minutes the Prince collapsed in an undignified heap on the floor beside Harry, star-fished with his left arm flung over Harry’s legs and his head near Harry’s knees. He was surprised by it, not expecting the boy to have relaxed so thoroughly in his presence. He was touched, honestly.

“Oh hello there, Your Royal Highness,” he said, still channeling Luna, “I didn’t see you there.”

Prince Kassios huffed a laugh and grinned at Harry from the floor. “Yeah, right, because you were too busy… wall-gazing.”

Harry nodded, “Quite right, Your Royal Highness. There are many interesting things you can see on the walls at Hogwarts, but most students just pass them by every day without a care in the world.”

“To think,” the Prince said, stifling yet more giggles, “they’re missing out on such- beautiful things.”

“I’m so glad we could agree on this.”

The two fell into a calm moment after that, Harry waiting for the Prince’s next move. Even if he weren’t walking a thin line by risking being so familiar with a Royal Child, he’d still be waiting it out. It had taken him a very long time and many talks with Hermione and Grandma Effie to be comfortable with… well, emotions. Feeling things. And taking the time to understand what he was feeling. He’d still put it off sometimes, shove whatever tangled ball of feeling that was plaguing him into a dark corner of himself until it would come back to haunt him, to overwhelm him at the worst possible time. But he had slowly become self-aware enough to know when he was doing that, at that he often needed to- not- do that. Growing up a Slytherin contributed too, in a sort of sink or swim sort of way. One wasn’t allowed to emotionally explode because they’d been bottling everything up for too long when one was in the House of Snakes.

There was a soft tap on his knee and he looked down to lock eyes, golden hazel to green, with the Prince. “Thank you,” he whispered.

And Harry smiled, warm and genuine, “Of course.”

Harry almost went to push a hand through the boy’s auburn hair, so used to doing it with his friends it felt like instinct, and his hand awkwardly hovered for a few seconds before Prince Kassios looked up and realized what Harry had almost done. He surprised Harry even further by pushing his head up into Harry’s palm, almost like a cat.

“I miss when Ma used to do this all the time.”

And the wistfulness in the Prince’s voice broke Harry’s heart. It was both familiar and not. He remembered a time when he’d yearned so desperately for such gentle affections. When he’d felt starved for it after the one time Amelia the librarian had given him a hug. This was a boy who simply sounded home-sick, sure, but it still hurt all the same.

The Prince sighed deeply, “I should have already told her about all this,” he waved a hand around the air as if to encompass everything that had started his crying in the hallway, “already, but it’s different sending a letter. Putting it all on paper makes it seem… silly.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Harry said bluntly, “and I don’t know your mother at all. But do you think she’d find it silly?”

He couldn’t exactly tell Prince Kassios to owl his mother anyway. That could back-fire spectacularly if she was one of the harem that only pretended to be nice. Primary Consort Abigail Walker-Slytherin was the second most powerful concubine for a reason, Harry couldn’t know how she acted around her children.

“No,” the boy said sulkily, “she wouldn’t find it silly. She’d tell me to be proud of being a Gryffindor instead of sad. She’d tell me that winter hols are just around the corner and I’ll be home again soon. I just hate that I’m away from my sister all the time. We can’t even eat dinner together anymore! And people are always staring. Always. It’s weird and I don’t like it. And I know I should be used to it by now and that I’ll have to be used to it for the rest of my life as a Royal, but I still don’t like it.”

Harry hummed and moved an unruly red lock away from the Prince’s eyes, “That would suck. Never be able to pick your nose.”

The boy giggled again, a short burst of mirth that crinkled his nose and put a dimple in his cheek.

“You’re nice,” he said in that tone of certainty children often had. “What’s your name?”

“Here we’ve been wall-gazing at our lovely corridor picnic and you’ve only just now asked my name?” he teased with a grin. “It’s Harry. Harry Potter. I would bow properly to His Royal Highness, but I’d rather not knock foreheads.”

Kassios gave him a considering look and he hoped he hadn’t finally crossed a line with that comment. He rather thought the nose-picking would have done it if anything would.

“You’re the one everyone’s talking about joining Dad’s harem.”

Harry didn’t know what to do with that, really. He was suddenly wildly aware that the kid he was comforting was the child of the man Harry had had many an inappropriate daydream about. The man Harry was planning to, uh, fulfill marital duties with in the future. But also he felt rather miffed that apparently everyone was talking about him and his secret plans.

“Is nothing sacred in this castle,” he murmured, instead of addressing any of that. “No one was supposed to know.”

The Prince shrugged before looking earnestly up at Harry and told him seriously, to his face, “I hope you make it.”

Harry blinked down at the child, uncomprehending.

“You’re graduating this year,” the Prince said when Harry didn’t respond. “So unless you plan to teach, the only way I’ll really see you again is if you make it to the Citadel.”

“Uh,” and Harry didn’t even know where to start with that.

“You’ll visit me in the children’s palace, won’t you? If you make it in?”

And Harry melted just a bit, just one conversation and he was already far too fond of the boy, “If you’d like me to.”

“I would.”

A grumble from the Prince’s stomach interrupted them both. Harry looked down and raised an eyebrow.

“Did you skip dinner, Your Royal Highness?”

The boy looked away with a guilty face and Harry smiled despite himself.

“Right then,” Harry said, nudging a royal shoulder to indicate they should get up. He rose reluctantly and Harry followed, dusting off his own robes while Prince Kassios simply shook himself a bit like a dog. Fascinating. What an odd mix of manners he had. “I think it’s time I, as a seventh year, do my duty to my younger peers and show you some secrets of the castle.”

At this Kassios seemed to bounce on his toes a little in excitement. “Does that mean you know how to sneak into the kitchens? I keep begging Gary to tell me but he never does! He says its ‘not proper for one of my station’ or whatever.”

Harry idly wondered who Gary was and if, perhaps, it was one of the Prince’s missing guards and how much trouble he’d be in when it got out that the Prince had slipped away from him. Regardless he was now on a mission.

“Of course,” Harry said, leading them out of the corridor with a flourishing bow to the Prince. “I couldn’t leave a Royal Child hungry, could I? That’d be treason.”

“It would,” the Prince agreed with a stately nod.

They walked in silence for a bit, dodging shadows and turning corners with held breaths. Prince he may be, but even a Prince could still get in trouble for being out after curfew if he was caught. So he said, at least. Harry would offer his cloak to shield them both, but with how dodgy the enchantments had become he didn't want to risk it.

Just before they reached the painting they were after, Harry leaned over and said, “You know. The elves are always happy to make food for whoever makes it down here. And they’re usually so busy making food they don’t really stop to stare. So. If someone were to say, bring their twin down here, they could- theoretically- have a nice dinner together in peace.”

Slowly, Kassios looked up at Harry, a small smile on his face- dimple on his cheek. “Theoretically?”

Harry nodded. “Theoretically.” Then unceremoniously, he tickled the pear and swung into the kitchen with a hungry Prince to follow.

Chapter Text

March 27^th 1998, Hallway Outside Gryffindor Common Room, Hogwarts

He’d been waiting for Ginny when he was ambushed.

“You,” said a Gryffindor girl his year that he only vaguely knew. “Harry Potter.” She gripped his shoulders tightly and he felt duly threatened, though he tried not to show it. Ginny was grimacing apologetically behind her. “We need to talk.”

“Uh,” Harry responded eloquently, still unsure how to approach this entire situation and frankly afraid of the intensity in which the girl was staring at him. “Okay?”

He'd shared plenty of classes with the Gryffindors over the years and while he knew the girl was a seventh year and that he’d spent nearly a decade around her, he could not- for the life of him, remember her name. He thinks it’s a color. Lilac? No, that’s silly. Periwinkle? Even worse. Her last name was definitely also a color. Green? Mauve? Mauve Green? Horrible. If that was actually her name he would feel deeply sorry for her. White then? Violet? Ruby? Ruby White? That one wasn’t so bad, maybe she had a chance then.

The entire time his mind had wandered she had dragged him off into a corner with Ginny in tow and set up a muffliato around them to prevent any nosy students from listening in while passing by. Oh, this was serious then. Probably best to learn her actual name, then. He blinked up at her- she, along with most other students in seventh (and sixth… and fifth…) year were taller than him. If there was one thing he hated Petunia most for, it would be the chronic malnutrition that had caused his height… deficiency.

He waited for her to start. She was the one to drag him off anyway, he had no idea why they were holed up in a shady corner. She could be about to jump him for all he knew. At least Ginny would be there as a witness, he was far too tired from Hermione’s incessant study plans to care about ending up in the Hospital Wing. He could stop any assault she might launch, sure, but then he’d miss out on a nice vacation with Madame Pomfrey.

“Rumor has it,” she said, hazel eyes intent upon him like a predator tracking prey, “that you’re planning to enter the Selection this August.”

He sighed, slumping against the cool walls of the castle behind him, running his fingers soothingly along the minute cracks in Her stone- magic pooling comfortingly beneath his touch. He was going to miss Hogwarts when the time came, the castle almost a second family to him.

“I was under the impression,” he began, cutting a glance to an uncharacteristically apologetic Ginny, “that it was being kept a secret.”

“Please,” the girl answered with a roll of her eyes. “Hogwarts has no secrets.”

Harry would very much beg to differ considering all the shenanigans he’d pulled through his years that no one had ever found out about. His second year with the Chamber of Secrets, third year with the Threstral herd in the Forbidden Forest, that one time in fourth year he’d accidentally broken a window in the dungeons (which should not have been possible because of the magic on them) and flooded a thankfully empty section of Slytherin dorms- much to the ire of multiple mermaids. He still had scars from the grindylows that had come after him from that. All in all, though, nothing he was going to mention just casually. Most of it would have seen him expelled. Half of it his friends were complicit in and would have them expelled along with him.

He sighed again. “Say the rumor was true,” he waved a flippant hand in the girl’s direction, “why does it concern you?”

“It concerns me because I’m going to be your new tailor,” she declared, crossing her arms stubbornly and staring him down.

He looked to Ginny, tilting his head in question. She shrugged in response. “Lav’s pretty good with a needle and thread from what I’ve seen. She’d be an asset in the Citadel.”

Lav… Lav… Lavender! That was it. He knew it was a color. Lavender Brown, now he remembered. She was always one of the girls, along with the Patil twins, Romilda Whatever-her-surname-was, and Pansy Parkinson, that were always gossiping with each other- sometimes viciously cutting each other down (mostly Parkinson, she was a piece of work)- and taking Divination class far, far too seriously. He most often saw the group hovering over tarot cards or rune stones in the library and whispering to each other like mad.

He looked her up and down. She had what looked like red and gold marigolds embroidered tastefully around the edges of her school robes, no doubt a personal touch. They were neatly stitched and he could admit that whatever shimmery effect the gold thread had made the petals all the more gorgeous. Her accessories as well; a thin golden chain around her neck with a single red gem at the center, thin bands of gold on her fingers, and small studs in her ears that resembled the marigolds on her robes. They were all elegant, understated and beautiful for it. Harry was hopeless when it came to accessorizing himself- he could tell when the outcome was done well or atrocious, but he couldn’t tell you why or what went wrong. Everything looked lovely against her dark tan skin, even as they were merely embellishments on her school robes. He wondered what she’d be able to pull off if given the chance to design an entire robe.

He tilted his head in the other direction, his hard earned Slytherin mask in place and keeping his emotions well hidden. Brown stayed steadfast, refusing to squirm under his scrutiny. She certainly had the bravery of a Gryffindor, he could appreciate that.

“Do you have a portfolio?” he asked, still keeping cool.

He watched an appreciative glint in her eye appear as she grinned sharply in response. Without comment she pulled a thick journal out of her bag and gracefully flicked it open. He wondered if that was a practiced move or if she was just that much more coordinated than what he could pull off. She held it toward him and allowed him to flip through the pages absently. It grew harder to keep his mask in place as he browsed.

Some of her designs were stunning. Some were too much on the ostentatious side for his taste, but most of them… He’d be the envy of the Harem if he wore any one of the robes he saw. Lavender had talent, that much he could tell. He stopped his perusal and stared her down again, making no comment on her designs.

“Why me?” he asked. “What’s in it for you?”

He needed to know her motivations. If she was going to be so close to him while he was vulnerable in a dangerous and blood-thirsty landscape, he needed to know why she had approached him in the first place. Needed to know that he could at least trust in her ambitions, if not her as a person.

She snapped the book closed and glared at him. “Do you know who Pierre Balmain is? Anaud Vaillant? Sebastien Meyeer?”

“No?”

She threw her head back and looked down at him through her artfully styled blonde curls. “They’re designers who have all dressed members of the Harem, all started out tailoring for one concubine or another. And if you were in any way versed in fashion you would know how prevalent their names are now. They are fashion powerhouses now. That is what’s in it for me. I dress you in the Citadel and my name is immortalized in couture history.”

Naked ambition. Or would it be clothed in this case? Either way it was something he could appreciate. She was bold in her declaration but sincere as far as he could tell. She would be invested in helping him succeed if only because he was her main mannequin to display her work. He would have to do something to secure her loyalty later so that another concubine didn’t lure her away, but for now he could trust she wouldn’t sabotage him, else it would only sabotage himself. He did have another question though.

“And why me?” he asked, lounging casually back against the stone again, eyes sharp for her reactions. “Plenty of other students are entering the Selection in August. You’re acquaintances with Parkinson, aren’t you? I know she’s applying. Why not her? Or Greengrass? Or Smith?”

Lavender seemed to study him for a moment and they were stuck in a standoff. She’d have made a fair Slytherin with her ambitions and cunning and an impeccable mask, he could tell that much. Then her expression cleared and she smiled, small and genuine with a spark of humor in her eyes.

“Because you’re you, Potter. Do you have any idea how impressive that is?”

“What.” He felt- taken aback. Didn’t really know how to feel about it. He might have had ambitions and felt certain he could make it past the Selection. But to hear a classmate he barely knew declare such confidence in him? It was baffling.

She rolled her eyes with a good-natured huff, “Honestly. For a Slytherin you’re rather dense about these things, aren’t you?”

“Uh.” He’d lost the plot of the conversation entirely now.

“You have power,” she said, poking a finely manicured finger to his chest- absently he noted they were the same shimmery gold as the flowers on her robes. What a nice touch. “We can all feel it. If anyone was capable of not only getting in but getting status, it’d be you.”

Strange. He hadn’t really thought that far. He knew he wanted to get in. Had wanted to get in for a long time now. But he hadn’t really thought about after . About being more than just a First or Second-Class Attendant. He wanted the Emperor’s attention, craved it on a level that made him feel on the brink of insanity every time he thought about it. He wanted to survive, knew he’d have to play the Harem’s game if he wanted in. But he’d not considered going further. He hadn’t dared put shape to the thought that he’d have to claw his way to a higher status, that he’d have to fight bloody tooth and nail to truly achieve what he wanted. He didn’t put words to those deep, deep down desires. They were too dark, too large, too deep, like the farthest fathoms of the ocean that hid beneath the gentle line of the horizon.

He was afraid that if he so much as looked in that direction, then his hunger would swallow him whole. If he put thought to the nameless yearning that always billowed beneath his surface, would it then feel like drowning? Would it feel familiar?

“Also,” Brown added, dragging him from his darkening thoughts, “you and I both know that Pansy probably isn’t making it past the first day. And definitely not the second.”

“Alright,” he snorted, cracking a smile. “I may not be well versed in fashion,” he said, finally relenting, “but I know pretty robes when I see them. And yours are beautiful.”

He grinned as she ducked her head with a brilliant blush. She wasn’t expecting a compliment like that, huh? He’d have to shower her with the praise she deserved once they were in the Harem.

“I’m going to need robes,” he said. “Five sets for the days of the Selection itself. Nothing too flashy, but elegant and practical. We don’t know what the tests themselves consist of so I want to be ready for anything. But I don’t want to blend into the crowd either.”

Brown’s eyes were wide with excitement, a spark of manic enthusiasm taking over. “Done.”

He laughed. “I haven’t even given you the budget yet.”

The girl made a vaguely inappropriate noise at those words, “The fact that you can give me any amount of money to work with is already leagues better than what I have now. I will work miracles for you, Potter.”

He rather thought she looked like she was going rabid. “A hundred galleons a robe for materials and then we’ll negotiate your commission price afterwards.”

Brown made a definitively inappropriate noise at that, “And you’re not letting me be flashy with that?”

“Of course,” he said with an over-exaggerated drawl. “The money will go to acquiring only the finest of materials.”

“Of course,” she repeated, grin shark-like and dangerous. He felt it was the beginning of a beautiful partnership.

*

May 16^th 1998, Astronomy Tower, Hogwarts

Often, on warmer evenings like this one, Harry would find himself at the top of the Astronomy tower, enjoying the breeze and looking out over the Black Lake. One could see a lot of the grounds and beyond from the top of the tower; to the north were the greenhouses and the towering trees of the Forbidden Forest, casting great shadows upon the lawn, to the west lay Hogsmeade and the train station, trains of all colors- aside from the vibrant red of the Hogwarts Express- puffing smoke into the air as they rolled in and out. To the south was the quidditch pitch and the part of the Black Lake that students crossed in their first year, wherein Hogwarts could appear at her grandest to impress the newcomers.

To the east- to the east though was what captured Harry’s attention the most often. Most of it was the sprawling expanse of the Black Lake, circled on the other side by more ancient forest and then the rolling slopes of an imposing mountain range. And built within those mountains was the Star Citadel. Home to His Majesty, his children, and his harem. Around the Citadel was also the Capitol, the city at the center of the Empire. The Ministry was partly run from within those walls. The most prestigious school for higher learning- the University of the Capitol- also stood proudly within. And just at the entrance, nearly directly after the train station (which was the only way in and out of the Capitol) was the Palace of Gathering. It hosted many an event for the elite of society, but its most notable event was every four years in August. The Selection.

Harry would be traveling there in just a few months time, the excitement and anxiety of it all rolled up together and vibrating within his bones. He felt like he could shed his skin and fly at any moment. Like a thundercloud with wings.

He stood now, as evening dripped down to the earth- encasing the world in fiery shades of red and brilliant pinks- watching tiny lights blink on in the distance. It was the only indication that the Capitol was there. That it even existed. Everything else was hidden from view in a hazy cloud of shimmery magic, making it impossible to see the layout of the structures. It glittered in the setting sun, the light at such an angle as to bounce off the shield before shadow would creep in. It was even more breathtaking during the sunrise when the rays flared out from behind the dome and it would shine with the brilliance of a diamond for a moment.

Harry leaned further out the window, putting more weight on his arms that lay crossed against the sill. His thoughts turned dark with the shadows that were starting to spill across the lawn. Doubt was a heavy burden, draped like a winter cloak over his shoulders- stifling and inescapable. Who did he think he was? He wasn’t worthy to join the Selection, let alone the Emperor’s harem itself. Who was he to presume he deserved even a fraction of the man’s attention? That he was even capable of garnering it? He was nobody. A freak. Hadn’t the Dursleys told him often enough growing up? He was nothing and all he would ever achieve was nothing.

And perhaps he’d have let these thoughts get the best of him. Let them swallow him whole into a dark abyss. Let them sway him from the path he’d chosen.

But there was one thing that kept him moving toward his goal. One thing he hadn’t had in regard to any other goal in his life. It could pierce through even the thickest curtain of doubt and guilt and shame. And that was the ever burning ache of want that had settled into his heart all those years ago. What did it matter if he was nothing if it meant he could catch just one more glimpse of those burning red eyes. Even just a moment. Just a second. To feel the Dark Emperor’s gaze, however fleeting, upon him. Maybe it would fill some of the emptiness within his soul. Maybe the smolder would ignite into flame and he’d burn from the inside, quick as a match, under the attention of the most powerful man in the world. Did it matter if he survived the blaze? The burn would be delicious no matter the outcome.

And what else did he have? The Manor he had come to know as home was empty. Filled with nothing but ghosts of the few good memories he had. It was as barren as his soul. He could not stand to go back there. Couldn’t stand to think of it at all. He’d be staying elsewhere until the Selection. Ready to flee the moment it was time. He hadn’t expected the death of his grandmother to effect him so thoroughly considering it had been long expected and with what little time they’d had together, he hadn't known her well. But it had effected him deeply. It had cemented his decision to join the harem like nothing else. More than anything, he didn’t want to be alone.

A glint of something iridescent in the fleeting light of sunset shook him from his melancholy thoughts. The tail feathers of a magpie in flight. They were rare to see so far up north in Scotland. And it looked to be alone, enjoying the warm draft of early summer wind. It winged a turn as a current tumbled it northwest. Harry turned with it as he watched, smiling as it looked to be enjoying itself- flipping and curving with the breeze, flying free and unburdened.

His heart jumped to his throat when the wind took it too close to the Forest. Too close to a certain tree. The magpie soared over the Whomping Willow, unknowing, before an aggravated branch whipped toward it and hurtled it away. Harry watched in concern as it tried to fly, a wing obviously broken as it continued to lose altitude. It plummeted to the ground, Harry’s heart dropping with it. He summoned his broom, unthinking, and watched the tiny unmoving form of the bird as it laid in the grass- the image of its broken wing against the dusk colored grass of the lawn searing itself into his mind.

The broom arrived, a little worse for wear from its journey- no doubt having had to bang against a fair few doors and stone walls along the way. He didn’t care. He hoped from the window with abandon, gliding down toward the little magpie. He’d seen enough death as of late. He couldn’t stand to see more.

He landed without preamble and cradled the animal between his palms. Something had gone terribly wrong with the little bird’s landing. It didn’t move as Harry picked it up. It was still breathing, but barely. He didn’t take Healing classes, and most of his knowledge in Care of Magical Creatures regarded- well, magical creatures. He could heal a broken wing just fine, but he didn’t know enough about the inner workings of birds from there. His focus had been equine creatures; thestrals and unicorns and pegasi.

The only thing he could do was wait. Wait for it to die.

It was a power he kept secret deep within his soul. He told no one, for fear of how they would react. For fear of what would happen to him. He found no evidence of a single soul having the same power he had. There were many a varied and miraculous talent that carried within certain families- but this was nothing like anything he’d ever heard. It had its limits, too. Grandmother Effie had been too long gone by the time he’d discovered her body. He’d been helpless to stop her death. Helpless to reverse it. His failure still sat within him as a guilt that would never leave, a heavy stone within his gut that accompanied his grief. It had been an inevitable train, hurtling faster and faster down the tracks no matter how much power he put into trying to pump the breaks. And grandmother Effie had been a willing passenger, ready to welcome the rest of their family at the next station- even if it meant leaving him bereft at the terminal.

He'd grown to hate that train.

But the mess he’d left in his attempts to cheat death, to reach beyond his power… She hadn’t deserved that. The shred of her soul he’d been able to summon had begged him for death. Done nothing but sob and scream. Even then she hadn’t scolded him, merely apologized for leaving him. And begged and begged him to let her go.

And he’d released her back into the ether, sent her back along the tracks. Leaving him as alone in the world as ever. He’d cleaned up the gruesome mess of bone and blood and gristle himself, putting her broken body back together from where he'd ripped it apart for salvaged parts. The elves had simply stared as he did it, silent and fearful. He stitched her back together through the tears that never ceased. How could he have done something so monstrous? Something so vile and wrong? Magic wasn't meant to work this way, necromancers- rare as they were- dealt in death and death alone. Artificial animation. What he could do... what he'd attempted to do... It was- freakish.

The blood had never left his hands, ever since that day.

But this wasn’t the same. He could do something here. Use this freakishness for something good. Something useful. All he had to do was wait as the magpie took its last rattling breath and went still.

Carefully, so carefully, he summoned his magic like a warm blanket around him, gathering it and folding it into his lungs, filling his chest with a sweet and cloying heat. Like the heat of summer before a rolling storm, like the smell of new life budding from decay, like the feel of dense jungle fog. Building it and building it until it felt like a furnace had taken up space within him. Like his chest was holding the sun. He could feel his heart beating rapidly as he drew in a long breath.

Gently, he released the air and magic within his lungs and breathed new life back into the little magpie. It’s soul had not yet departed, meaning so long as he used his ability to make the body anew with life again- it would not die. Not yet.

A smile grew on his face as a little chest started to rise and fall again, wings fluttering restlessly where they had hung on either side of his hands. It had worked. It worked! The bird stirred weakly trying to lift its still broken wing before dropping it again. He could bring the magpie back, but it wouldn’t fix everything. He’d have to heal the wing separately. He was feeling too drained to attempt it, however. And he’d rather the bird get a look-over by someone more experienced.

He ran a gentle finger over the feathers of its chest, “Let’s get you to Professor Scamander, hm?”

The bird twittered in his grasp, the notes tired but sweet.

*

June 29^th 1998, Outside Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts

Harry had been, effectively, saying goodbye to the castle when Headmaster Black had summoned him to his office. Had he somehow figured out that Harry was in the Chamber of Secrets? That he’d been listening to Ophis the Basilisk complain about how no one would feed her the tasty rats, which were completely different from the not tasty rats, anymore? No one but Severus had ever found out before. The public knew he could… Parsel-listen? No, still horrible- but they didn’t know that he’d once met a Fenny Snake in the Potter Manor gardens that had been delighted to teach him a few words in parsel he could reliably replicate. He’d learned, “hello”, “no”, “I’ll bite you”, and “fuck off”. All the most important of phrases. He’d found, on accident really, that the Chamber entrance in the Slytherin dorms would open to just about any parsel phrase. He’d gleefully used “fuck off’ to open the Chamber more than once. But that was all beside the point. The headmaster was waiting. It would be just his luck to be expelled on his very last day at Hogwarts. Maybe if he didn’t show up they wouldn’t be able to expel him? Like quitting before you were fired?

Probably not. But at least the Chamber had been his last stop. He’d already been down to the Thestral herd in the Forest, down to the kitchens to see the elves. He’d trailed a hand along the stone in the Room of Requirement saying goodbye to its unique magical signature and to the castle herself. Her magic almost felt bittersweet, a fond farewell swirling beneath his fingertips. He’d waved to the Giant Squid in the Black Lake, dodging a shell a still bitter merperson had chucked at his head. It was a rather pretty shell, small and delicate with a mother of pearl type sheen on the inside. He liked to think it was their own begrudging going-away present. Perhaps they were celebrating his departure. He’d trekked to the highest point he could reach in the Astronomy tower and then wandered to the lowest point in the dungeons- which had been the Chamber.

He’d miss the castle immensely considering he planned to move in just across the Lake.

But that was neither here nor there and he needed to get his meeting with the Headmaster over with already. He tugged off the fading Invisibility Cloak he’d been hiding under and approached the gargoyle that guarded the office. It jumped away without protest, knowing Harry was expected.

*

Alphard waited patiently for his wayward student to appear, having wondered just how long the boy had planned to roam around the school. Hogwarts had kept him notified of his wanderings, Alphard receiving the information through a hazy sort of connection in the back of his mind that was only afforded to the Headmaster. Alphard had been stunned when Hogwarts had informed him of Potter’s first venture down into the Chamber of Secrets all those years ago. But the boy had caused no harm and Ophis might be dangerous but she wasn’t malicious or prone to violence, so no harm had come to the boy. It had taken Tom until his sixth year to find and open the Chamber, Potter had done it by his second. Brilliantly clever that boy was and Alphard could see why he was a Child of Prophecy.

When Alphard had first told Tom of the prophecy nearly eighteen years ago now, the Emperor had taken it in stride. He’d sent a select few of his Knights to watch any family with a child to be born at the end of July- which was then the Potters, the Longbottoms, the Greengrasses (until the girl was born a few weeks early at the beginning of July), the Abbotts, and the Shaklebolts (until the babe passed soon after birth). Watching for any indication that they might be the ones who ‘lived in shadow’. The Dragon Pox epidemic soon took hold of Britain, however, and much of Tom and everyone else’s attention was taken up by mitigating the damage, creating a cure, and managing everything else while it was all in turmoil. Especially when the illness took root within the Citadel itself, taking the life of former Concubine Rookwood, the twins she’d been carrying, and the babe that Noble Consort Black-Slytherin had been carrying as well.

And then the Potters had moved into a quaint little place in Godric’s Hollow. Named Umbria Cottage. And all the Knights were commanded to watch the house, never to intervene- just to watch. Which had come to backfire on Tom, as who other than Dumbledore should show upon their doorstep. And before Tom could do anything at all about this, the Potters had disappeared the next night- their child, the Child of Prophecy, gone with them.

And again Tom was distracted, this time by a small rebellion force attempting to storm the Capitol- all with the help of a single house-elf and the betrayal of one of Tom’s concubines. Alphard’s younger nephew, Regulus. He didn’t know what had caused the boy to turn to treason, but he was still deeply saddened by his execution. The rebellion had lasted a mere day, starting with the infiltration into the Citadel that morning and ending when the resistance had been snuffed out in one great wave of His Majesty’s arm that afternoon. The magic that day was something Alphard could still taste, just in the back of his mouth- like biting down on something too sweet and causing one’s molars to ache- heady and powerful and altogether terrifying.

The Shaklebolt brothers had fallen first. The majority of the Bones family fell next. Several of the McKinnons. Alistair Moody had dealt a great deal of damage before falling, but fall he did. The Potter’s, who had come out of hiding for the fight, fell last. Dumbledore had made it out, barely, by retreating mid-battle the moment Tom had been summoned from his duties abroad. The rest had been rounded up; Alphard’s elder nephew Sirius, Fenwick, Dearborn, Pettigrew, the Prewett twins, Jones, and Diggle. They were given options then- those found worthy could choose to be taken as ‘war brides’ to Tom’s harem or face Azkaban or conscription into service for the Empire. Fenwick, Dearborn, and one of the Prewetts had chosen the harem. Sirius, Jones, and Diggle chose imprisonment. Pettigrew and the other Prewett were branded with the Dark Mark.

It had been the Last Stand of the Order of the Phoenix. That day had marked the defeat of the last of Tom’s enemies. It still left him in awe at how much his school companion had achieved. How much more he still might do. The Dark Emperor, the Immortal Head of the Slytherin Dynasty, the Conqueror of the World.

And now, a mere boy of seventeen, was slowly endeavoring to shape himself into the man’s equal. And the feats Alphard had witnessed of the boy! So similar to Tom during his own school days. It was fascinating to watch. And watch he did. Tom had requested several reports on what the boy was like, his grades, his accomplishments. Never to interfere, never to neutralize like a threat or to restrict his movements. And now the boy had really caught the Emperor’s attention, though he didn’t know it, as rumor had it he planned to try for the harem itself.

Alphard didn’t have to know about the prophecy to sense that the world was on a precipice. Whether it be a downfall or a renaissance was yet to be seen.

His thoughts were derailed by the sound of grinding stone that indicated the student he’d sent for had finally arrived. He folded his hands behind his back, hiding the scroll he held from sight.

The boy, already legally an adult, stepped through his door with a polite smile. He was a handsome young man; a sharp jaw, a patrician nose, a roguish smile, and big stunningly green eyes. He had the lovely tan complexion of the Patils, the large tumbling mess of curls of the Potters, and the signature coal black coloring to it of the Prince’s. He kept it long like most wixen, usually pulled into a lazy tail unless one of his friends had gotten a hold of him and pinned it up neatly. He’d seen the Brown girl hovering around him more lately and bullying the boy into different styles. It’d long since fallen out of today’s braid, no doubt from escapades running about the castle.

“You wished to see me, Headmaster?” he asked, and Alphard could tell he was so valiantly resisting the urge to fidget. The boy reminded him of Sirius and Regulus so much sometimes it hurt.

“Yes, Mr. Potter, I did.” He gestured for Harry to come further into his office, saying, “I have something I wished to give you a bit early.”

Potter tilted his head to the side in question but stepped closer nonetheless. Without more prompting Alphard handed over the thick scroll he’d been holding behind his back. He watched intently as Harry pulled at the Ministry standard thick, black-velvet ribbon and shuffled the parchment stack in his hand with increasingly wider eyes.

“Congratulations, Mr. Potter,” Alphard drawled when he got to the end of the stack. “Eight NEWTS, four of which you scored Outstanding on. I’d expected you’re halfway to a Mastery in Magical Theory already. Severus has often waxed poetic on your prodigious skill when it comes to spellcrafting. Not to mention your scores in Ancient Runes.”

Potter looked up at that, green eyes searching Alphard’s face, likely wondering why he was doing all of this. “I shouldn’t have these for another month.”

Alphard hummed in agreement. That was true. NEWT scores didn’t normally come out until the first week of August. But- “I wanted to alleviate some stress from the veritable mountain of it you’ll be facing in the next month and a half. A very reliable rumor has it you’re aiming to enter the Selection come August, and not worrying about your test scores the entire time is but a small favor, I, as the Headmaster can do.”

“Reliable rumor,” Potter repeated flatly, resigned exasperation lacing his words. Boy really should know by now, that there were never any secrets at Hogwarts. He sighed, rolling his scores back up and taking the time to tie the ribbon to keep them secure, all in thoughtful silence. Alphard afforded him the time to think, patiently waiting for what he’d say next.

“Why?” he asked eventually, voice small. “Why me?”

Alphard smiled, leaning back against his desk and crossing his legs at the ankles. “A question with many answers, young man. But I’ll grant you at least two.”

Potter tilted his head in that curious way of his, considering. After he nodded, Alphard scrubbed a hand through his hair in an uncharacteristic show of nerves. He didn’t know how the boy would take all this, to be honest, and he was… apprehensive.

“The first is the most obvious,” he started, lifting a single finger. “You, of all the known candidates applying, show the most promise.” He nodded in the direction of Potter’s test scores, “You’re intelligent. You’re skilled. You’re powerful. Not only are you likely to make it, you’re the most likely to make it far.”

Potter grimaced at that and Alphard wondered why. The boy had been working hard all year and was a Slytherin for a reason, surely an affirmation that his ambitions were in reach should make him feel pride? Not- whatever that was. Shame? Self-consciousness? Regardless, he continued.

“No matter the rank you achieve, making it into the harem makes you important. Grants you a formidable political force should you choose to wield it. Doing a small favor for you like this puts me in your good graces. It’s not enough to incur a debt, which might incline you to reject my help, but its enough to build a favorable bridge.”

At this Potter shifted on his feet and shrugged, “Makes sense, I s’pose.”

“The second reason,” he said, holding up another finger, “is… complicated. And,” he hesitated, “… personal.”

Potter blinked in surprise but didn’t comment, simply staring up at him with those big green eyes. He heaved a sigh and steeled himself.

“I don’t know how much Euphemia told you before she passed, but your father was once incredibly close with my oldest nephew in their youth.”

Slowly, Potter nodded thoughtfully, “She said he was like a second son to her.”

“Yes,” Alphard said with a wistful smile, “I’d imagine so considering how often he ran to Potter Manor rather than stay cooped up in Black Castle. He was a highly spirited teenager and Walburga was… frankly, a piece of work. They clashed horribly- not a moment of peace between them since she birthed him.”

He looked out the window then, staring blankly at the sun shining against the bright green of the grounds. Absently tracking the shadow of a cloud as it rolled over the grass. Walburga had been a terror and she had treated that boy like dirt beneath her heel and a most precious puppet all in one. It’d been sickening and he’d gone behind Orion’s back many a time in order to smuggle Sirius out of there. His biggest regret had always been that he’d considered it too risky to do the same for Regulus. He’d thought the boy wasn’t treated as badly, that Sirius needed the escape more and he couldn’t put that in jeopardy when Regulus was seemingly safe. But he hadn’t been. Not for a moment, not with Walburga. She’d just learned to hide it better. Learned how to twist her wind up key with more finesse and show her disdain with a mix of false affection. And it had hurt Regulus dearly, to be left behind.

He tore his gaze away, refocusing on the boy that stood in his office now. He had many regrets with his nephews and already had regrets with Potter, but he still had a chance to rectify those with the boy. He couldn’t when it came to Regulus and Sirius.

He smiled softly, “It’s not a well known fact, but Sirius had been named Heir Apparent of the House of Black before his incarceration nullified his claim. It’s an even lesser known fact that he’d already declared his own Heir of the Line just before his capture.”

Alphard paused to let the boy absorb all that, to make some of the connections on his own before Alphard spelled it out. It was something they should have discussed long ago, which is one of the regrets he held. He’d avoided being too friendly with the child in case he was accused of currying favor like he had been when his nephews were in school. He’d been accused and was often guilty, frankly, of letting Sirius’s little group get away with many a prank they shouldn’t have. But just because of a fuss caused decades before Harry’s own admission, didn’t mean he should have been so incredibly distant with the boy while he attended. He’d been overjoyed when Euphemia had owled him about finally finding him and bringing him home. It had been such a quick succession of events; Sirius’s letter of declaration, the rebellion, and then Potter's disappearance as a babe. He never thought he’d be able to get to know his honorary grand-nephew and then he’d squandered what chance he had.

“Your father had named Sirius your Godfather and Sirius, in turn, named you his Heir. Which, to me,” he said, ducking his head to catch Potter’s gaze so the boy knew he was sincere, “makes you family.”

“Oh,” he replied softly. So softly.

Alphard rushed to speak, his nerves getting the better of him in this. It was another reason he’d stayed distant. He was just- so afraid the boy would run from him like his nephews had. Alphard had no children of his own and didn’t plan to change that. Quincy didn’t want to take the potions and neither did he. And while it may be in fashion in the circles of the Ton to take concubines a la the Emperor, Alphard was soundly disinterested in it for himself. Many of the older Blacks were dead or a bore to be around, so he’d rather keep what few family connections he had left.

“I realize I should have said something sooner, gotten to know you sooner. And I regret that I didn’t, now. But I hadn’t really,” he ran a hand through his hair, “known how to approach this. Still don’t, honestly.”

Potter was just looking more bewildered by the second and he anxiously twisted his Lordship ring around his finger.

“My husband says I’m pants at stuff like this,” he confessed. “Talking. Feelings. Etcetera.”

That pulled a laugh from the boy and it eased some of the tension in his shoulders.

“I know we don’t have much time,” he said gently, “before you go gallivanting off to the Untouchable Palaces, but I’d like to get to know you now. To officially call you family. To send the occasional letter if you’re amenable.”

“That sounds nice,” Harry agreed with a wide smile. “I’d like that a lot, Headmaster.”

“Please,” he waved a hand at the address, “I’m only your Headmaster for a few more hours now. Uncle Alphard will do. Or Uncle Alphie if you’re feeling cheeky.”

Harry grinned at him, all mischief, making Alphard ache from the memory of Sirius giving him that same grin in this same office.

“Well,” he said. “I’m always feeling cheeky, so Uncle Alphie it is.”

He scoffed good-naturedly in response, leaning over to lightly ruffle a hand over the other’s hair, to which Harry squawked indignantly but didn’t move away. “I suppose I can accept that, baby nephew.”

“Not a baby,” Harry grumbled and it made Alphard grin. He’d already found a sore spot to tease with it seemed.

“Ickle baby nephew. So small. So sweet.”

“Not! A baby! You’re a horrible Uncle already! My absolute least favorite.”

“You wound me, baby nephew. My heart bleeds from your harsh words. It’s a tiny wound, just like you, but still it bleeds.”

They both were grinning as Harry rolled his eyes at his dramatics. Though it was no surprise Alphard was like this when he was relaxed a bit around others. It wasn’t a side he showed often, but one couldn’t be a Black without being a tad over-dramatic. You were either humorous with it or… frightening.

They fell into a silence, not quite peaceful but not entirely awkward either. A chime rang through the room, saving either of them from trying to fumble another conversation.

“Ah, the Leaving Feast,” he said with a strained smile, “best not miss it, dear nephew, Hogwarts would be terribly sad.”

Harry didn’t move for a moment, searching gaze fixed onto Alphard, who stood in silence. The sunlight from his office window was spilled across the floor, having long since turned golden in the summer afternoon, and stretched like the shimmer of a fading spell between them. He didn’t know what the boy had been looking for, but eventually he found it. He smiled, small but sincere, before nodding and turning to leave.

“I’ll see you again soon, nephew?” he asked anxiously, worried he’d driven the boy off already. He’d done that to Orion, to Regulus, Andromeda, Dorea. He wasn’t skilled at keeping family close.

Harry turned back, gaze softening as he replied. “Soon, Uncle Alphie.” And then he left.

He let loose the breath he’d been holding. That had been entirely too nerve-wracking and his lack of composure with something so small was ridiculous, especially for a man of his age. But, what’s done is done.

He moved to collapse in the ornate chair that stood proudly behind his desk. He hated the thing, terribly uncomfortable no matter the amount of cushioning charms he threw at it, but he kept it for appearances sake. He placed his elbows on the desk and looked pensively out the window once more. He wondered idly if he should have told the boy about the prophecy, wondered if he should have warned him that the Emperor would take great interest in his presence. Ultimately, though, he decided that it was for the best. Harry had enough to deal with and adding a prophecy- especially one with such weighty expectations- would only burden him. Knowing of its existence wouldn’t change much, anyway, what with the path he had now chosen. Alphard assumed at least, considering the wording of the latter half of it, but he wasn’t one for divination either.

No matter, he had things to do. Such as owling a copy of those NEWTs to His Majesty, The Dark Emperor himself. Many of those who officially joined the Selection would have their OWL and NEWT scores, and whatever other testing they might have taken, sent to the Citadel early. That, however, was usually in an official capacity- from Ministry to Capitol Administration directly. This was a personal favor for Tom.

Tom had been passively interested in whatever Harry was up to ever since the boy re-appeared in the wixen world eight years ago. Asking for brief reports on his academics and interests. It had been a distant thing, something to distract the man from the frighteningly dull paperwork and endless parade of tedious meetings he was subjected to as the Emperor. Alphard wondered, though, how much that would change once Harry entered the Harem (and he had no doubt the boy would pass the Selection).

“More eyes are upon you than you think, dear boy,” he muttered to himself, thinking of burning red eyes, “and the weight of their gaze will be heavy.”

Chapter Text

August 10^th 1998, Train Compartment of the Capitol Express

Harry fiddled with the sheer black material of the sleeves of his robes, Lavender reaching over every so often to swat his hands away so that he wouldn’t ruin the fabric.

They were one of the five gorgeous sets that Lavender had crafted for him. This set had him swathed in layers of sheer black chiffon, crafted from anancites spider silk- which made it glitter like a gem in the light. Lavender had also carefully embroidered delicate silver filigree patterns on the edges of the sleeve. He expected the accompanying corset to be uncomfortable and restricting, especially with how tight Lavender had tied it; bright green ribbons cinching the black and dark green brocade together, but it simply felt snug against his chest and back. Cushioning charms and expert tailoring. He was also rather happy that underneath the flowing fabric of his robes was a pair of dark green, nearly black, slacks and black dragonhide boots with a small heel. Over everything he had a heavy cloak of dark green velvet with silver lining, clasped together with a silver and obsidian pin.

Lavender had outdone herself when it came to compromising between what was in fashion, what looked nice, and what Harry felt comfortable in.

He was, however, a tad nervous of the colors. Pinks and purples were expected, some bolder applicants even choosing blues. But anything else was considered… audacious. Green was the color worn by Concubines and too much of it in his outfit might make him look… presumptuous. Merlin forbid he wear yellow or orange either.

Lavender and Ginny both had scoffed at that. Lavender had said that he wouldn’t be the only one pushing the boundaries, that this was his last chance to wear colors at all before she was forced to style for one color alone. She’d told him with a glint in her eye that he’d look rather nice in blue. He hadn’t known how to respond to that; if he was lucky enough to get in, he’d be grateful to be a First-Class Attendant instead of a Second. Purple instead of pink. And the black… Well, that was the most ambitious color. The color favored by the Emperor himself. He’d wanted to protest, but then that nameless hunger- ever gnawing in the back of his mind- had made him pause. He simply wanted and with such a deep feeling of need, he hadn’t had the will to say anything to stop them.

And the girls were right, really. There was no official rule forbidding participants from wearing certain colors. This would be his last chance to wear what he wanted. Lavender had eyed him in the robes she’d fashioned and told him plainly, “The first test is of power, Harry. And you look godlike in these robes.”

She’d been exaggerating, but he couldn’t help but feel a tad bolstered by her words. It was nice, to have two people he knew by his side. He’d known Ginny for years now, having become fast friends with the fiery first year Gryffindor after he’d convinced the snake Malfoy had summoned during dueling club not to attack her. He hadn’t known Lavender near as long, but he enjoyed her company nonetheless. She was a vicious gossip when she wanted to be and bubbly and fun when she didn’t.

He really was glad to have their company. He couldn’t imagine doing all of this on his own, even if that had been the original plan. He had two trunks with him, one that held all he would need for the next five days and the other- held everything he owned that could be taken with him. If he made it into the harem, there would be no going back. Not now, not ever. Harem members, no matter how powerful, didn’t leave the Capitol. They could wander the Citadel and journey down to the Capitol with permission. But any other trips were heavily controlled, heavily guarded, and rarely granted.

But he would not go back to that empty manor.

He would never have a reason to again, hopefully. He’d gone back for a single day after leaving Hogwarts; to retrieve the documents he needed and the Gringott’s key to the Potter vaults from the study. It had hurt to see the Manor again. To see it barren. He’d never spent enough time there to really call it home, but it had been the closest thing he’d ever had. But he’d needed to get everything together to officially take over as Lord of the House of Potter. He’d been avoiding doing so until after graduating, but now the ring sat heavily on his hand. A beautiful thing of dark red garnet and the silver antlers of a stag wrapping around the edges of the stone. Mercifully, Neville had agreed to take over as his proxy in the Wizengamot so he didn’t have to worry about taking up his seats just yet.

Thinking about the Wizengamot seats, of which the Potter family had three, he couldn’t help but recall one of the conversations he’d had with Uncle Alphard before he left. Dreadfully awkward and rife with horrible revelations. One of which was that he was now the official Heir to the most Ancient and Noble House of Black. Uncle Alphie had assured him that Harry would not have to take up that Lordship anytime soon- as he planned to live a good while longer. But the fact of the matter remained that he was very much not a Black by blood and he very much had not asked to be the Heir of the entire family.

By all rights he shouldn’t be. Sirius’s claim had been nullified with his arrest. And there was a perfectly viable candidate for Heirship in The First Prince Hesperos, who had been born from Regulus Black before the man had died. But he’d apparently already refused it. Which puzzled Harry because Alphard had very much implied that Harry didn’t have the choice to do so. And he very much wanted to do so.

Alas, the signet ring sat upon his pinkie with a weight beyond physical. It was also actually physically heavy. And a bit ugly. The small black diamond that sat within it was gorgeous, but pairing it with a black gold band that seemed to swallow it in such a blocky shape didn’t appeal to him much. Nothing to be done about that though. He couldn’t choose the ring and Uncle Alphie certainly wouldn’t let him give it back.

“Ah, ah, baby nephew,” he tutted with a grin, “it’s rude to return a gift once given. You’ll suffer with it like the rest of us have.”

He’d also warned Harry, in that sweet but anxious way of his, to be careful in the Citadel. Told him that he’d already lost one nephew to the harem and that he refused to lose another.

“You are precious to me, Harry,” the man said, looking him in the eye in a rare show of deep earnestness, “more than know. Do not hesitate to ask for my help, should you ever find you need it. Do not let things fester as Regulus had. This is the one thing I beg of you.”

It hadn’t taken but a month of regular correspondence and visits to endear the man to Harry. He was going to miss him and he’d barely had the chance to know him. Harry gave away his heart too easily, he found. Despite all his losses, and they felt immeasurable in count, he still would reach out with desperate grasping hands to anyone willing to clasp them. He wondered, when, as well, that those hands would slip from his hold- as they always, always did.

He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable from sitting for so long and for the melancholic direction of his thoughts. He restrained himself from picking at the chiffon of his sleeves for what might have been the thousandth time, not wanting Lavender to swat at him again, and stared out the window of their train carriage- watching the scenery go by as they traveled up the tracks from Hogsmeade to the Citadel. It was all the same beautiful swathes of green, fields and forests alike, that you could see from the Hogwarts Express and if he relaxed back and didn’t think too hard about it, he could almost convince himself that he was going back to school for another year.

And then, rounding a corner, the looming visage of the Curtain Wall of the Citadel came into view, towering high above them. It rose so far into the sky that the top was obscured by a thick fog, making it seem as if the walls extended into the heavens themselves. He’d seen them from a distance whenever he gazed longingly from the Astronomy tower, but this was different. He felt minuscule within their shadow, nothing but a mere mortal attempting to place himself among the gods. It made the cold stone within his gut grow heavier, the ice of it filling his lungs and sending his heart skittering within his chest. It all felt insurmountable all of a sudden. Like he was embarking on a task he was doomed to fail, only half-prepared and not half as clever as he needed to be. Who was he but a tiny little freak longing for an impossible home among the clouds? How could he ever dare to think that he belonged? That he was worthy?

A warm hand found his; Ginny’s quidditch roughened fingers tracing familiar patterns on his skin. She didn’t flinch away from his shaking, didn’t flinch away from the cold.

And then they were passing through shadow, the warmth of protective magic spilling over them as they passed through the warded barrier of the Capitol and pulling into the station. The train gave a low and mournful howl of a whistle to indicate their arrival and Harry took a deep breath to steel himself, gripping Ginny’s hand in his for a moment before letting go.

It was time to go.

*

Harry stood in the main hall of the Palace of Gathering, trunks shrunken in his pocket and Lavender and Ginny by his side. All accepted applicants were to gather in the large reception room until the first test commenced, wherein they would be called back one by one and tested, with the participant told only if they passed or failed. From there they would either be ushered to a guest room to rest until the next day, or escorted back to the train station and out of the Capitol.

Harry looked around the room, in awe of the spacious ceiling with grand arches and towering columns of marble. The ceiling hung so far above them, one almost couldn’t make out the colorful swirling mosaics that lined it. But the black polished marble of the floor beneath them reflected the colors with a surprising intensity, enough that they could not be missed. Harry felt he could stand there and bask in the flowing patterns for ages. Lavender, however, pulled him from his unseemly gawking by bringing out a black lace fan and placing it in his hand.

“I won’t stop you from staring,” she told him, amused, “but at least hide your open mouth in a fashionable manner.”

He grumbled but snapped the fan open anyway, and used it as a shield. He was lucky they were an accessory in style with the Ton, and therefore something he could hide expressions behind without being called out on the behavior. He wasn’t always the best at schooling his features and that could eventually get him in trouble. But for now, handheld fans would do.

He stopped his examination of the ceiling for now, looking instead out into the sea of flowing robes and dresses. The competition. He was relieved to see, as well, that while many of them wore purple and pink and blue, he wasn’t the only one wearing colors that might have been deemed ‘above his station’. A striking bit of orange in the corner, a deep velvet red in the other. Yellows and greens threaded throughout the room as well.

He had paid little attention to the others, too nervous to think about assessing them. Names were shouted, one by one, into the masses as each participant was called back for testing, but he’d been unable to hear it fully- too anxious by far to listen like he should. Ginny and Lavender would fill him in on anything he needed to know later.

He could spot a few of his classmates, though, which filled him with mild interest. Daphne Greengrass lounging among a gaggle of fellow Slytherins and Heirs of important families. Among them being Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Evan Fawley, Marcus Flint, and Ginger Rosier. He’d never really gotten along with any of them, an outsider among the politics of his house- never at the top of the hierarchy but never at the bottom either. He wasn’t afraid of defending himself against attacks, but he also refused to vie for attention among the snake-pit. In another corner he spotted a group of older students, those who had graduated a few years ahead of him but hadn’t yet been old enough to participate in the Selection before this one. Villania Crabbe, Penelope Clearwater, Barnabas Yaxley, and Caesar Burke being the only ones he could name among them.

He felt a tap at his elbow and smiled widely at the newcomer beside him. Luna was also flouting convention and had decided to wear the entire rainbow it seemed. Her dress was reminiscent of the iridescence of soap bubbles and a bit of the shape of them too. Her skirt was bell-shaped and covered in a shimmery material that looked like it had a thousand tiny bubbles ready to burst forth from under it. Her sleeves were short and rounded on her shoulder in one large sphere but with smaller spheres of silky white fabric trailing down her arm. It made her look like she’d stepped into a bubble bath before joining him, and he could swear that when she absently swished her skirts back and forth, he could hear popping sounds. Utterly bewildering and so very Luna. She had rainbow colored paperclips dangling from her ears.

“Hello, Luna,” he greeted her warmly, holding an elbow out in her direction, which she immediately threaded a bubble-covered arm through, giving a little hum in response.

“Hello, Harry,” she said airily, looking out over the room with slightly glazed eyes. “The Wrackspurts seem to be swarming you today. But I can give you this to help ward them away.”

She handed him something small that he took a moment to hold up and examine. It was a small dark silver stud for an ear piercing. In the shape of a duck. Or more… a rubber duck? Well, he had two piercings on each ear, as Lavender had insisted was in style, and without preamble he took out one of the smaller emerald studs and replaced it with the duck. Despite Lavender’s admonishments and Ginny’s bafflement.

Before anything else could be said between them a footman approached, informing them that it was Harry’s turn to be tested and that he would be escorting him to the back. Ginny and Lavender, as his maids, were to wait in the hall until he emerged with his results. Nerves crept back in, a lead weight in his chest, but nevertheless he squared his shoulders and held his head high as he followed the footman towards a towering pair of doors.

“That Potter brat…” he could hear the derisive whispers of the others around him as he walked. “… after the shame his family brought…”

“Impertinent thing…”

“… thinks he’s good enough?”

“… won’t last a day…”

He ignored them all. He couldn’t afford to lend any credence to their words. He would show them. Even if they were right, even if he was impertinent, if he wasn’t good enough, he would see this through to the very end. He would crawl as far as he could dare- and he dared quite a bit- in order to satiate even just a fraction of the hunger that writhed within his soul. No amount of bitter gossip would stop him.

“Harry James Potter,” the guard in front of the doors called into the room. “Lord of the Most Noble House of Potter and Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.”

There were gasps and furious whispers behind him. This was the first time his heirship had been revealed, after all. His Uncle had been quite amused by his plan and had allowed it, keeping his official acceptance as Heir quiet until this moment. His name, which- when powerful- was often thought an advantage when being considered in the Selection, had just tripled in power with a single announcement.

Then the doors before him opened and he was ushered in while a sobbing Georgina Goyle was practically dragged out. She’d failed the first day then. He could only hope his results were not the same.

The room was smaller than expected. Dimly lit and almost intimate in atmosphere. A single medi-witch stood beside a comfortable looking chaise lounge, gesturing him forward and to sit. She held up a device similar to a tuning fork and he relaxed back into the cushions. This would be similar to the evaluation he’d undergone before being accepted into Hogwarts then. The tuning fork would resonate with the frequency of his core and a skilled Healer can differentiate the level of his power from the sound alone. It was a tool also often used to diagnose maladies of the magical core, though he wasn’t as familiar with that process so he wasn’t sure how.

“You’re familiar with the Frequency Measuring, Mr. Potter?” the medi-witch questioned. “It says here that you scored a seventy-six before your Hogwarts admission.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he answered. Euphemia had been ecstatic at the time; it was a rather high score for an eleven year old with an underdeveloped core, she’d told him. He could only hope that he scored high enough now to pass the Selection.

“Well, today we’ll be doing much the same while also testing you for fertility and overall health. You could face disqualification if you have any hereditary maledictions despite having an adequate power score. Fertility issues can be resolved with potions, blood-curses cannot.”

“I understand,” he responded, though he wanted to wince at the thought of fertility testing. He wondered how invasive that would be or, if like most medical testing in the realm of magic, it would simply be over with in the wave of a wand. He wasn’t really prepared for anything else…

“Then let us begin.” And without preamble she tapped her wand on the tuning fork and held it over Harry’s chest. It trembled in her grip and at first it seemed to make no sound. He looked up in concern only to see her staring at the device with wide eyes. What did it mean? Had he failed already? It should be impossible for a core to lose power as you grow, not unless you were inflicted with an illness like Dragon Pox. But it wasn’t making a sound. When he’d been eleven he remembered the shrill whine it had emitted before the Healer had announced his results. The higher the pitch the greater the energy, the larger the reserves of power within a core.

The medi-witch simply hummed before stopping the device and picking up a quill and scratching down a short note. “Do not fret, Mr. Potter. You’ve passed the first section.”

He sunk back into the cushions of the chaise lounge, relieved despite still being confused. He wondered what his numerical score was, even though he knew he wouldn’t find out. That information would be compiled and sent to His Majesty should he make it to the fifth and final test. He and the proctors of the test would be the only ones privy to the knowledge. Supposedly it cut down on cheating and sabotage.

“Time to lay back now,” the medi-witch said, gesturing for him to pick his feet up and stretch them out on the lounge. Uncomfortable, he shifted in place, wanting to wrap his cloak around himself and disappear. She gave him a small smile before waving her wand over his body and watching. Clouds of color coalesced above him, shifting and twisting in indiscernible patterns. The medi-witch picked up her quill again, eyes never leaving the clouds, and jotted down more notes.

“Above average fertility,” she murmured. “A history of vitamin deficiency, a genetic disposition for eye troubles- easily remedied by potions. Otherwise in good health…”

“Yes,” she spoke up a few moments later, after dispelling the colorful clouds with a flick of her wand. “I’d say congratulations are in order, Mr. Potter. On to the next round with you.”

He smiled, relieved, and swiftly stood from the lounge. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The rest of the day was a blur from there. Ginny and Lavender and Luna all telling him congratulations and assuring him they knew all along he’d make it. Luna telling him she was glad the Wrackspurts had finally left him alone.

The room he was led to was lush and gorgeous. Everything draped in dark green silk and black velvet. He had a small sitting room that led to a larger bedroom with a plush looking bed and a smaller room to be shared by Lavender and Ginny as his maids. But even their ‘servant’ accommodations looked luxurious and comfortable. He was glad. He hated treating them like they were ‘lesser’. They were his friends, not his staff. But they’d chosen to be there, in such a position, with him. For him.

He grumbled as Lavender undid the laces of his corset and Ginny helped him out of his boots. But Ginny simply swatted his knee and told him to hush. Lavender gave him her shark like smile and told him he had better things to worry about now.

Like last minute studying. Tomorrow’s test was intelligence, after all.

He groaned and collapsed back into his bed. Idly, he wondered, what exactly it would be like, a ball of anxiety already making itself known in the pit of his stomach. Was he ready?

Would he ever be?

*

August 11 ^th 1998, Palace of Gathering

Testing. For the entire day. The entirety of the day would be test after test, breaking shortly only to eat. Harry hated taking tests. Hated having to sit still for hours and hours on end, only himself and endless sheets of papers and dripping ink. The words always seemed to blur after a while, everything within him turning numb as he mechanically answered one confounding question after the other. He’d barely survived his NEWTs. Surely, he’d die today. Surely, he would simply expire in his little cubicle after the ten-thousandth question killed him. He would explode, he thought, on the spot, and they’d have to clean up all his blood and viscera and then they’d still probably make him finish his tests.

It was far too early in the day for all this and his breakfast sat heavily in his stomach, threatening to come back up in his panic.

Ginny had simply rolled her eyes at him before sending him off. “You’ll be fine. Try not to throw-up on the proctors, though. That won’t look good for you.”

Swallowing, he tried to take her advice to heart. He could do this. It was one day. He’d suffered through plenty before this, he could do it again for just another day. He stared blankly at the wood panel of his cubicle, knowing that there were others taking the same tests as him, just on the other sides of the divide. It was charmed to be silent so he couldn’t hear them, but he thought he could still feel the anticipation in the air. They were waiting for everyone to arrive and for the ones in charge to give the signal to begin.

He shifted on the little wooden stool he had for a seat, already uncomfortable. Thankfully Lavender had had the foresight to make the robes for this day as breezy and soft as possible. They were still beautiful, a fitted silk blend the color of a fine morning mist- a soft blueish-grey that stood out against the tan of his skin. The sleeves were fitted against his arms so he needn’t worry about the fabric getting in the way of his writing, but still loose enough that he didn’t feel restricted. He had form-fitting slacks of the same color and soft fabric and his feet were clad in the same black dragonhide boots from yesterday. He wore a corset as well today, this one a simple glossy thing of dark grey and dusky purple laces, tied just a tad looser than yesterday to give him a bit more comfort. His cloak was thin and lightweight, made entirely of layers of soft lace that Lavender had taken a painstaking amount of time to craft herself. At his shoulders it was the same color of the top of his robes before slowly shifting to a darker grey and ending in a beautiful deep purple near the hem.

He was kind of sad that he wouldn’t be able to wear these robes again. Grey was considered one of the colors reserved for the Empress or Emperor Consort. This would be the first and last time he was allowed to wear them if he made it into the harem. If they changed the grey for another shade of purple perhaps. But maybe that was wishful thinking on his part, hoping to be a First-Class Attendant instead of a Second-Class. Purple did go well with the green of his eyes. He was nervous enough as it was regarding either rank, if he didn’t make at least First-Class then either Ginny or Lavender would have to leave until he could climb higher. Second-Class Attendants were only allowed one personal maid.

But, those were thoughts to contemplate for another time as a chime sounded above his head, indicating the start of his day of testing nightmares.

*

Which potions make use of Cornish Pixie wings and what is their function within each potion? Why are Cornish Pixie wings preferred over the wings of Devon Sprites? Give at least five examples.

Translate the line of futhark runes provided below and give ten examples of the line’s uses in warding and spellcraft. Also denote where variations in translation could change the meaning and therefore change the usage. Is the variation enough to discount the use of the specific runes suggested in regard to a proposed warding technique or spellcraft? Explain your reasoning in three paragraphs or less for each variation.

Two inlet pipes lead into a large cauldron. One pipe can fill the cauldron in 45 minutes; the other can fill it in 40 minutes. To the nearest tenth of a minute, how long would it take the two pipes together to fill the cauldron if both were opened at the same time?

In what year did the Emperor take control of the European Wizarding Nations and what methods did he employ to the greatest effect? Explain the differences between each of his strategies and which were the most prominent in bringing about His victory. What was the year the Siege began and what year did it end?

The questions seemed to blur as Harry kept writing and writing and writing. His hand was cramping and his back was beginning to ache from the hunched over position he’d been maintaining for what felt like eternity now. This was infinitely worse than NEWTs. It was soul crushing. Horrific. If he didn’t suddenly die in the middle of these tests themselves, surely he would perish the moment they were done. There had to be a second reason for all this. It wasn’t just about intelligence, it was about endurance too. Willingness to survive torture. If it all didn’t end soon Harry might stab himself in the eye with his quill just to feel something again.

And then another chime was sounding above his head, indicating that the testing was over . Finally, blessedly over and done . He had nearly cried earlier when the chime had sounded but it had only been for a break for lunch. But this time it was done. He dropped his quill and immediately jumped to his feet, shaking out his limbs and rubbing the ache out of his right wrist.

“A late dinner will be served,” a voice called above them all in main hall, “and pass or fail results will be announced afterwards.”

He wondered at how quickly they could be scored when the tests themselves had taken the entirety of the day. It felt… belittling? The questions they had slaved over for such a long and arduous time, could be scored and tallied so quickly? Were they even reading the answers? Were they even accurately evaluating the depth of their knowledge? The soul which they had poured into the ink of their answers?

He sighed. He couldn’t know and would likely never find out. Better to sit down for the rich meal that had been provided and fill his belly than worry over such inconsequential things. He found Luna in the throng of participants and practically threw himself into the chair beside her.

“What a lovely day,” Luna said dreamily. “Some of those questions were fascinating to contemplate, didn’t you think so, Harry?”

No, Harry did not think so. Harry wanted to forget they even existed and bang his head on the table until blissful unconsciousness took him away from it all. He said none of this, simply groaned and gently placed his head on the table. It was not a day to care about manners. Luna giggled at his antics but said nothing more.

Dread filled him the minute they finished eating. What if he failed? What if he answered everything wrong? What if he not only failed but also made himself look like an idiot in front of all and sundry? What if his answers were so incredibly wrong that they paraded his papers about to show everyone what not to do when taking tests?

They were told that scrolls would be given to them momentarily, and that each scroll would either have a green circle in the middle or red. If it was green, you had passed and were welcome to retreat back to your room until the next day. Red, you failed and you’d need to be escorted back to your room to pack and then to the train station to leave.

Then there was a rustling of a great amount of paper and the hall, which had already thinned of participants from yesterday’s trial, filled with a swarm of small scrolls all fluttering about until coming to rest in the hands of their recipient.

He watched, detached, as a few others revealed their results before him. Clearwater had passed but Crabbe had not. Daphne and Theodore had both passed, but Pansy was throwing an absolute fit as she had not.

Harry swallowed thickly, the sumptuous roast he’d eaten sitting heavily in his stomach- having to make room for the anxiety balling up inside of him next to it. A scroll gracefully descended into his open palm, unfurling without ceremony to reveal a prominent green circle. He released a gushing breath of relief. He’d passed. It didn’t matter by how much or how closely he’d come to failing. He’d passed.

Luna smiled brightly at him, holding her own scroll with a green circle in the center, “I’ll be seeing you tomorrow then, Harry.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a smile of his own. “Tomorrow, Luna.”

*

August 12 ^th 1998, Palace of Gathering

Today, they had been told to stay in their rooms until called. Today, Harry was pacing his length of his room so thoroughly, he feared he might wear a groove into the stone before the day was out. Today was a trial of Skill. A virtue so vague in nature no one had an inkling of a clue how it was being tested. Only that they were called, one by one, to be individually evaluated. It was to be a very long day. They were told to expect to be called anywhere between six in the morning to eleven in the evening.

He wondered, with as many thousands of applicants as there were for every Selection, just how they managed to fit each trial within a single day. The first had been done in multiple halls with multiple proctors, he knew, and had wheedled down their number from the thousands to the hundreds. The second day had been filled with an arduous amount of testing, but everyone had taken them at once. And that test too, had at least halved the number of participants. But were there so few of them left now that they could be called and measured individually all in one day? Or was the judgment so swift that the number didn’t matter?

He paced the floor again, the heels of his blue blewe-boomslang scale boots tapping on the stone with each step. Today’s robes were, thankfully, as comfortable as the last. All of Lavender’s robes had been surprisingly comfortable, despite his initial impression that things like corsets and lace were all tight and scratchy and altogether unpleasant to wear. Aunt Petunia had often remarked, while pulling tightly at the knot of curls on top of his head, that one had to suffer in order to look respectable. That pain was necessary for beauty and that he should stop crying about it already.

Lavender had solemnly cupped his cheeks in a decidedly discomfiting display of sincerity and told him she would never dress him in anything that would hurt him, no matter how beautiful it looked. He’d nodded and moved on, not willing to think on it a moment longer.

She’d dressed him today to feel and look like a sunset.

His tight-fitted slacks bled from a light purple to a rich dark sapphire that nearly blended into the blue of the boots they were tucked into. He wore a poet shirt for a top, the cotton dyed in an ombre style from a vibrant orange at the shoulders to a soft pink-purple where it was tucked into his high-buttoned trousers. The full bishop sleeves matched the colors as well. He wore no corset today, though he almost missed the comforting weight of it around his waist. His usual ribbons, instead, were a deep pink and crossed in front of his chest to hold the poet shirt together- though Harry thought they were doing a poor job of it considering how bare he felt, but Lavender and Ginny both had insisted it made him look ‘roguishly handsome’. He’d rather hide away in his cloak, to be frank. Harry felt it was the most beautiful of pieces Lavender had styled him in. The lining of the inside was soft and silky, and done in the same ombre pattern as the rest of him- fading from a lovely orange to pink to purple to a stunning dark blue. The outside faded from a soft purple at the top to a rich indigo and ending in inky black. The bottom of it was embroidered in glittering silver thread and punctuated with small glistening gems that would catch the light every time he turned. It looked like the night sky had begun to appear at the edge of his cloak and he adored it.

Now if only he wasn’t trapped in his rooms while wearing it.

And then, all too soon, a footman was knocking at his door and informing him he was to be escorted for his turn in front of the ‘Esteemed Panel’. Whatever that meant. And suddenly he was wishing ever so much that he was still pacing the floor like a caged animal instead of being led to what felt like his execution. Too late to back out now, however. His friends might hunt him down and strangle him if he fled the Palace after all the work they’d cumulatively done to help him. He’d really also rather jump off a cliff than back out before he could even earn a rank, though it was feeling a bit tempting as the footman stopped them before a towering pair of double doors, pulling it open and shouting his name to those waiting for him inside.

Here goes nothing. Harry set his shoulders back and stood tall as he entered the room, the doors behind him closing with a resounding thud. The room wasn’t as large as the main hall he’d first been in but nor was it as small as the room he’d been in with the medi-witch back then. He stood in a wide open spot of black marble flooring, enough room to make him feel small in the emptiness. At the far end of the room across from the doors he’d entered was a platform, much like a structure found in courtrooms. One witch sat in a tall seat in behind a raised dark wooden podium that jutted forward away from the rest, who also sat behind tall wooden desks.

Harry very much felt like he was being put on trial. He didn’t care for it.

“Harry James Potter,” the witch in front began, stating his name flatly and with a hint of disdain. She had short brown and orange hair- a strange mix- and dark brown eyes filled with haughty disregard, she wore lush purple robes and lounged back in her seat as if it were her throne. She peered down at him through narrowed eyes and a deep scowl. “You stand before the Esteemed Panel of His Majesty, Emperor Slytherin, to be judged for worth and measure. You have passed, thus far, the two most important trials of Intelligence and Power. What say you?”

She leaned forward here, her glare intensifying as she studied him like a particularly disgusting bug under glass, her sharp purple-painted nails tapping threateningly against the wood. “What more can you offer His Majesty?”

Harry squared his shoulders and met her gaze unflinchingly. This, being the most vague of tests, had been the one they’d researched the most together. They hadn’t uncovered much, as the secrets of the Selection were held under magically binding contract, but they’d formed some conclusions on what he would need to prepare for the day. This was a test of skill, as it was called. On the public files of the current members of the harem, the skills they’d supposedly been chosen for were all listed. Things like specific affinities in certain areas, hereditary talents that they either personally possessed or had the chance to pass on to any children they might have with the Emperor. The political weight of their name and any power they held in the Wizengamot.

He spoke slowly but with confidence, “As Lord to the Most Noble House of Potter and Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, I have titles and Wizengamot seats that may be passed to any children I am able to bare.”

The witch inclined her head in acknowledgment but her disdainful expression did not change. He continued regardless of the nerves building like a current beneath his skin.

“I’ve been told I have a special affinity for spellcrafting and ancient runes and also an intrinsic understanding of magical theory. I have crafted and published three spells in my time at Hogwarts and plan to publish a fourth in due time.”

The witch waved a dismissive hand and even had the gall to roll her eyes at his accomplishments. Crafting a single spell and having it published, especially as a student, was an impressive feat in and of itself. But Harry had managed three before he graduated. Harry was not one to boast about his talents, was not one to parade around his achievements. But this was one thing he took pride in. He had worked, long and arduously, had slaved over the rune-work and theory, had spent countless nights reviewing the incantation variations and possible wand movements. With a single wave of her hand, this woman had reduced all his work to nothing. To an afterthought. Something that was barely worth mentioning when he had fairly tortured himself to achieve it.

It made him feel incredibly small.

He took a breath to compose himself. Felt the air fill his lungs and release in one smooth exhale. He held his hands behind his back to hide their tremble. When he spoke, he did not let his voice waver. He would not let her win.

“Through my father’s mother, once a Prince, I hold the hereditary immunity to most poisons and malicious tinctures. Through her mother, once a Black, I hold the chance to revive the Black family’s hereditary metamorphmagus talent- though I do not have it myself. And-,” here he paused. It was all well and good to state he could understand parseltongue, but it was another altogether to prove it. “And through my paternal grandfather’s mother, once a Patil, I hold a fraction of the hereditary talent of parseltongue.”

The witch leaned forward in her chair with a look of utter loathing. “A bold claim to make. To declare to have His Majesty’s coveted talent. The one which he dearly wishes to pass on to his children but has been unable to do so as of yet,” she said this with a falsely mournful tone, as if it was a great personal tragedy that the Emperor had yet to have children with his family’s trait. “And to claim to only have a fraction of it? Why, one might think you’re lying, Potter.”

Harry clenched his jaw, a burning, defiant anger replacing the last dredges of nerves still coiled around his chest. If there was one thing he hated more than anything, it was being accused of being a liar.

He’d faced those accusations all his life, growing up with the Dursleys. If he did his chores he was a liar and a good-for-nothing and he needed to go do them all over again, properly this time. If he, in fear, told the Dursleys that he hadn’t meant to vanish the cupboard door, then he was a liar and a freak twice over. If he’d managed to ask the neighbor, tottering old Mrs. Figg, for help through the cracks of their white-picket fence, then he was a disgrace and an exaggerator and a rotten liar for trying to stir up trouble in the neighborhood.

And it hadn’t stopped with them.

No, he thought, clenching his fist and making the stark line of scars appear white on his right hand. ‘I must not tell lies.’ A line he’d been forced to write over and over again with a blood quill in his fifth year. All because a Ministry Toadie had been sent into Hogwarts behind the Emperor’s back to check the educational standards of the school. Fudge, the incompetent Minister at the time, had thought he’d be able to undermine the power Headmaster Black held with the Emperor by unveiling some supposed sordid secrets within the castle. Umbridge had been a menace the entire time, trying to root out scandals that didn’t exist and lording her power as Inquisitor over every teacher and student who didn’t pander to her whims. Harry had been one of her many victims, among those that refused to go along with whatever sick story she’d spun in order to get the Professor of her choice in trouble. He had those scars because she’d called him a liar, told him that it was unbecoming of a Slytherin to withhold the truth so that justice could not be done. He’d been branded a liar because he had refused to become one. It hadn’t taken long for her crimes to be discovered and for her and the Minister Fudge to be summarily sacked. But it had been long enough for her claws to have left their mark.

“Believe me or not,” he bit out, barely restraining himself from saying something worse. “I am still able to understand parseltongue. And though I cannot speak it naturally, I have the ability to learn it.”

The witch sneered at his words, pretty face turned ugly from her expression. “What an arrogant Brother you would make,” she said, voice dripping with malice. “Do you have a way to prove yourself, Potter? Give me reason to allow you among my fellow concubines.”

Harry froze at her words. The haughty attitude, the purple robes. Her words, ‘fellow concubines’, ringing in his ears. He could not pin which Attendant she was, but she was ranked among the First-Class. Should he join the harem (however unlikely that was seeming to become with this meeting), this woman who already looked to hate him would likely rank above him. If he did not find a way to prove himself here and now, not only might he lose his chance at joining but he would suffer under this woman’s thumb for as long as he held a rank lower than her own.

“Permission to cast a spell in Your Ladyship’s presence?” he murmured lowly in response. This was a complication they had planned for. Despite his rising panic, he would follow the plan.

There was a steely glint in her eye and yet still she dismissed him, lounging back within her seat and waving her hand again, “Fine. Proceed.”

He readied his wand and spoke the incantation with the slightest edge of a hiss. As he spoke the words, he concentrated on the specific type of snake he wished to summon. A Fenny Snake, like that one that had been willing to teach him his few words of parseltongue so long ago. A magical snake, but a harmless one.

“Serpensortia.”

With a small burst of white light, a Fenny Snake appeared from his wand. He smiled at its disgruntled hissing before crouching down and offering his arm for it curl around. Gladly it did so. The black marble of the floor was rather cold on snake scales.

“Wizards,” the snake grumbled, coiling its way up Harry’s arm and around his shoulders, tongue poking out and smelling the air as it moved. “Always summoning poor Fenny away from his home. Wishing to use his skin for ingredients when Fenny knows not what that is. Why should Fenny care for Wizard troubles? Wizards care not for Fenny troubles. Never an offer of juicy rat or warm sunny rock for Fenny. No. Wizards only care for Fenny’s skin. Fenny will not give this time, he will not.”

Harry tried his hardest not to laugh at the poor snake’s monologue, but he feared he could not contain the grin that stretched across his face at the complaints. Fenny snakes were silly things, simple but still far more intelligent than the average non-magical snake. He’d had a grand time with the one in the Potter Manor gardens and he already felt a sort of kinship with this one now. He, too, would be rather grumpy if presumptuous wizards summoned him away so often for his scales and didn’t even compensate him with a meal.

“He’s complaining,” he told the others plainly, watching them keenly as they, in turn, watched the snake wrap itself further around his limbs. Fennys were small in width but unusually large in length. Five centimeters at max in width but five meters at max for length. This Fenny could coil around one arm to other and still have body left over to hang off his shoulders.

The Attendant at the helm of his judging seemed to hide a small tremble and he zeroed in on the weakness. A woman within the Emperor’s harem that was afraid of snakes ? However did she survive? His Majesty was the Lord of the Slytherin line and a master in parseltongue. He restrained his smile, barely, from turning vindictive at her fear.

“Hello,” he managed to hiss while concentrating on his pronunciation. That was the most important part of the language. Even slight variation in hisses could change the meaning of the word. It was a language of expression, emotion within each sibilant syllable giving it intent.

The snake paused, rearing up to face him and flick its tongue over his features, smelling him out in order to see him better. “This one even dares to speak to Fenny! How curious. How rude. This Fenny has never spoken to a wizard before. They have never bothered with Fenny. Does this mean all wizards have just been ignoring poor Fennys protests when they summon him for his skin? How horrible. How rude.”

“No,” he answers, but is at his limit of knowledge. Unless he wants to tell the snake to fuck off. Which he really doesn’t when its that close to his face.

“No, says the wizard to Fenny. So this wizard is unique in his rudeness. How odd. But the wizard is also very warm. Much warmer than the sun can manage to heat the rocks when the days grow short.” The snake tilts his head about before inching closer. Harry does not flinch away though it takes all of his strength. “Might the funny wizard allow this Fenny to stay? If it promises juicy rats and keeps the Fenny warm, Fenny might even be willing to offer his sheds. Without even biting.”

Without even biting, huh? What a wonderful deal.

Harry shrugged, he had nothing to lose here, and hissed a, “Yes.”

The snake ducked its head in an awkward sort of nod before slithering down the back of his shirt without preamble. Harry shivered and flinched away slightly, but otherwise didn’t move.

He looked up to witches and wizards that had been staring down at him in judgment, evaluating his worth. “He’s agreed to let me harvest his sheddings for potion ingredient so long as I feed him and keep him warm.”

“Unacceptable,” the Attendant said immediately, shrill voice on the edge of shrieking. “Vanish that thing at once.”

“Your Ladyship,” one of the other wizards had the courage to speak up, interrupting the interrogation for the first time. By his uniform, Harry would place him as a valet. It was a powerful rank to have, as a servant, depending on who he served and how closely he served them. The black and white of the uniform hinted that he likely worked closely with the Emperor himself. “Fenny snake skin is a valuable potion ingredient and rather hard to acquire. I would not be so hasty to vanish it.”

The look she shot the man was caustic and filled with a simmering hatred. The valet merely smiled benignly back and waited for her response. Harry felt his eyebrows climb at the exchange. A very highly ranked valet, to be able to challenge a harem member like that. Or, perhaps, a particularly lowly ranked Attendant.

“Fine,” she said shortly. “I think we are done here, anyway.” She stared down at him, a burning sort of hatred still flaring within her eyes, even as a spark of fear was found behind her mask. “You can leave.”

“Ah,” spoke the valet again, tone pleasant and mild. “First-Attendant Snyde, Your Ladyship, we must vote on a verdict, yes?”

“Don’t tell me how to do my job,” she snapped. “All in favor?” she asked the room, pointedly keeping her wand to the floor as she glared down her nose at Harry.

He stood strong, shoulders straight and chin held high. Whatever the outcome, he would not let her see him fall. He would not grant her the satisfaction of seeing him break should the vote not be in his favor. He needn’t worry, though, as the valet raised his lit wand and four others of the seven total followed. First-Attendant Snyde and only one other judge had kept their wands down, though while Snyde looked mutinous, the other just looked nervous- eyes flitting back and forth between the valet and the harem member.

“Well,” the witch said, tone waspish as it cracked through the room. “Congratulations, Potter. You move on to the next round.”

Harry smiled as he bowed, trying his hardest to prevent the relief and smug satisfaction from showing on his face. “I thank Her Ladyship for her gracious well-wishes, may her favor be ever held.”

“Out,” she barked in response, ignoring the titters of those still seated behind her. She had a temper, it seemed, and she’d let it get the best of her here. If the valet saw fit to report her ill-behavior back to His Majesty and the Emperor saw fit to punish her… Well, rumor has it that harem members have been dropped in rank for less.

It wouldn’t do to speculate now, though. Rankings wouldn’t change until new members were added, and any drops or gains aside from that wouldn’t be announced until the first of September afterwards. For now, he took his leave while he could, spinning on his heel and stalking out the doors as the footmen held them open.

A difficult trial, but he’d survived three already so far. Only two more to go.

Chapter Text

August 13^th 1998, Palace of Gathering

Despite how badly the last day went and how excruciating the days before that were, this was the day that Harry dreaded the most. The test of Beauty.

He felt, as he sat in front of the mirror that morning, that every single one of his insecurities was on full display. That every one of his imperfections was being magnified a thousandfold. Harry didn’t consider himself to be bad looking and on good days could even convince himself he was handsome, but that did not make him beautiful. Those of the harem were said to have extraordinary beauty, to be lovely beyond compare. Ethereal.

How was he supposed to compete with that? He was- He was just Harry. Just plain Harry. He could boast a few magical accomplishments, but there really wasn’t anything else special about him. And they would see that today. There wasn’t anything he could do about this test and that’s what scared him the most about it. He could study all he liked for the intelligence test, prepare for every avenue of questioning for skill. But he couldn’t research his way out of the looks he had. Any potions that would alter his features would disqualify him. But maybe…

He was forcefully stopped from that line of thinking by Ginny’s smack to the back of his head.

“I don’t know what’s going on in that empty head of yours,” she said.

“Hey!”

“But whatever it is, its not the time for it. So stop it.”

He rubbed mulishly at the spot she’d whacked. “You don’t even know what I was thinking.”

She glared down at him, hands on her hips, as formidable a figure as her mother- which considering Mrs. Weasley could be compared to a war general at her worst- was saying something. “I don’t have to know what thoughts you were thinking to know that you shouldn’t be thinking them.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” he protested, with a childish sort of whine he would outright deny if questioned.

“It doesn’t have to make sense when you don’t have any sense to make,” she retorted smartly. Harry felt that if he’d had a little sister, this is what it would feel like. Uncharitably, he thought he preferred being an only child.

“That’s even worse.”

“Alright children,” chimed Lavender with a soft clap of her hands, approaching Harry’s seat in front of the vanity he’d been staring forlornly into. “It’s time to play Harry-Dress-Up-Doll and nothing will stand in my way of making Harry worthy of the second-most beautiful set of robes I’ve ever made.”

Harry slumped back into his chair, closing his eyes as he gathered together his will to live. He had invited this upon himself. Had in fact thought it a grand idea to have both Ginny and Lavender by his side, despite how both were uniquely evil in their own ways. Often their evils joined forces to bully him all the more. Fenny was his only friend in the middle of all this and the traitor was luxuriating in the blanket they’d placed a permanent heating charm on.

“The second-most beautiful?” Ginny questioned.

Lavender nodded resolutely, her hands clasping Harry’s shoulders like an avian predator swooping up its prey. “The most beautiful set will be reserved for tomorrow. For the Emperor.”

And if those words didn’t send a shiver down his spine. If all went well today… Tomorrow would be a face-to-face meeting with the Emperor of the Slytherin Dynasty himself. The Dark Emperor. The Man Who Conquered. Those red eyes he’s been longing after for years and years and years would finally be upon him. Just the thought of it stole his breath away.

Ginny laughed beside him. “The way your eyes just glazed over, I’m surprised you didn’t start drool-”

Harry threw a wandless stinging hex in her direction, making her yelp. “Harry!”

“What?” he asked with faux innocence. “What happened? I was too busy drooling, apparently.”

“Horrid little man,” Ginny grumbled, punching his arm before getting waved away by Lavender.

“I did not sign up to mother the both of you, I’m here to make Harry prettier. Shoo.”

“Prettier?” he questioned as Lavender started pouring potions into his hair and dragging her hands through his curls, as was starting to become routine, now.

“Yes, Harry,” she said softly, the scratch of her nails on his scalp a soothing feeling. “You’re already devastatingly handsome, you know? I just get to enhance all of that.”

He blushed deeply at her words and didn’t say anything else, letting her continue her work as she tugged his head this way and that to style his hair. She was exaggerating, had to be, but the compliment still felt nice. He’d never be ‘devastatingly handsome’, he’d always be the scrawny little freak with too dark skin and ugly unkempt hair, but at least he had friends who could doll him up and let him pretend otherwise.

*

Harry was being circled, every inch of his body being scrutinized, and he felt much like a rabbit being circled by a fox in the forest; his heart was beating triple time and his limbs felt frozen in place.

First-Class Attendant Caradoc Dearborn was an imposing man. He was not particularly tall but he still towered over Harry and it was more his presence alone that made him intimidating rather than his physical height. His velvet liserian purple robes were lush and intricately embroidered with a pale green thread and delicate peridot beads, depicting forests, foxes, and mountain-scapes. He wore a deep purple corset with matching laces. His boots were a rich black dragon-hide and he wore no jewelry aside from a single golden stud on his right ear. His eyes were a lovely yellowish-green, but they were also sharp and discerning, taking all of Harry in without giving anything of the Attendant’s thoughts away in return.

Harry held his body still, valiantly resisting the urge to shift in his heeled crème leather boots or fiddle with the hanging gold and rose quartz earrings he wore. He was in pastels today, the soft pink of his robes contrasting beautifully against the darker tan of his skin. Lavender had even insisted on forcing make-up on him today; dark liner to accentuate his eyes, mascara to extend his lashes, and a clear pink gloss on his lips to make them stand out. He’d just been grateful she hadn’t insisted on the powder- he hated how itchy it made his face feel.

She then stuffed him into a tight-fitting satin tunic that was pale pink in one angle but a light gold in another, it fit snugly against his wrist before flaring out against the back of his hand and securing to a point near his middle finger. Over the shirt was a gorgeous light pink corset with gold damask patterning, the lining and the ribbons were both a creamy white. He wore tight fitting trousers of the same satin material as his top, the ends hidden by the knee-length of his boots with the same ribbon as his corset for laces. His robes themselves hung over his shoulders in a tumble of pale yellow and pink organza. He had hanging sleeves that allowed his arms to move freely through the gap, but the rest of him was shrouded in floating layers of pink. Painstakingly embroidered upon the bottom edge of the finicky fabric were white fluffy clouds, and on his back were yellow-gold lines to represent the rays of the rising sun.

Ginny had told him he looked like a warm Sunday morning.

First-Class Attendant Dearborn circled him silently for a few moments more, the heels of his boots tapping ominously against the stone and echoing in the large chamber Harry had been called to.

Those that were left in the Selection, and Harry had no way to tell how many that was, were split into groups and assigned an Attendant to be judged by, each taking a turn in the examination room until the Attendant called for the next. Harry himself had been in a group of five but he had no idea if that was a small number compared to the rest of the groups or large.

Three others had gone before him, only two of whom he recognized; Marcus Flint and Ginger Rosier. Marcus had lasted a mere ten minutes before storming out of the room, followed by two guards to escort him out of the Palace. He had failed, and quickly at that. Ginger had taken longer, nearly an hour, before she too left the room followed by two guards. She, however, had been reduced to tears. The third one, a woman he didn’t recognize, had lasted for half an hour and had not be escorted out by guards. She had passed.

All in all, Harry had no idea how this would go.

First-Attendant Dearborn distracted him from his spiraling thoughts by suddenly stepping close and invading looming over him, looking down his nose at Harry and pulling out a fan from a pocket in his robes and using it to tilt Harry’s chin up. Harry held his breath for a painfully long moment, willing himself not to tremble at the close proximity.

“Hm,” the man made a thoughtful sound. “Brighter than your mother’s were.”

It felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs in his shock and he could only gasp a breathless, “What?” in response.

Dearborn nodded, resuming his circling but closer now, and he tapped the fan against his palm repetitively as he moved. “I did not know your parents well, but I did know them.”

Harry gaped at the man, turning to follow his movements. “You knew my parents?”

Harry- didn’t know much about them, really. Having been seditious traitors to the Empire, killed in a fruitless and short-lived rebellion, there weren’t many willing to talk about them. On a rare day, very rare, he could get Severus to talk about his mother. About how he’d inherited her green eyes and fiery temper. How she’d been brilliant and headstrong. But that was all he’d ever been able to get out of the man before he clammed up, refusing to say more. Harry had only attempted to ask Severus about his father once as the sour look of loathing he’d received had been message enough. Euphemia, in her grief, hadn’t spoken much about them either. She’d let Harry see his father’s baby pictures but hadn’t been able to get through any of the stories behind them without having to leave to sob behind closed doors.

Dearborn smiled at him, stopping his pacing to stand in front of Harry. The steel in his eyes softened, and it suddenly felt like Harry was talking with an entirely new person. Someone approachable and kind.

“Lily Evans and James Potter were both just a year below me in Hogwarts,” he said. “Your mother was smart and kind and frankly, a bit of a know-it-all swot.”

Harry barked a disbelieving laugh. His mum sounded a great deal like Hermione.

“Your father,” Dearborn continued with a grin, “was an irascible troublemaker and the bane of McGonagall’s existence. He was also her favorite student, but that was neither here nor there.”

“But McGonagall doesn’t play favorites,” Harry protested, unconvinced. The woman didn’t let anyone get away with anything.

“She does when they’re a transfiguration prodigy and a charming cheeky bastard,” Dearborn rebutted.

“A transfiguration prodigy?” he softly repeated, half a question and half an expression of wonder. He hadn’t known that.

He hadn’t known any of that.

He felt mortified as hot tears started to spill from the corners of his eyes. Harry had been taught from a young age not to cry, especially in front of others. Tears were reserved for the dark confines of his cupboard and nowhere else. Not at Hogwarts, and never ever anywhere in Slytherin. Even a hint of them made Severus uncomfortable and they often sent Grandmother Effie into a panic. He hadn’t cried at all after Effie’s passing. Vernon had taught him crying was for pansy boys that needed ‘toughening up’ and no one else he’d known knew what to do with them.

And yet. Here, in front of this stranger, he felt them fall.

It was a silent thing, his crying. The rest of him stayed still and stoic, betraying no hint of them aside from the dampness on his cheeks.

Lavender was going to kill him for ruining his make-up.

Dearborn gave a sad sort of sigh and wandlessly summoned a kerchief in a neat display of magic. “Oh dear,” he murmured, bringing the tissue up to Harry’s cheek and hesitating slightly before Harry leaned into the gesture. The fabric was soft. “I hadn’t meant to make you cry, dear one, though I suppose I should have known you would get emotional at the mention of your parents.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered, grimacing as he willed the tears to stop and move away from the other man before he embarrassed himself further. “It’s just- no one talks about them.”

Dearborn banished the handkerchief and was quiet for a few moments, staring contemplatively over Harry’s shoulder. “No,” he said after a while. “No, I don’t suppose anyone would.”

“I-,” Harry shook his head and took a breath to pull himself together. “We really should get back to business. My parents are gone. They’ve been gone. I have to worry about the future now, instead of the past.”

Dearborn stepped back, the steel creeping back into his eyes but not hardening them to quite the same degree as they’d been when Harry had first entered.

“Why are you here, Harry?”

And that one question stunned him more than any of the other preceding events of the day. Why was he here? Is that what they’d all been asked or was it just Harry? Was there a right or wrong answer to that? How could- how could he even condense all of his reasons- all of his unnamed desires - into a coherent answer? It was… Such a big question with an even bigger answer. Why was he here? To sate the burning want, burning need that had been smoldering within his soul for some unknowable thing, feeling, (person), since the tender age of six . To find a home in the worst place to look. To go where he’d never again have to face that echoing empty Manor filled with nothing but small memories and the ghosts of regret. Why was he here ? Because this was where he needed to be. Because this was the only place he could think of to be. Because he didn’t have anywhere else to be.

In the end, he couldn’t answer any of that. Could barely string any words together, let alone coherent ones.

In the end, all he said was, “To join His Majesty’s harem.” Because it was the only answer that rang true.

Dearborn frowned, looking at him with concern, worried. Slowly the man looked him up and down, searching for something. What, Harry didn’t know. After a long pause the man hesitantly asked, “Are you being forced here, Harry?”

His brows knitted in confusion, not understanding first of all how that would be possible and second of all why Dearborn would care enough to ask.

“You can’t be, can you? That’s what the contract within the application is for, isn’t it?” he questioned. “To make sure no one is coerced into joining?”

Dearborn’s frown intensified, he looked away- face cast in shadow. “There are many ways around that, Harry, and I have no doubt there are people capable of finding loopholes in the contract. You didn’t answer me, though.”

Harry huffed a sigh. “I’m here of my own free will. Is that what you needed to hear?”

Dearborn looked back at him, gaze intense and searching. The man was a mystery to Harry, cutting looks and sentimental mentions of his parents and questions he couldn’t see the purpose of. He started circling Harry once again, but this time he didn’t feel like prey. This time he felt as if his soul was being laid bare before the man, stripped down to nothing and everything. It was far more uncomfortable and Harry gave into the urge to squirm. He felt the need to hide, to shrink back into his cupboard and whisper secrets and dreams to the spiders once more.

“One last question,” Dearborn drawled, voice setting Harry’s nerves on edge as it echoed from behind him. “And I want an honest answer.”

Harry nodded, not knowing what else to do, really. He hoped it was one he could answer. Hoped it was easy this time. Hoped it didn’t expose the innermost parts of his very being unto the stone slabs of the palace floor.

“Do you want a place in the Emperor’s harem?” came the question as Dearborn rounded to face him once again.

Harry made sure to hold gazes with the other man, breathing deeply before whispering his fervent answer. It was the truest, most honest answer he could give. “More than anything.”

Dearborn stared him down but Harry didn’t flinch. The moment held taut between them, like a string being tuned. Pulled and pulled until it snapped.

“Pass.”

And Harry felt he could collapse to the floor. It was done and it was over with. No matter how odd the whole experience was, he’d come out the other end with what he wanted (Why are you here, Harry?). He wondered if this was all the test was, being examined and questioned. Surely not, else why would it be called a test of beauty? The uncertainty left him tense. If it wasn’t meant to go this way, why had his been so different? He pushed the questions from his mind. There was no use agonizing over it all when, in the end, he’d still be moving on. His shoulders sagged and he allowed his eyes to flutter shut for but a moment, savoring the victory before facing the Attendant once again.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Dearborn merely inclined his head, a look in his eye that was almost akin to heartache, before he turned his back and waved Harry on his way.

He didn’t know how to interpret that. Didn’t know how he should feel. The relief was mixing with confusion and wariness at Dearborn’s conflicting temperament. One moment the man ran cold, treating him like a rabbit to a fox- ready to be devoured at the smallest hint of weakness, and the next he was soft and sentimental and wiping away Harry’s tears. And now Harry couldn’t see his expressions at all, hidden behind a straight back and impassive stance. He decided, then, that the man was not his puzzle to solve. He had far too many other things to worry about that to dissect what this moment had meant for the other. He packed away all those other feelings and left himself bask instead in his success.

Harry stepped out through the doors with his head held high and triumph shining in his eyes.

*

August 14 ^th 1998, Palace of Gathering

Harry was losing his mind. There were so many thoughts tumbling about in his brain that they were beginning to run together and overlap, turning into incoherent nonsense to the point that it felt like he had no thoughts at all.

All he could do was sit in front of the vanity mirror and stare blankly at his reflection as Lavender worked her magic on him before his meeting with the Emperor.

His meeting with the Emperor. The Emperor.

This was the last step. The last day. The remaining participants would be called to the throne room, one by one, to be assessed by His Majesty himself. They would be told nothing until the next day where those accepted and their ranks would be announced.

He was so close.

Today. Lavender had fashioned him after a blood red sunrise and he still felt in awe of her work. The corset was unlike any of the others she’d made and altered. The base was a glossy black and instead of one piece wrapped around and tied with laces in the back- it was two, one long one held snugly against his back and a smaller section hugging his chest and laced to the other on either side of him in the front. The laces started bright red at the top and faded to orange and then yellow-gold where the prettily tied bows hung down. The front panel was a beautiful work of art; the half-circle of a rising sun done in gold thread lined the bottom and climbing from that was a delicate lace, moving from gold to orange to red in color and mimicked swirling sun rays. A touch of magic made it light up with a subtle glow.

Lavender had him in classic robes this time, which meant he felt like he was wearing a dress. It was admittedly a gorgeous ensemble, though, and still comfortable- especially with the shorts he’d been allowed to wear underneath- so he didn’t complain too much. The material was a medium-weight silk muslin that felt light and smooth against his skin. The top, which draped low enough to show off his collarbones, was a bright and brilliant red. The sleeves- which were a fluttering bell shape that ended past his elbow- were, on the outside, red then faded to orange and gold until they were level with the bottom of his corset. Underneath was a ruffling silk tulle that gave the sleeves volume, colored a deep blue.

The ‘skirts’ of his robes were much the same, starting in a vibrant phthalo blue that darkened until the edges that brushed his ankles was the same color as the midnight sky. Small diamonds, which had taken up a good deal of the budget for these robes, were sewn in to look like stars that sparkled when they caught the light. On his feet were black velvet heels, just slightly taller than Harry was comfortable with- but not too tall that he risked tripping- with thick black ribbons that criss-crossed across his legs like he’d seen ballet shoes do. They emphasized the lean muscle of his calves whenever they peaked through the slits along the side of his skirts.

His back felt cold without a cloak- bare where the robes were draped low in scoop neck to show off his shoulder-blades. Hanging from the back of that was a long black lace cape that trailed behind him like a wedding dress train. The designs were similar to the lace along his corset, depicting tall trees and stars and the sunrise in monochrome.

Harry never thought he’d be able to call himself beautiful. But here, he felt, that Lavender had done magic without actually doing magic. And she wasn’t done either.

His hair was tamed for once, pulled over his shoulder in glossy waves and kept in line with a small crystal clip just behind his ear. A headband made of delicate silver and diamond kept his flyaway curls out of his face, glittering in the candle-light of his rooms. On his ears he wore one set of sapphire studs and another set of ruby teardrops. His neck boasted the most impressive of his jewelry. Found in the back of the Potter vaults had been a stunning choker of black lace, looping gold chains with brilliant clinohumite, and a large center piece of fire opal. Harry couldn’t keep his eyes off of it, watching the light catch on the gem and cause new colors to shine through.

She was forcing him into make-up again today. She’d already put a dusting of gold on the inner corners of his eyelids and blended it with a light red she’d smudged around the outside corners that made the green of his eyes pop. He’d been afraid he’d look a bit like Christmas, but the final product was far from it. It matched his robes beautifully instead. She was applying black kohl around his eyes now and was planning on staining his lips a vibrant red afterwards.

He felt- He felt like he might be able to face a man such as the Emperor when he looked like this. Felt like he could dare to bask in the man’s presence.

There was a knock upon the outer door.

Lavender finished with the black liner and quickly but neatly applied the red lipstain as Ginny moved to answer the door. She put down the makeup and cupped his cheeks, tilting his head to all angles before smiling widely. “Perfect,” she whispered, sincere.

Harry grinned back, eternally glad to have had her by his side, “Thanks to you.”

She raised her nose to the air in an imperious sniff, “I polished you off, Potter, and I did a damn fine job of it.” She leveled her eyes and met his in a serious gaze. “But the raw material was always there.”

He looked away, unable to formulate a response to that. Instead he stood from the vanity chair and brushed out the nonexistent wrinkles in his robes. Ginny came striding back in and took his hand to lead him into the main sitting room where a footman stood waiting to escort him to the last challenge he’d have to face.

On to see the Emperor.

*

Tom was bored. This he would readily admit, though he kept the thought to himself.

He had a great amount of satisfaction, having conquered the world in a show of power that no man had ever managed before. Often he would bask in the glory this power afforded him. There was not a single person on the entire face of the planet that could ever hold control over him again. No Matrons wishing to beat him for imagined indiscretions could ever touch him again. No priests wishing to exorcise him in a malicious show of power over the weak could even fathom coming near. No manipulative professors wishing to see the worst in an ill-behaved orphan could ever set fire to his possessions again.

He was proud of the world he had built. Power mattered most in his world. Inconsequential things like blood and wealth mattered less in the running of things; if one had power, drive, and the cunning to wield it- Tom would not begrudge such a person a place within his Inner Circle. Wealth still opened more doors than a lack of it, but it was no longer a ruling factor. Tom had built a world now where he would have thrived as a child. Instead of being scorned for his blood-status and ridiculed for his poverty, had he grown in this world- he would have been granted everything once the amount of magical power he held within his core was discovered. Tom had very generous scholarships for a reason. He refused to let talent go to waste for frivolous reasons, unless they decided to squander it themselves. There was only power here, and those too weak to seek it.

Regardless of all that, however, there were parts of ruling over the globe that were… tedious. Many more than he had imagined there to be, frankly.

Sitting in the small throne room of the Palace of Gathering with Bellatrix by his side, Abigail and Amycus in seats on a dais slightly lower than his own, and wixen after wixen being paraded in front of his eyes, was one of those tedious parts. The Selection. A tedious process for a tedious harem that he didn’t care one way or the other for. It had started as wanting a collection of powerful wixen, those amenable to carrying his children so that he may sire yet more powerful heirs. But his High Council, made up of those that controlled a great deal of the finer parts of his reign- military forces, government officials, economic powerhouses, old and influential families- and could therefore not go ignored without consequence, had insisted on a system with more respectability. They had thought it genius to impose the harem system and implement it within the higher echelons of the wixen Ton, solving the declining birthrates and saving many of the old Houses from ruin.

Tom had been amused at first, showing favor to one witch or wizard over another, dangling his affections from a string, and watching them all fight so viciously over it. He had sat back watched them fight for power among themselves.

But then the first of his children had been born. Hesperos, his oldest. Tom had long thought he’d be averse to children, seeing them as messy things that were only necessary for continuing on the Slytherin line. But that was before he’d held a child that was his. Hesperos had Regulus’ coloring, yes, but his looks were all Tom, even squished as they were right after birth. Tom had always been a possessive man and it turned out to be no different with his children. Perhaps it wasn’t the ‘pure’ sort of love that Dumbledore would have touted about, but he adored his children nonetheless.

And then the first of his concubines had died. And it had been a startling thing to realize that they had become his as well. Frivolous and insipid as they often were, they were still part of his court and all resided within his domain, his to play with as he saw fit. Cosima had fallen to Dragon Pox and while he strongly suspected foul play, he had no proof. The twins she’d been carrying had died with her. And then Regulus had betrayed him in the most painful of ways.

Now, he held himself at a distance with his harem but still was incredibly protective of all that entered his fold. They were the parents to his children and could prove to be entertaining diversions on occasion. But he did not love a single one of them. There were some that had earned his fondness, yes. Bellatrix’s rabid loyalty in the face of her cousin’s betrayal had earned her the spot by his side, as well as giving him his second born and now bearing him another soon to be born. Abigail’s easy council and camaraderie, despite the darker sides of himself she had laid witness to, had earned her a true feeling of friendship between them and the second highest rank, as well as the three children she had given him. Amycus’ cutting remarks and snide commentary during dull events were endlessly entertaining and had earned him the third.

He did not regret having his harem, but having to pick from an endless and monotonous procession of wixen was the worst of the process of it all. The last girl had only had the ability to tremble before him and left in a sniveling heap when he’d dismissed her outright for it.

Rubbing a temple he gestured for his valet, Mulciber, to hand him the profile of the next applicant, hoping to get the day over with. Mulciber, uncharacteristically, gestured for Tom to make eye contact as he handed over the parchment. Raising a brow, he did so, delving into the other’s mind to see what he had to say that he could not speak aloud.

‘You will be pleased with this one, Your Majesty. The boy of the prophecy has made his intentions known.’

And indeed, when Tom rolled open the parchment, he was pleased to see the name set in script across the top. Harry James Potter. The boy destined to be his ruin or his salvation, his equal no matter his choice in path. To see his name among the applicants… To know the boy wanted to become one of his… Well, Tom was eager to see him brought into his Inner Circle regardless of how this interview went. He’d been keeping a distant eye on the wizard since he’d entered Hogwarts, skimming reports of his academics when Alphard sent them along. He looked now to see a review of what he’d already known; eight NEWTs, half of them passed with Os. Exceptional skill in spellcraft and magical theory, as well as a great talent in dueling.

He paused, looking further along the list with something akin to wonder. Not only could Potter understand parseltongue, but he had the ability to learn it. One of the reasons Tom had wished for a great number of children was in the hopes that at least one of them would inherit his ability to speak the snake language, that he may share it another. But not one of his fourteen children had shown the skill.

Perhaps now, he could renew the hope.

He looked over the scores for the first two tests Potter had passed to be here and raised a brow again, seeing the numbers. Know him as an equal, indeed.

The scroll rolled shut within his hands as the doors to the throne room opened, a footman announcing Potter’s arrival to those within.

“To His Majesty, Her Graces, and His Grace is presented, Harry James Potter, Lord of the Noble House of Potter and Heir to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black.”

And in walked a man that carried all the power of the sun within him.

He was beautiful and Tom was captivated in a way he did not often allow himself to be. The way the robes hugged his body in the right places and flowed gracefully in others, the way his eyes glowed with power in a searing harlequin green, the way he held his head high despite the slightest tremble of his hands. The way a flood of enticing magic seemed to pour from him in waves. It tasted like an approaching storm. All petrichor and lightning.

The man bowed and Tom appreciated the expanse of tan skin on display, framed by black lace and red silk.

“So this is the little school boy cousin Alphard has decided to make heir?” Bellatrix’s spiteful whisper interrupted his thoughts, her hand rubbing her rounded belly in agitated circles. “I’m not impressed.”

“He’s a half-blood,” Amycus sneered, much to Tom’s annoyance. “And has no regard for decorum.” He waved a hand down to where the man was still bowed. “How dare he wear colors above his station. He should be punished rather than rewarded with a spot among us!”

Abigail merely hummed, idly fanning herself with her light yellow fan. She looked up at Tom and made eye-contact, grinning devilishly with a knowing glint in her eye. Damn her. “He’s pretty,” was all she said, turning back to watch him.

“Rise,” Tom commanded, voice echoing in the grand hall of black marble and empty space.

Potter stood from his bow but kept his head demurely lowered in deference to those that sat above him. Tom shifted in his throne, movements leisurely and imperious as he crossed his ankles and propped his head on his hand, tilting it in fascination.

“Lord Potter,” he states, greedily taking in the hitch in breath his addressing the man causes, “do you, of your own free will, wish to join my harem?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Potter replies, voice soft but steady and strong.

Usually what would commence is a long and tiresome list of questions; what can you offer to the harem, what skills do you poses, what are your passions, what are your goals, why do you wish to join? But Tom doesn’t want to hear those answers mechanically recited in a mindless script of call and response. Doesn’t want to sit through carefully structured answers, tailored to be pleasing and advantageous to the participant.

Instead, Tom hummed and stood from his throne, shocking his consorts as he stepped down from the dais in languid strides. He stalked toward Potter, watching intently as his shoulders tensed with the sound of Tom’s every approaching footstep. He stopped just before the other, finding he towered over the shorter man’s frame.

Slowly, Tom placed a single finger under the other’s chin, delighting in the sharply in-drawn breath the action elicited, and he lifted Potter’s head until curse-green eyes were once again locked with his. And then he dove in.

Potter’s mind was a whirlwind, a chaotic mess of fragmented thoughts and feelings each flitting by only to be briefly glimpsed before being replaced by something new. The ones that stood out most, however, were the feelings without words- a yearning that had no direction, a grief that eclipsed all else, and a burning need for something Potter couldn’t name even within the confines of his own mind.

‘I want,’ his thoughts whispered. ‘I want, I want, I want.’

Tom tilted his own head to the side, curious, as he tried to examine the fractious ephemeral wisps from another direction.

‘I want him. I want to know him. I want to taste him. I want to feel his magic in my bones. I want to feel his heart beat within my chest. I want to breathe with his lungs. I want to forget where I end and he begins. I want.’

Tom didn’t think the man even knew he was thinking all of this, the thoughts echoing and discordant and racing so fast within his mind the shapes of them were barely caught. But oh, how delicious they were regardless. The desire behind them was fumbling, rough, and nascent. But it could be nurtured and Tom would relish in stoking that small fire into a roaring blaze. He would devour this man. He broke gazes and leaned closer, keeping his finger under the other’s chin.

“I see you,” Tom whispered, only for those pretty ears before him to hear. His words had a mocking lilt to them but the other refused to cower. It pleased him all the more. “Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry?” he asked cruelly. “Do you wish to bear my children? See our family lines flourish?”

The other did not flinch away like he expected. Merely squared his shoulders, jaw clenching before he answered with a strong and definitive, “Yes.”

Tom stepped back then, watching the younger wizard shiver at his retreat. “Tomorrow,” he said. “You will know if your wishes will be granted. You are dismissed.”

Potter bowed and then swiftly exited, much to the protests of Bella and Amycus- both of them remarking on lack of proper procedure. Questioning his abandonment of propriety. He ignored their harping and called Mulciber for the next scroll to pretend to read, preoccupied by the taste of rolling thunder still lingering in the hall.

*

August 15 ^th 1998, Palace of Gathering

Harry was pacing his rooms like a mad man again, turning the Emperor’s words from yesterday over and over again within his mind like the eddying currents of a cyclone. He’d thought of nothing else since they’d slipped from the man’s lips and were purred into his ear. He’d dreamed of them. Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.

It was tomorrow now. Soon, those that had passed inspection and were to be the newest members of the harem would be summoned to the throne room and presented with their rank. And those that had failed would be discreetly escorted out of the palace like all the rest.

Regardless, Harry’s trunks were packed and ready to go, in whichever direction they were destined to head. Out of the Capitol or up to the Citadel. If- If he’d made it, he would be summoned, presented a rank by the Emperor, and then join a procession that would parade all of the new members out in front of the public as they journeyed up to the Citadel. It would even be televised for the mundanes of the population. It was a celebrated event akin to a holiday. A grand jubilee. One of the very few times that the Emperor and his harem could be seen outside.

Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry? His name, murmured in that dark delicious drawl, still made his heart pound furiously and heat rush to his cheeks.

Lavender and Ginny sat idly, ignoring his turmoil with practiced ease. They spent the time painting each other’s nails. Lavender’s a shade to match her name and Ginny’s a bold teal. Both were already dressed in elegant if simple robes, fitting for the maids of a Lord or, hopefully, a harem member.

His own robes were a dull grey, ready to magically shift to the color of his rank should he be chosen. They were a soft silk and draped around him like a chiton, so different from the other styles he’d worn so far- something to show off the quality of the fabric rather than flashy embellishments. It was all one long continuous sheet, folded in half over a simple silver choker on his neck, then draped across his chest, and then held in place by a corset at his waist. He wasn’t sure how the rest of it tied, Lavender had swiveled around him at such speed he couldn’t keep up. The result was a flowing silk skirt that wrapped around his bottom half except for a long line up his right leg. It also left his back exposed, something he would appreciate in the heat of the late summer later- whether that be in a parade up or an escort out was yet to be seen.

The corset was smaller than his others, the grey fabric only gracing his front and sides where it cinched and the rest being completely made up of the white silk ribbons that held it together and criss-crossed on the bare skin of his back. The front had grey embroidery that depicted storm clouds over the top of a black forest silhouette. Magic made the clouds move across the fabric like a blooming storm front, shifting constantly. His cloak was a fluffy dual-tone sheer organza of iridescent white and light grey, layered over itself to create volume. It shone with colorful brilliance in the light of the sun and it felt like something a fae creature might wear. Underneath it all he wore a small pair shorts for comfort and sheer tights that tucked into his white crème leather boots.

I see you. I see you. I see you.

He shivered.

Lavender had braided strands of his hair along the side of face, pulling it back to pile in a low bun that let some of his glossy curls drip loose. He wore simple silver studs in his ears today, not knowing what gem- if he was graced with one at all- he would be bestowed and therefore unable to coordinate his jewelry accordingly. He had allowed the barest amount of black liner and mascara and a gloss that made his lips shine, but refused any other makeup.

“There’s nothing to worry about now, Harry,” Ginny called, voice unconcerned as she concentrated on Lavender’s pinkie nail. “You’re either in or you’re not.”

“That is exactly what I’m worrying about!” he cried in frustration, throwing his hands in air and upping his frantic pace. “If I made it in then I have to worry about a whole host of things, not the least of which are murder attempts. And if I didn’t make it in then I have to figure out what to do with my life because I haven’t a back-up plan from here!”

“Mm,” Lavender hummed lazily in response to his fretting. “I placed a gamble on you, Potter, when I chose to be by your side for the Selection rather than anyone else. I only place sure bets and I’ve never lost one yet. So calm yourself.”

It made him pause, the quiet confidence of everyone around him that he’d be chosen. Lavender, Ginny, Uncle Alphard, and even Prince Kassios, who’d only ever met him that once. It was as heartening as it was baffling.

Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry?

He continued his pacing, unable to keep still, his mind still a swirling mass of fractured thoughts and brief stirrings of intense feeling- there one moment gone the next. And still, over and over, the voice of the Emperor ringing within his entire body. I see you.

There was a knock upon the door. Ginny stood, magically drying her and Lavender’s nails with a wave of her wand before approaching the grand oak doors. She pulled it open before immediately whirling around towards Harry- who had frozen in his tracks the moment the knock sounded, a brilliant grin on her face.

“My Lord,” she called, the proper address she had to use for him in mixed company as his maid, and beckoned him to the door.

There a footman stood, a plush black velvet cushion in his arms. On it perched a delicate tiara with small diamonds set on simple swirls of silver on the sides, the crowning jewel was missing- ready for whatever gem the Emperor saw fit to bestow upon him. It was beautiful, if a bit plain, befitting of a harem member who had yet to truly earn their place.

The sight of it took his breath away. His heart stopped, stuttered, then restarted with a furious gallop.

You will know if your wishes will be granted.

And they had.

“Your Lordship,” the footman greeted, bending his knees in a semi-bow and an incline of his head. His facial expression gave nothing of his thoughts away. “I present to you the induction tiara, especially chosen by His Majesty. Please don it by His behest and allow me to guide Your Lordship to the throne room for the ceremony.”

“Of course,” Harry responded hoarsely. He turned to his friends, “Ginny?”

She smiled slightly, grin dampened by propriety, before gently lifting the tiara from its cushion and placing it upon his bowed head, nestling perfectly among his curls.

The footman dipped into a full bow before clicking his heels and asking, “Is Your Lordship gathered and ready to journey out?”

“Yes,” Harry replied, Ginny and Lavender moving to stand at his side, if a step behind him. “Lead the way.”

Harry felt like he was walking in a dream the entire trek to the throne room. Floating on air, his footsteps not truly meeting the ground.

I see you. I see you. I see you.

And His Majesty had, apparently, liked what he’d seen. Harry had never felt so giddy in his life.

Harry was the first to arrive, the entirety of the harem sitting in chairs on the raised dais at the far end of the hall, staring down at him. Noble Consort Bellatrix Black-Slytherin sat tall in her chair to the right of the Emperor’s still empty throne. Consorts Abigail Walker-Slytherin and Amycus Carrow-Slytherin were seated to the left. A step below sat the Concubines to the right and the Nobles to left. And a step below them sat the First-Class Attendants to the right and the Second-Class Attendants to the left. It was an impressive and intimidating array, tiered like the stands of a coliseum.

Soon, he would sit among their ranks.

The doors opened and in stepped Daphne Greengrass her head held high and a tiara perched within her strawberry blonde hair. Harry wasn’t terribly surprised to see her, she was powerful and smart and her family held many connections. He did wonder, however, how she’d passed the medical inspection when it was known her family suffered from a blood curse. Perhaps the affliction skipped her generation?

The next to enter was Theodore Nott, another unsurprising choice, though a somewhat surprising applicant. Theodore had not once hinted at desiring to join the harem in all the years Harry had been roommates at Hogwarts with him. True, they had not spoken much, but Harry had been under the impression the other had been planning to pursue a Mastery in Alchemy and join the employ of the Ministry in the Unspeakable department for research and development.

He did not dwell on these thoughts as the one to enter after Theodore was a welcome sight. Luna Lovegood skipped into the throne room with a willful disregard of decorum and an airy smile on her face. She waved at Harry as she flounced to a stop at the end of the line they had created. He didn’t wave back, not wanting to break the rules as much as Luna had already done, but he did give her a large warm grin in return. She seemed satisfied with that, at least, swaying in place and twirling a lock of white blonde hair between her fingers. Her tiara was crooked upon her head.

The last to enter seemed to surprise them all. Romilda Vane. A brash Gryffindor girl in Luna and Ginny’s year. Vapid and opinionated, according to Ginny. Horrible gossip and a bit of a bully, as well. She was staring intently at Harry as she entered, her gaze never wavering. It made him shift uncomfortably, but he kept his shoulders squared. He wondered what was going on inside the strange girl’s head.

They stood in their line, poised and waiting. A mere minute passed and then the Emperor was emerging from a door at the back of the room upon the dais, just behind his throne. He circled it and stepped between the chairs of his harem until he stood a meter in front of them, hands clasped behind his back as he stalked back and forth in front of them all.

“Romilda Amelia Vane,” he called, his voice echoing within the vast space of the black marble hall once again. “Step forward and receive your rank.”

She did so, dropping to one knee as the Emperor extended his bone-white wand and tapped it against the place where the crown jewel was missing.

“I bestow upon you a jewel of morganite and the rank of Fourth Second-Class Attendant.”

“I thank His Majesty for His graciousness and generosity,” her voice was husky and prideful as she recited the scripted response. “May He reign in immortal glory forevermore.”

The Emperor moved on without reply, moving to stand before the next in line.

“Luna Lucia Lovegood,” he called, an amused twitch of his lips curling as she continued to softly hum and sway in place. “Step forward and receive your rank.”

Luna did so with a bit of a hop in her step, but dropped to one knee and bowed her head obediently.

“I bestow upon you a jewel of pink moonstone and the rank of Third Second-Class Attendant.”

“I thank His Majesty for His graciousness and generosity,” and despite the airy tone with which she spoke, her words sounded oddly genuine nonetheless. “May He reign in immortal glory forevermore.”

A ghost of a smile flashed across the Emperor’s face before he moved on to the next. He called Theodore’s name and the ceremony repeated, the former fellow Slytherin being given a rose quartz gem and the rank of Secondary Second-Class Attendant.

Daphne was the next, receiving a lilac lepidolite gem and the rank of Fifth First-Class Attendant.

And then, and then, and then. The Emperor in all his glory stood before Harry once again. His hair was a perfect coif of rich dark brown and his eyes that bright blood red that had taken Harry’s breath away all those years ago and still again today. He wore robes of black velvet with silver-white silk lining, the bottom embroidered with intricate silver and green snakes that curled and slithered along the hem. He stared down at Harry and all his mind would allow him coherently think was; I want. I will have. I will give all in return.

“Harry James Potter,” he called, and perhaps it was Harry’s wishful thinking, but He seemed to linger on his name, as if savoring it. “Step forward and receive your rank.”

And Harry, suppressing the trembling that shook his body as if a livewire had been run through his nerves and was setting him alight, took to one knee and bowed his head.

“I bestow upon you a jewel of paraiba tourmaline and the rank of Fourth Noble.”

He sucked in a sharp breath at that. Ginny and Lavender had joked about him getting the rank of noble but none of them had thought he’d actually achieve it. It had just been idle teasing and lofty wishing. There hadn’t been a new member of the harem inducted straight to the rank of Noble since its inception, and that was because there had been barely any members. And yet. And yet his robes were slowly turning the vibrant shade of blue to match the gem the Emperor had placed upon his crown.

Breathlessly, he recited the ceremonial response. “I thank His Majesty for His graciousness and generosity,” he was proud to say that despite the tumultuous storm of emotions within him, his voice did not tremble. “May He reign in immortal glory forevermore.”

He remembered little of what happened next, simply carrying out the rest of the ceremony and following where Ginny’s hand on the small of his back guided him. He remembered the sun hitting his face as they all streamed out of the palace and to the waiting, open-seated carriages that would take them all up to the Citadel. He remembered idly admiring the iridescence of the manes on the pegasi that pulled them along. He remembered smiling gently to the cheering crowd, distracted and mind absent.

While entering the harem with the rank of Noble was something he had idly dreamed about, now that it had come true the reality of it was crushing against his shoulders. He knew from the start that he would be going from the snake pit full of harmless garden snakes that had been the Slytherin dorms to one of the venomous vipers of the deadly harem. But now he was doing so with a target painted on his back. He would have no grace period. No time to settle in without an overt worry of poisoning and sabotage.

But he seemed to already have the Emperor’s attention and, despite the danger, he couldn’t help but want more.

Chapter Text

August 16^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

Harry was laying face down on his luxurious bed, unable to appreciate the softness of the fabric or the exceedingly plush quality of the pillows. He could not enjoy the brilliant sunshine that spilled from the beautiful arching windows or his adjoining balcony. He could not revel in the soft breeze that fluttered the sheer blue curtains separating said balcony from the rest of his room, warded to let the wind and sun in and everything else out.

He could not savor any of the opulence of his new residence, a grand castle which he shared with two others; the gorgeous white oak and soft blue and gold damask chenille of all the furniture within, the gilding along the edges of everything that made the room glow when the sunshine reflected off of it, and the intricate carvings- on the doors of the towering armoire, the lovely buffet doors, the edges of exquisite vanity set, the drawers of the elegant dresser, the headboard of his massive four-poster bed, and the shelves of the many tall bookcases. He could not cherish the softness of the lovely blue floral and persian rugs that covered the cold stone of the floor or the mesmerizing pastoral scenes within the paintings that covered the cold stone of the walls, or the enormity of the room itself.

He could not even treasure the sight of all his collected knick-knacks spread about the room to make it feel more like home- the green and silver blanket Grandmother Effie had made for him, the copious amount of texts and handbooks Severus had gifted him over the years, the strange little hand-painted figurines Luna often gave him with no explanation.

No, he could not admire any of that. Because he was dying. Slowly and painfully, he was dying. He was going to go out in lengthy agony. This was the end of him. He would not survive the day.

“Stop being so dramatic,” Ginny chided, uncaring of his pain. “You’re lucky you only have to go through this once a year.”

He groaned piteously into his sheets at the reminder that in a year’s time he would have to endure such agony again.

Lavender huffed and placed another blessed heat pack upon his lower back. He groaned again, this time in appreciation. He’d have to tell her how much of a better friend she was than Ginny sometime. Preferably where Ginny could hear him but not within distance to punch him.

“Poor wittle baby,” Lavender cooed, scratching her nails on his scalp in a way that made him forgive the condescending tone she was using. “Having his organs all rearranged by magic so he can experience the wonders of childbirth.”

“I’m sure he’d like his organs rearranged in other ways too,” Ginny drawled in response.

Harry grabbed one of the many decorative pillows on his bed and threw it at her before burrowing back into his duvet in order to hide his burning face.

“Just because it’s true doesn’t mean it has to be acknowledged,” he grumbled lowly, “Ginevra.”

Although, to be frank, it wasn’t really something he had the wherewithal to even contemplate with the way the potion he’d had to take upon his entrance into the Citadel was wreaking havoc on his insides. He had been warned that it would leave him and all the other male members of the harem bed-bound for the first few days and that all of them were exempt from morning meetings or other obligations for the first week because of it. But he hadn’t thought it’d be this bad.

Also, even if he had, by some miracle, been up for… that, the Emperor would not be calling on any of them for the week as a courtesy for the half of the harem who were unable to fulfill such duties. Nor were any of the harem allowed to ask for his company in such a manner during the week. For the most part such requests for… company, were sent via owl or footman, as were any other such requests to accompany His Majesty or His Majesty’s request to spend time with a certain harem member, even of a more innocent nature. Such as asking to simply tour one of the gardens together. There were other times though, he’d been told, that another method was used.

He pulled his arm closer to his face and idly examined the thin strip of gold wrapped around his wrist. According to the valet that had snapped it on after handing him the potion Harry was still recovering from, it would warm in warning before spelling out a specific time and place where he was meant to meet with His Majesty should he be chosen to spend the night with Him.

It was meant to make the Emperor’s choice easier to make, easier for him to actually decide to spent the night with one of his harem instead of ignoring them altogether as apparently he had been wont to do in the early years. He need only choose from a given selection of matching gold bands with their names scrolled across in order to summon them. Any member unable to fulfill their duties for whatever reason that night, could, at least, have their name removed from the lot for a time. It was something the Council had decided on, basing it on the Chinese Imperial Harem system of old. It felt rather demeaning to Harry, all of them being at one man’s beck and call. And yet, a thrill shot through him at the thought having the gold warm against his wrist for the first time.

It was then that the screech of an incoming owl at his balcony interrupted his suffering.

Owls were strictly regulated within the Star Citadel. Only those of prestige were allowed to have one and they were only allowed to send owls among themselves. Any other owls, incoming or outgoing of the Citadel itself, had to be screened through the official Aviary kept within the Guard station at the Southern Point, monitored by Death Eaters and the Knights of Walpurgis. This could only be an owl from someone within the Citadel- most likely a fellow harem member. He wondered who.

Ginny summoned a thick leather gauntlet and went outside to retrieve the owl. She brought back a gorgeous barn owl, it’s feathers white on its face and chest with a lovely tan along its back and a spattering of dark speckles along its wings. It was small for a barn owl and seemed to be good-natured as it calmly perched on Ginny’s hand as she moved closer.

“You’re the best at detection charms,” she explained when he shot her a quizzical look.

Harry grunted as he lifted himself up and pulled out his wand once he was settled. The owl stuck the leg with a scroll tied to it out toward Harry and waited patiently as he murmured spell after spell over the parchment, watching as each charm came back negative for poison, ill-intent, compulsion enchantments, and anything else he could think of. Finally, once it was all clear, he carefully untied the scroll.

The owl fluttered its wings and shifted, but otherwise didn’t move from Ginny’s leather covered hand. The sender expected a reply then. He would wonder if it was Luna who sent it, if he didn’t know she had a tiny little elf owl instead. His own owl, Hedwig, had a comfortable roost at the top of the tower that was part of Harry’s domain.

He unrolled the parchment read the first few lines and then stared, unblinkingly, at its contents.

Dearest Brother, Noble Potter,

I hope this letter finds you well, despite the pain I know you must be enduring at the moment. I am sorry that there is not much that can be done for it aside from heat treatment and rest. Though I have found that chocolate often eases the suffering of the soul, if not the body. But I digress. I send this letter for three reasons.

The first is to welcome you to the walls of the Star Citadel. I have resided here for sixteen years now and hope you can come to enjoy all the delights within, just as I have. The Northern Points are all inhabited by the Official Spouses and many of the lower harem seldom venture among them aside from the necessary morning meetings within the Hall of Gathering in the Northwest Point, which is a shame because the Garden of Hanging Stars and Garden of Dulcet Breezes are both a delight to visit. Sister Bellatrix is often found either in the Garden of Hanging Stars, the Hall of Education, or the Guard Station of the Southern Point. Brother Rabastian, Sister Fiorella, Sister Wilhelmina, and Sister Merula are often found in her company. Brother Amycus favors the Eastern Gardens of Velvet Twilight and can often be seen there or the Hall of Education, he prefers solitude over company but can sometimes be found with Sister Bellatrix when he wishes.

I prefer the lovely Western Garden of Delicate Sunshine or the Garden of Dulcet Breezes myself. You are welcome to join me at any time there should you find me. Often with me are Sister Solange, Brother Barty, and Brother Cedric. Brother Corvus, Brother Kirley, and Brother Viktor keep to themselves more often than not but can also be coaxed to join us on occasion. Sister Fleur and Brother Caradoc are even more rarely seen outside of the Palaces within they reside, but are amiable enough when encountered.

The second reason I write to you is to give you my most sincere gratitude for comforting my son when he needed it most. I was unaware of how distraught he had become nor how much he had missed physical affection. I had pulled back when he started off at Hogwarts, assuming that he- as a growing boy- would not wish to be ‘embarrassed’ by his Mama’s hugs. I cannot express to you how happy I have been to be proven wrong. Thank you, also, for sharing secrets of the castle with him. I would have been sorely disappointed if he’d gone all his school years without encountering at least some sort of mischief. Your methods of comfort were also a delight to read about and I’m sure your sense of humor make you excellent company.

Which brings me to the third reason I have decided to write to you directly. My dear Kassios wishes to invite you to his and Eudora’s upcoming birthday celebration and I have whole-heartedly agreed. He was very insistent that you attend. If your health allows, I know he would be exceedingly happy should you decide to join us this Thursday in the eastern section of the Hall of Gathering at one pm.

Sincerest Regards,

Your Sister, Consort Abigail Walker-Slytherin

He had received a letter. From the second most powerful concubine within the harem. And not only did it contain a wealth of information on the factions within the harem and the places the more powerful players liked to haunt, but it also included an invitation and a thank you . From the second most powerful person within the harem. The third most powerful person in the world. Noble Consort Black may have the highest rank but Consort Walker was known to hold the Emperor’s favor more often than not, which meant she had his ear. His more willing attention. And, currently, she had the most children.

It was a lot to take in.

“Oh my,” Lavender said from where she hovered over Harry’s shoulder. “When did you even encounter one of the Royal Children, Harry? And why didn’t you tell us about it?”

“Er,” he responded eloquently. “Before winter hols?”

“Befo- Harry!” Ginny exclaimed, looking like she wanted to smack him but was kept restrained by the large bird still resting on her arm. “That’s important information! Gaining the favor of a Prince is something you can use to your advantage.”

Harry frowned. “That’s not something I want to take advantage of, Gin. He’s a kid. I was just helping him feel a little less homesick, is all.”

She gave him a flat look in response, “Regardless of your pure intentions, oh innocent one, its something you have to consider now. You were in the House for cunning and ambition, time to act like it.”

“I know that,” he bit back, grinding his teeth. “But I don’t have to like it.”

“Never said you did,” she retorted, rolling her eyes. “Just be more mindful of telling us about stuff like this, Harry. We’re here to help you.”

Sullenly, Harry just nodded before collapsing back onto the bed, moving the heat pack that had fallen off on to his lower abdomen. It helped him relax just a bit more. Idly, he wondered if he should take Consort Walker’s advice and ask for some chocolate.

Lavender hummed as she tapped her wand on the pack, renewing the heating charm placed on it, and asked, “What are you going to reply with?”

Harry threw an arm over his face, thinking about it.

He was already in a bit of a precarious spot, having earned himself the title of Noble right off the bat, where not many others before him had. It put a target on his back, made the other- more dangerous- concubines wary and watchful. Earning the favor of a Consort and her children so soon would only increase that. But, on the other hand, he’d have an alliance with a powerful member of the harem, right from the start. He already had a target, what would it matter by making it a tad bigger if they payoff was worth it? Attending wouldn’t necessarily guarantee he’d have Consort Walker’s support or alliance either; he had never met her to know her personalty or potential motives, but she seemed genuine enough through the letter. He’d have to be cautious, but there was hope.

Also, the most important reason to say yes- because Prince Kassios asked for him.

He let out an explosive sigh, “Well I can’t not go. Obviously.”

Lavender raised a perfect blonde eyebrow at him, “Obviously.”

He was holding out a hand to summon ink and parchment and quill so he could pen a response when a thought hit him.

“What the fuck am I going to do about presents?”

*

August 18 ^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

After suffering through another day of agony and consuming copious chocolate, Harry was finally feeling like he could function as a human being again and thus he felt it was the perfect time to explore his new residence.

The Star Citadel itself was huge, housing a frankly ridiculous amount of full size castles and large expanses of greenery that liked to call themselves gardens as well. He’d pulled aside one of the maids that had been assigned to his care, one of four for a total of six that were allowed to Nobles, and had asked her about the layout, the occupants, the usual comings and goings and whatever else she had been willing to divulge. She was amiable enough to answer all his questions while working to make food for him and the others of his household. She was an older woman named Bettina who had seemed to regard him with a sort of distantly maternal manner.

He liked her, though he didn’t trust her- he didn’t trust any of the maids he’d been assigned. Not yet.

He’d found her in the kitchen, which was on the bottom floor of the tower he now resided in- along with a small adjoining dining room, which he liked for its lack of echoing grandeur. It felt homey instead of achingly large. His bedroom and study were on the top of the tower, the fourth floor, along with a drawing room and library on the second and Ginny’s rooms as his head maid on the third as well as… well, an empty nursery. When he’d first encountered the rooms, it’d taken him much too long to figure out their purpose and blushing deeply once he had.

One day … He’d thought to himself, barely noticing the hand he’d rested over his still tender abdomen. ‘Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry?’ The heated memory had sent a shiver down his spine that had made him flee the area.

Bettina slapped the dough she was kneading back on to the floured surface of the counter, breaking Harry from his thoughts, and continued to explain the lay of the land.

“The center is for His Majesty and his children once they turn seven. Most call it the Slytherin Stronghold on account of it being the most well protected part of the Citadel. It’s got His Majesty’s own Imperial Palace of Immortal Glory and then behind that is the Imperial Palace of Youthful Radiance.”

“Why seven?” Harry asked, curious. It seemed rather young for kids to be living away from their parents, though he supposed it was different when your parents were the Emperor of the entire world and one of his prestigious harem members. But he still felt he might hate having his child living apart from him like that.

“Seven’s when a child’s magical core gets a boost in development,” she answered, moving the dough to a bowl and covering it with a dishcloth, before moving back to the counter and repeating the kneading process with another batch. “And His Majesty claims its better for the young ones to have space and freedom during such a time. Wasn’t always that way, though. Palace was originally built for Prince Hesperos after his other father died. Her Grace Bellatrix took him in when he was younger on account of her and the other fellow being cousins, but he was about nine when he asked to live on his own.”

Harry was surprised by this. How bad was Bellatrix that a child of nine would ask to move out from her home? Had she mistreated the Prince? Surely not. Surely the Emperor wouldn’t allow that? An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach as he realized he couldn’t answer that for sure. He didn’t know the man at all.

“His Majesty honored the request,” Bettina continued, unaware of his reaction, simply kneading at the dough in a soothingly rhythmic pattern. “And it would have stopped there if it hadn’t of been for His Grace Amycus throwing a stink about Princess Tisiphone.”

Fascinated, Harry leaned in, snatching one of the blackberries Bettina had out in a bowl on the counter and popping it into his mouth. “What happened?” he asked as he chewed, uncaring of his horrible manners.

Bettina narrowed her eyes and pointed a flour covered finger at him, “You eat all those, My Lord, and there won’t be none left for the cobbler.”

Harry raised his hands in surrender with a smile, “I would never, Miss Bettina. Please continue.”

She eyed him distrustfully before continuing her bread-making. But not before pointing out a cabinet he noticed had a cooling charm on it and telling him, “There’s other fruits to plunder that aren’t on the menu today. If My Lord is feeling peckish.”

He grinned and moved to happily plunder, pulling out a container of what looked to be freshly picked strawberries. Bettina smiled indulgently when he brought the whole thing back to the counter and looked in askance for her to continue speaking.

She sighed. “Was about five years ago now. Princess Tisiphone hadn’t shown any sign of accidental magic and it were making His Grace- anxious.” She stopped her kneading and looked out the latticed window that led to Harry’s personal section of garden. “Poor thing was just a late bloomer, but rumor has it that it got so bad His Majesty had to intervene. Had to remove her from his care and put her in the children’s palace. His Grace threw a big fit about it not being fair, so His Majesty made it a rule for all the children to live there after they turn seven.”

“That’s awful,” he said sadly, putting the strawberry he’d been about to eat back down into the bowl. It was some consolation that the Emperor had stepped in at least, hadn’t allowed any abuse to continue. But that was still only a small comfort when faced with the fact that any children he had would leave his care so early, his visions of a large family slipping from his grasp just a bit.

Bettina, perhaps sensing the reason he’d grown upset, spoke up, “There’s plenty of visiting still, if the children wish it. Her Grace Abigail practically lives in the children’s palace when her youngins are back from Hogwarts. Even more so now that her youngest had to move in this past May. As long as the children give their harem parent permission, there’s nothing stopping them from seeing each other.”

And that made him feel just a tad better. He wouldn’t be forbidden from seeing his children altogether, it would just take a trip to get there.

“Now,” Bettina continued, going back to her dough and placing it in another bowl with another dishcloth, “My Lord asked about the rest of the Citadel as well.”

And, happily, Harry stood at the kitchen counter, ate his fill of strawberries, and listened to her explain.

There were six main Points to the Star Citadel and six more secondary Points. The Northernmost Point was home to two separate castles, each taking up a large expanse of land. They were for any future Imperial Noble Consorts, of which there could only be two in total. These were the largest castles a harem member could hope to inhabit. Then the Northwest main point held five castles, one for each possible Noble Consort, and the Northeast main Point held another five castles for the Consorts. Harry himself currently lived within the main Southwestern Point, which had four castles total. Two for the Concubines and two for the Nobles, split between male and female. The main Southeastern Point was much the same for both Classes of Attendants. The Southernmost Point was the guard station and the entrance to the Citadel itself, only accessible by the long road leading up from the Capitol.

Between those points were communal buildings such as the Hall of Gathering- where all harem members congregated for morning meetings and various celebrations, the Hall of Worship for religious services and holidays, the Hall of Education where the younger Royal children went for schooling and where any harem member could further their studies if they weren’t permitted access to the University of the Capitol, or simply to study outside of it. There was the Punishment Bureau where those who had committed crimes within the Citadel were held and sentenced. There was also a Healing Center for those who had sustained injuries or contracted illnesses within their insular community would go. And lastly, which Harry was the most excited about, there was a minor Point on the Star that was completely dedicated to outdoor space. It had both a fully stocked quidditch pitch and open dueling arena.

And that was not even to mention the various gardens that took up space between each Point. Honestly, from the way Bettina described them to him, they seemed more like small parks. Big enough one could get lost within them. And there were six of them! The gardens closest to him were the Garden of Delicate Sunshine and the Garden of Tranquil Waters.

He really didn’t know what they were all supposed to do with so much space. He shared this castle with his staff, two other Nobles, and their staff, and yet it felt like he was living alone. Often he would seek out Ginny or Lavender or both, not wanting to feel like he was a ghost just haunting another empty house. He had come to the harem to escape that, not relive his grief and loneliness in a new location.

So, once the older maid had shooed him from the kitchen, he wandered.

There were four apartments to the castle, Harry having a spot to the east which gave him a distant view of the Garden of Tranquil Waters. He could just make out the shine of sun reflecting off the surface of several bodies of water. Small ponds? Water features? An entire lake? It was hard to tell, but he assumed it was something ostentatious and absurd regardless. It was probably lovely, no doubt, but he couldn’t help but balk at all the opulence he was now surrounded in. It all felt- too big. Too empty. Cavernous. It often made him want to find a small and secluded place to hide.

He was, fortunately, able to suppress that feeling as often as it came because while the castle was intimidatingly large, it also reminded him greatly of Hogwarts.

He didn’t know the character of the place just yet, but he could feel its magic underneath his fingertips every time he trailed them across pale grey stone. It thrummed with the sort of life that Hogwarts had, making him smile whenever a brief flash of some fleeting emotion pulsed along with his own magic. The castle was sleepy, slow to wake under his touch, but they’d get to know each other well enough eventually.

The main entrance hall was wide and grand, filled with gilded ornamentation and everything in shades of blue. The outside walls were all sturdy grey but the floors were magically reinforced marble; glossy white with streaks of gold and a metallic sort of blue that all reflected the sun in a blinding array. The windows stretched from floor to ceiling in great arches, presenting beautiful views of expansive greenery and neatly tended gardens bursting with various flowers and foliage on either side.

There were six directions one could go from the entrance hall.

On the direct opposite side of the huge oak doors of the front were another set of huge oak doors that led to the shared courtyard. While Harry hadn’t felt up to venturing down to the gardens there, for fear of running into the other Nobles whom he didn’t know the temperament of yet, he could very much imagine himself enjoying a walk through the flowers or even lounging on one of the large swathes of lawn.

Beside the large oak door that led to the outside from the entrance hall, there were two smaller ones on the left and right respectively. They each led to a set of stairs that opened to a long, covered cross-way, which in turn led to one of two of the rear towers that housed two of the Noble apartments. The two front towers, which were accessible directly from either side of the entrance hall, housed the other two. The interior floors below the cross-ways were also part of the apartments.

There were five towers in total, the rearmost tower being where the guards were housed and stationed- able to traverse the castle easily and quickly through the battlements at the top outer edges of every structure. There were also four smaller towers on top of the entrance hall so that they may watch over the main entrance from either opening.

From the outside it looked as if there was only one door to enter the castle, but each tower also had a smaller door to enter and exit discreetly without having to traverse as many stairs, which Harry was very thankful for. He didn’t really want to have to go up and down four floors worth of stairs every time he wanted to leave his home. Although, honestly, he didn’t know why the thought bothered him so much when he’d been living at Hogwarts. A place which had very many more floors than four and at least five times as many corridors to get lost in.

And yet, the more Harry wandered about his new residence, the more he found little secrets and delights. If he opened the near hidden door at the end of the hallway on the third floor of his tower it opened up to a secret enchanted meadow; with crawling ivy against the walls of the room, soft wildflowers and grass covering the floor. The ceiling was spelled in the same way the great hall at Hogwarts was- to reflect the sky outside.

He loved it.

He would find himself grinning throughout the day as he roamed, glad Lavender hadn’t forced him into any of his fancy robes for fear of ruining them with all his scampering through old and dusty spaces. He’d found Bettina in the kitchens of the first floor and Mary, another of his assigned maids, sweeping out the grand dining room that was adjacent to it- opposite to the smaller one that he preferred. He’d waved politely to her as she scrambled to curtsy properly in response.

He’d smiled, saying, “Don’t worry about all that. I’m not one to fuss about bowing or using proper titles. Carry on.” before ducking out and finding a new winding corridor to traipse down.

It was as he was entering yet another slightly hidden door that a harried footman found him, holding up a silver tray with a single letter upon it.

“My Lordship,” he said, out of breath as he proffered the tray.

Harry, despite knowing that if the letter came from outside the Citadel it had to be checked over extensively by the guards, still used his magic to lift the letter from the tray and snapped his fingers to have it pop into a box up in his main rooms that he’d created to hold any suspicious mail or gifts until he had time to examine them. The footman gaped at him at such an impressive display of magic that he’d done so easily. He hadn’t used his wand for any of it after all.

He smiled sheepishly, having done it not because he wanted to display his power, but more so because he’d left his wand on his bedside table like an idiot. He could defend himself well enough without it, but he’d have to be more mindful of remembering to take it everywhere he went.

“Thank you,” he told the still unnamed footman- he’d have to start learning their names, he hated just thinking of them as ‘the footman’. “Rest before you return to your duties…?”

“Martin, My Lord,” the man replied, trying valiantly to keep his posture upright and tone even. “Martin Figgenshire. Pleased to be in your employ, My Lord.”

“Pleased to have you, Martin,” he responded, smiling as the man pulled himself together before offering Harry a small apologetic tilt of the head. Likely embarrassed from his undignified behavior earlier.

He was a fair few years older than Harry, young but not just having been in his teens. He had a kind face, despite how he had to keep it blank in the ‘proper’ expression for one of his station. He seemed nice enough and Harry hoped he’d get to see him more, even though he knew he probably wouldn’t. It might be for the best considering servants that were close to him were the ones more likely to be able to harm him for the right amount of galleons.

“Thank you again,” he said, beginning the long stroll back to his rooms. “Have a pleasant rest of your day.”

“Th-thank you, My Lord!” was the stuttered reply.

It made him a bit queasy, honestly, that just that small amount of kindness was so shocking. Were they not treated like humans by the others? Harry understood that he had to act differently around others of a ‘lesser station’ now, but they were still people for fuck’s sake! He might not know them well, but that didn’t mean he could treat them like the dirt under his shoe. He’d been treated like that himself often enough growing up.

He also didn’t think it was the smartest move, either. These were the people that surrounded him. Fed him, clothed him, helped care for him. He wanted their trust and their loyalty. Resentment was an easy thing to breed betrayal.

But he had other things to think about, rather than looking over his shoulder and waiting for one of his staff to spontaneously attack him, he had a letter awaiting him. And from the familiar script scrawled across the front, it was from his Cousin Severus.

*

He was right. It was from Severus. And it did not bode well.

Dearest Bratling,

I hope that you are fairing well in you new, no doubt luxurious, accommodations. Do endeavor to keep in touch with us lesser beings when you deign to remember our existence. Headmaster Black has been exceedingly insufferable as the staff of Hogwarts plan for our students’ return in less than a months time. He continues to insist on lamenting a lack of correspondence from his ‘dearest nephew’ and pestering me about it instead of focusing on his work and giving me the peace to continue mine. I insist, Little Cousin, do not allow such travesty to continue.

Write the damn fool already, before I curse his mouth shut.

Oh dear, Harry thought to himself. He’d have to write to both of them soon so neither of them ended up killing each other. It would take a lot to get Uncle Alphard to try and kill Severus, but if anyone managed to push the man toward homicide it might just be his acerbic cousin. And it went without saying that Severus was almost always on the edge of murder and Alphard would absolutely be the one to finally make him snap.

Inquiring after you health and overall well-being is not the only reason I write to you. There have been whispers of danger on the horizon lately. No one can say what shape it takes or how deep the danger, only that there is a stirring in the air. I would not usually advise you to heed such nonsensical harbingers of foreboding, but I fear that your newly elevated position will make you vulnerable to even the slightest of troubles and thought it prudent to give you warning.

They also, unfortunately, do not seem to be completely unfounded.

Harry stopped. Severus wouldn’t write to him like this if it was nothing, if it all really was just nonsense. It had to be deeply serious for him to have bothered alerting Harry of any of it as he usually avoided any ‘frivolous inanity’ and ignored the rumor mill he was constantly surrounded by.

A reliable colleague of mine, and I am sure you are aware of how few of those I have, recently informed me that the dementors of Azkaban have been restless as of late. What this could mean, I do not know. All I can do is ask that you be careful, Harry.

Please, child, do not let your guard down. Stay alert. Stay cautious.

Stay safe.

Cousin Severus

No, it did not bode well at all.

What on earth could make dementors restless? And restless enough to warrant notice? It had to be bad. Maybe some of the inmates showed signs of a breakout? But no one had ever achieved such a thing before. It was impossible to get off the miserable little island that was Azkaban without permission; anti-apparition wards being sown into the land itself. The only way on or off was by highly regulated row-boat. But what else would rile up the dementors?

What greater plot was afoot?

It irked Harry greatly that he didn’t have any means of finding out. He was shut off from the world up here. And yes, that placed him in the seat of power, but it was a distant one. When trouble like this was brewing at Hogwarts, he’d been able to nose his way around the castle until the puzzle either resolved itself or he stumbled into the center of it. Hermione often told him that one of his greatest flaws was that he always felt like he had to be in the middle of everything when he very much did not. He disagreed, but anytime she brought it up and he said anything against it she’d just start listing off incidents and accidents that, really honestly, had nothing to do with her point. Honest.

Regardless. There was nothing he could do about dementors right now, except take Severus’s advice and keep his guard up. He may not have to worry about the creatures themselves, Azkaban being so far away, but whatever greater plan it was all a part of was something he’d have to keep an eye out for.

He sighed, tucking the letter away and reaching for ink and quill to pen a reply, thinking that, maybe now would be a good time to really master the Patronus spell. He’d learned for his NEWTs, but he’d never gotten farther than incorporeal mist.

For now though, he had letters to write.

*

August 19 ^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

Harry was exceedingly nervous. Tomorrow he would be attending his first event as a harem member. He hadn’t even been to one of the daily meetings yet. He had no idea what to expect.

When he’d informed some of his assigned staff that he’d be out and about tomorrow and why, they’d looked at him in surprise. The lower harem, the unofficial spouses, were not often invited to events like this unless they had some relation or an alliance with one of the official spouses. The Emperor especially didn’t encourage interaction between harem members and children that weren’t their own, fearing the children would get taken advantage of by power hungry harpies. Or so his maid Karla, had described.

He still didn’t know what to get the prince or princess for their birthday. He’d met Prince Kassios only twice more after their first encounter. A whopping total of three times. And he’d yet to meet Princess Eudora at all.

“Just make something, Harry,” Ginny said from the settee she’d been lounging on, spread out in a manner her mother would have scolded her for as it was ‘unladylike’.

“What?” he questioned from his own settee that faced the open door of his balcony. “Like a shitty card? For the Royal Children? The Royal Children of the Emperor of the Entire World?”

Ginny rolled her eyes, “Not a shitty card, no. But- I don’t know- something.”

“Very helpful,” he replied flatly.

Ginny threw her hands up in exasperation. “Look, its better to get them both something hand made than something you just owl order at the last second, okay? Like you said, they’re Royal Children, they probably have loads of stuff, from all the other concubines trying to curry their or their mother’s favor, that they don’t care about. Do something different.”

“Not to mention,” Lavender added from where she was sedately embroidering the robes he’d be wearing to the party tomorrow, “anything you attempt to owl order now, won’t arrive on time. Packages have to be cleared by the guard station first.”

Harry groaned. She was right. They were both right. Though Ginny still hadn’t given him any helpful advice on what exactly to make the twins. Arts and crafts weren’t exactly his forte.

It was then that the sweet chirruping call of Luna’s elf owl sounded. Harry did not waste time in going out to visit this blessed new distraction, heading immediately to the balcony without summoning any type of gauntlet. He wouldn’t need one with the elf owl, who Luna had bewilderingly named Jeremy, as his talons were too small to cause much damage.

The small thing fluttered around his head, repeating his chirping, and dropped the letter that he’d kept in his beak instead of tied to his leg. How he’d made those sounds with his beak full, Harry would never know. He flew off again before Harry could blink.

Of course Luna would have found an owl just as strange as she is.

He picked up the parchment that Jeremy had dropped, not even bothering with any sort of detection spells, and noted that it was less a letter and more a folded over note. He flipped it over and read.

Harry dear,

I can see your wrackspurt infestation from here and I fear it’s going to get quite bad without interference. I get the feeling you’re trying to think of a last minute gift that you can make.

Might I suggest friendship bracelets? I hear they’re very popular with younger Hogwarts students. Lavender might know more.

Love,

Luna

Friendship bracelets? It could work. He didn’t know how to make them at all, but the idea itself had merit. One of the reasons Kassios had been so upset when he’d first found him was because he was missing his sister after all. Perhaps a reminder for both of them. If he was daring enough he might even be able to weave a charm over them.

He needed to get to work quickly then.

“Lavender,” he called. “Do you know how to make friendship bracelets?”

Lavender stopped in her sewing to look up at him in bemusement as he waltzed back into the room. “Yes?”

“Do you think you could teach me?” he asked.

She looked down at her paused sewing and looked back at him balefully. “Do you want clothes tomorrow?”

He grimaced. “How long do you think it would even take, to make two?” he hedged.

She pursed her lips, all while continuing her embroidery, and eventually answered, “An hour each, at the least. It’s easy once you’ve got the hang of it but it’s a lengthy process no matter what.”

“And how long will it take you to finish that?” he asked, nodding towards the work in her hands.

She glared up at him, “Four hours. Non-negotiable.”

“Okay,” he said, placating, before casting a tempus charm. “Okay, it’s only two. Plenty of time in the day to get it all done. I’m going to look up possible charms I can enchant the bracelets with while you finish up.”

Depending on what he could find, and what he could actually accomplish in time, it would add a nice touch to the gifts. He just hoped he could find something useful. Severus and Alphard and Hermione had all sent him off with at least a hundred books each, not to mention the books he’d collected himself over the years and the ones he’d lifted from the Potter Manor library. So he had quite the collection to look in, but he still had doubts about finding anything on enchantments suitable for a child’s bracelet. Ancient Runes were important for both enchanting objects and for the basics of spellcraft, but they were utilized in wildly different ways.

Lavender shot another glare at him, likely for the amount of work he was asking her to do, but nodded along with the plan. Ginny continued to lounge and do nothing because she was a horrible friend with nothing to offer in his trying time of need.

He sighed. “What are friendship bracelets made out of, even?” He’d need to know because the material could effect the list of possible enchantments.

“Depends,” Lavender muttered. “But with what we have?” This time the look she shot him was so hateful he felt like it might kill him all the way across the room. “Embroidery thread.”

“Ah,” he said, slowly backing out of his own bedroom, for fear of his life. “Well.” Just a few more steps. “Thanks.”

And then he was quickly off to his study down the hall in search of the right books. Something to connect them, surely? Something that wasn’t too obtrusive and definitely nothing that could turn dangerous in any circumstance. He’d have to find some metal he could transfigure into a charm for each of them, it would be the best way to lay the runes, as thread was next to useless for it.

But what could he even do? Maybe looking at the different runes would give him an idea. Start with the elder futhark alphabet as a base and see what experiments he could spring from there. He tapped his chin as he looked over the titles of the books he had in his own small personal library. Alchemical runes? That might mess with the structure, though, no need to mess with those. Those were handy in spellcraft because they offered a basis for wand-movement, not because one was actually going to inscribe them on something. The Emrysian codex then? Or something more recent like the Qwort System? Something older like Rhaetic?

He pulled the books down from the shelves, one by one, creating an unfortunately large stack and thumping them all on the lavish desk that sat before the large palladian window of his study. He looked forlornly out at the shining sun that blanketed the soft grass of the courtyard and sighed.

Best get to work.

Chapter Text

August 20^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn, 10:00 am

Harry was once again at the mercy of Lavender Brown’s whims. He was standing still in the middle of his room as she stalked in circles around him, adjusting and pining the robes she’d draped over him and muttering to herself the entire time.

“It has to be elegant. It has to be beautiful,” she murmured, “but it has to be understated, too. Can’t stand out too much but we also need to make a statement. The perfect balance.”

Harry rather thought she’d already accomplished that, but he wasn’t about to say anything about it. It was best to let her talk it out when she was like this. She’d be more likely to yell at you for breaking her concentration than to appreciate a compliment. And Harry really would mean it as a compliment. Most of the outfit was already complete, now it was just the outer robes she was finishing up.

She’d put him in a ruffle front blouse of soft cotton that was a “Tiffany blue” as Lavender had called it. He hadn’t a clue why it was called that, but he liked the color anyway. Light and a bit bright, close to turquoise? Or something like that. But Lavender glared any time he called it turquoise, saying that that color was far too close to greenish-blue and would get him in trouble that he couldn’t afford so early in the game. He’d simply refrained from calling his robes turquoise from that point on. The sleeves of the blouse ended at his wrist with a nice snug cuff and gorgeous blue opal cuff-links. The collar was high and buttoned nicely at the base of his neck, small bits of lace along the edge.

Over the blouse was yet another corset. He really couldn’t complain; he was starting to like them, really. They weren’t uncomfortable and he found that he liked the secure feeling of them tight around his waist. Plus, he liked the way he looked in them. This corset was a dark pthalo blue, almost bordering on black with more Tiffany blue for trimming- ruffles and bits of lace along the bottom edge and forget-me-nots embroidered to the side in a graceful tumble. A few loose petals had even been enchanted to move across the fabric and Harry liked to watch them in the mirror as they swirled around in a loop.

His trousers were tightly fitted and of the same material, just thicker, and same color as his blouse. He was allowed nice brown leather boots, brown being one of the few other colors they were allowed to use in conjunction with their assigned color. They were tight against the entire length his calves and laced with a dark blue silk ribbon that matched his corset. The heels weren’t terribly high, but they still made him feel a bit taller than usual, which pleased him and frustrated him in equal measure. He shouldn’t need heels to feel tall, by Merlin. It was completely unfair.

The outer robe Lavender was still trying to pin in place was a lovely shot silk taffeta that was a shiny light blue, paler than even the Tiffany blue of the blouse, and had an undertone of gleaming silver. The sleeves were less that, sleeves, and more just slits in the side where his arms were pulled through. The front was open and bordered on either side with a silvery lace that matched the undertone of the taffeta. The rest of it all billowed out behind him until it stopped to dance around his ankles, which is where Lavender was currently fussing with the hem, embroidering a few more forget-me-nots and enchanting them to sway in a non-existent wind as she went.

She’d already done up his hair and jewelry too. Forced a bit of eyeliner on him. He wore his lordship and heriship rings. And he wore a set of sapphire studs that had been in the Potter vault and a set of silver chain drops with small tourmaline jewels. They weren’t paraiba tourmaline like the gifted tiara in his hair, but they were still a nice blue shade. Lavender had told him later about paraiba tourmaline, as he’d never heard about it before. He’d been stunned to hear that it was an extremely rare and expensive gem and that the one placed in his tiara specifically was likely particularly expensive for its “vividity” and bright blue hue. Likely around forty thousand galleons. Which was such an exorbitant price Harry still had trouble wrapping his head around it.

All in all, he was ready to go almost three hours before he needed to arrive, even if Lavender was still fussing about the details. Ginny had the audacity to look bored as she lounged in the settee she’d all but claimed as hers, dangling her legs and riffling through a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet. From what he could see the headlines were still raving about the Selection and, unfortunately, him. His surprising placement had been the source of great gossip for days now. Must have been a slow news week.

Finally, Lavender finished with the hemming and last minute embellishment, standing back to admire her handiwork. She was an excellent tailor and he really couldn’t have asked for a better designer. All of his robes were not only beautiful but comfortable and that was something he could not take for granted.

One hand on her chin, she made a motion to turn with her other as she scrutinized the clothes. Harry obligingly spun in place, the back of the robes billowing out behind him in a satisfying way, the fabric bunching just so. Which, he guessed, is probably why Lavender had been so obsessed with getting the draping right.

“Alright,” she said with a clap of her hands. “That’s all taken care of. Now, it’s just wrapping the gifts up and calling for a carriage when its closer to time. It takes a bit of time to go from here to the Hall of Gathering so best not to leave that to the last minute.”

“I don’t think we’re in any danger of that,” Harry said dryly as he carefully collapsed into the settee across from Ginny, conscious of the easily-wrinkled fabric of his taffeta outer robe. Lavender glared and shot a spell at him, which was thankfully nothing more than an anti-wrinkling spell that he recognized by her wand motion.

“Anything in the paper?” he asked Ginny idly, already feeling the boredom set in now that he has to wait hours before the party and can’t do anything fun lest Lavender murder him over ruining his robes. What he wouldn’t give to sneak away and continue exploring the huge fucking castle he lived in. It was like his first year at Hogwarts all over again. After finding that miniature garden room he’s itching to see what else he can find. The rumbling of the castle’s magic told him there were more- waiting to be discovered.

He wonders, too, who put them there. It was said that the Emperor had a hand in building the entirety of the Star Citadel- and even a majority of the Capitol below. Had he been the one to make the rooms? To order someone else to make them? Had they been his idea or did he even know they existed? Were they in all the castles? He wouldn’t think a man as powerful and important as that would bother with something so trivial, so whimsical, But he didn’t exactly know the man at all to tell. (I see you.)

He liked them, regardless of who made them.

It was something deeply familiar and nostalgic, one of the small and very rare good pieces of his childhood. Even before Hogwarts he’d had a lot of practice keeping himself occupied, either by sitting and escaping into the confines of his own mind or by physically escaping into whatever building he’d been forced into by the Dursleys. Making no noise and pretending he didn’t exist. When the librarian, Miss Amelia, had first invited him to spend time with her behind the circulation desk, he’d gotten a taste for exploring places that were normally off limits. Sometimes when the library got busy, Miss Amelia would let him explore every part of the small library. The backrooms and small storage cabinets included. Any time he got so much as a glimpse of some employee only space or hidden away alcove that people were discouraged from entering- he had a deep desire to explore it anyway.

The year before he left for Hogwarts, where Grandma Effie had taken him to live in Potter Manor, had only encouraged the habit. He loved his grandmother dearly, but often she would become melancholic and distant or even just have days where she was too ill to leave her bed. Those had been the days he was free to roam the Manor and its expansive grounds, delighting in every new space he uncovered and being taught to bond with the magic of the house itself by the Potter family house-elf, Opple. Still, for the most part, he explored alone.

That hadn’t changed when he left for Hogwarts. When he was sorted into Slytherin, most of his House shunned him for his parent’s involvement in the rebellion. Calling them blood-traitors and saying he was also one by default. Blaise hadn’t joined in on their sentencing of complete exile, but he hadn’t spoken up in defense of Harry or made much of en effort to know Harry either. That had only come later. No, his first year had been spent exploring the castle’s corridors and secret passages in solitude. Still, it was meditative to traverse the empty spaces and thrilling when he uncovered new nooks and crannies. Leaving to search for a new dusty old classroom that had been untouched for centuries was his go-to method for cooling off when his temper ran hot, or when he needed to think, or when he was brooding or sad.

Regardless, he was glad that it was a habit he didn’t have to give up.

“Nothing, really,” Ginny replied, shaking him from his meandering thoughts. “Just a bunch of pictures of this one weird guy all over the place,” she held up the paper for him to see. “Says here he got into the Emperor’s harem recently, I guess. Good for him.”

Harry barked a laugh, “Piss off.”

The more he kept seeing his face in the Prophet the more he hated it. Both his face and the newspaper.

It was then that Lavender stalked up behind Ginny’s settee, movements fluid and predatory. She loomed above the redhead, who was obliviously still flipping through the pages of the Prophet, unaware of the mad gleam in the other witch’s eyes. Harry shuddered at the sight, just glad he wasn’t on the receiving end of such a look for once.

“Ginny, dear,” she cooed, making Ginny freeze like a prey animal. Harry could almost hear her heartbeat bump up to triple-time at the tone of voice Lavender used alone. “Did you forget,” she said, plucking the newspaper out of Ginny’s stiff hands, “that as Harry’s Head Maid,” she leaned down and lightly twisted a lock of ginger hair around her finger, her smile wide with too many teeth, “you will also be attending this party?”

Ginny did nothing but stare up at Lavender for a long, unending moment, eyes still wide and posture frozen. Lavender waited, an ambush predator. Ginny gulped and replied in a wavering voice, “Uh, no?”

“Fantastic!” Lavender said with a happy grin and a little clap, the change in demeanor almost giving Harry whip-lash. Ginny also seemed befuddled by the change, shrinking down into the settee and blinking hard. “Let’s get up, then!”

Lavender pulled at Ginny’s arm and the other complied reluctantly, shooting a pleading gaze in Harry’s direction. Harry could only raise his hands and shake his head. No way was he getting involved in that. He’d already done his time, thank you.

Lavender’s happy babbling followed them out the door, supposedly down to Ginny’s chambers a floor below.

“Now, you’ll be wearing the standard maid uniform, of course, but that doesn’t mean we can’t spruce it up a bit and give it a bit more personality. And we’ll also need to fix up your hair. And what about a little make-up? You’d look so good with some eye-shadow, darling, please.”

Harry was just glad to not be on the receiving end of all that for once.

*

August 20 ^th 1998, Hall of Gathering, 12:50 pm

“I don’t know what Lavender was so worried about,” Ginny grumbled as she held out her hand to help Harry down from the thestral-drawn carriage. He didn’t really need it, but they were out where others could see them now, so they both had to adhere to decorum- despite how neither of them cared about it. “We made it with ten minutes to spare.”

Harry hummed as he stared up at the gargantuan castle, grip tightening around the two small parcels- one blue and bronze and one red and gold- he held. “She may have been trying to account for the thirty minutes its going to take us to find our way in there,” he mumbled back.

“My Lord,” a footman standing at the doors called down to them, dipping into a bow when Harry looked his way.

Harry and Ginny climbed the stairs, Ginny a half-step behind him in the plain black robes of her uniform with pale blue underskirts and apron, and the slightest hint of black-on-black embroidery on the edge of her sleeves. No doubt Lavender’s attempts to give it ‘personality’.

“Will you allow me to escort you to the birthday celebration of their Royal Highnesses, My Lord?”

Harry inclined his head in the regal, disaffected sort of acquiescence that had been drilled into him as a proper response.

The footman ducked into another bow before opening the doors and stepping to the side to allow Harry and Ginny entry first. They are immediately set upon by a cavernous room with a vaulted ceiling and multiple large and elaborate crystal chandeliers. Light spilled across the white marble floors from the large, impossibly placed windows on every side of the room. The walls and ceiling were all blue and gold done in intricate rococo style, broken up only by the fluttering white curtains of windows.

Their footsteps echoed loudly as the footman guided them to an archway to the right, and it made Harry feel small. It was a feeling he would have to get used to quickly, though, as he would be in this Hall every morning unless a meeting was canceled.

They stepped quickly down a hallway comprised entirely of towering windows, marble flooring, and an arched ceiling of more blue and gold embellishment. Each window was filling the hall with an absurd amount of light, but as they walked past Harry noticed that there was a view of a different garden in every window.

It was less the opulent display of wealth that awed Harry, but the display of magical power . Yes, it cost an exorbitant amount of money; to hire the skilled magical architects to make this all happen, to afford all the precious metals and fine marble everything was made with, to hire the laborers to put it all together. But it took an incomprehensible amount of magic to anchor all the enchantments to the castle. Especially in a newer building. And all in just one room! He had no doubt that it had been the Emperor himself that created the ward-stone for the Hall and used his considerable magical core tie all the ambient magic to the land. There was no one else in the world powerful enough to do it.

The magic of Hogwarts worked as it did because she was ancient. Four extremely powerful wixen had come together to build her walls and infuse her wardstone with magic and she’d had centuries more of wixen lending their magic to her to sustain and expand all the enchantments that ran through her. The portraits, the staircases, the Room of Requirements, the Chamber, the floating candles, the sky-reflecting ceiling of the Great Hall, the suits of armor, the prefect baths, and even just the glowing warmth that emanated from her stone. All of it had been built over time, layered upon itself over and over by hundreds of thousands of wixen over hundreds of years.

The Hall and its magic had been created from one man’s power. He could feel it thrumming under his boots, a signature he recognized from that one exhilarating moment the Emperor had been near. ( I see you. ) He could not put a name to the sensations it evoked, didn’t know it well enough just yet (and, oh, did he want to, he wanted to badly), but he could tell who it belonged to.

They left the hallway, entering a wide space that might be a ballroom- but was hard to tell its purpose when it was dark and empty- before the footman took a sharp turn to the right and opened another set of large oak doors. He was nearly blinded by the sun when they all stepped out into a lovely courtyard.

There were already guests milling about the space; lots of younger children tumbling about in the grass, multiple groups of young teenagers either gathering around one of the iron folly gazebos or idly walking together about the stone pathway that wound its way around the Greek marble statues and various flowering shrubbery that dotted the courtyard, and lastly a sparse few adults- most recognizable members of the aristocracy- were sitting about with tea underneath a large stone pavilion with arches and grand Doric columns. All of them were accompanied by maids and footmen and guards stood sentry all around the edges.

Several round tables under the pavilion held delicate treats and finger sandwiches, others more tea cups, and one tucked to the side held a mountain of wrapped presents with an additional guard hovering nearby.

He headed in that direction, Ginny still a silent half-step behind him, intending to place his gifts among the others. He felt a bit self-conscious of them, knowing they weren’t as extravagant or expensive as most of the other gifts likely were. But he thought at least Kassios might appreciate them, nonetheless, and that mattered more to him than having the biggest and most impressive present out of the lot.

As he got closer to the table, the guard stepped forward, the silver of his uniform robes catching a bit of the light as he lifted his wand. He held it up but kept the point of it facing the ground. Likely, he needed to scan the presents for any nasty or dangerous spells before allowing Harry to place them among the rest.

Harry’s assumption proved true when he held the parcels out in front of himself and the guard softly mumbled incantations as he waved his wand over them. Harry waited patiently as they were examined until one of the spells made the presents glow a sparkling dark blue. Both Harry and the guard frowned down at them. The guard because of whatever the color indicated and Harry because he didn’t know what spell had last been cast and why it would react like that to the bracelets.

“My Lord,” the guard said, voice slow as if still puzzling out what had gone wrong, “have the gifts been charmed?”

“Ah,” Harry answered, embarrassed for not having thought about the enchantments he’d placed on the bracelets perhaps being a problem before now, “yes. In a way.”

The guard looked surprised a moment before furrowing his brows and waving his wand over the packages again. “I can tell that the spells are not malicious, but I cannot tell which ones they are.”

And here Harry was a tad more embarrassed. He really should have anticipated a problem like this arising from his personalized rune-work. Without them being properly identified, of course they would be treated like a threat instead of the protections that he’d intended. He was going to cause a horrific scene at his first event as a harem member and everything was going to go horribly from here. What if he got accused of trying to harm the Prince and Princess? Would he be carted off? Jailed? Executed?

The jolt of fear that had started to spiral within him was shoved harshly to the back of his mind. He would not start panicking when there was not yet reason to. Ginny was a warm and steadfast presence at his back and it also helped keep the unwarranted anxiety at bay. The guard was concerned but not upset. This wasn’t as big of a deal as Harry was making it out to be and he needed to calm down. Yes, it could escalate, but for now it was fine. Really, it was more embarrassing than anything.

He took a deep breath and sighed. “Yes, I- may have placed a few unique runic arrays on them. Which, depending on the diagnostic spells you’re using, would look like regular charms instead of the spell matrices they actually are.”

The guard blinked at him, uncomprehending. Harry could feel his cheeks reddening and the aura of amusement radiating from Ginny behind him. This was definitely going to escalate into a whole thing. He would die of mortification before the day was out and he’d never recover his reputation.

“My Lord, I’m afraid-”

“What seems to be the issue here?” a voice like velvet wound its way between them. The sound of it sent a shiver down his spine and Ginny released a small gasp behind him.

It felt like he had a raging ocean at his back. The magic of the man behind him felt like the crashing of enormous waves, felt like freezing water, tasted- just barely- like sea salt and the cold, indifferent savagery of the ocean. It was dark and intimidating. Intoxicating. It was black sandalwood and sage, a sharp wind and the unending pressure, unending patience that turned rock into sand. Harry wanted nothing more than to dive into those currents and know oblivion in those depths. The vestiges of the same power that he had felt along the windows earlier. And it was but sea foam in comparison. There was only one person in world that such potent magic could belong to.

The Emperor.

The guard ducked into a low bow, Harry following with a slightly shallower one and Ginny likely dropping into a curtsy behind him. Harry watched out of the corner of his eye as the man waved a slightly annoyed hand, bidding them all to rise from their prostrations.

He came to stand between them, steps silent as he moved. The Emperor stopped and faced the guard but was a mere few inches away from brushing arms with Harry and he felt a bit lightheaded at the proximity.

The man’s robes were of the finest quality, all black on black material. A silky black open overrobe with what Harry could recognize as black anancites spider silk embroidery, which nearly blended into the flowing robe except for where the thread glittered like gems when it caught the sun. The waistcoat he had on underneath was similarly black but a brocade pattern was just barely visible in a green so dark it was nearly black. His shirt underneath was black silk, as was the cravat at his neck. He looked striking in the glow of the summer sun.

“Y-your Majesty,” the guard stuttered out, shaking under the full attention of the Dark Emperor, “His Lordship, Noble Potter, has gifts he wishes to bestow upon their Royal Highnesses, but- ah-”

The Emperor’s voice cut like ice, a demand, “Speak.”

“N-Noble Potter- ah-,” the guard’s stutter was growing with the increased scrutiny. “Charms! On the gifts. But he said- they’re runes? Ah-”

“Enough,” he commanded, eyes cold upon the poor trembling guard. Then he turned to Harry and, he couldn’t be completely sure but- it seemed like his expression softened, no longer disdainful but benignly curious.

Nothing about the man had changed, mouth still drawn in a slight frown and eyes still intent and virtually unreadable. And yet the red within them seemed softer.

The man was- incredibly, distractingly handsome. Everything about his face was sharp; his cheeks, his eyes, his brows, his jawline, the bridge of his nose, the shade of red of his eyes. His hair was a deep, dark brown, short with neatly trimmed waves, and his ears were adorned with simple silver studs; two on each ear as was in fashion among the Ton. There was an edge to his looks as well, hinting that there was something about him that was otherworldly, something more than human. The vibrant red of his eyes, the pale shade of his skin, the too-sharp canines Harry could spot every time he spoke. He gave the impression of man that was once a snake, turned into a devastatingly beautiful human. Harry felt that, much like a python, if he got too close he would be encircled and devoured whole.

“My Noble,” he murmured, tilting his head in greeting.

Harry, fighting the urge to bow back, simply ducked his head and replied, “Your Majesty.”

“What troubles have you caused here,” he spoke, voice almost teasing, “my Noble Potter?”

Harry blushed and grimaced slightly, barely restraining himself from tugging nervously at his hair. “I placed a couple of spell matrices on the presents I made for Their Highnesses and they’re appearing as unknown enchantments? I- I didn’t mean to cause such a fuss, I can take them back if its a problem.”

The Emperor waved a sharp, dismissive hand at the idea, “Hush. There is no need for that.” He leaned forward a bit, face impassive, and voice sounding as if he was almost bored as he asked, “What matrices did you use? A futhark aegis charm structure? A barrier jinx configuration? Or perhaps the ambitious Magnitsky’s emendo formation?”

Harry withheld the offended scoff that he wanted to release, but only just. “A simple futhark aegis?” he asked incredulously. “It shouldn’t even qualify as an array- let alone a matrix! It’s three runes with a single girdle. And the Bachelard barrier is hardly any better when the sentences are completely nonsensical!” He felt a subtle elbow to the side from Ginny, but ignored it out of habit. “No ward-weaver, spell-crafter, or enchanter worth their salt would use it. And the Magnitsky formation? Ambitious? It’s child’s play, a first year could-”

Suddenly, Harry cut himself off. As, suddenly, he remembered just who he was ranting at and how much he appreciated his head attached to his body.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account,” the Emperor said lightly. “You know your runes well, my Noble,” and the words were smooth and almost pleased and Harry wanted to bask in the feelings that stirred within him. “Tell me, though. What matrices, then, did you place upon the gifts you intend to give my children? And what purpose does the Protean charm on them pose?”

Harry felt himself tongue-tied from the intensity of the stare the Emperor was piercing him with. It made him feel like a particularly fascinating insect underneath a magnifying glass. He merely hoped that the man before him did not tilt it into the sun.

“Ah,” he started, stopped and began again, almost mumbling in reluctance, “the Protean charm is for Their Highnesses to be able to communicate with each other with short, three-letter words on little charms placed on the bracelets I wove. And- the matrices- are, well- a cave inimicum flip-switch structure and a remote-activation revelocus construct.”

Runic arrays, specifically ones complicated enough to become spell matrices like the ones Harry had created, were often complicated things. There were simple ones, like the futhark aegis, classic and easy but limited in scope and power. Three runes of the same alphabet to create a single sentence, all bound together with a single girdle- a circle around the runes that acted as punctuation.

Then there were the more advanced ones, ones with layer upon layer of girdles and three-dimensional array configurations, and lay-lines and latch-lines, complex sentences and mixed alphabets. Mixed alphabets meant studying, knowing, and combining multiple rune languages. Adding lay-lines meant adding more power behind the array and latch-lines adhered the matrix more concretely to an object. These were the arrays that could achieve a spell matrix, a structure that- in essence- mimicked spells.

One could cast a disillusionment spell upon an object and have it hidden from sight until either the spell wore off or the counter-spell was used. Or one could create a complicated spell matrix that mimicked the disillusionment spell and have the object hidden from sight… indefinitely. Only a curse-breaker or another ward-weaver would know how to navigate and break open the array.

You could also alter the matrix in many more ways than you could a spell. With a spell, one had to find just the precise words and motions that matched with the magic in order to alter it. Going from bombarda to bombarda maxima was a far more complicated process than most people thought. Harry loved this about spell-craft, he really did, but there was something to be said about simply adding on a sentence or two within an array in order to make it stronger or whatever else you needed.

It was one of the things he adored about runes. His passion and his skill lay with spell-crafting, true, but runic arrays and matrices went, at least in his mind, hand in hand with crafting. Most would stop with simply knowing the alphabets, as singular runes were often used as a template for wand movement when creating a new spell. But Harry thought it should go further than that. Imitation is the highest form of flattery. Constructing a spell matrix for a spell you were trying to craft? Learning the intricacies of the intent and execution of the spell in order to mimic it completely with runes? It made for more efficient and effective spells.

But there was also usually a process with matrices, which was his problem now. Usually, they were peer-reviewed, and tested, and then published. There wasn’t a law, necessarily, about having to publish a freshly created matrix, or one against making use of it. It also wasn’t necessarily frowned upon, either. It was just… not the done thing. And it made explaining what he’d done with the bracelets to the Emperor that much harder since he couldn’t just refer him to a published and established matrix. This was his punishment for wanting the gifts to be completely handmade. For being stubborn about it.

Instead of being angry, however, the other seemed intrigued, the emotion now being visible across his visage. “I’m not familiar with the matrices you mentioned,” he said, head tilted like a bird of prey, “You found them?”

“I…” Harry trailed off, looking away from the intensity of the scrutiny of the Emperor. “I made them.”

The man stared. Always stared. Now ravenously curious, but otherwise impassive; the only indication of his fascination being the gleam in his eyes. They stood for a long moment in silence, those around him holding their breath as they waited for His Majesty’s response.

“Show me.”

With a snap of his fingers he conjured paper, ink, and quill and used raw magic to create a surface between them on which to write. Harry stared incredulously at the remarkable display of magic for only a moment before carefully taking the offered quill and beginning a sketch of the matrix he’d put together last night.

“I didn’t start out with the intention of making a matrix, let alone two,” he said under his breath, focusing more on scratching out the runes on the paper. Algiz, thurisaz, uruz. Lay line. Em, phe, esh. Lay line. Cosain, dofheicthe, sciath. Lay line. Girdle. “But just one or two runes for a weak enchantment just didn’t seem like enough.”

The Emperor said nothing, just watched over Harry’s shoulder as he scribbled frantically. Harry took this as a silent cue to continue both writing and muttering to himself.

“So I hopped from alphabet to alphabet until I had a handful of acceptable sentences,” he continued. Banem, vera, thithum, paetet, saera. Lay line. Gebo, jera, isa, dagaz. Lay line. Mnkil, Mnol, Mniun, Mndwy. Lay line. Girdle. “But even that didn’t seem like enough. I wanted the charms to have more powerful protections. I wanted them to be more than just little trinkets.”

Zid, Mid, Ban, Jak, Xon. Lay line. Ghilm, Fahn, Kirhn, Loghozth, Mheranf. Lay line. Vaq, Vab, Vanuo, Vailluor, Vavuotnim. Lay Line. Girdle.

“So I looked toward the spells I knew would satisfy what I wanted. But neither the cave inimicum spell nor the revelocus charm had an established matrix. Let alone the alterations I wanted.”

Ccr, Mmb, Hhf, Ooq, Aaj, Yyt. Lay lin-

That dark velvet voice spoke from over his shoulder- breaking his concentration and nearly making him snap the quill in his hand in half. “Why cave inimicum and revelocus? Would a protego matrix not have sufficed?”

Harry made a noise of agreement before continuing his scribbling and answering, “Perhaps. But the cave inimicum spell provides a shield and hides the caster from potential enemies. Adding the flip switch means it can be activated as needed. And revelocus has no equivalent. Adding remote activation and only allowing yourself and Consort Walker-Slytherin access to the activation spell, means that should Their Highnesses become lost for any reason, the bracelets can act as beacons to find them.”

He finished his line of runes, circling the last girdle around them, hand hesitating as he moved to draw the next array. “That is, if they even like them enough to wear them.”

“Well,” piped a voice by his other shoulder, startling him. “What do they look like?”

“Prince Kassios!” he exclaimed, happy to see the boy for the first time in months. He looked happy, red hair like fire in the sun and smile bright. He stood nearly as tall as Harry now, which was a right blow to his ego.

“Hi, Harry!” he chirped, rocking on his heels and leaning past Harry’s arm to see what he was writing.

“I’m glad you came! I told you you’d make it in. Father would have been exceptionally silly to turn you away. Maybe you can get him to lighten up sometimes, too. He’s always so serious, saying things like ‘You need to take your studies seriously, Kassios’” and here the Prince tried to deepen his voice and straightened his back in order to mimic his father, “or ‘Put that down, its not a toy, son’ or, his favorite, ‘Kassios, do be quiet.’”

“Kassios,” intoned the Emperor from his other side, tone wry but Harry could swear there was a hint of humor there, “do be quiet.”

“Oh, hello, Father!” Kassios said cheerily, as if he hadn’t noticed the Emperor standing there.

“Insouciant spawn of mine,” he drawled in response, and Harry nearly wanted to drop his jaw in shock. This was… not how Harry thought the Emperor might interact with his children. Lenient, acting in good humor, joking with them, even if it was dry.

It- settled a part of him, somehow. To know the man wasn’t all seriousness and strict propriety, that he wouldn’t react in anger so quickly to any perceived slights from his children. That his children felt comfortable enough in his presence to poke fun in the first place. That formality wasn’t so heavily enforced when not in public scrutiny. Harry had been worried that he and any children he had would be forced to live in constricting societal roles, like puppets on strings, even in the comfort of their own home. He’d been willing to suffer it, to get what he wanted, but something within him relaxed knowing that he wouldn’t have to.

“I’m not insouciant!” Prince Kassios protested. “I’m plenty souciant! Full of souce. Right, Harry?”

Harry hummed before deciding to join in on the fun. “I’m afraid I don’t know, My Prince. You see, I don’t have any souce myself with which to compare,” he said with faux sorrow.

Kassios was grinning as he opened his mouth to respond, before another voice interrupted them, instantly causing his expression to shutter and grow cold. Harry noticed, too, that the Emperor’s semblance of good humor had disappeared.

His Grace, Consort Amycus Carrow-Slytherin, approached, a mean glint in his eye and saccharine smile on his lips. He sidled up close to the Emperor, practically draping himself across the other man despite His Majesty staying still as a statue.

He wore tight-fitted canary yellow robes, embroidered in a darker yellow with beads around the edges and a white mesh around his shoulders and the front of his legs, showing off his calves. He had a white lace corset over that with dark ochre laces tying it up and solid white boots with a heel. He had a choker that was just a solid strip of gold across his neck and dangling gold tassel earrings. His crown was gold as well, perched among his short brown hair with its light yellow citrine center jewel. He had a set of simple outer robes of the same darker yellow mesh and embroidered the same as his under-robes.

“Your Majesty,” he greeted with a simper, “have you seen our sweet Tisiphonie, lately? She’s been wanting to speak with you before the children leave for Hogwarts. It’s her first year after all and she dearly wishes for time with her father before she sets off for the first time.”

“I have not,” he responded curtly. “I will seek her out momentarily, Consort Carrow.”

Something about the tone of the other’s voice, or perhaps the impersonal way he’d been addressed, made the Consort frown and back away slightly.

Then the Emperor turned toward Harry, “You may add your gifts to the pile, my Noble. The rune-work you showed me was sound enough.” He snapped his fingers and the parchment rolled itself up; the quill, ink, and raw magical table disappeared. “I want to see the rest at a later date, however. We will meet at your convenience.” He inclined his head in acknowledgment and then pivoted toward the Prince.

“Happy Birthday, Prince Kassios,” he stated, tone empty, “meet with your friends and siblings and I will see you again shortly.”

“Yes, Father,” Kassios replied, voice just as void of warmth and personality as the Emperor’s.

With that the Emperor swept away, Consort Amycus shooting Harry a poisonous look before following after.

Kassios sighed deeply beside him and Harry felt that, he really did. What a harrowing experience.

“You’re not gonna let me open that early, are you?” Kassios said, more statement than question, pouting slightly as he looked at the small parcels Harry placed on the table.

“I think not,” Harry responded, smiling slightly.

“Oh, well,” he said, letting loose another gusty sigh. “Oh! Ma wanted to meet you, Harry,” he exclaimed brightly, striking a bit of fear into Harry’s core at the thought of having to interact with another Consort. “C’mon!”

Well, at least the Prince would be there, someone to diffuse any tension that might arise between them. Harry also took note of the slight twinge of an accent appearing when the Prince spoke of his mother, which was, frankly, a bit adorable. He let Kassios lead him through the throng of adults, hopping around as he did.

He noticed that the only members of the harem he could see in attendance were Consort Carrow, who had settled grumpily at a table to himself- his teacup being filled by the maid at his side, and Noble Consort Bellatrix who was holding court with a few notable members of the Ton such as Lady Narcissa Malfoy, Lord Consort Ryland Lestrange, and Lady Belinda Rowle. And he assumed Consort Walker was around since Kassios was leading him to meet her. Harry was the only one from the harem at the party that wasn’t an official spouse. It made something cold twist within his stomach, whether it was fear or satisfaction, he could not tell. Perhaps both.

“Mama!” Kassios cried joyfully, accent more pronounced than ever. They’d found Consort Walker lounging on a reclined seat just outside the shelter of the pavilion, basking in the sun with a large floppy sun hat covering her face. Her maid stood tall behind her at the head of her lounge chair, placed between the Consort and the rest of the party on the pavilion.

Princess Mellonia was asleep on her lap but she tilted her head back and smiled widely at her approaching son regardless. “Hi, baby,” she said sweetly, holding an arm out for Kassios to latch on to. Harry understood, then, where Kassios’ twang came from. The Consort had a thick U.S. American South accent, much more pronounced than the hint around the edges of the Prince’s words he sometimes had.

Her crown with its yellow sapphire jewel, was perched on the sun hat and held in place with a yellow and white floral printed ribbon. Her robes were of the same print, delicate yellow roses on soft white silk, the color contrasting nicely on the tan of her skin. The skirt was short in the front with white crinoline making them look light and fluffy and a train flowing down from the back, bunched up and spilling across the grass below her. She wore no corset but had a large bright yellow ribbon across her waist instead, her generous curves still visible. The top of her robes was drawstring style with off-the-shoulder peasant sleeves. She had a sleeveless outer robe made entirely of sheer white chiffon, uncaring of how its train was crumpled in the grass.

She wore a cream ribbon choker with a pearl pendant and her ears were decorated with several piercings, all done in rose gold. One set was metal roses, another set were two stars with a golden chain hanging between them. She had an industrial piercing as well in her left ear with a diamond butterfly in the middle that glinted in the sun. She wore cream colored satin cowboy boots with heels and shiny embroidery. Her deep red hair was loose over her shoulder, straight and long, spilling near down to her hips, though it was hard to tell with her laying back as she was.

She was beautiful and her honey brown eyes sparkled when they landed on him standing awkwardly on the walkway still. He bowed quickly, not wanting to offend such a powerful person during their first meeting.

“C’mon over, Brother,” she said, voice warm, and the knot of tension Harry had building in his core started to loosen at the sound of it as he stood from his hasty bow. “We don’ bite.” She paused, looking down at the sleeping child in her lap. “Well, Mellie might if she’s bein’ moody. But jus’ keep yer distance from ‘er jaws an’ yer fine.”

“Er,” he said as he stepped closer with caution, “noted.”

He shifted nervously in place as he stood rigidly near the Consort’s lounge chair. She chuckled and gestured to the empty lounger beside her own. “I ain’t one for ceremony among friends, hun. Go on an’ sit down.”

Harry sat sideways on the chair, back straight as he faced the Consort. He couldn’t relax, not yet. She’d called him friend but they’d barely spoken. He couldn’t let his guard down around a member of the harem, especially one as powerful as Abigail Walker. Not only was she the Secondary Spouse, but she was also magically powerful. Harry could feel it in the air, like a crisp spring breeze scented with the smell of honeysuckle, ash, and something herbal he couldn’t quite place, like anise but gentler. It felt a bit like a foggy mist, sounded like cicada calls and buzzing bees, and tasted like spiced honey.

Ginny settled at the head of his chair, exchanging wary glances with the Consort’s own maid. Brown eyes clashing with a surprisingly sharp, animalistic gold. Ginny looked to Harry at that, gaze nervous, but neither of them outright acknowledged it. Werewolves made formidable enemies and, likely, more formidable guards.

Kassios chose that moment to lean toward his mother and smack a kiss against her cheek, and said in a rush, “Okay, have fun you two I’m gonna go find Eudora, bye!” and then fleeing the scene.

Harry really shouldn’t have felt as betrayed as he did.

Consort Walker snorted, grumbling under her breath. “Little shit.”

Harry held back his own choked bit of laughter at the comment. At least they felt the same about Kassios’ quick escape.

“So,” she said, turning back toward Harry, eyes sharp as they assessed him. “how’re you settlin’ in, Brother? Any problems with your staff? Issues with your quarters in the Noble’s palace? Homesick yet?”

“Er,” he answered, taken aback by all the questions so suddenly thrown at him. “I’m fine. No problems or anything, I think.”

“Ya think?” she asked, giving him a raised eyebrow and small crooked grin.

“Well, that changes, just lemme know, okay? Sister Bella’s the one that’s supposed to take care a stuff like that, but she never bothers and no one else has balls enough to talk to His Majesty about it, so I do,” she stated, sounding a bitter. “As second in command, I try my best to actually manage the harem where Sister Bella don’t give a shit.”

His eyebrows were reaching his hairline, surprised at the vulgar way Consort Walker spoke. He wasn’t particularly surprised that Walker was the one, essentially, actually in charge of the harem. Bellatrix Black hadn’t struck him as one that cared about the tedious minutiae of actually, well, running things. Or caring about other people. But he hadn’t expected another of the harem to actually care about picking up that slack or doing anything about the lower harem’s problems.

“Now,” she said, voice going flat and serious, “don’t think I trade on mercy, Brother. I don’t ask much, but I don’t ask for nothin’ neither.”

Ah, the caveat. This, he was expecting. This, he felt a bit better about trusting. Nothing in the world was free, a lesson he’d learned long ago at the Dursleys and one that had been drilled into him in his time in the Slytherin dorms. Favor for favor. The only question here was price.

“And what are you asking for?”

Her eyes were dark and smile sharp as she responded, “Loyalty and a bit a trust. Goes both ways, too.”

He frowned, not liking how ambiguous that was. Loyalty could mean a lot of things, especially depending on what she might ask of him. Would loyalty to Consort Walker mean taking a stance against others in the harem? Would she ask that he sabotage his own chances with the Emperor in order to advance her own? Is that how she’d gained so much power? Would she ask him unthinkable things?

Would she ask for an alibi?

“Can see your mind’s spinnin’ faster than a cow caught in a wind storm,” she said, amused as her strange phrasing broke him out of his thoughts.

“What do you mean then?” he demanded, slightly defensive, and ignoring her previous words- not allowing his attention to wander to unimportant things like cows in wind storms. “What does loyalty to you look like? And trust? And what do you mean it goes both ways?”

“Alright, alright,” she placated, shifting around in her lounge chair when the Princess kicked out in her sleep. “Calm down, fussy britches. Got ahead of myself then, I guess.”

She sighed, taking her hat off and fanning herself with it, looking off into the distance in heavy thought.

“A cooling charm, ma’am?” her maid said softly, voice a low rumble.

Walker looked back at her maid with a tender smile, “M’fine, Ellie. You know I don’t need one of those.”

The maid’s frown was severe as she simply nodded her head in acquiescence, and Harry wondered what she’d meant by that. A reference to having lived in the Southern US, where it ran hot? Or that she’d already cast one of her own cooling charms? The phrasing and the resulting scowl were what caught his attention most, but he didn’t have the time to dwell.

“Loyalty and trust in the barest sense at first,” she said, tone still pensive. “Where we just agree not to kill each other, really. Then you get to know me and what I want out of it all,” she gestured with her hat to everything around them- speaking of the harem itself, likely, “and I get to know you and what you want.”

And then she placed the hat back on her head and hid a grin, “From the look on your face durin’ the Selection though, I’d hazard a guess at what you want from good ol’ Tommy boy, though.”

“Abigail,” her maid admonished sharply, sounding exasperated more than anything.

Harry, though he was valiantly trying to fend off a blush, thought the Consort would reprimand her maid in turn for such a breach of conduct in public, but surprisingly she just tilted her head back and laughed, loud and boisterous.

Ellie, as Consort Walker had called her, merely pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “You know he doesn’t like when you call him that,” she cut a glance to Harry, “especially in front of the new and younger harem members.”

Walker let loose a few more rolling giggles, “Yeah, ruins his image, I know. Well,” she said, turning back towards Harry, “think of this as a first little show a trust. The first trade. Don’t get me in trouble with our mutual Mister and I’ll do somethin’ small for ya in return.”

The woman was baffling. He couldn’t really bring himself to stay aloof with her, though. She was open and joyful in a way he hadn’t expected someone of her status could be. In a way he hadn’t thought anyone in the harem could be. He wouldn’t let his guard down, not around her, not around his staff, not around anyone, but he could lower it just bit. Just enough to see over the edge, perhaps. Allies were a valuable resource here, especially one so powerful as a Consort. He’d simply have to see where this went.

He looked back toward Ginny, wanting a second opinion. Her eyes were shrewd upon Consort Walker and her maid but she turned back with a considering tilt to her head and a small shrug. She didn’t fully endorse it, but she wasn’t against it either. It was up to him. He sighed, deciding there was enough Gryffindor in him after all, and went for the leap of faith.

“I can do that,” he said with a nod. “We can start out small. And I’ll try and keep the murder plots for the others in the harem.”

Her grin was sharp, “I knew my boy liked you for a reason.” She held out her hand, “Won’t ask for anythin’ magically binding, but we should shake on it anyway.”

Reluctantly he took her hand in his and was shocked at just how ice-cold it was. Her grip was strong as she pumped their hands firmly once before letting go. He felt, despite how he’d liked speaking with her and how benign their little agreement was, that he’d still just made a deal with the devil.

“Alright,” she said, sitting up fully from her lounger and shuffling the Princess, who surprisingly didn’t wake, around to sitting up against her chest. “It’s almost time for opening presents and the like, so best get a shimmy on.”

Her maid came around and picked the Princess up, hands gentle as they cradled the girl- who was almost too big to be carried like that, but neither had seemed to mind the weight. Ellie then held a hand out, which Walker took as she heaved herself up with a groan.

Harry stood as well, moving around the chairs to stand beside the Consort. Her hair really did fall down past her hips and, unfortunately, she was yet another person that towered over him in height.

He watched as she took a deep breath in and squared her shoulders. “Time, once again, to throw ourselves into the fray.”

Her accent had nearly disappeared, her previously chipper tone turned dour.

At his surprised look she turned to him with a slightly strained smile, “We all have our masks in court, Brother. I just refuse to bother if I don’t have to,” and here there was something so exhausted in her voice, in her face, she seemed unfathomably weary, “it’s a dreadfully tiring endeavor.”

Her smile warmed just a bit and she held out her elbow in an offer to link arms and enter the fray together. He hesitated only a moment before giving in and moving closer, hooking their arms together.

“You can call me Harry,” he said softly.

She smiled and Harry could tell that this one was truly genuine for its blinding quality. It reminded him of the way that Kassios smiled, wide and open with dimples and crinkles in the corner of his eyes. Unbidden, it tugged a smile of his own at his lips in response.

“Call me Abigail,” she said back, just as softly, “and let’s face the fray together.”

Chapter Text

August 23^rd 1998, Palace of Opulent Reflection

Amycus stood in front of his vanity, obsessively scanning his brows for a single hair out of place, ready to pluck it with force should he find one. He was extremely meticulous about his appearance, especially now that it’d been just a few months since he’d turned forty. With a frown he abandoned his tweezers and instead reached for one of his many anti-aging salves, there was a wrinkle too many on the edge of his eyes. He could not afford to lose his looks. Could not afford to lose favor. Not when there was fresh blood in the harem, and even more so when that fresh blood was proving to be a threat.

Harry bloody Potter.

“He shouldn’t have even been there,” he complained to his sister, her face frowning within the mirror he’d propped up against the one on his vanity. The two-way mirrors were a special privilege only afforded to Consorts and above, a faster mode of communication versus owling letters in and out of the Citadel which all had to be filtered by the guards. It was still limited, in that they were only allowed to choose one person to give their other mirror to, but it was a far sight better than letters and flooing in any capacity was strictly forbidden, being a security risk.

“He’s a Noble! Only official spouses are allowed to attended the children’s birthday parties, unless explicitly invited. And he’s already far too chummy with Walker’s brat for my liking. He’s just the second prince, but that’s still an acquaintance far above Potter’s station. And the way he was throwing himself at His Majesty! It was disgusting, sister, truly.”

Not to mention it was frowned upon for male members of the harem to be out and about during this week specifically. It wasn’t an official rule, but it was still observed. The only exceptions being himself as an official spouse. He was far too important to be confined to his quarters once the pain of the yearly potion wore off.

“Potter’s always been a brat, brother,” Alecto replied, her voice distorted from having to travel through the mirror’s magical connection, almost like she was speaking underwater. “One of my more impudent students. He should have been expelled for some of the stunts he pulled- the worst of my snakes, honestly- but he never was. Now we know its was because he had the Headmaster wrapped around his finger.”

“Of course,” Amycus drawled, focused on spreading the salve evenly across his face, “can’t achieve anything on his own merit so he insinuates himself into the beds of more powerful men. Conniving little bitch.”

“Quite,” Alecto agreed. He couldn’t see clearly, the mirror’s surface being warped and tarnished, but it looked like she was writing and shuffling through multiple papers. Likely class schedules. Hard work being the Head Dark Arts Professor of Hogwarts and Head of Slytherin House.

Amyscus was at the head of the pack, the third most powerful concubine and fourth most powerful person in the world, and one of the pillars holding up this position was Alecto’s role within Hogwarts and, more importantly, the Council. Long ago, before Amycus had joined the harem- before, even, the harem existed, they had both been loyal Death Eaters, fighting with great skill by their Emperor’s side as he had finally fully pulled Britain and the rest of the world to heel. This earned him favor, joining the harem and having his daughters had brought him even more. But Alecto and her support within the Council was what solidified his power.

Bellatrix had long since flaunted about her position above him, touting the Emperor’s favor about like the gaudy jewelry she wore, despite her age starting to get the better of her. She had the support of her sister, Lady Narcissa Malfoy, nee Black, and in consequence, her husband Lord Lucius Malfoy, who was a prominent member of the Council as well. She only had one daughter, however, and once she inevitably miscarried her current spawn, it would stay that way. Yes, she’d made it to Noble Consort, but there was no way she’d reach any higher. Her downfall was inevitable.

And Walker, she had the advantage in numbers when it came to children, but she had no one to support her in Council, no connections. She’d skated by so far on the Emperor’s favor alone. It was grating, but her time would come as well. Amycus just needed one more child, preferably a son, and he’d have everything he needed to climb to the top.

But now. Now there was Potter.

Normally, Amycus didn’t concern himself with the fresh meat, they were hardly even worth mentioning most of the time, beneath his notice. But, normally , they didn’t have the kind of connections Potter had, nor the rank Potter had been bestowed from the very start. The Emperor’s fascination with the brat during the Selection itself had been grating, seeing Potter so close to the man during the party had been even worse.

The fact that Potter’s connections outranked both Bellatrix’s and his own was decidedly concerning. Lord Alphard Black was one of the few remaining members of the original Knights of Walpugis. The Inner Circle of the Inner Circle. Not only was he a member of the Council, and an extremely influential one at that, he was also Headmaster of Hogwarts, which gave him superiority over Alecto. And he’d gone and claimed that worthless chit as his Heir . Amycus was Heir to the House of Carrow, this was true, but the Blacks were the pureblood of the pureblood, second only to the Slytherin line itself. Add that to the fact that the whore was already Lord to the House of Potter himself, plus his ties to the House of Prince through his cousin, Severus Prince, and he was a political juggernaut in the making.

The boy needed to fall from grace, and he needed to fall hard and fast . Amycus could not afford to give him any time to settle in, to steal favor, to risk Potter destroying everything he’d worked so hard for.

“How’d he even get into the party?” Alecto asked. “Surely he hasn’t already fucked his way into the Emperor’s good graces?”

“No,” Amycus snarled in reply, “just that bitch Walker’s.”

Alecto scoffed, “Another one of her strays? This one hardly needs her so-called protection, though, hypocritical bitch that she is. She must be planning something.”

“Probably senses the shift in the wind,” he murmured. “She knows her power is waning and is jumping ship to what she thinks is safer harbor.”

“Then we close port before she reaches shore, so she’s dead in the water,” Alecto responded smugly.

Amycus had been in the process of toweling off the salve when she’d spoken and he firmly kept his face buried within the fluffy flannel. How he ever put up with his twin sister was a mystery. They ought to have tried to kill each other long before this. A shame he hadn’t pushed her down the stairs when they were three like he’d wanted to.

“That was horrid and you know it,” he told her flatly after finally lifting his head to face the world again.

“I thought it was brilliant, actually.”

“Of course you did. You’re stupid.”

“I am not! You’re the stupid one. Mum always said.”

“Fuck,” Amycus said with feeling, “all the way off. Are you going to help me plan or what?”

Alecto sniffed, nose in the air, “I thought you thought I was stupid.”

He rolled his eyes. They were both forty for fuck’s sake. “Fine. You’re the most brilliant sister in the entire world and everyone should worship the ground you walk on. Happy?”

“Yes,” she said with a smirk before dropping it and looking at him seriously. “You can’t be hasty, you know. You barely got away with Avery, and the last attempt at Walker nearly backfired.”

“I know that,” he snapped back. “So what do you propose we do? He has to be nipped in the bud, and quickly. If he gains too much of the Emperor’s favor, he’ll be all the harder to get rid of.”

“You’ll just have to wait for an opportune moment,” she said with a shrug. “And who knows, didn’t you say that Snyde woman was also fuming because of Potter? Maybe she’ll take him out for you.”

He tilted his head in acknowledgment. “Point.”

Alecto shuffled her papers, “Just keep a look out during the morning meeting tomorrow. See who hates him most already. Offer to supply them with poison, obliviate them, let them take the downfall for Potter’s death- et voila, two birds one stone.”

He sighed. “Fine. We’ll do it the boring way. But if those cunts are taking too long I’m slitting that chits throat myself.”

Alecto just laughed.

“Your Grace?” came the timid tremor of a voice of one of his stupid maids. Gods, he hated having to tolerate their presence, they always got underfoot in the worst ways. He missed having house-elves. Those little runts would punish themselves if they fucked something up. Although, he supposed it was more satisfying to hear the maids scream.

“What?” he snapped. He’d told them not to disturb him unless it was extremely important. He didn’t need them gossiping about his conversations with his sister behind his back. He didn’t trust any of them. “Don’t make me crucio you again for impertinence, Laura.”

“Y-you had Laura sent to the Punishment Bureau last weak, Your Grace,” came the sniveling reply, as if he cared. “My name is Jane.”

“Get to the point before I send you off as well.”

“H-Her Ladyship, First-Class Attendant Snyde, has sent a request to meet over tea in the coming week, Your Grace.”

“Oh,” cooed Alecto. “See? Opportunity knocks, dear brother. Open up while it still stands at your doorway.”

He shot her a baleful glare for her continued poor use of extended metaphors. She was right, however, even if she had to be annoying about it.

“I will send her an owl with a time and date,” he told Janet or whatever, “now leave.”

He waited until her footsteps faded before speaking with Alecto once again. Potter wasn’t the only thorn in his side he’d have to take care of. While the last scheme he’d hatched against Walker had fallen through, that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try again. There wasn’t any confirmation, rumor or otherwise, but he’s pretty sure he’d succeeded in making the bitch infertile at least. As the Emperor’s enduring favorite, she’d been called on plenty of times and had still failed to conceive again in the last seven years. That could only mean something was wrong.

Now, if he could just achieve the same thing for the new brat, maybe he wouldn’t even have to worry about killing him- though that’d be way less satisfying.

*

August 24 ^th 1998, Potter Carriage en route to the Hall of Gathering

Harry twitched in his seat, the heavy satin of his outer robes the only thing keeping him grounded. The carriage they were in was small, meant for two people at most, painted a light blue over the hickory wood with the Potter family crest in gold over the outer door. The cushions inside were a comfortable rich blue canvas and there were gauzy blue curtains over the two windows. It was drawn by a single thestral, Harry’s choice in steed, and steered by one of the four coachmen assigned to the Palace of Glorious Dawn.

Lavender hadn’t been half as feral about dressing him for the first morning meeting as she had been for the birthday party, likely because she’d had more time to consider what robes to dress him in this time. It was still a balance, she’d told him, between dressing to impress and still looking humble enough not to offend.

“You have to live up to your title,” she’d said as she’d sternly tied the indigo laces of his simple dark blue velvet corset. “You’ve got a rank that has only been bestowed upon a new harem member twice before and not for a long time since. You have to show them all that you’ve earned it for a reason. But you also can’t outshine those more powerful than you. Not yet, at least. You must be a simple pretty thing, to be admired and left alone. Deemed nonthreatening.”

He thought she’d done a good job, the robes simple but elegant and done with luxurious fabrics. He had a shiny, light blue silk blouse with bishop sleeves, that tied at the neck with a large bow. Over the blouse was the corset and under both was a pair of dark blue- almost black tight fitting trousers with silver buttons. He wore his blue blewe-boomslang scale boots again, the laces matching those of his corset and the ribbon that had been braided into his hair.

His outer robe was the most impressive of everything, made of a royal blue satin that had been treated with a magical iris mist (water that had been collected directly from a rare, tangible rainbow, and then diluted for cosmetic use) that gave it an iridescent sheen in the sunlight. The shoulders of the robe were also embroidered over with Bluebells and Morning Glories such that it almost looked like epaulets.

For jewelry he wore only his family rings, his gifted tiara, and two small blue labradorite studs in his ears.

Lavender had done her job spectacularly. Now it was his turn, and he couldn’t help but feel like a sheep in wolf’s clothing, undeserving of the rich trappings he’d been wrapped in and merely being led to the slaughter in the guise of the same predators preparing to eat him alive.

“You don’t even have to do anything,” Ginny said, interrupting his nervous spiral. “Sit there, look pretty, leave. Simple.”

Harry grimaced. Not simple. Not really. He’d have to be paying attention the entire time to multiple different things; the announcements being made, who was allied with who, who had a falling out with each other, who had lost favor, who had gained favor, who might tolerate his presence, and who might want him dead. These were all things, as well, that Harry was not particularly good at. Being stuck in the snake pit for seven years had honed what little of these skills he had, yes, but he hadn’t had much to work with in the first place.

Blaise had once patted his head like a dog and called him an “innocent, oblivious thing,” when he’d expressed confusion over why Malfoy had gotten so pissy at Parkinson for being a single minute late to a planned study session in their third year. They’d had to walk on eggshells around the volatile heir for days after in order to prevent being snapped at themselves. Harry still didn’t understand that mess and he supposed he never would.

“It’s really not, Gin,” he sighed, looking out the window of the carriage as they passed the Garden of Delicate Sunshine, filled with sunflowers, reflective glass ornaments, and long stretches of pasture with an odd collection of magical creatures grazing about. Harry was sure he even spotted a unicorn in the distance. “I was hoping to start out in the middle of the pack, learn slowly all the different plots and plans that are going on without having to worry about assassination attempts so early on. Now, I’ve got a target and no time to settle and it keeps getting worse.”

Ginny scoffed. “That’s what you have me for,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “You worry about wooing the pants off the Emperor and let me worry about who wants to kill you.”

Harry sputtered, weakly protesting her phrasing, before she turned to him with a more serious look, the atmosphere of the cozy little carriage going cold.

“You know I want to find out who murdered my uncle,” she said softly, “so I’ll be watching them all closely anyway.”

She leaned forward and grasped his hands in hers, “I signed up for this, Harry, poisonings and perilous plots and all.”

He squeezed her hands and sighed. “I know,” he said. “Thank you, Gin.”

Ginny opened her mouth to respond, grin tugging at the edges, when the carriage came to a smooth halt and they could hear the coachman clambering down to open the door for them.

“The Hall of Gathering, My Lord,” said the coachman- John, Harry thought his name was- as if he and Ginny hadn’t been here less than a week ago. First he helped Ginny down, who then held out her hand to help Harry down. It would be improper for ‘a mere coachman’ to make any sort of contact with a concubine unless absolutely necessary.

Harry looked about, noting that there were already a few carriages parked to the side, but not so many to indicate that everyone else had arrived before him. No one else was around except for the coachmen of the other carriages, some of which looked half the size of Harry’s and a bit plain, and few others that looked extravagantly larger and more lavishly decorated.

Since no one was around he discreetly turned to, Probably John, and whispered a quiet, “Thank you.” Which earned him a smile and a nod of acknowledgment in return.

Harry refused to become the type of person who took those around him for granted. If not because everyone deserved compassion, then because he thought it was a stupid move to make. These were the people that handled his food and took him places, and while he could have them beheaded for trying to kill him if they tried anything overt, they could still get away with spitting in his food everyday. He’d rather not deal with that when all it took was to treat them like, well, people.

Some of the concubines, he’d heard, treated even their head maids like garbage, which he really couldn’t fathom. Your head maid, sometimes called a ladies’ maid or lord’s maid, was the one you worked closest with, helped you dress, brought your food, served your tea, stuck by your side near twenty-four seven. If any one of your servants wanted you dead, your ladies’ maid was the most likely to achieve it. Not to mention that if Harry showed even a hint of treating Ginny like that, she’d smack the sense back into him quickly and thoroughly. And the woman had a strong arm, too.

They ascended the steps, a different footman at the door escorting them toward the Harem Audience Chamber. The oak doors were large and ornately carved, but he barely got to glance at them before they were being pulled open and a doorman was announcing him to all those gathered in the Chamber.

“His Lordship, Fourth Noble Harry Potter!” came the egregiously loud cry that echoed through the room.

It wasn’t as astoundingly vast as some of the rooms he’d been in previously, but it couldn’t be called small either. It was set up much like the stage of an orchestra, he thought, with tiered seats in neat rows, all facing a singular throne perched in the middle- where a conductor might have stood. There was a large aisle cutting from the door and on down the five tiers to the center.

Everything was done in expensive marble, black and white checkered floors with white column arches framing the circular room. A grand chandelier hung above, glistening crystal droplets catching the light and several hundred extra floating candles brightening the far corners of the Chamber. There were several large windows letting in the light and bleeding through white gossamer curtains. The biggest and tallest window, however, was the one directly across from the door and stationed behind the center throne. It was stained glass and it was gorgeous.

It was at least five meters tall, depicting the sun shining over a valley of flowers in a rainbow of colors. The edges were framed by twining branches with climbing blooms and fresh green leaves. Wind rippled the grass and made the flowers sway, the glass of the window moving in a dizzying array of segmented color. Harry could also spot the shadow of a dragon flying over the field, and he wondered if it ever flew close enough to be seen properly.

Ginny gave him a subtle nudge that brought him back to himself. Right. Less gawking and more moving. But, he didn’t know where to sit…

Only Consort Amycus Carrow of the official spouses had arrived so far, sitting in a single chair on the right side of the aisle, on the platform just before the lowest floor- which was reserved for the throne of the Primary Spouse alone. There was a single seat to the left on the same level, likely for Consort Abigail once she arrived. He had his back to the rest of the room, ignoring them completely in favor of a book Harry could not see the title of from this distance.

The chairs of the row directly behind him and the ones behind Abigail’s seat were all empty. The next row up and to the left held a single Concubine, who he did not recognize yet. She sat in the seat closest to the aisle, keeping her head of blonde hair low and concentrated on the parchment and quill she was writing with.

The row behind her was halfway full, the two seats closest to the aisle empty, but he recognized all the Attendants seated after that, all of them staring back at him with varying expressions. Dearborn’s face was implacable, cold and stoic but not hostile. Snyde’s was downright venomous and he cringed away from making any eye-contact with her, lest it make her spring from her chair like an agitated animal. Greengrass was seated the furthest away, her face passive and curious.

On the same row but to the right of the aisle sat two of the four Second-Class Attendants, the one closest to the middle being occupied by who he recognized as Viktor Krum, a famous retired Seeker who he had followed the career of avidly before an injury had ended it prematurely. Which is likely how he’d ended up here, in the harem. In the seat next to him was Theodore Nott, who gave him a small nod with a blank face before returning to reading.

The row below the Second-Class Attendants, to the right of the aisle on the same level as the single Concubine sat a single figure sat in the third chair down. Dressed in blue.

Slowly, he stepped down the stairs and approached. He eased his way into the row, which had ample room around each chair to accommodate attending maids and side tables. He gave a subtle look back at Ginny in question, which she responded with a small glare as she leaned forward and whispered, “Noble Delacour.”

As he got closer to the beautiful woman in vivid ultramarine, he stopped and gave a shallow bow.

“Good morning, Noble Delacour,” he murmured in greeting, not wanting to disturb the quiet but also not wanting to go without acknowledging a higher ranking harem member.

“Bonjour, Brother,” she said breezily, voice heavily accented with a French lilt. “You must be of the new ones, non? ‘Arry? Noble Potter.”

“You may call me Brother Harry,” he responded with another shallow bow.

She smiled at him, small but dazzling nonetheless. “You may call me Sister Fleur, then. It is only fair.”

He smiled back, genuine, “Sister Fleur.”

“Come,” she said, gesturing to the chair to her right. “Your seat is ‘ere.”

His shoulders dropped just a bit of their tension with the confirmation he was headed in the correct direction.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

He passed behind her chair and past her maid, settling into his seat with relish. They had all looked uncomfortably fancy, gilded filigree for arms and backs and stiff damask in a muted color of their rank for cushions. But, he found, it was surprisingly soft and easy to relax in. Likely the work of cushioning enchantments. He wondered if he flipped the chair over if he could see them carved into the wood.

“You ‘ave come a bit early, Brother,” Fleur said, leaning over the arm of her chair in order to speak softly with him, likely not wanting to disturb the others. “The meeting itself does not officially start for another ten minutes, but it will take another twenty before everyone has arrived. Noble Consort Black is always… fashionably late, and most do not see a point in arriving much earlier than ‘er.”

“Do you usually arrive early, Sister?” he inquired. “What do you do to pass the time?”

“Ah,” she said, “I am not regularly so early, non.” She casually flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder, a glint in her eye that suggested perhaps she had been early today because of him for whatever reason. “If the Noble Consort is especially late, I prefer to work on my knitting.”

At this she held up a bundle from her lap that Harry had failed to notice before this. It… looked like a lump. An unidentifiable lump of brown yarn with needles sticking out of it. Maybe it would look like something when she was done? Had she just started? He couldn’t tell. He could not even fathom what she might be making.

“Er,” he said. “Very nice, Sister.”

She smiled at him, “Merci, Brother. I ‘ave not been knitting for very long, but I am determined to make a nice sweater for my daughter.”

Harry smiled, warmed at the thought of Fleur putting so much effort into making something for her child, though it was a bit strained as he tried to parse out whether or not he could tell, in any capacity, if the lump was sweater shaped.

“That’s nice,” he replied, trying for a fully genuine response, though he wasn’t sure if he made the mark. “Are you making it for her birthday or Yule?”

Fleur sighed, “I am ‘oping for Yule, but if not, I ‘ave an extra month until her birthday.”

A loud call from the front of the room interrupted their soft conversation, “Their Lordships, Primary Noble Corvus Selwyn and Secondary Noble Kirley McCormack.”

So his two palacemates had arrived. Harry had yet to actually meet either of them, despite sharing a residence. He wondered if it was a purposeful snub, a result of the suspension of visitation obligations the prior week, or a mix of both.

They walked in regally, Selwyn in front of McCormack, both of them stiff postured and faces set in stoic masks. There was still an air of enmity about them as they walked toward the Noble section in silence. Selwyn was tall and willowy with long honey blond hair and violet eyes. McCormack looked his opposite, with broad shoulders and shorter brown hair- though his eyes were the same hue if darker.

Fleur leaned over to whisper conspiratorially before they took their seats, “Those two- be careful around them. They ‘ate each other and it is not pleasant to be caught between their feud.”

He opened his mouth to respond, though with what he didn’t know, when another call rang out. This must be closer to the usual time that most of the harem arrived then.

“Their Lordships, Third Concubine Bartemius Crouch Jr and Secondary First-Class Attendant Cedric Diggory.”

Harry looked back toward the door eagerly. He and Cedric hadn’t been particularly close friends, but they’d still been friendly with each other in Hogwarts and he’d missed the man. He was also curious if the two men had entered together on purpose, if they’d been speaking with each other before the meeting, or if it was just a coincidence. Sister Abigail had mentioned both of them in her letter, stating they were among her coterie of support.

Cedric looked good, happy, clad in royal purple robes as his maid led him down the single set of stairs and toward the left, Crouch walking past him to the next row without a word. Harry wanted to wave, wanted to call out, but knew- under no circumstance- could he ever do any of that. Not here. Not around the harem.

Fleur hummed, considering, from beside him, “Brother Diggory is ‘armless enough, especially when ‘e is on ‘is own. ‘e is kind. But Brother Crouch is one to watch out for. ‘e may seem nice, polite and intelligent, but ‘e is only loyal to the Emperor and ‘oever is the current favorite. ‘e wants the spot for ‘imself but will defer to the ‘igher rank.”

Harry nodded at this, as it made sense to him. Abigail was known to be the Emperor’s long enduring favorite, despite Bellatrix Black retaining the higher rank and despite the Emperor occasionally having short dalliances with the new blood, so it made sense that Crouch was part of her faction because of that consistent favor. Many speculated that she was slowly on her way to becoming Empress and that the only reason she hadn’t already gained the prestigious title was because of the Council’s protests. He wondered, too, how Cedric had gotten involved.

“And the favorite, their leader,” Fleur continued with a sneer, which surprised Harry, “is Primary Consort Abigail Walker,” she almost spat the other woman’s name. She looked seriously into his eyes with her next words. “She is most deceiving, Brother. Do not trust ‘er facade. She may appear sweet, but she is capable of very vile things.”

Harry was taken aback at this. That was not how he’d felt about the other woman at all. Looks could be deceiving, he knew that very well, but he hadn’t thought that about Sister Abigail. He’d felt she was genuine with most of her shows of kindness, and was tellingly soft with her son and kind to her maid. To him, that did not seem like the type of person to cause such derision in Fleur’s voice. He didn’t trust her, he could not afford to trust anyone here. But Fleur’s opinion still felt completely dissonant to his own.

Another call rang out before he could respond and Fleur hissed, “Speak of the ‘ag and she shall come.”

“Her Grace, Primary Consort Abigail Walker-Slytherin!”

Harry watched as Abigail made her way down the steps, Ellie faithfully at her side and leading her down with a tender hand. She looked tired, a bit paler than he had seen her just that Thursday, leaning heavily on her maid’s arm. She smiled genially as she walked and surveyed the room, eyes crinkling with a slightly broader smile when she met gazes with Harry. She dared to give him a little wave, flouting decorum without a care, which he responded to with a nod of his head and a smile. He didn’t want to avoid her, and he especially didn’t want to snub her, whether what Fleur said was true or not. He didn’t necessarily trust either of the women, but Abigail was the more powerful of the two and it wouldn’t do to turn a cold shoulder so soon after declaring allies.

As always, he simply had to be careful. Even if that was exceedingly difficult for him.

Abigail had only just settled into her seat when yet another call echoed through the Chamber. That was going to get very old, very fast. And he would have to endure this nearly every day? No wonder others preferred to arrive later if it meant being able to avoid listening to all the shouting.

“Their Ladyships, Third Second-Class Attendant Luna Lovegood and Fourth Second-Class Attendant Romilda Vane.”

A bloody mouthful.

He watched as Luna and Vane entered through the large doors, both clad in different shades of pink- Vane in a bright magenta and Luna… in, well, all of them. She was a riot of shades and patterns all stitched together in a way that absolutely should have clashed. But the nonchalant way she wore it, uncaring as anything, she pulled it off. The familiar bottlecap necklace and radish earrings for accessories made him smile. Vane and her maid walked their way down the row sedately while Luna skipped ahead with her own maid, a palace appointed one as she had none to bring for herself, trailing behind in exasperation.

Vane settled in the chair directly behind Harry’s while Luna stopped before the one behind Fleur. She gave an exaggerated curtsy and a wide smile, saying cheerfully, “Hello, Harry.”

He smiled widely back, happy to see her again though it’d barely been more than a week. “Hello, Luna.”

Luna settled back into her seat, pulling out a glossy copy of her father’s latest issue of the Quibbler. Fleur was giving him a look, eyebrow raised and a question in her eyes, likely wanting to ask about the two newcomers to gain the same sort of intel she’d been giving Harry all morning. He didn’t want to give her too much, especially anything about Luna and, frankly, he didn’t know much about Vane at all, so there really wasn’t much he could say.

Regardless he turned back to fully face Fleur when the doors to the Chamber opened with a resounding bang!

In sauntered a heavily pregnant Bellatrix with a contingent of maids and lower ranked harem members trailing behind her. The doorman calling out their names and titles belatedly as they all strut down the stairs.

“Her Grace, Primary Spouse, Noble Consort Bellatrix Black-Slytherin! His Lordship, Secondary Concubine Rabastian Lestrange. Their Ladyships Fourth Concubine Fiorella Zabini and Primary First-Class Attendant Wilhelmina Bulstrode.”

Bellatrix lead the group, sharp grin on her face and a slightly crazed look in her eye as she took her sweet time to reach her throne. One hand gripped her maid’s and the other lazily clutched a thick scroll of parchment. The last of the concubines settled in their seats, Bellatrix doing so with a smug sort of flourish.

“Good morning, Brothers and Sisters,” she said, sickly sweet and echoing. “Are we all having an equally wonderful morning, today?”

There was an awkward shuffling silence after she spoke, no one daring to answer.

Bellatrix sighed as if disappointed, but it was too obviously fake to be taken any sort of seriously. She pulled her wand and twirled it menacingly between her fingers, smile still plastered on her face. A few of the harem members around him visibly flinched with the action.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” she said, still saccharine. “We need to set a good example for our newest members after all.” She tilted her head to the side, gaze catching on Harry and the wild gleam within them became edged with fury. “Now,” her voice was tight but she still held onto her sugary facade, “I will say ‘good morning, Brothers and Sisters’. And you will all say, ‘good morning, Sister Bella.’ Ready?”

“Good morning, Brothers and Sisters.”

Everyone around the chamber muttered out the reply, an asynchronous cacophony of fear and resentment.

“Very good,” she cooed with a condescending little clap. Then she settled back in her throne and dropped her smile, a look of open derision on her face. “To business then,” she said curtly, unrolling the parchment to read out the announcements.

The mood change felt like whiplash, so drastic was the shift in her demeanor. Not only that, but he noticed that many of those around him started to relax when she dropped the smile, as if her being short and angry was less dangerous that her pretending to play nice. He shuddered to think what that meant for future meetings.

Bellatrix read in silence for a great few minutes, the silence oppressive as no one dared to move or speak. Harry chanced a glance over toward Sister Abigail to find her watching the other woman with a sort of exasperated resignation. Did Bellatrix do this every morning or was it just an especially petty move to irritate the other members and haze the newcomers?

“His Majesty hopes that all those who have been in recovery the past week have not suffered too greatly,” she said almost idly, like she was reading them only the interesting bits of a newspaper article and not reading aloud messages from the Emperor himself. “He would also like to remind everyone that trusted Healers are available at any time for any reason, whether at the Center or for a house call.”

Her hands clenched around the parchment with her next words, “His Majesty also wishes to give his sincerest welcome to the newest members of the harem and hopes those senior among us will guide them in the months to come.”

The grin returned, too wide with too many teeth, “And we will make sure to guide them, won’t we, Brothers and Sisters?”

“Yes, Sister Bella,” came the discordant amalgamation of replies.

“Good,” she crooned before abruptly turning back to the scroll and reading it silently again with the strict frown once more in place.

All of the sudden, the parchment crumbled in her hand and her head whipped up in fury, looking up toward the First-Class Attendants.

“Brother Diggory,” she snapped.

Everyone looked back and forth between the two, nervous at what might have riled the other up so much, but Cedric didn’t look disturbed at all simply beaming as if he knew exactly what her fury was about and completely unconcerned by the violence of her reaction. Most would say his expression was happy and guileless, but Harry knew him just enough to recognize the light of triumph in his eyes.

“His Majesty would like to congratulate you on the news of your pregnancy.”

There was an explosion of susurrous sound about the room; titters of disapproval, conspiratorial whispers, and agitated murmurs of malcontent. The overall mood within the room had dropped and it seemed to Harry that the consensus of how the harem felt about the news was overall negative. Bellatrix herself looked incensed, likely outraged that the spotlight of her own pregnancy would soon be taken away. Harry watched in trepidation, however, as the look of fury turned into a rictus grin with too many teeth and wild eyes.

“Brother Diggory,” she sang, now syrupy sweet again. “You have been here long enough to know the rules. You have fourteen weeks to announce a pregnancy to the harem and it must be announced. Are you misbehaving in front of our newest Brothers and Sisters on purpose, hm?”

“My apologies, Your Grace,” Cedric replied, bowing his head a bit and managing to look contrite. “I am only twelve weeks along and I informed His Majesty last week when all meetings were suspended, as I was unable to take the annual potion. I had planned to announce it after the morning decrees.”

Here he smiled brightly, and again, Harry could only just tell there was a hint of vindication around the edges. “But it seems His Majesty is just as excited as I am about our first child together.”

Another burst of whisperings and the hushed buzzing of gossip and speculation. Fans were snapped and waved in front of owners so as to cover their words. Even Fleur this time leaned toward him and joined in the low-toned ruckus, blue feather fan held up in front of her face as she spoke.

“You went to ‘ogwarts together, no? Securing an alliance with Brother Diggory could be prudent, Brother ‘arry, as with a child ‘e might soon join us among the Nobles. Per’aps you can sway ‘im away from Sister Walker.”

“We were friendly in Hogwarts, yes,” he confirmed, but did not comment on the rest of her words. He didn’t know the workings of the harem well enough quite yet to know for sure if a child would elevate Cedric enough to become a Noble. Nor would he make a judgment on whether or not Cedric even needed to be tempted away from Sister Abigail. He dearly wanted to talk to the other man, get his opinion. He also desperately wanted to know what Ginny was thinking of all of this.

“Quiet!” Bellatrix snarled from the front, demanding order once again. Immediately, silence descended once again upon the meeting chamber. She sniffed primly before smiling her predator smile at Cedric once again.

“Let us hope your pregnancy is a healthy and prosperous one then, Brother Diggory,” her tone was candy-coated, oversweet, but underneath that thin veneer lied poison. A threat.

Cedric’s smile in return was strained, “My thanks to both Your Grace, for your kind well wishes, and to His Majesty, for his gracious congratulations. May He reign in immortal glory forevermore.”

Bellatrix stared up at Cedric balefully for a few long moments, the stillness of the room growing uncomfortable, until she turned back to the scroll without another word.

“His Majesty bids all those new to the harem to learn and adhere to the rules,” she said, flippant and bored again. How many moodswings would the woman have in the span of half an hour? “Punishment is dictated by official spouses only, pending His approval, in cases of minor infraction and dealt with only by His Majesty Himself in cases more severe.”

“Punishments include but are not limited to; stipend deduction or suspension, temporary confinement of varying degree- confined to the Citadel if prior permission had been given to commute to the Capitol, denied access to certain buildings within The Citadel, confined to the palace in which they reside, or confined to their personal rooms in the palace in which they reside…”

And Bellatrix continued to drone on, voice dry and without inflection, causing Harry’s focus to wander in and out- catching only small snippets of information he new would later be important. He trusted Ginny to be paying attention where he was not, however, so he let his mind drift as it pleased.

Bellatrix’s behavior was… erratic, frightening. But also purposeful. Every manic shift in mood was done with intent. A scare tactic. Meant to be intimidating and unpredictable. Many would call her mad, perhaps, but no, Harry reckoned she was smarter than that. She was embracing the rumor of the Black Madness in order to keep the rest of the harem in line, for fear of angering the witch from the slightest provocation. Harry would absolutely have to be mindful of her, especially to make sure she didn’t fall into actual Black Madness any time soon. Uncle Alphard had warned him early on to never cross a Lady Black, the women of the family tending to have fewer scruples with morals.

And Fleur. He didn’t know what to think, really. Her strange hatred of Abigail, despite Harry only having good interactions with the woman. But was it strange? Did she have good reason to feel that way ? What did she mean by Abigail being capable of ‘very vile things’? Did she know something? And why have a grudge against Abigail specifically, when he knew that most within the harem were capable of very vile things. And, more to the point, why warn him?

Why talk about any of this at all with him? Did Fleur not know he’d been invited personally to her son’s birthday? Why risk bad-mouthing a very powerful Consort to someone who only ranked a single chair below you? One that already had a known connection to said powerful Consort. He wasn’t about to tattle on Fleur to Abigail, she hadn’t gained that sort of loyalty from him yet, but he very well could have. Was Fleur just unaware, or was the information she held just bad enough to be worth the risk? Was she simply trying to foster camaraderie between them, or just pit him against Abigail? Fleur had already told him that it would be best to persuade Cedric away from her side.

There was a lot to consider there.

It didn’t help that Abigail herself was a mystery. She was among the few of the harem that wasn’t from Britain, didn’t grow up in the same gentry circles as the majority. The others that weren’t from Britain itself were from those circles still, even if on the fringes. Carrow, Lestrange, Crouch, Zabini, Selwyn, Delacour, Bulstrode, Greengrass, Krum, and Nott. Known magical family names. And the ones that were half-blood with last names unconnected to magical families? McCormack’s mother was a Selwyn. Snyde’s mother a Parkinson. Vane’s a Macmillan. All part of the Ton, one way or another. Even Grimaldi was part of that world, although a muggleborn on both sides. She was Monaco royalty.

The fact of the matter was, if you dug deep enough around certain circles, you could gain information on any of them. Dearborn was a full muggleborn as well, but he’d gone to Hogwarts just like a lot of them had. Find someone who’d shared a class or two with him in his youth, and you’d find something . The only one, only one of them all, that had little to no known history to speak of before the harem, was Abigail Walker. She was half-blood. American. She hadn’t attended Salem Institute or Ilvermorny or any other known formal school.

Lavender had told him he was lucky to have started off on her good side, that it might mean he could learn more about her in order to puzzle out what she might want, if she would be a danger to him. Even the budding gossip vine she’d been starting to build had little to say about the woman. Was it out of fear? Out of respect? Out of an air-tight incapability of finding anything?

Only time and further conversation would tell. In the meantime he would have to learn to survive the morning meetings he had to attend every weekday. And it was, sadly, only Monday.

Finally, Bellatrix rolled up the scroll and with a yawn and a lazy flick of her wrist, she called out, “Dismissed.”

Noise roared to life in the chamber as it seemed everyone began talking to everyone else all at once, voices echoing and the sound of shuffling robes creating a susurrant cacophony around them.

“Brother ‘arry,” Fleur’s voice broke through his daze and he looked up from where he was still sat in his seat, “I ‘ave other obligations during tea time today, but I do ‘ope we can meet again outside of this cahmber, yes?”

He smiled politely and nodded in acquiescence, “That sounds lovely, Sister Fleur.”

She smiled back; though it was, perhaps, a tad sharper than was warranted, before taking her leave with an enviously graceful sweep of her robes.

“Ugh,” Ginny said in a low voice beside him as she helped him to his feet, taking care to make sure she wasn’t overheard by any of the other concubines as she let disgust bleed into her tone. “She’s so…”

“Prissy?” he offered as he watched Fleur practically flounce out of the room without speaking to anyone, trying to guess how Ginny must feel about the woman, despite his own undecided opinion, “Petty? Presumptuous?”

“French.”

He stifled a laugh as they moved down the row of chairs, Selwyn and McCormack had made their exit swiftly once dismissed, so Harry was the only Noble left within the chamber. Notably, however, he wasn’t the only one to take his time leaving. Many of the others loitered in groups, promising invites to tea or strolls through one of the gardens or to go out riding together.

This was the part Harry was going to dread the most. Social obligations. He shuddered just thinking about it.

He felt movement at his elbow and grinned at seeing Luna standing absently by his side.

“’Lo again, Luna,” he said gently, not wishing to jar her if she was in a trance, but also wanting to gain her attention if she wasn’t. It was often hard to tell with her.

“’Lo, Harry,” she sing-songed in that whispery, musical tone of hers. “We should visit Cedric, I think. It’s always good to catch up with friends.”

He raised his brows, wondering if it was purely out of curiosity for Luna- as she hadn’t known Cedric much before he’d left- or if she was following a Seer thread. She often described her powers as being able to see threads, floating in the air and leading in all kinds of different directions. Sometimes she could tell where they were headed, and sometimes she could not. She’d learned, through trial and error, which ones ‘felt pleasant’ and which ones ‘felt fraught’ as she called them.

Either way, he would follow her lead. He’d been hoping to see Cedric again anyway.

He let Luna tug him along to the group that had surrounded Cedric after they’d all been dismissed. Snyde and Greengrass and Bulstrode and Krum had all gathered around. Snyde looking openly hostile as she congratulated Cedric in a nasty tone that had Harry raising his eyebrows. Woman wasn’t subtle at all, it seemed. Greengrass seemed to be fawning over him, saying how jealous she was and how she hoped she could be so lucky as to bare a child of the Emperor’s eventually. Krum and Bulstrode both stood silent, looming over the group together with their equally tall height.

Cedric noticed their approach and beamed excitedly, “Noble Potter!”

And it hurt, just a bit, that Cedric addressed him as such. He knew it was part of propriety, of the strict decorum they must adhere to, that Cedric as the lower ranking concubine, had to use his more formal title until given permission otherwise. But it still felt like a purposeful distance had been cleaved between them.

“Brother Diggory,” he returned with a smile. “You don’t have to use titles with me. We were friends once and I had hope we could be friends again.”

Cedric’s smile grew wider, more genuine even. “Brother Harry, then,” he said with a nod. “Congratulations are in order, I think. I knew you always wanted to join the harem, too. And to be given the rank of Noble at the start! How wonderful!”

Harry felt warmed at Cedric’s words, feeling (hoping) they were genuine. “Congratulations are in order for you as well,” Harry said, praying his own words rang sincere to the other. “What an honor to carry one of His Majesty’s children. Are you and the baby doing well?”

Cedric’s smile faltered for but a moment and Harry didn’t have time to wonder why before he answered with a confident, “Yes. Its early yet, but the Healer says everything is coming along nicely.”

“That’s wonderful,” Luna’s voice floated between them. “The pluffduts do seem to be gathering around you, I feel, which is a very good sign for a healthy child.”

“Pluffduts?” Krum questioned from the side, deep voice seeming to startle the others.

Luna hummed, “Yes, tiny fluffy things, usually invisible if you don’t know what to look for, and they love newborns. Wixen babies have a very special sort of magic, sort of raw, and pluffduts like to bask in it. Hmm, like cats in the sun.”

Well. Harry didn’t know if any of that was true or just a cover for her Seer abilities, as was the case nearly… twenty-five percent of the time? Luna had a penchant for playing into the ‘Loony Luna’ bit that many made fun of her for. Making up creatures just for the fun of it so others could only guess if she was being serious or not. Either way, he hoped it meant Cedric’s pregnancy would go well. Didn’t matter if it was a disadvantage for Harry’s position, he would never wish ill on someone in that manner.

“Ah,” Cedric said, nonplussed, “thank you?”

Luna simply nodded, eyes wandering absently around the chamber instead of focusing back on the conversation. Krum looked at the blonde thoughtfully but didn’t answer. Bulstrode had walked off already and Greengrass had followed. Snyde was sneering at Luna, and looked to be gearing up to say something entirely unpleasant before Harry decided to head her off.

“Brother Diggory-,” he started.

“Cedric,” the man said gamely, “Brother Cedric.”

Snyde scoffed from where she stood, leaving without a word and a sour look on her face, likely pissy from being cut off and ignored. Krum hadn’t said a word after his question to Luna, simply content to listen before politely nodding his head and taking his leave. He and Cedric and Luna were the only ones left in the chamber now.

Harry smiled. “Brother Cedric,” he affirmed. “Would you care to take tea with Sister Luna and I today? If you aren’t busy, that is.”

“I would be delighted,” was his response. “Shall we adjourn? Where would you like to meet?”

Harry thought about it for only a moment, “Would you be more comfortable in your own apartments or would you like to visit mine?”

Cedric’s eyes seemed to light up. “I’ve never been to the Palace of Glorious Dawn,” he gushed. “If you’re willing, I’d love to see it.”

Harry nodded resolutely, “That’s settled then. Tea within the hour?”

“I’ll be there!”

And with that, the both of them were off. Luna still clung to Harry’s elbow and he had no doubt she would simply tag along back to his Palace instead of retiring to her own. He didn’t mind though, he enjoyed the company.

They all climbed into his carriage, much to Luna’s maid’s disapproval, who insisted it wasn’t proper. Luna had simply smiled and asked her to escort her own small carriage back to the Palace of Striking Autumn to which the maid gave both her and Harry a dubious look before giving in.

He and Ginny and Luna were squished beyond capacity, but none of them minded much, simply happy to be in each other’s company again.

He could only hope Cedric might feel, at least somewhat, the same.

Chapter Text

August 24^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

Harry stared across the table at Cedric as they both spent a moment to nip at the tea and biscuits that Bettina had brought for both of them. Ginny stood dutifully behind Harry’s chair, hovering to his right and keeping as still as she could manage. He could tell she was getting restless though, shifting from foot to foot as the silence stretched on. Honestly, he too was getting restless, and he’d probably be more fidgety himself if he didn’t have a warm cup of tea in his hands.

Cedric was looking around in awe, taking in the slick white marble floor of the upstairs sun room- which looked dazzling with the light of the late morning spilling across it, the light blue damask of the walls accented with fancy gilded molding. The windows were large, covering the entirety of outward facing wall with bay seating along the bottom edge. The crystal chandelier was a bit much for Harry’s tastes, but it did sparkle prettily in the sun. He’d chosen the sun room because it was the most- cozy, of the rooms he could host guests in. The receiving room was the expected place to host them, but it was just too big for Harry to be comfortable.

He wondered if the Attendant palaces were just as obnoxiously opulent.

With the look on Cedric’s face, however, Harry had to wonder how big of a difference there was between the Noble palaces and the First-Class Attendant palaces. Was the disparity that large? Did that mean the palaces could get exponentially grander? More ostentatious? He wanted to shudder at the thought of living in an even bigger, emptier house but- How many more rooms would there be to explore?

Cedric’s maid stood stoically behind him, looking over at Harry with unnervingly sharp grey eyes. She looked familiar but Harry couldn’t place where he’d seen her before. Had Cedric done the same as him and brought a trusted friend as a dowry maid instead of accepting an extra palace maid like Luna had? Regardless, he could not ask. To acknowledge the maid, the ‘help’, of someone among the gentry, of the High Court, was a grave faux pas. The only time it was acceptable was when said ‘help’ was being berated for a mistake. It made Harry distinctly uncomfortable. In one part because he could never imagine treating Ginny or Lavender or even the new palace maids in his employ in such a callous way. In another part because, once upon a time, he had been treated like that.

“How have you been, Brother?” Harry dared to break the silence to ask. “It’s been some time since we last met.”

Cedric smiled, and even in the relative privacy of Harry’s palace, it held a sharp edge to it. “Four years, wasn’t it?” he said. “We weren’t as close in Hogwarts as I would have liked, but I hope I can still count you among old friends?”

“Of course,” Harry replied, trying to make sure his voice was as genuine as can be. The Cedric before him was very different from the one he’d last known, but the remnants of his friend were still buried there within the rubble the harem had made of him.

The Cedric Diggory he’d known in his earlier years of Hogwarts had been kind and honest and altogether warm. He was always there to offer the younger students a helping hand, always there to encourage and comfort. It hadn’t mattered that Harry was a Slytherin, he’d offered his help to Harry all the same when he’d found himself lost and overwhelmed within the stacks of the immense library. Harry had been hesitant to approach the intimidating Madame Pince during his first few months at school, finding her to be a far cry from the approachable Miss Amelia he’d known in his youth. Cedric had been the one to approach him, to ask him what he needed and how he could help. It had become an automatic impulse, after that, to find and ask Cedric whenever he was looking for a specific section or tome.

The Cedric before him was a new beast. Guarded and sharp. There were soft edges still, his smile not quite as fanged as some of the other concubines, but his canines still gleamed in the light like the rest of them.

They prattle on for a bit, exchanging mindless pleasantries. Luna will sometimes hum along nonsensically, never really contributing to the conversation but never interrupting either. Eventually though, Harry found himself leaning forward and pushing as much earnestness into his expression as he could, asking Cedric-

“How I’ve really been?” the man repeated.

Harry nodded watching as Cedric sighed and sat silent for a moment.

Then he seemed to drop a bit of his amicable facade, the smile not quite so plastered there as before. He shot a glance at Luna, who didn’t seem to be paying attention to a thing, looking dazedly out the window and humming nonsensically to herself. He dismissed her, though Harry knew she’d be paying closer attention than she seemed, and collapsed back against his chair, hand rubbing over the still flat expanse of his stomach.

After a tense moment, he said, “This place changes you, Brother.”

He’s pensive for a moment after that and Harry lets him think in silence, watching as Cedric’s maid sends him sharp looks of warning that the other man ignores. Harry wonders who she is trying to protect, Cedric- for his sake or her own?

Sophie, the most sedate and youngest of his palace maids, had told him that many of her coworkers would resent being assigned to a lower-ranking concubine but if they thought said concubine had potential- they’d do anything to protect their new master or mistress and tear down the others around them. She’d told him, with a weary look in her eye, that the world of the maids of the Citadel could be just as cutthroat, if not worse, than that of the harem. She hadn’t mentioned where she stood in the rankings, or to what lengths she herself was willing to go, and Harry hadn’t asked.

Cedric mumbled something to his maid and Harry could only barely catch, “-fine, Mari.”

She looked younger than Cedric, but Harry still couldn’t put a name to the face, despite how familiar she felt. Harry picked up his tea cup, if only for something to do with his hands while he waited for whatever was being communicated between them to finish.

“I-,” Cedric started, voice faltering with a grimace before he collected himself and started again. “I’ve started doing things out of- of spite more than anything, lately. I can’t remember the last time I felt joy without also feeling… vindictive. Mean. I used to think I was a good person, Harry. Used to be sure of that. Now… I don’t know.”

Harry has no words of comfort to offer. Could not fathom anything that might assuage the guilt that Cedric was obviously drowning in. Harry wasn’t good with words in the first place, in a situation like this even less so.

Harry and Cedric were different in this. Not just because Cedric was better with words, with comfort. But because Harry had never doubted that he wasn’t a good person. He didn’t think himself- bad per se. But he’d never been the paragon of good . He had grown up with cruel people, and sometimes, despite how much he hated it- he could be just as cruel to others as they had been to him . R ighteously spiteful and angry. Sorting into Slytherin had only encouraged his mean streak, a defensive mechanism honed to a deadly sharpness. Harry’s anger used to burn hot and explosively, but be gone in seconds after the fact. Like a spark of flame. Now, it burned so hot and deep it turned cold. It lingered. He could only imagine how much worse it was going to get while here in the harem.

But it was something he was prepared for. Something Cedric obviously hadn’t been.

Cedric had looked away, unable to face his own confession, staring blankly down instead, down at the hands which had turned to fists in the fabric of his robes over his stomach.

“I don’t even know if I’m ready for this child,” he whispered. It sounded like he’d kept this bottled up for some time now. “To be a parent.”

Luna, Harry noticed, had sharpened her gaze upon Cedric now, eyes solemn and sad.

“All I know, all I’m happy about, is that- that they’ll elevate my position. That I’ll gain a rank and recognition and the others won’t be able to sneer down at me anymore.” Cedric’s voice tapers off into a pained mumble. “It’s a horrible reason to bring a child into the world.”

Harry sets his cup down with a soft clink that grates at him, but he looks up and catches Cedric’s forlorn gaze regardless. “There are worse reasons,” he says, thinking of Blaise- raised only to be a pawn for his mother. Thinking of many of the heirs of prominent Lords and Ladies he’d shared a common room with in school. Born only to continue the line and raised without care or thought and especially without love.

It’s Luna’s voice that speaks next, airy tone softened and gentle as she asks, “Do you think you can love your child?”

“Excuse me?” Cedric replied, aghast, and face pale.

Luna continued on regardless, “Can you love them?” she asked again. “Once they’re here in this world? Do you have the will to try and love them?”

This time the silence felt like an uncomfortable blanket, heavy and too warm and scratching at everything. Harry hated it, but he didn’t dare to break it this time. That was for Cedric to do. Cedric who had gone back to staring at the fists still white-knuckled over his belly. Clenched above his child.

“… Maybe,” he eventually whispered, voice trembling and meek.

“Then that’s all that matters,” Luna answered decidedly before picking up her teacup and going back to staring out the windows with a glazed look in her eye.

Harry nodded when Cedric still seemed uncertain, hopeful but unwilling to believe. “Luna’s right,” he said, thinking of children like Malfoy now- born just to be an heir but, despite how spoiled he was and how much of a prat he could be, genuinely happy and well-loved. “Regardless of why you wanted the child… as long as you love them, as long as you show that love, that’s all that’ll matter in the end.”

“Do that,” he added with a smile, trying to make it as reassuring as possible, “And I think you’ll be fine.”

“Thank you,” Cedric replied with feeling, his responding smile was hesitant but his hands were no longer clenched into tight fists. “I- erm,” here he looked away, blushing, “apologize for springing such a heavy topic on you so suddenly, Brother. It was rather unseemly of me.”

He ducked his head and muttered, likely not meant for Harry to hear, “We hadn’t even been talking for more than ten minutes…”

Harry delicately held his teacup in one hand and waved the other in a dismissive gesture, “Nonsense. You were always there to lend a patient ear to me in Hogwarts. Why should I not extend the same courtesy to you?”

Cedric let loose a grateful sigh, relaxing back just the slightest into his chair. He picked up his cup for the first time and took a small sip.

Harry could not fathom how the man was still so naive, despite the fangs he’d managed to grow. Yes, Harry had no ill-intent toward Cedric and that was very likely not to change. But to have so much trust in Harry so quickly? Cedric’s maid eyed the cup with trepidation, as one should when dining with another of the harem so close. Harry had not poisoned it, nor had Luna, but the point stood that they could have. Cedric hadn’t seen Harry in four years and vise versa. Cedric would have no idea if Harry had changed drastically in that time. Harry had wanted to speak to him for many reasons, one among them to see how much the man had changed and if he could still be trusted. Cedric, it seemed, had forgone any sort of assessment and merely jumped straight to trusting his younger former-classmate.

Harry would not take this trust for granted, but it did make him worry for the man’s health. If he succeeded in having his child and gaining rank, would it make him enough of a threat for the other concubines to take notice?

Harry did not want to dwell on it.

“So,” Cedric began, also likely wanting to move on from the worries he had spilled out so carelessly. “I saw you speaking a bit with Sister Fleur.”

Harry nodded, taking another slow sip of tea- a nice fruit mix that Bettina had made when he’d asked for something without caffeine, knowing it was one of the things you were discouraged from having while pregnant. He in no way wanted to be accused of putting the man’s baby in danger and while he didn’t think Cedric would do that from something so inconsequential, the other concubines would have no such qualms.

“She offered advice,” he said neutrally. “Though I do not know what to make of some of it.”

Cedric tilted his head to the side as he looked away thoughtfully. “Sister Fleur and I are not particularly close, even if we both entered the harem at the same time.” He idly stirred the spoon in his tea. “She really only ever endears herself to Brother Dearborn and avoids associating with anyone else if she can.”

“Dearborn?” he questions. The concubine that had administered his Test of Beauty during his Selection process? The one that had known his parents?

Cedric examined him for a moment, looking for something. Then he flicked his gaze toward Ginny before finally speaking, “It’s a dangerous game, you know. To only align yourself with one of the last remaining captives.”

Harry let silence surround the table, needing time to take in all that Cedric had just implied. He stirred his tea without a sound, just like he had been taught- over and over again- by Lavender.

Caradoc Dearborn was the last of the three captured rebellion members that had chosen to join the harem rather than serve a sentence in Azkaban or join the ranks of the Death Eaters. The two others, Benjy Fenwick and Gideon Prewett, were both dead. Fenwick had died of an unspecified illness, though rumor was rampant that no body had ever actually been found. Speculation had it that Fenwick, having only endured five years in the harem, had found a way to run. Speculation also had it that another in the harem had killed him so thoroughly that nothing had been left to bury.

Ginny’s uncle Gideon, however, had only died four years ago and under suspicious circumstances. Though, truthfully, any death within the harem was suspicious. The official story was that he’d hanged himself, body found under the branches of a willow tree in the Gardens of Velvet Twilight. There was no concrete evidence to the contrary, but most believed his death to be at the hands of another rather than his own. The only question was- whose hands? There was little information to be found outside of the Citadel, and even what information they did have was because Ginny and her family had been given more detail than the public as they were related to Gideon. It had taken a lot for Ginny to piece together all the information her mother had been sent.

What Cedric was implying was that it was known among the harem that both deaths were indeed purposeful and that Dearborn was likely to fall victim next. Also that anyone associated with the man would go down with him. A dangerous game.

It was going to be a difficult balance then, to make sure he wasn’t associated too closely with either Fleur or Dearborn while also finding the time to interrogate Dearborn about Gideon’s death with Ginny. He could only hope they actually learned something useful from the man as they didn’t really have any other useful leads.

“Sister Fleur,” Harry spoke after a time, breaking the silence in order to answer another question that had been slowly burning in his mind, “spoke of Sister Abigail, though not in what I would call a flattering tone,” he chose his words diplomatically, stepping around the truth of the matter without avoiding it altogether. “It confuses me, as I have met with Sister Abigail and did not find her at all unpleasant in manner. I have not known either of our Sisters for long, however, so I cannot yet form my own opinion.”

He looked to Cedric, noticing the slight frown having overtaken the other man’s face. “What do you think of her? Truly?”

And Cedric smiled, soft and genuine. Harry cut a glance toward Cedric’s maid, taking note of her disgruntled frown. Differing opinions then. Or perhaps something else.

“She’s wonderful,” Cedric said, leaning forward a bit in eagerness. “Truly. She has been nothing but kind and patient with me. I know that it cannot all be genuine- nothing ever is in the harem,” he paused to give Harry a look, and he gamely inclined his head in acknowledgment. “But she has yet to cause me any harm or drop her helpful facade, in all the four years I have been here.”

He placed a hand over his stomach and frowned, “I worry what her reaction to me will be now, but I am not overly fearful. She welcomed in Sister Solange without a fuss, but that was also after- well now, I suppose from the outside that would look suspicious…”

Harry blinked, trying to catch everything that Cedric was saying as he turned to a contemplative murmur at the end.

“Brother?” Harry prompted, desperately wanting to know as much as he could about this new piece of gossip.

“Oh!” Cedric exclaimed softly, blushing as he realized his lapse in manners. “Forgive me, I was lost in thought. In any case, I feel that Sister Abigail is a good ally to have.”

Harry nodded and took a sip from his cup, watching Cedric over the rim. The other man smiled guilelessly and simply stirred his own tea. Luna was still staring off into space and cheerfully pretending to ignore the conversation. Cedric didn’t seem to want to elaborate on what he’d said about Grimaldi and Harry had to think about whether he should gamble pushing about it or not.

Well, what did he have to lose really? (In this treacherous game? This treacherous place? Everything and nothing.)

“You said something of Primary Concubine Grimaldi?” he asked lightly, feigning nonchalance. He poured himself more tea, carefully holding the sleeve of his robes back and holding the pot at just the right angle so it didn’t make a noise as it poured.

He had to do exactly as he had been trained. Ginny was watching and Ginny would report back to Lavender and Lavender would make him sit through her etiquette training again if he even dared to breathe wrong. He did not want to go back to etiquette training. Lavender had a tendency to spray him with water like a misbehaving cat.

Cedric grimaced. “It’s not really my place to tell,” he said. “I do not wish to be accused of malicious rumor-mongering.”

Harry placed his cup on the table, giving Cedric the entirety of his attention. “Is the situation between Concubine Grimaldi and Sister Abigail really so dire as to warrant such caution?”

“Oh no,” Cedric replied emphatically. “It’s not that, it’s- well,” he paused, once again glancing at Luna as if to make sure she was still distracted, “I suppose, since the anniversary is but a few days away, that it wouldn’t be an overly egregious sin to tell you.”

“Tell me what?” Harry questioned, thinking that if he didn’t know the other man better, he would think Cedric was stringing him along this dramatic thread on purpose. “What anniversary?”

Cedric sighed, soft and sad. “Former Princess Egeria’s birthday. She was Sister Solange’s youngest daughter and would have been four years old on Saturday- however,” he shifted in his seat, uncomfortable, “two years ago- she died.”

Harry felt ice in his veins. News about the Royal Children often did not leave the Citadel, nor the Capitol, aside from the announcement of a birth and then a subsequent notice declaring their arrival to Hogwarts. His Majesty did not like the privacy of his precious children being invaded and therefore did not let them into the public eye until they left for school at the age of eleven. Therefore it was a great shock to know that one of them had died.

Why hadn’t this been announced? Why hadn’t the public been informed of such a tragic loss? Why hide it within the walls of the Citadel? Did she not deserve to be mourned with the proper reverence of her people? Had the child been so disposable? So inconsequential to His Majesty that he did not even see fit to acknowledge her passing with the public?

Soldiering through the chill that had settled around his shoulders, Harry pushed all the questions and tumultuous feelings of dread to the back of his mind- sealing them within a little box that he dared not examine too closely. It could be handled later, or better yet, never at all. He was distracting from the subject at hand.

“And what,” he started, resisting the urge to clear his throat to counter the sudden dryness of his mouth, “does this unfortunate revelation have to do with Sister Abigail?”

He was loathe to contemplate the implications.

“Nothing as sinister as you might be thinking, Brother, I assure you,” Cedric was quick to say. “It is just that… Well, Sister Abigail and Sister Solange did not really become close until- after the tragedy. They were not necessarily enemies before, but there is some speculation that Sister Abigail only extended her hand in friendship after Sister Solange was, well, no longer a threat.”

“A threat?”

“Yes,” Cedric answered, looking reluctant as he spoke his next words. “Former Princess Egeria was Sister Solange’s third child. Before her child’s death, Sister Solange was the only other concubine aside from Sister Abigail to have borne His Majesty so many.”

There were far too many revelations happening today. All of them leaving Harry cold to the core. He’d known going into the Selection that the Harem was dangerous. He’d known that. But seeing just how deep the rot had spread, how twisted even the nicest among them could turn- it frightened him. He had been fully willing to risk his own safety, his own life, in order to fulfill that burning empty need within his soul. But this? Learning that should he succeed in having children with the Emperor, that despite their status as Royal Children, not even they were safe from the sadistic machinations of the Court? It was unbearable.

He set his tea down and hid his hands under the table so that Cedric would not witness the anxious twisting of the gold band around his wrist. For the first time since arriving- he was fearful of the consequences of a summoning. There were no explicit rules against contraception. Perhaps, despite his want for a family and children, it would be best to wait before having any.

“It really isn’t what it seems, Harry,” Cedric insisted, dropping the proper titles in a bid for sincerity. “Sister Abigail would never harm a child. She would go to great lengths to protect her own, but never at the cost of another.”

“Then what has you so worried, Cedric?” Harry questioned, voice soft in volume but tone like steel. “Why do you fear her reaction to your pregnancy?”

“I don’t!” the other man protested loudly, tea cup clattering against the saucer as he set it down forcefully. “I am anxious about her reception, yes, but I don’t fear her. Not in regard to my child’s safety. I worry that I may not be so warmly received in her palace, not that she would attempt something so, so- unspeakable.”

The air was tense. Cedric indignant and Harry still with his hackles raised. Ginny was still as a statue behind his chair, but Harry could feel the faint wafting of her magic- roiling with fury and fear. Cedric’s maid stood similarly still, face hidden in shadow. Even Luna had ceased her tuneless humming, staring blankly down at her empty cup.

“As you say,” Harry bit out before taking a breath and gentling his tone. “Brother.”

“Have you added to your garden at all, Harry?” Luna’s serene voice broke through the tension, nearly causing him to startle.

“Er,” he said, blinking, “no, Luna. Not yet.”

She hummed. “Best to wait, I think,” she said dreamily, picking up her cup to sip before realizing it was empty and putting it back down. “Its still too warm out. Sparkspur might be the only thing you could get to take root in this weather.”

“Yes,” Harry replied slowly as he took to this sudden new change in topic. “I was planning for the temperature to cool a bit more before playing in the gardens.”

Everyone around the table started to relax, Cedric even offering a few seeds from his gillyflowers if Harry wished. The rest of their tea went well- topics staying light and frivolous; Cedric and Luna both even leaving in good cheer.

The pit of dread in Harry’s stomach, however, didn’t leave him for hours after.

*

August 27^th 1998, Grand Hall of the Round Table, Palace of Gathering, Upper Capitol

Tom had made it a rule, quite early into his reign- unfortunately, to not crucio those of his Council and especially not those within his Inner Circle. Not after he’d crucioed one of his generals insensate, losing a valuable follower to what amounted to a temper tantrum. There were times, however, that he very sorely regretted implementing the ban of Unfogivables in Council meetings.

This was one of those times.

“Your Majesty,” spat Lord Greengrass from his seat at the Round Table, “I just simply do not understand why a boy with so few connections like Potter would get a position heretofore unheard of for a new member to achieve. My Daphne was far more deserving of such a prestigious rank!”

“You would do well to remember, Hexor,” snarled Alphard Black, uncharacteristically animated in his fury, “that the boy you speak so lowly of is my heir.”

“And what an heir you have chosen,” Lucius Malfoy broke in with a sneer. “Truly, what has become of the House of Black to claim an heir that isn’t even of your blood.”

It was his emphasis on the word blood, the unsubtle disgust in his tone, that really made Tom want to crucio the man out of his chair. It didn’t seem to matter how often he tried to dissuade his Inner Circle from the folly of blood-supremecy, they still clung to their outdated beliefs. Tom cared not about the supposed ‘purity’ of blood, only about the power of a wixen’s core and how effectively they wielded it. Tom himself was a testament to how introducing new blood to old could revive immense power and talent to dying lines. Potter, it seemed, was another testament, and he loathed Lucius in that moment for implying otherwise.

“And your sniveling rat of an heir is any better, Lucius?” spoke Melanthios Nott, tone darkly amused as he egged the argument on. He was one to stir trouble among Tom’s Circle, if only to relieve his boredom. It entertained Tom as much as it gave him headaches. “He may do well in academics, but he’s hardly good for anything else. He duels like a coward and you want him to join the Knights? Utter foolishness.”

Tom would have to interrupt the petty sniping the meeting had devolved into soon enough, but watching Lucius’ face turn a startling shade of red as he tried to sputter a response was enjoyment enough for the moment. Besides, if they were busy arguing amongst themselves it gave them less time to try and argue with him.

Truly, Tom didn’t know what he’d been thinking, giving Potter such a high rank right off the bat. Perhaps he’d still been intoxicated by the young man’s magic, the feel of it even now still lingering like an electric shock on the tip of his tongue. He was powerful, smart, talented, beautiful, and well connected. It was no question that the man deserved his title. But was it worth all the hassle? It was true that Potter was all those things, but so were many others within his harem. That was why they’d been chosen. So was it worth it to show him such favor so quickly?

But, ultimately, Tom was curious. Would Potter be able to handle himself? Would he sink or would he swim? What path would he venture down- would he fulfill the prophecy? Would he survive in the pit of vipers he’d been thrown into? Would he carry himself with grace or would he fall like so many others before him?

Tom would readily admit he was intrigued by Potter, and not just because of his potential as foretold by the prophecy. His creative use of runes for something so simple as Kassios’ birthday gift was enthralling. Not to mention how much it had endeared the man to his son, something that was rather surprisingly hard to achieve. Kassios seemed affable and approachable on the outside, good-natured and friendly to all. But it was a mask he’d been taught, and taught well, by his mother. To see him show such sincere affection and cheek to an outsider was surprising.

Seeing Potter interact so well with his children was also… captivating. It made him somewhat eager to see what the man would be like with children of his own. Their own. A babe in his arms… A toddler on his hip…

But that was a long way off just yet.

The Noble had potential, this was true. But then again, he had also seen potential in Bellatrix. Once, years ago now, he had thought Bella to be a lovely match. Someone he might eventually elevate to the throne at his side- an equal. She was smart, beautiful, talented, and powerful. Everything he sought in a partner to rule the world with. But she was also mad. And she grew worse by the day.

Tom often mourned what he could have had with Bellatrix, though he thought less and less on it as time went by. He had long since come to terms with the fact she could not be what he wanted, and in fact never could have been. She was rabid in her worship of him. Fanatic and crazed to a point beyond control or sense. And she assumed she knew best what he wanted, what he intended for the world. But her views were tainted by her upbringing and her madness. Twisted and unpredictable.

He had no proof, but he suspected she had killed in his name before. And while he would be a hypocrite to say he minded a little blood-craze in his concubines, he did mind when the target of such violence was among his possessions. He could not prove she had killed others of the harem, but he felt it to be true. And, more sickeningly, he suspected she’d ended a few of her own pregnancies in their early stages. She was desperate to birth him a male heir. Nevermind that it was hard enough for her to conceive with her family-inherited fertility issues. And nevermind that he didn’t care what gender his children were so long as they were born healthy. It was a large reason he had banned gender scans before the child was born. It was much harder for them to get away with killing the child once it was already out of their womb.

Many of his harem had gotten it into their heads that he would name one among his sons the heir to his throne. That it must be a son. That he would name an heir at all.

Often, they seemed to forget he had no intention to abdicate any time soon. That he was, in fact, the Immortal Emperor of the World.

Nevertheless, only time would tell if the same would happen to Potter. The prophecy itself had dictated two outcomes. His rise or his fall. A pivotal choice to be made. Tom could only guess how and when it would happen. Had Potter already made his choice in joining the Selection? Had the future already been set? The dye cast? There was no way to know until it was too late. He need only wait now.

“The Potter boy is simple,” Alecto Carrow decided to throw in, examining her nails as if she didn’t care about the current subject. “It’s highly suspected he cheated on his exams. His performance in my classes always… uninspiring.”

Here she glanced up at Alphard, pausing for a more dramatic effect to her words. Tom wanted to roll his eyes at the antics, truly, but he refrained, wanting to know what utter shite would spill from the catty woman’s lips.

“It’s well known the boy should have been expelled after the Cerberus incident in his first year. But I surmise your supposed impartiality was just a well-crafted guise, Headmaster.”

Tom raised his brows, impressed by the woman’s audacity. Alphard seemed just as gobsmacked.

“The boy nearly died!” Alphard exclaimed incredulously. “Because of an accident!” He paused to sigh and massage his temple. “Scamander had been showing the creature to his NEWT classes- situation well in hand- before one of the clumsier students fell into the harp that had been keeping the hellhound calm. Are you implying that I should have expelled Harry because he’d been flying his broom in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

“He was a first year,” Alecto snapped. “He shouldn’t have been flying at all!”

Alphard threw his hands in the air. “And he got detention for a week for it! As is the appropriate punishment when a first year is caught flying without adult supervision.”

Alecto sniffed haughtily, “And what about his second year?”

Alphard gave her a blank stare, “What about his second year?”

She sneered, “When he grievously injured the guest dueling instructor? And landed several of his classmates in the infirmary because of miscast spells?”

“The so-called instructor was the one to put those students in the infirmary and you are well aware of that, Carrow,” Alphard rejoined, barely masking his exasperation with the woman. Tom thought he was doing admirably, all things considered. “And we thank Merlin that Harry accidentally rebounded the spell the instructor had meant for him as it saved the poor boy’s life and exposed Lockheart for a fraud all in one. Where, exactly, in that incident was Harry supposed to have been expelled?”

Tom sat back and watched the show, wondering how deep Alecto planned to dig her grave. Obviously she was trying to discredit Potter in order to prevent him from gaining any more power that might depose her brother. But she was doing a very poor job of it. She’d do better to try and hit Potter’s actual weak points rather than make them up. Especially when Alphard was so easily discrediting her claims. She was only succeeding in making herself look bad.

(He was young. He was naive. Still clumsy in the finer points of wixen traditions, trying desperately to overcome his poor upbringing. No one knew where the boy had been for the nine years between the younger Potter’s deaths and the time Euphemia re-introduced him into the world. But one could say for certain he hadn’t been raised in the sphere of the Ton. He was a bit brash. Reckless. A lion in snake’s clothing, though he did well enough among the vipers.

These were all things Tom knew to be weaknesses of his newest concubine. And he was ready to watch in a detached sort of fascination whether the man would succumb to his flaws or rise above them.)

It seemed the rest of his Council was also willing to let the argument play out. Many of them were tired of Alecto’s plays for power and didn’t feel Amycus deserved any higher of a position than he’d already gained. Many now had their own connections to lesser ranked concubines they wished to promote. Nott, Greengrass, and Black now among them.

“His third year then,” she snarled, and at this point Tom thought she might just be blindly going in chronological order until she actually hit something.

Alphard seemed to think the same, as instead of rising to the bait and naming one of the alarmingly copious incidents Potter had fallen into in his years at Hogwarts, he simply said, “Do you have a specific example?”

Alecto sputtered, obviously scrambling to remember a case that should have led to Potter’s expulsion. The problem was that there wasn’t one, not truly. Alphard wasn’t lying when he claimed to be impartial when it came to the boy’s education and discipline. Many of the things Potter had become embroiled in over the course of his school years were shocking, often dangerous, and mostly downright absurd, but none ever warranted a punishment as drastic as expulsion. Reading Alphard’s reports on whatever nonsense his grand-nephew had gotten up to had often been a highlight to Tom’s busier days.

Lucius was the one to cut in now, a smug sort of disdain to his words, “What of the debacle with the hippogriff?”

Alphard looked close to strangling someone now and Tom rather hoped it would come to that. It would make this meeting far more entertaining. He likely wouldn’t even punish Alphard for the action, especially if it meant Alecto or Lucius would shut up.

Tom would do it himself if not for the dramatics that would ensue in the aftermath. How would his Council feel to know that the only thing stopping their early demise most days was Tom’s aversion to hysterical squalls? Truly, he missed the days he could murder his enemies and allies alike with impunity. Alas, unless he wanted to micromanage the entire globe and never see the end of paperwork and other such bureaucratic minutia, he needed to keep his Inner Circle of Idiocy alive. Tom would still curse them on occasion, sure- a little maiming never hurt anybody- so they didn’t dare upset him too much. But he still missed those days where his Council could do naught but piss themselves in fear of him. Unfortunately, he’d learned that such atmosphere was not conducive to keeping the world running. Even a God among men must have acolytes and priests to keep the other sheep in line.

So, simply, he sat back and waited for them to tire themselves out. Toddlers, the lot of them. He would wait for them to finish their tantrums and then he could send them all off for a nap. Honestly, his actual toddler aged children were more well-behaved most days.

“Surprising that you would bring up the incident with the hippogriff, Lucius,” Severus drawled, words slow and filled with contempt. “Seeing as it was your son at the center of that mess and not Noble Potter.”

Lucius bared his teeth in Severus’s direction, hissing, “Potter was the one to incite the beast into striking Draco!”

Amelia Bones was the one to interrupt the squabble this time. “So you say, Malfoy,” she started primly, “but if I recall correctly, and I do, Euphemia Potter took you to court over it.” Here, she smirked from her side of the table. “And you lost.”

“What about his fourth year,” Alecto interjected, stubborn as a dog worrying a bone to splinters. At this point she was only stabbing the roof of her own mouth with the shards. “Wasn’t there something about a dragon egg smuggling ring?”

Severus scoffed, “Are you trying to imply that the boy, at fourteen, ran an entire underground egg smuggling racket from the castle dungeons?”

Alecto’s face twisted unpleasantly. “No. He’s far too stupid for that,” she spat. “But that doesn’t mean he wasn’t involved in shady business.”

A derisive laugh sounded from further down the table.

Charles Weasley was among the newest members of his Council. He was not often called on, nor did he often give his input but he was a valuable addition nonetheless. He was a vital link to relations in Romania as an expert dragon tamer, working closely with the country’s copious reservations. Tom had been hesitant to add a Weasley to his Council, not after the parents had proven to have affiliations with Dumbledore’s Order, but the children had so far proven themselves. The eldest working with Gringotts, Charles with dragons, Perseus was climbing the ranks of the Ministry, and the twins had a booming business- no matter how much a nuisance the products were. It also had not escaped his notice that the youngest of the lot had made her way into the Citadel as his newest Noble’s Lord’s maid.

“Clearly you don’t even know what you’re talking about if you’re insinuating Noble Potter had anything to do with the smuggling ring,” Weasley said with a sharp grin. “He was the one to bring it down.”

“What?!” Alecto shrieked, slamming her hands down in the oak table. “He was fourteen!”

“Yes,” Alphard said with a smirk. “It was all quite an impressive affair. I’m surprised you don’t remember it, Alecto,” he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. “It was all the castle could talk about at the time. How little fourth year Harry Potter out-flew a dragon.”

Tom did remember that now that Alphard mentioned it. He’d been a bit busy managing the political fallout from that year’s Quidditch World Cup and dealing with the upset that always happened within the harem when another Selection happens. Much like he was doing now. It hadn’t gotten any less tedious.

But, yes, he did remember being told about that. Apparently Potter had stumbled into a seedy bar in Hogsmeade during one of the weekends the students were allowed to roam the village. In doing so he’d uncovered the blatant handing off of several illegal dragon eggs from one shady wizard to another. He also recalls how both Severus and Alphard had lamented the boy’s recklessness in deciding to confront the smugglers on his own. Which, supposedly, would have turned out in Potter’s favor because of his dueling skills. If one of the wizards hadn’t dropped open an expandable satchel that he’d been caging a furious brooding mother dragon in, which then escaped and targeted the first wizard it saw. Which had been Potter.

An impressive feat, to fly so fast and for so long around the Black Lake and the outskirts of the grounds of the castle until dragon tamers could come and wrestle the beast into a safer environment. But also foolishly Gryffindorish. How the man had ended up in Slytherin with his complete lack of self-preservation would ever remain a mystery. Ambition and cunning alone couldn’t make up for the sheer ridiculousness and startling number of stunts and incidents Potter had been apart of in his school years.

“I don’t-,” Alecto stuttered, faltering. “I don’t remember,” she said, gaining firmness to her tone. “You must be making this up to make me look a fool. Anything to protect your precious new heir.”

“Headmaster Black is very much telling the truth, Miss Carrow,” rang the weathered and condescending voice of the esteemed Dowager Longbottom. “My boy Neville was witness to the event and I do recall receiving the letters about it from him and from my son who had witnessed it from the greenhouses. No,” she tapped a sharp tipped nail against the table, “you’re managing to make a grand fool of yourself all on your own, dear.”

Alecto, finding herself on the back-foot, yet again, simply crossed her arms and fell back against her chair with a grimace. Like a petulant child. Again, Tom found the company of his toddler aged children preferable over this nonsense.

Tom sighed and rapped a knuckle against the table, relishing in the instant hush that fell across the Council room with such a small action. The power within the action was heady and he didn’t think he’d ever tire of it.

“I have made Harry Potter one of my Nobles,” he said softly, tone resolute. “Unless, in the future, he proves himself unworthy of the title,” and here he did not miss the sharp look in the eyes of Alecto, Hexor, Rodolphus, and their ilk, “there is nothing else to discuss on the matter.”

He could see that a fair few of his Council looked displeased with his order, but none made a move to dispute it.

Good; as he had run out of patience to deal with any more bickering. He would have to have one of his more reliable footmen keep tabs on Alecto and the other more ill-content lot. It wouldn’t do for one of them to try something stupid. But he hadn’t much faith in their intelligence to refrain either. Especially Alecto.

Only time and a watchful eye would tell what the coming months would hold. But if there was anything an immortal had an abundance of, it was time.

Chapter Text

September 1^st 1998, Outdoor Arena

Harry withstood the itching of the safety charms the guards were layering him in with every modicum of grace he was capable of. Which was to say, not much at all. He could do nothing but grin and bear it, however, if he ever wanted to get out on the pitch and fly.

And he was in sore need of a good fly.

His mind was full of all things. The pit of dread that had been sitting in stomach since the tea with Cedric had yet to leave. He kept turning things over and over again in his thoughts. Trying to piece together an impossible picture of the truth. Trying to understand just who he could actually trust, if anyone. Trying to puzzle out what actions within the Court wouldn’t leave him or his loved ones dead.

Luna had sent him another letter telling him that his wrackspurt infestation had become dire and the only way to clear them out was a good bit of wind and sunshine.

He’d smiled at the parchment and had decided to take her cryptic advice. He’d grabbed the firebolt that had been a departing gift from Uncle Alphard, eager to try it out for the very first time, and had felt just a small bit of the dread begin to lift.

It was the best time to enjoy the pitch as well, with a large amount of the Harem gone to see their children off to Hogwarts. Being childless meant Harry was left to his own devices stuck in the Citadel with the others that had yet to ‘fulfill their duty’ and bear the Emperor yet more heirs.

It felt odd to not be boarding the Hogwarts Express himself this year, as he had done for the past seven before this. He’d graduated Hogwarts, with no reason to ever return. Perhaps if he hadn’t entered the Harem he could have gone back in the guise of a visit to Uncle Alphard. But as it were, he would be ensconced within the Citadel for a good long while yet.

If he wanted to be able to leave now that he was among ‘His Majesty’s Chosen’ he would need permission directly from His Majesty himself or to gain enough rank to become an Official Spouse and be allowed to accompany the Emperor on certain excursions.

He knew from the very beginning that it would be like this. That he’d be willingly submitting himself to a beautiful prison. It was his own foolishness that held hope he’d find a home behind the bars. Forever chasing that thrill he’d felt all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, but should have anticipated in retrospect, were the amount of safety precautions he had to endure before being allowed out on the lawn.

He was a member of the Harem now. A jewel of the Empire. His body was no longer his own, and though the notion of it chafed considerably, it was something he had long had to accept when he chose to go down this path. He was no longer allowed to tumble about the grounds in reckless abandon. No longer free to throw caution to the wind. He was to be safe. Protected. Coddled.

It would be a scandal beyond measure if he was harmed in something so mundane as a quidditch accident. He was lucky they were allowed to fly at all.

And all of that meant he was to be layered in cushioning charms so thick he could fall from over a hundred feet in the air and he would barely do more than bounce. It felt stifling and too hot in the summer sun and above all itchy.

There was a reason, despite the danger, quidditch players didn’t bother with such charms when flying and playing. They were fucking annoying.

And Merlin forbid if he’d have been called to spend the night with the Emperor at any point. He’d be forced into a full medical check up and if there was even a hint of a chance at a pregnancy, he’d be forbidden from so much as hovering off the ground.

That wasn’t something he had to worry about at the moment, though. Potentially not for a good while yet. And he did his best to bat down the strange, swirling mixture of dread and eager anticipation at the thought.

Once they were done with the charms, he could fly.

It had felt like ages since he’d been on a broom. And ages more since he’d been able to play a good game with others. His greatest regret was that Ginny wasn’t able to fly with him without causing a scene. While there was no explicit rule against his maid flying with him, and in fact it was encouraged, they’d both be relegated to a calm and sedate sort of flying that would have made the both of them more miserable than if they hadn’t flown at all.

Ginny had been very unhappy when one of his palace maids, Sophie, had warned them of this, but she had consented to watching from the ground while he flew. In consolation he had agreed to let her take a turn on the firebolt once they got back to the Nobles’ palace. They were both allowed to fly somewhat freely, just not together and not in the same areas. It was a maddening sort of restriction that didn’t make any sense to Harry, but was one of those rules he didn’t yet have enough power to break.

Harry was all for pushing boundaries, especially about something like this, but he couldn’t afford to put a single toe out of line just yet. Given a bit more time… More power, more rank…

“We’re all done, My Lord,” said one of the guards that had been smothering him in charms. The rest had backed away to line the entryway again, faces falling back into unnervingly stoic masks.

Harry nodded and darted out without wasting another second, grinning when the fresh grass of the lawn hit the heel of his riding boots.

And then his broom was underneath him and he was flying.

The wind was ripping through his hair and he felt free . He knew it was an illusion, but he could still taste it.

He shot through the air with a breathless laugh, the firebolt zooming in the sky far faster than any other broom he’d had to date. He climbed higher and higher at breakneck speed, the air growing colder around him the higher he flew.

It was exhilarating.

Faster and faster he went.

Harry pulled his limbs in close to the wood of the broom. Making himself compact. Aerodynamic. His hair was flying wildly around his head. The wind felt like icy shards against his skin. His face freezing.

And further he climbed. Faster.

Faster and faster until his broom was forcibly slowed by yet more safety charms above the arena. He’d gone as high as the magic would allow. Which, admittedly, was far higher than he’d thought it would.

He hovered in place, letting the breeze bounce him gently in the air, relishing in the fresh wind in his hair and the sunshine warming his skin.

He could see the entire Citadel and it was beautiful. He could see the shape of it clearly, it’s namesake visible at such heights. A giant many-pointed star- all the stone a brilliant white against rolling hills of verdant green all edged in wild forest. He could see the rest of the Capitol just below it and the crowds of people, all as small as ants to his eyes, gathering in swarms around the train station. All likely hoping to catch a glimpse of any of the Royal Court.

If he looked hard enough he could even see the barest hint of Hogwarts.

He missed Hogwarts fiercely. He missed the familiarity of the routine, missed the challenge of his classes. He missed the easy access to his friends, being able to catch them in the halls or pass notes in class. He missed the burble of the Black Lake outside the window of his dorm at night and hearing the snores of the others he shared the room with.

He missed the castle itself, her gentle magic pulsing under his fingertips as he walked along her halls.

He wondered, idly, what Hermione was up to. And Neville and Blaise. He’d yet to receive a letter from any of them, though he’d sent off a few of his own for them. It was a complicated process to correspond with anyone outside of the Citadel, the mail heavily screened as it was. He was lucky to send and receive letters as easily as he did with Cousin Severus and Uncle Alphard. They had just the slightest bit of leeway, as both were part of the Emperor’s Inner Council.

Thinking of his uncle and cousin had him remembering the dread-inducing messages both had sent him in their last letters.

A prisoner had broken out of Azkaban.

The cell of Sirius Black, traitor to the Empire, had been found empty just a few days prior. No one knows how he escaped. No one even knew it was possible.

And the dementors were on the loose to look for him.

Honestly, Harry thought that was worse than the escaped convict. With as long as Black had stayed in Azkaban, he should be a shadow of the former wizard that he was. And any damage he may want to cause would have him easily revealed, found, and captured. The damage the dementors could do, on the other hand, was immense.

It made him shiver just to think about it.

To him, to someone like him, having your soul sucked out seemed worse than any other punishment someone could face. For the body to continue living, tethered to life in such an obscene way while the soul itself was gone? It was awful. It was wrong, wrong, wrong. Harry had never had to endure the torture curse before, but he imagined it would still rank lower than ‘living’ through a dementor’s kiss.

He hoped Black was found soon, if for nothing else than to get the dementors back to Azkaban.

Cousin Severus had sounded a bit on the vindictively gleeful side when writing about Sirius Black, saying that the man deserved to be ‘caught and quartered’. Uncle Alphard’s letter, on the other hand, had just sounded a bit… sad. Bittersweet. Though the man had still warned him to stay safe and to not trust Sirius should they ever cross paths for whatever reason, there was a tinge of regret in his words.

Harry really didn’t know how to feel about the man, himself.

Grandmother Effie had mourned Sirius Black nearly just as much as she had mourned Harry’s parents. Had told him stories about how Sirius and his father had been thick as thieves, and all the mischief they used to get up to around the manor. How she’d seen Sirius as another son, especially when he spent more time in their manor over the summer than his own home. Told him wistfully about how much she and Grandfather Fleamont used to dote on him. How they used to dote on him, his father, and their other friends Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew.

She’d been sad talking about Lupin as well, how they didn’t know what happened to him but everyone assumed he’d died during the rebellion as well.

She’d been horrifically awkward when talking about Pettigrew. Stiltedly talking about how he was the only one of the group that hadn’t gone against the Empire. How he’d been rewarded for his loyalty to His Majesty by becoming one of the valets that worked within the Citadel. Which hadn’t seemed like much of a reward to him, but she’d explained that it was a coveted position- that it was an honor to be able to work in any capacity within the Citadel.

Harry wondered, idly, if he’d seen Pettigrew at all since he’d arrived. And, more, how he’d even feel if he was faced with the man.

It had taken Grandmother Effie being on her deathbed for her to finally admit how she truly felt about it all.

How she hated Pettigrew for selling out his friends, her sons , all because he was a coward . How she hoped the rat , and this she had spat with a particularly vindictive energy, hated every day of the rest of his life as a valet. How she loathed Dumbledore for starting it all. For leading her children so far astray. How she resented Grandfather Fleamont, and James, and Lily, and Sirius, for leaving her so alone for all those years. How she was bitter with James and Lily in particular for hiding him away in such an awful place for so long.

That last one, in particular, he maybe agreed with.

It was one thing to go off and die in a pointless rebellion, and another entirely to drop him off with the Dursley’s of all people. Had his mother not known how nasty her sister was? She must have. Cousin Severus had barely known the woman in his youth and he’d still paled at the mention of Harry having been under her ‘care’.

But then his grandmother had still held his hand so softly, looked at him so sweetly, when she told him how happy she was to finally be able to see them again. In death. Told him that she was sorry she would not be able to see his final year at Hogwarts, sorry that their time together had been so short. But she also told him that she was tired. That it was time to let her go now. That his magic couldn’t sustain her for much longer and that he needn’t carry her life like a burden any longer.

And he had cried and told her she wasn’t a burden. That he’d sooner burn away all of his magic if it meant keeping her alive for another day more.

At this she had simply carded her fingers through his hair, shushing him gently and telling him it would be alright. He had clung to hope despite being able to hear the pneumonia rattling in her chest with every empty promise she whispered.

The next day he’d found her in the garden, one of the elves having wheeled her out into the sunshine at her request. Jessa, the elf in question, had been heaving great sobbing tears when she explained she’d done as ordered and had thought nothing of it because the Mistress had said it would be good for her lungs.

He had found his grandmother in the garden, a stiffened smile upon her face, a folded letter in one hand, and the bare stalk of a belladonna in the other.

She had written that she was sorry, and he didn’t believe it. She had written that it wasn’t his fault, and he didn’t believe that either.

The resurrection he’d attempted after finding her dead had gone even worse than attempting to keep her alive.

The blood and the begging. The sinew and the sorrow. The marrow and the moaning.

He had brought her back in a fit of desperation, going mad at the sight of her letter- the sight of her betrayal. That she would take her own life rather than continue on in his presence. To leave him alone. Just as alone as she had always feared to be again.

How dare she leave him so willingly? Leave him just as his parents had. Just as his godfather had. Just as the spiders in the cupboard under the stairs he’d had to swallow had.

Her blood was on his hands in every way, but she had been the one to bleed first.

And then he’d brought her back and it had been worse than losing her in the first place. Far, far worse. She had done nothing but beg and suffer until it had broken the both of them so thoroughly that he’d had to kill her with his own hands. Directly this time.

It was one of the reasons he knew he belonged in the Harem. Belonged among all the others that backstabbed and killed and committed atrocities so easily. He knew he could be just as ruthless as the rest of them. For what greater crime would there be for him to commit than to kill his own grandmother twice over?

There was no saving him, there was only to see how much further he would fall.

Harry clung tighter to the broom under his hands, feeling the grain of the wood under his vice grip. He took a deep breath, letting the chilly air into his lungs and keeping it there until it burned. He tipped his head back and let the sun shine down on his face- then he let the rest of his body follow.

He relaxed back into the freefall.

He let the wind whip past him as the feeling of ultimate weightlessness overtook him. Everything ceased to exist except for this; the wind, the rush, the broom underneath him, and the robes twisting around him as he plummeted head first toward the ground.

There was nothing else to think about aside from the swooping feeling within his gut and the exhilaration of the fall.

His eyes were watering and he pretended it was all the wind whipping by so fast and for no other reason at all. Faster- he fell, the green of the lawn approaching within his limited sight. It grew closer and closer the longer he fell. He almost wanted to reach out his arms to greet it.

He pulled up at the last second, feet brushing the wards on the grass that had started to slow his approach. It was not near as satisfying as the death-defying stunts he was used to pulling in quidditch games at Hogwarts, but it would do.

It would have to.

There was a long, low whistle behind him that made him jerk around on his broom, startled. He hadn’t noticed anyone else entering the pitch, but when he stopped spinning he found himself face to face with Primary Second-Class Attendant Viktor Krum.

“You fly,” he said, accent thick and words clumsy- not like he was unfamiliar with them so much as that he just didn’t say them often-, “very well.”

“Oh, er,” Harry stammered, head still not quite all the way back where it should be, “thank you, er, Brother Krum.”

The man waved an annoyed hand and said simply, “Viktor.”

“Er, okay, then-” Harry said, being an idiot, “Brother… Viktor.”

Viktor nodded in approval but said nothing else.

They both hovered over the lawn on their brooms in awkward silence. Or, at least, Harry found it awkward. Maybe Viktor didn’t actually? He was known not to be very talkative… But this felt a little much. Should Harry say something? Should he just- leave? He should probably just leave. Then maybe he wouldn’t have to embarrass himself in front of Viktor Krum anymore.

You know. The world famous quidditch star. The world famous quidditch star that was playing, not just on a professional team- but a professional team that represented his entire country and all before he’d even graduated from school. The man that would have single-handedly won his team the World Cup if they’d have scored enough points prior to him catching the snitch. The man everyone had called a prodigy. A legend in the making. Strong and handsome and so, so skilled.

The man everyone had had a crush on in Harry’s fourth year before he’d devastated them all by announcing his intention to enter the Selection.

It had come out of nowhere and Harry wondered to this day why he’d done it. He’d had a very promising quidditch career ahead of him. He’d also been known for his skills in the Dark Arts and Defense if he hadn’t favored a career in sports. He’d had a glittering future of success ahead of him and had no prior inclination of wishing to be favored by His Majesty. So why had he joined? The Harem was not something someone idly decided to enter into. You were essentially selling your soul to the Empire. Gambling your freedom and autonomy for riches and a limited scope of power- and it was a great amount of power but how effective was it really when there was so little you could do to exercise it?

Why would this man, this free flier that belonged soaring in the sky, so bright with opportunity, trade it all away for gilded cages?

Harry knew why he had done it. Knew there was something deeply broken about himself. Knew there was a deep and terrible hunger within him that could only be sated by burning red eyes. An emptiness he had little hope to fill.

But why had Viktor chosen such a life for himself? Especially since he’d done nothing in his four years within the Harem to raise his rank, to gain any sort of notoriety. From the outside it looked like he was content to slide into the background of his own life and stay there. Harry wondered- if he asked, right now, would Viktor be willing to tell him why?

“Injury,” said Viktor with a deep rumble tinged with amusement, breaking Harry out of his cascading thoughts.

“Er,” Harry replied, shaking his head in an attempt to make sense of what Viktor was trying to tell him.

“You are thinking, ‘why this man join Harem?’,” he said patiently, still amused even while he spoke so reluctantly. “I tell you.”

Harry gasped as he puzzled it out. He leaned his broom forward, tipping in the air to better speak with the other. “You joined because of an injury?”

Viktor nodded curtly. “Ruined career during practice. Can still fly, but cannot Seek. Not as well. Uncle Karkaroff pushed me toward Harem,” here he shrugged, as if it was all so inconsequential to him. “Had no better options.”

And Harry. Well, he was a bit stunned at such flippancy. He didn’t quite know what to say, if he should say anything at all.

“And you?” Viktor asked, tone mild and curious as he circled around Harry on his broom. It shouldn’t have seemed so threatening, but Harry still felt like he was treading water with a hungry shark. “Money? Fame? Power?”

“I-,” Harry started, not knowing how to answer. How could he so easily sum up his reasons for joining? How could he ever hope to describe the yawning pit within his soul? Or why he thought that joining the Harem was in any way a decent solution? How could he ever convey how he had been so deeply impacted seeing burning red eyes on the muggle telly when he was a child and how he felt echoes of that memory within him to this day?

Or how the fear of being alone was what pushed him to officially enter the Selection in some near suicidal bid for a shred of feeling like he belonged somewhere. Even knowing that he would never belong. A freak among royalty. A monster among murderers.

“I-” Harry went for the simplest truth. Though why he hadn’t considered just outright lying was beyond him. “I want to please His Majesty.”

Viktor’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, a look of bemusement crossing his face. Harry ducked his head to hide his blush, highly embarrassed with the answer all of a sudden. Why hadn’t he just left? He should have just left the pitch the moment he realized he wasn’t alone. Merlin.

“You are…” Viktor said slowly, considering his words carefully, “strange… Noble Potter.”

Harry grimaced. It wasn’t the worst insult he’d ever received, but it certainly wasn’t what he was hoping for when he’d first planned to come out and fly.

Viktor gave a considering hum before starting to drift a bit on his broom, angling up and away without yet taking off. “Is good,” he said decisively. “We speak again, yes?”

“Er,” Harry answers eloquently, because he is so super smart and good at human interaction, “yeah. Sure, we speak- we’ll speak again.”

At this Viktor smiles and flies off and Harry has to wonder just what had happened there. Really, he has no answer- but he does know it was somehow a positive interaction, even if he still can’t quite parse the rest of it.

Bewildered he does another little loop around the pitch, relishing in the feel of flying just a little bit longer, before landing and heading towards Ginny with his broom slung across his shoulders.

Well, he could at least tell Luna that the wrackspurts were no longer plaguing him. There wasn’t any more room in his head to brood about nothing when he had to consider if he’d secured another alliance or not. Well, it hadn’t seemed like he’d made an enemy, at least.

Only time would tell whether it would hold up to scrutiny, though.

*

September 12^th 1998, Palace of Favorable Comfort, East Gardens

Abigail held tightly to the Emperor’s arm as they took a short stroll through the gardens of her palace. The weather was pleasant, still warm but steadily dropping from the blazing summer temperatures and into the more sedate breezes of fall. It was the time of year that most reminded her of home.

It wasn’t often that she missed it, the heartland, but when she did- the feeling was fierce and achy. She missed the feel of The Green underneath her bare feet, the sweet citrus juice of the pawpaw fruit on her tongue, the flickering trill of a wood thrush echoing in her ears in the morning mists. The long forgotten magicks of that near empty backwoods holler, pressed deep into the forests around a long abandoned coal town.

Most of all, she missed running wild.

Here, everything was controlled. Restrained. A gilded cage with silk ribbon puppet strings. Once upon a time she had thought this was the life she wanted for herself- that it was the only way out. The only way to survive. The only way to live and live freely. But this was not freedom. This was a bear trap slowly closing around her ankle, crushing tendon and bone. This was a zoo, being put on display for the masses and guarding against the other animals she shared her cage with.

At first she had thrived, playing the game and reveling in the wealth of the world around her. She had marveled at the soft give of her bed, the silk of her dresses, the delicate richness of the food she ate. Miles and miles better than the world she left behind, made of hard packed earth, rough linen, and food that always tasted of coal dust. She had earned the Emperor’s favor and hoarded it jealously, cementing her position at the top despite the poorness of her background.

But she was wilting in captivity.

She had policed every part of herself in order to excel. Up from the way ate her food down to the very way her thoughts formed words within her mind. Even now, within the confines of her own palace, her own home, she ordered them with care putting a strict leash on all the idioms of her past and slurred accent of her people. It had been exceptionally freeing to speak as she had around Brother Harry at her children’s birthday party. She didn’t often speak so casually. In private moments with her children and her husband and her maid, and very seldom with her allies within the Harem. But with an audience? Rarely.

No, she had cut away any part of herself that could be seen as a weakness. Her accent had been used to claim she was deficient, so she had trained it out of her voice. The brash parts of her personality had been used to claim she was needlessly abrasive, so she had wrapped herself in pleasant words and buried deep all of her negative emotions. The short length of her hair had been used to call her boyish and ugly, so she had refused to cut it since- letting it grow and grow, despite how the length weighed down her scalp.

She’d cut away so much of herself that it felt like there was nothing left.

She was no longer fighting for her own spot in the hierarchy, but simply to protect her children. If she hadn’t Kassios, Eudora, and Mellonia to worry about she would have long since been content to fade into the background of the harem, reveling in the splendor offered by her position and letting the others fight amongst themselves for His Majesty’s attention.

She did not need to fight for him, for she had already done all she needed to gain and keep his favor, if not necessarily in the way most thought was proper. She did not try and beguile him with the generous curves of her body. She did not try to enchant him with the flutter of her eyelashes or bespell him with a falsely sweet and gentle laugh.

No, Abigail had earned her place by being true to herself and to her Emperor Husband. She earned his confidence, his trust, his affections, by earning his friendship. As simple as that, though she knew her fellow concubines would likely never believe her. There was no love between her and His Majesty, not of the romantic variety at least, and there never would be.

And the both of them were content with that.

The others- they wanted the Emperor’s attention for wholly selfish reasons. They wanted prestige, they wanted power. Wanted riches and gifts and luxury. Some were bald-faced about it, and that she could respect. Others still, only did what was necessary to survive. This too, she could respect, as it was the very same reason she had entered the treacherous waters of the Harem herself.

It was those that pretended to care about His Majesty, those that sought to charm him into giving them all that they wanted for only falsehoods in return, that she despised. Those that sought to use him, to gain all the power and riches and control from him and give nothing back. To abuse what they would be given. Those that cut down their Brothers and Sisters, not in defense, but in wretched acts of jealousy and bald cruelty. Those that dared to destroy the one thing his Majesty held dear. Those that would dare to harm his children.

She knows with certainty that if it weren’t for the pestering annoyance of the Council and the emotional well-being of his children at risk, the Emperor might have washed his hands of the lot of them, all of them, years ago.

If it weren’t for her children and what might become of them in her absence, she might even think it a good thing if he did. He had more than enough children now and the Harem really served no other purpose that actually benefited His Majesty that a hired whore couldn’t also do.

But that was all neither here nor there. A distant worry that would not be in danger of coming to pass for a good long time, if ever.

The Emperor was quiet as they moved at an excruciatingly slow pace around the gardens. He’d been like this often lately, in the sparse moments of the week that Abigail was able to see him. Ever since the Selection. Ever since the twin’s birthday party.

Ever since Brother Harry joined the harem.

She smiled softly to herself and wondered idly if the boy would be another brief fascination or if he had the potential for something… more. She had yet to see another of the Harem that had the potential to rise as he did. The interest with which he stared at the Emperor… It was unparalleled. And that ole Tommy Boy returned that fascination so early on was promising. She was not certain if he had what it would take, or even if the boy deserved to rise and stand by the side of their Husband that she had come to know as a dear friend. But she could hope.

Her musing is interrupted by a soft question from His Majesty, his voice keeping sedate to match the atmosphere around them. “How fares your health, my dear Consort?”

Abigail’s grip on his arm tightened briefly. She could not lie to him, she knew this, but she attempted to anyway. “It fares well enough, my dear Husband.”

The cutting glare she received told her that her bluff had been caught, but His Majesty did not press. For this she was grateful.

They both knew the cause. The Emperor did not need his ability to sense lies from his skill in legilimency to know that any claim of good health she might make would be false.

She sighed and murmured a more truthful reply. “Ain’t no worse ‘an yesterday.”

He nodded shortly, “And you will inform me immediately, should that change?”

He phrased it as a question but it came out more like the command that it was. She sighed again and rested her head against his upper arm, his form far too tall for her to reach his shoulder. It took considerable effort not to pout at the next words, “If I don’t, then His Majesty can be assured that Ellie will.”

His smile that she could see from her periphery was teasing but his words were soft. “No need to pout about the one that cares for you so. I am glad you have a maid so diligent and faithful.”

She couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on her face at the mention of her Ellie. “My darlin’ dear,” she mumbled, her words growing warm with affection. She dared not speak more, however, as even in the gardens of her own Palace- the walls had ears. No one could ever know how deep her affections truly were for Ellie. Her darling guard dog. Her darling wolf.

They continued along the path, turning a corner toward her favorite part of her gardens, heralded by the gentle buzzing that grew louder the closer they approached.

The apiary.

Wildflowers bloomed in chaotic bunches around the towering hives, slates of removable combs dripping with honey and busy, busy fairy-bees. Magic hummed around them just as loud as the bees themselves, thrumming with the invisible dance of creation and life that her bees constantly weaved. They were fuzzy little things that were a brilliant and had a bioluminescence similar to lightning bugs. They looked like little glowing cotton balls that danced in the wind. They also infused their honey with a special type of magic that caused the product to have a beautiful iridescent sheen.

This, these hives, were her greatest asset. The honey she produced here was invaluable for its magical properties. This specific apiary produced a floral wildflower honey that was especially good for healing salves and medicinal potions. It was rumored that using magical wildflower honey of the caliber she produced could rival the strength of dittany.

She had another bee yard not far away that was dominated by trees rather than flowers, and those hives produced a rarer sourwood blossom honey from her delicately imported sourwood trees. They’d just finished their yearly bloom, however, and she’d already harvested all she could for the year from those hives. That honey had a flavor closer to caramel and was well sought after for use in magical cosmetics, honey mead, and rituals for protection and fertility. It was also an ingredient that enhanced the effects of wolf’sbane.

She tugged at the Emperor’s arm in a bid to let her go. Reluctantly, the supporting grip on her arm loosened and allowed her to stand amongst the hives.

She took a deep breath, letting the scent of honey and wildflowers envelop her lungs. She toed off her shoes and let her bare feet sink into the soft grass, relishing in the connection to the soft earth beneath her. She held her arms out wide as she stepped further into the protected yard, the magic thrumming around the air able to hold up her shaking limbs. Her precious bees flew around her, bumping into her fingers and nudging against her arms in cold little bursts. If one didn’t know any better it would look like she was being covered in snowflakes.

The Emperor sidled up behind her, ready to catch her if she fell but allowing her some freedom. She grinned up at him, letting one of those rare moments of joy shine through on her face. He looked down upon her, and though he smiled, it was small and barely reached his eyes.

One day she hoped he might smile in earnest at someone, might feel the sort of joy welling within her right now, might take actual pleasure in the company of another that wasn’t one of the children. Even if she wasn’t around to see it.

“Wouldja like some honey, dear Husband?” she asked, her drawl coming out further in her more relaxed state. She couldn’t help it, surrounded by the comforting magic of the Green as she was. She dug her toes a little further into the dirt, uncaring now for manners or propriety.

The Emperor nodded in acquiescence, a soft sort of humor in his gaze at her antics.

From her yellow sleeves she pulled her hemlock wand, the wood of it stained a honey color that nearly matched her robes. Wordlessly she flicked her wand and levitated down a slice of honeycomb, dripping with the shining golden delicacy still.

It was as she was reaching out to let him take a bite of the honeycomb that shouting and general commotion pierced the hard won peace of her garden.

“Your Majesty!” cried a desperately panting footman, escorted by one of the Knights that usually stood guard at the front of her Palace. “Your Grace!”

Abigail let the honeycomb drop from her hand at the shock of the intrusion. The magic around her crawled to a standstill, sensing the prickling fear that was catching inside her and she was forced to lean back into his arms. He caught her readily before he motioned Ellie forward from her position hovering just outside the apiary. He handed her off smoothly as they all turned to the lowly bowed footman and waited to hear just what dire news he’d brought.

“It’s- It’s Noble Consort Black-Slytherin, Your M-majesty,” he spoke through strained breathing, still trying to gain control of the air in his lungs. “She’s- she’s… miscarried.”

The word struck like a death knell in the summery golden shimmer of her gardens, ripping apart the peace there like no other. Miscarried. It was an unfortunately common word among the Harem, but no less devastating each time.

She watched as the Emperor stilled, a flicker of restless magic licking at the air around him like flames- snapping at her bees in barely restrained fury. She let a pulse of her own magic seep into the ground, calling them all back their hives and letting silence hang heavy and oppressive in their absence.

His face was down-turned and cast in unnatural shadow. Losing one of his children was always difficult for him. He cared for very little in this world- this world that he ruled over- but his children were among the few things he did value. It was a covetous and possessive type of love, but it was love all the same. She wanted to reach out and comfort him, though she knew it would not be welcomed.

“Do you have any further information?” she pressed instead, knowing that he would want all the details- though it might look impertinent of her to be the one demanding answers. She trusted that he would know she was asking in good faith rather than in some intent to gather intel maliciously.

The footman looked nervously between the two of them before His Majesty gave a curt nod, face still set in stone.

“The Noble Consort is- distraught,” the footman began hesitantly. “But she has already been healed of all physical ails.”

“And the babe?” asked the Emperor, voice quiet but made from steel. Cold and unyielding.

“The- the Healers aren’t certain, Your M-majesty,” the footman said haltingly, panic on his young face clear. “Her Grace’s last check with the Healers had been fine- But when she saw them today- The child had gone still within her womb. The heart had ceased to beat.”

Shadows around the garden grew longer, darker. The air around them had somehow gone stale. Her bees had gone disturbingly silent in their hives. The pleasant wind that had been blowing across the yard had ceased completely, though the temperature plummeted all the same. Abigail could see her breath misting in front of her face- but instead of the white of a frosty day, the fog that rolled from her lips was a deep and bloody red. She could see the same from Ellie, who held her up from behind and from the poor trembling footman.

The Emperor, however, looked to be enshrouded by black and shadowy flame.

“Was there anything else?” He snapped, eyes flaring a brighter red- like the color of the Cruciatus curse- both promising only pain.

“It was-,” the poor little footman stammered. “Th-the babe was a boy.”

Abigail held in a whimper at the news. She knew, and knew well, how he despised the continuous miscarriages that plagued the Harem from stupid concubines that would rather kill their own daughters than suffer not having sons- thinking, falsely, that only a son would be valued. Only a son would bring them glory. But, in truth, a suspicious miscarriage only brought the wrath of the Emperor and an unwillingness on his part to ever take them to bed again.

Sister Bellatrix, however, was different. Though there had been a period where she’d insisted that she would ‘provide His Majesty with the perfect heir, the perfect son’, she’d gotten less and less vocal about it as time had gone by. As she had more and more trouble conceiving and carrying to term. Had had such trouble getting through her first pregnancy. But whatever faults she had- and she had many- she truly loved her daughter. To hear of the miscarriage of another girl would not have been surprising, though still tragic. While many of the others in the Harem would not have wanted Bellatrix to gain more power through another child period, they would not have seen a daughter as a threat.

A son, on the other hand.

The death of a potential son invited the thought of sabotage.

Had it been natural? Sister Bellatrix was not in the greatest of reproductive health and the pregnancy had been risky from the very beginning. Or had it been deliberate? Some jealous bitch taking out their insecurities on the life of a child.

There were many unsavory things Abigail was willing to do for her spot in the harem, and many more for the safety of her children. But she refused to mess with the other children. Ever since the incident with Sister Solange and the death of Princess Egeria…

Others in the Harem, however, she knew to have no such scruples.

It felt, suddenly, as if there was a void where her Husband had been. There one moment, bathed in unholy flame as he had been, and gone the next. He was still there, visibly, but it was as if everything else about him physically had vanished. The shadows were gone. The oppressive air of his mounting fury was gone. The chill and the red mist that had slowly been creeping around the edges of the yard like a deadly miasma were gone.

The Emperor had folded all of his magic and all of his rage neatly down within himself and she pitied whoever would be there to witness its unleashing.

Chapter Text

September 20^th 1998, Hall of Gathering

It was a Sunday.

It had been a little over a week since the news of Noble Consort Bellatrix Black-Slytherin’s tragic miscarriage had broken over the Citadel. All those in residence had been set to confinement for the week, to respectfully mourn the loss of what would have been another Royal Heir.

The official week of mourning had ended just the day before, on Saturday. But now, now they were being called for an impromptu harem meeting, though no one had been told why.

Whispers threaded themselves throughout the grand and echoing hall in soft hisses, hidden under the rustling of gowns and the snap of fans being opened to hide those that were daring to gossip. Nearly everyone had arrived, the only ones missing being the Official Spouses. Bellatrix was always late, and with the circumstances it was assumed she wouldn’t be showing up at all. But Abigail and Amycus were usually never this late. Then again, they weren’t usually called to meet on Sundays either.

Harry fidgeted with his sleeve where he sat at his usual seat. His robes today were simple and subdued in color. A silky blue peasant blouse and a simple grey-blue corset with equally dull blue trousers. He wore the same overrobe he’d worn for Prince Kassios’ birthday party, the one Lavender had spent so long stitching forget-me-nots onto the hem of. Except now the fabric had been spelled to darken in color so that the pretty pale blue it had been was now softened to something dark and smoky.

All of this was to show respect for the loss that the Noble Consort had suffered. Despite the mandatory week of confinement being over, it was considered discourteous to wear anything but mourning colors for another week yet. That was the shortest period of time one could do so after a harem member as highly ranked as Bellatrix lost a child in the womb. Unless you wanted to make a statement, sow discord, and risk a reprimand from the Emperor. Both Bettina and Sophie had confirmed this and even Lavender’s budding gossip network had corroborated.

Harry looked around to see who was following with decorum and who had decided to ignore it. Who was willing to risk Bellatrix’s ire when she returned, wanted to make a statement against her, or who simply didn’t care about her misfortune enough to be gracious in her absence.

Harry didn’t particularly care for Bellatrix, in fact she kind of scared him. She was powerful and she seemed a little mad. But he’d never make light of her situation, not such a tragedy as losing a child. He was honestly disgusted with the concubines that were. Even if they didn’t want to respect the Noble Consort, they could at least show respect for the life that was lost. Though, with the number of miscarriages Bellatrix had been rumored to suffer in the past- perhaps they just weren’t phased anymore. Or perhaps they’d had a hand in the tragedy themselves.

He looked to the Concubines and noticed that Primary Concubine Grimaldi looked appropriately subdued and solemn. She kept her limbs tucked close and her hands clutched together in her lap. She didn’t look up at anyone, ignoring the room at large and looking uncomfortable. Secondary Concubine Lestrange’s robes weren’t the sage grey-green of Grimaldi’s but nor were they ostentatiously bright. His lax posture and grinning face conveyed his opinion well enough, though, as he spoke in daring whispers with Zabini. Fourth Concubine Zabini was similarly devil-may-care in appearance, the deep emerald green of her robes could be considered darkened but nearly enough to be thought of as ‘mourning robes’. Not with that plunging neckline at least. Third Concubine Crouch sat between them, looking both grave and uncomfortable. His robes, at least, were an appropriately soft olive.

Primary and Secondary Nobles Selwyn and McCormack were both in steel grey-blue robes and while neither looked particularly mournful, they both sat quietly in their seats- ignoring each other and the room at large. Sister Fleur was up from her seat and speaking to Attendant Dearborn in low tones, her whispers joining the rest in the cacophony around the Hall. Her robes were a light blue, intricately done, and just barely on the wrong side of vibrant. She was skirting propriety and it made Harry uncomfortable. Did she not care? Not even to pretend?

Most of the Attendants, both First and Second Class, were dressed appropriately solemnly. Their lower rank likely keeping them in line no matter their feelings on the situation. None of them could afford to risk the wrath of the Noble Consort or her closer allies. Cedric’s purple robes were an ashen shade that matched the color of his complexion, fear plain on his face as he clutched the fabric over his stomach in trembling fists. Harry wanted to reach out to the man, but dared not leave his seat. The man’s birthday had passed in isolation, the new joy of his pregnancy turned into fear.

Attendant Snyde, who sat just behind Concubine Zabini, was also joining in on the gossip. Though she attempted to look appropriately somber in her plum colored robes, her expression- that she only periodically hid behind her fan- was that of glee. What a relief it must be for her to find that the Noble Consort, despite being an ally, would not gain more power through the birth of an heir- a long awaited male heir at that.

What a truly wicked place to be, Harry thought. Where even your allies would dance on your grave if given half the chance.

The doors opened and silence descended upon the Hall, heads turning to see who would join them next.

Secondary Consort Amycus Carrow was announced with the usual fanfare and the flutter of bright, lemon yellow robes. His face was set in a scowl but his head was held high as he strutted down the middle aisle towards his seat in the front. The only thing that saved him from being punished for being outright disrespectful was the sheer outerrobe of dark brown he wore that tamed the eye-catching yellow of his robes into some semblance of a proper mourning color. It did not, however, stop the statement being made. He did not care to mourn. Did not care to show the Noble Consort any of the respect that was due to her because of her position. That he would sooner risk the Emperor’s ire than show Bellatrix any sort of courtesy.

Whispers started up again with greater fervor. Harry chanced a look back over his left shoulder, making eye contact first with Ginny and then with Luna behind him. None of them spoke but they exchanged grim faces none the less. Everyone within the Harem was dangerous, yes, but Carrow’s boldness spoke to a confidence that could prove more dangerous than the unknown knife in the shadows. Those operating in secrecy would be limited in scope and hesitant to strike unless they had a solid alibi and definitive means to their ends. Carrow seemed willing to bludgeon anyone in his path and do so happily and openly.

Was he the cause of the miscarriage? He had been the one with the most to lose if the Noble Consort’s pregnancy had succeeded. Abigail was safe with her three children and her continued favor, but Carrow would have only fallen further behind in power. Had he attempted to even the playing field? If he hadn’t been directly responsible, then had he had a hand in it? Had he collaborated with someone else?

Harry didn’t know. He might never know. All he could do at the moment was continue to tread carefully.

Sister Abigail was the last to arrive. Her robes were simple and modest- done in a flaxen, desaturated sort of yellow. She walked slowly down the steps, clutching her maid Ellie’s arm in one hand and a thick scroll of parchment in the other. She seemed solemn, her down-turned face cast in shadow as she made her way to the front.

There was another flurry of murmurs at her arrival, though the noise seemed to dim as she descended towards the center. Fleur discreetly flitted her way back into her chair and the others settled themselves more properly in their seats.

A footman rushed down one of the side aisles to reach the front before the Primary Consort. He hefted up her usual chair and placed it down in front if the dais that Bellatrix’s throne sat, still empty. It seemed more and more likely that Sister Abigail, as the second in command, would be the one leading the emergency meeting today.

She briefly settled into the chair before raising her wand to her throat and casting a quiet sonorus charm.

“I’m sure you’re all wondering what we are doing here on a Sunday, so soon after confinement has been lifted,” her voice was soft as it echoed around the chamber. “And I, and His Majesty,” here she lifted the scroll, “will answer any questions you may have. First, however, I would like to make it through the several announcements here without interruption.”

No one spoke.

She nodded decisively before unrolling the scroll with little fanfare. She did not immediately read from it, however, and instead addressed the rest of the room again. Harry wondered if that meant she already knew what was written on it. Had she already met with His Majesty to discuss its contents?

“Tomorrow is Mabon,” she said. “The Autumnal Equinox. Day and night will be in equal balance and the Wheel of the Year will turn towards its end. Usually this Sabbat is celebrated with a joyous feast among all those that reside within the Citadel and even those of great importance from the Capitol, where offerings of wine and apples are given to whichever Gods you wish to honor.”

There was a restlessness among the harem, shifting in seats and a disgruntled sort of air to the room.

“I say this in benefit to our newest members,” here she nods her head in Harry’s direction, though she does not make eye contact to single him out, for which he is grateful. “As the celebration will not be the same this year, in deference to the recent tragedy that has befallen us.”

Sister Abigail pauses here, letting the murmuring that had burst to life around the Hall to swell and then peter out on its own.

“Tragedy,” he hears Fleur scoff quietly during the ruckus, hiding her mouth behind her fan. “As eef anyone expected Black to carry to term. She ‘as not succeeded in years. Eet is no tragedy for ze rest of us.”

Harry didn’t know if he was meant to overhear that or not, but either way it made him frown. He understood that Bellatrix Black was not a well-liked woman. That many in the harem feared her, and he’d seen first hand why during his first meeting. But to be so callous? So transparently callous?

Was Bellatrix’s power really so shaky that so many would risk her ire? Was it waning so greatly as to warrant so many being unafraid of disrespecting the leader of the harem? So blatantly?

“And so,” Abigail’s voice rang out again, silencing the last of the whispers with a commanding tone. “A dinner will be held in the Hall of Worship, tomorrow, on the cusp of sunset. You are to continue to wear your mourning clothes,” and here she leveled a disapproving stare to each concubine that was obviously out of dress-code, “but you are allowed to wear accents in the colors of autumn to celebrate the approaching season. His Majesty would like to emphasize that they are to be subtle and any concubine attempting to be- ostentatious- will be punished as He sees fit. It is likely to be a harsher than normal punishment considering we will be dining among guests tomorrow. Many from the Inner Circle will be in attendance as well as their families. Tread with caution.”

A shudder ran through the Hall at that, many looking displeased or cowed- likely rethinking whatever they had planned for the night. It would not do to try and entice the Emperor with finery, only to be rebuked by the very same man for the stunt. Harry wondered how many of them would still try anyway.

“All will be required to bring an appropriate offering and a ceremonial lantern with a single yellow candle,” Sister Abigail continued on. “A small ritual will be held after dinner in the Courtyard of Pantheons and all who are attending the meal are encouraged to participate. We will be asking Mother Magic to select our Oak and Holly Kings once more. And His Majesty would like to remind us that the choice is in Her hands alone and that there will be no disputing the outcomes. He also urges all of us to carry ourselves with the highest degree of comportment at all times for this celebration.”

She let the threat sit heavy in the hall as she paused. She also gave a moment to allow the rest of the Hall to fall into whispers again and digest the information given before it. She did not give them long, however, before she was gently clearing her throat to gain their attention once more.

“Now,” she said, “as I am sure all of you are wondering- Noble Consort Bellatrix Black-Slytherin will be residing within her palace until such a time as she feels recovered from her recent tribulations.”

Here there was a smattering of weak calls of condolence for the woman, though none of them sounded sincere.

“She is excused from any and all obligations until further notice. I, as the next highest ranking spouse, will be leading morning meetings until her return. In the meantime, any issues usually discussed with the Noble Consort shall be brought to me instead.”

She looked out across the Hall. “Are there any questions?”

There was a general grumbling but no one spoke up. It was a wonder to see how differently the morning meetings could go when someone more- competent? generally sane?- was in charge.

“Good,” she said with a small nod. “His Majesty would also like to remind us all that next coming Thursday will be October the first which-”

There was an uproar of barely restrained whispers. Everyone knew what the first meant. Any changes in ranking that might have occurred during the past month were to be announced on the first morning meeting of the following month. There had not been any changes announced at the beginning of September, as was usual right after a Selection, and the meeting itself had been rushed due to the concubines with children of age being anxious to see them off to Hogwarts. He’d been told that the Emperor rarely announced any changes in September regardless because of this. And that if a change in rank had been earned, the announcement was usually saved for October’s meeting.

There was a flurry of looks exchanged, many of them directed at Cedric- whether filled with bitter jealousy or sly speculation. A pregnancy was often cause for promotion after all.

“Yes, yes,” Sister Abigail interrupted, “we’re all very excited for it. Now,” she tapped the scroll and lifted it fully in front of her, “on the business.”

What follows is a list of reminders on various housekeeping issues they’re to take note of, various things happening in court the Emperor wants them to stay appraised of, and various other odds and ends that are helpful to know. You know, when they actually get told to the harem at large. Is this really how the morning meetings are supposed to go? Was this their intended purpose? To actually manage the harem instead of being a raging gossip session and a scare tactic used by the head spouse to reign over them like a tyrant?

It wasn’t long before they were dismissed and told to prepare for tomorrow’s banquet. Harry sighed as he and Ginny made their way out of the Hall and down toward his carriage. There was work to be done and Lavender would not be pleased to know she only had one night to create appropriate robes for Mabon for him.

*

September 21 ^st 1998, Hall of Worship

Darkness was beginning to fall, the edge of sunset ringing the horizon and the sky turning brilliant shades of pink and dusky purple.

Harry was decidedly nervous.

Not only would this be the first Sabbat he was to attend at the Citadel but it was also the first time he would be mingling at large with members of His Majesty’s Inner Circle. His only saving grace was that both Cousin Severus and Uncle Alphard would be in attendance. He had exchanged several letters with them over the past month, careful to censor his words where they would be read over by guards before being sent out. Not there was anything that could get him in trouble in his letters, but more to make sure he didn’t rant about his fellow concubines or write anything embarrassing about himself. Guards could be bribed, after all, and secrets leaked.

It wasn’t his correspondence with his family that worried him, however. It was that he had yet to garner a response from any of his friends. He knew that letters between himself and his family would fly faster with the privilege that came with their positions within the Inner Circle, but he didn’t think the other letters would take quite this long in comparison.

Irregardless of the lack of response he continued to send them out; updating Hermione, Neville, and Blaise of everything that was safe to mention. He’d even sent out Hermione’s birthday present ahead of time, hoping it would reach her by the nineteenth. But there had been no letter back to tell him what she’d thought of it, or that she’d even received it. There had been no letters at all, saying anything.

It just made something deep within him ache, something insecure and small like the door of his cupboard, when all he received was continued silence in response. Was it truly taking that long for the letters to be screened? Or- was there just nothing to screen? Had his friends finally had enough of him? Had they found their excuse to wash their hands of him now that he’d become ensconced in the Citadel?

It did not matter how often he told himself that that was not the case. The uncertainty ate away at him. He didn’t speak of it to Ginny or Lavender either, something within him flinching at the thought. They could not leave him, bound to contracts as they were when they entered the Capitol, but they could grow to resent him. To finally see him as the freak that he was.

Ginny’s hand dropped down on his shoulder, startling him.

“I don’t know what thoughts you’re thinking,” she murmured into his ear as they made their way up the steps of the Hall of Worship. “But you’re thinking them too hard.”

“What?” he hissed, barely able to concentrate on her words with his nerves still twisting his stomach into knots.

Ginny sighed as subtly as she could where he could still hear her. “I can see your brain melting out of your ears, Harry. And if you don’t stop twisting the sleeves of your robes, Lavender will kill us both.”

Harry huffed a small laugh and dropped his hands from the navy blue cotton of his robes. Lavender had been in a wild frenzy when he’d informed her that he needed appropriate robes for the Mabon banquet.

“I have mourning robes,” she’d said, a wild look in her eye. “And I have Sabbat robes. I do not have both!”

But despite all her grumbling, she’d still pulled off another lovely set for Harry to wear. And ruin apparently, if he couldn’t keep his nervous fiddling under control.

The design was simple and elegant for it. His top was like a suit jacket with tails that flowed out instead of tapering and where there would normally be a waistcoat was a soft grey-blue velvet corset. The ensemble was trimmed in wine-red lace and burnt orange ribbon, both accents appropriate for Autumnal Equinox festivities without being too audacious. He was also excited to bring out some of the ancestral Potter jewelry. A simpler set at least; a small gold and garnet broach to top his red lace cravat, and two sets of gold and garnet studs in his ears. Nothing eye catching, but still fashionable.

His trousers were tight-fitted as Lavender so often liked to make them, even if Harry felt they hugged his thighs just a bit too close. His cloak was lightweight chiffon in two layers, a lighter dusty blue underneath and a darker navy on top. It was draped so it would catch the breeze and keep him cool in the waning heat of summer, but also had runes stitched into the seams to keep him warm once the nighttime chill set in. Lastly, he had the brown leather boots with the navy ribbons for laces that he’d worn to Prince Kassios’s party- which felt like a lifetime ago.

He wondered how the boy was faring. He hadn’t been able to see him again after the party, not before he got shipped out to Hogwarts at least. Maybe Harry could ask Abigail if it would be okay to send the boy a letter? If he had the opportunity to ask her tonight, he would, he decided. And if not tonight, supposing she decided to attend Cedric’s belated birthday party on Friday, he’d try to ask her then.

The Hall of Worship loomed above them as they approached the top of the staircase. It was all white marble and towering columns, everything bathed in shadow with the setting of the sun. Harry wasn’t an expert in architecture but it looked Roman or Greek inspired? In any case it was- staggeringly tall and the columns were thick and imposing. Wider than the length of his arms stretched out on either side of himself.

It made him feel impossibly small.

The Hall was built less like the castles the palaces were modeled after, and more like a giant pavilion. He could see a multitude of people milling about in the wide spread of space. There were more columns within, thinner but no less frighteningly tall- and they filled a bit of the area to make it seem less… empty. Statues of different Gods and Goddesses were spread throughout as well, grouped by pantheon as far as Harry could tell. Each statue had an altar underneath them and small fire pits floating around them as well, for burning offerings likely. Some altars were lavishly decorated with cloth and ribbon and leaves and flowers and candles and sparkling gems. Some had incense burning around them; a breeze blowing between the columns preventing the area from becoming hazy with smoke. Other altars were completely bare or minimally adorned.

Some gathered by the statues, throwing things into the fire or kneeling down to pray. Others had started to mingle in loose groups, the low murmur of their conversations drifting around the echoing marble. High floating fairylights illuminated the top of the Hall in a soft yellow glow while the flickering of hearth flames cast strange shadows on the ground where the fairylights didn’t quite reach.

Everything was cast in purple as dusk settled in with a graceful flourish.

Harry and Ginny passed the guards stationed around the perimeter without any fuss. There was no footman at the door to shout his name into the masses this time, so his entrance went largely unnoticed. Harry sighed a breath of relief at that, glad to avoid a large mass of judgmental eyes snapping to his direction.

They drifted through the shadows of the columns, avoiding any others just yet. He wanted to pay tribute to the Potter family patron goddess before he truly stepped into the wolf den. He would also try finding the patron god of the Weasley family if he could; he knew Ginny had brought a small offering for the Sabbat and wanted to give her the opportunity to throw it into the fires while the action could still go unnoticed. While a maid, especially a Lord/ Lady’s maid, was in service to their master, the maid was considered a vassal and any family patron gods of the master would then become the patron god or goddess of the maid- relinquishing all ties to any other gods they may have worshiped beforehand. At least until the maid was released from service.

Which, frankly, Harry thought was bollocks.

It had taken him quite awhile to actually connect with the Potter patron goddess, having been raised by magic-averse muggles would do that, but once he had? It was a feeling like nothing else. It felt like family, felt like home. Like the warmest of Grandmother Effie’s hugs, like the high that always rushed through Harry when he’d earned Cousin Severus’s praise. It also felt like the blanketed silence of a fresh snowfall, the stinging cold that came with holding ice in your hands, the feeling of yarn passing over your fingers. It was a special connection that Harry cherished. And if someone told him he could no longer have it? It was bollocks. Spouses marrying into a family weren’t even required to give up the worship of their birth family’s patron. So why should a maid?

Harry’s eyes caught on the Weasley family patron first. Nuada, among the row of Tuatha Dé Danann. A towering statue of an imposing man, even accented with the silver hand that he was known to have. Harry took note of its position but kept searching for the statue of his own goddess so he could plan a route that didn’t seem obvious.

And there she was, hidden among the minor gods of the Greek pantheon and with the other Moirai. The other Fates. Clotho, the youngest of three sisters. She who spun the thread of human life. She who had guided the Potter family for centuries. She who had welcomed Harry into her patronage with open arms.

Luckily for both him and Ginny they would first have to pass the Tuatha Dé Danann in order to reach the Greeks.

He walked leisurely, occasionally stopping to examine the odd statue so that it would not look suspicious when he stopped for a short time in front of Nuada’s altar. Ginny, walking behind him like a shadow, held the lantern they would be using later and a honeycrisp apple up her sleeve. Harry himself clutched a granny-smith that he would be offering into the fire.

They passed by the altar, the simple decorations of cloth and candle covered in dust from age and neglect. Ginny threw her offering in with a slick flick of her wrist. Even Harry, standing right next to her, could barely tell she’d moved. He should introduce her to muggle card tricks, she’d likely be fantastic at them. He gave her a moment more to whisper any prayers she wished to give before moving on in that same sedate pace.

As he walked on, threading through the columns and then the Roman pantheon, he came across a sight that made him stop full on. Sister Abigail was sitting on a small stone bench in front of her patron god’s statue, staring up at what looked like a giant stone tree, the leaves of which were from a different species on every branch. The altar was adorned with rich green cloth and an abundance of fresh flowers and fallen leaves, yellow candles of every size were burning along the edges and made the rainbow of gems beneath them sparkle in the flickering light. It was the most prominent statue in the row of gods, none of which Harry recognized, and the only decorated altar.

Each statue had a little plaque on the pedestal that held them, naming the deity in question. He looked to the names for each one he passed as he moved closer to the center where Sister Abigail sat.

Under the relaxed figure of a man, tipping his hat in such a way that it covered his face, was simply the name Jack. Beside him was a young man that looked in the middle of playing on a violin made of gold and the name Johnny underneath. Behind the both of them was another towering figure, large antlers sprouting from a head that looked vaguely deer-like. It was hard to look at, as if, despite being made of stone, it was a thing of shadows and too many legs with too many joints and too many hooves. It made Harry want to recoil. The plaque underneath it held many names, the most prominent ones being The Black Stag, The Uncast Shadow, and The Betrayer.

He tore his gaze away from the unnerving eyes of the statue and walked a little faster in Sister Abigail’s direction. He would not disturb her if she was praying or simply wished to be left alone, but if she didn’t mind his company then he’d like to at least say hello. It was considered terribly rude to invite oneself to an offering ceremony without permission after all.

As he got closer, Ellie, who’d had a hand resting on her mistress’s shoulder, looked up at their approach. Harry stopped and tilted his head in greeting before nudging a chin in Abigail’s direction, hoping Ellie would understand his question.

He was lucky, as she seemed to get it, smiling slightly as she tapped a finger of the hand on the consort’s shoulder to gain her attention.

“Broth’r Harry,” Sister Abigail greeted sweetly when she turned and noticed him hovering. “Ya wanna see The Green?” she asked, patting the stone beside her.

“The Green?” he questioned, settling down beside her.

She nodded serenely, humming softly as her gaze returned to the statue. She seemed… different. A little out of it. Almost like Luna in the aftermath of a strong Vision, when her Seer magic overloaded her system so thoroughly that she was left dazed and loopy for hours. Is that what it was? Was the woman spell-drunk- near high off of the feeling of particularly strong, pure magic?

She waved a hand toward the statue. “The Green is where my magic, my family’s magic, originates. We’re- uh, intrinsically,” she had a little trouble with the word, but got it out fine enough that Harry understood, “part a the land. The Green is ‘xactly what you’d think it is. Forces a nature. All that,” she waved a hand again, “good an’ bad.”

“Wow,” he said, genuine. Ever since he’d understood that he was magic and not just a freak, after the librarian Amelia had explained it to him, after his Grandmother had taken him in, he’d been fascinated with it all. Where some might only care about the basics, or a certain specialized branch, Harry was enthralled with it all. Every aspect. His only regret was that Hermione wasn’t there to hear this with him. (And he ignored how that thought stung.)

“The Green ain’t just a tree either,” she said, gazing up into the varied boughs that hung above their heads. Harry could spot a branch of holly in one spot and a branch of yew in the other, all the leaves mixing in a riot of textures. “’S just a stand in. The Green is the trees of the forest and the land they grow from. ‘S the rain that falls over it an’ the sun that shines on it.”

“The Green is magic,” she said, voice breathy and awed around the edges. “Pure ‘n simple. Makes things grow. Makes it live. But just like magic,” she turned to him, expression serious and solemn, “it can be dark too. The Green don’t just grow, it kills too. It’s the decay that rots the trees. The storms that flood the land. The fire that burns it all down.”

“An this is the ‘portant part, Brother,” she says, leaning forward, gaze solid on him. “It’s all the same type a beautiful.”

“Uh,” he replied, unsure what he was supposed to say or do in this situation. This was very much not what he’d expected when he sat down.

And then she grinned at him and reached over to ruffle his hair in such a familiar and irreverent manner it left him speechless.

“Don’ let my silly ramblin’ keep you now,” she dismissed with a wave. “You got your own gods ta worship.”

“Yeah,” he said weakly. He moved to get up, trying to move slow enough that it didn’t look like he was fleeing, when he remembered. “Er, actually, before I go, I do have a question for you. If that’s alright, Sister?”

“Sure,” she said gamely. “Shoot.”

“Erm,” he fumbled. “Would it be alright, or okay with you, if I- er, that is-” he tried not to cringe with his stuttering. There was absolutely no reason for this. Lavender would have his head if she could hear him now. “Can I send Prince Kassios letters?” he finally managed to blurt out.

She blinked at him, face blank, and it made him nervous. Had he offended her? Where had her good mood suddenly gone? Was he going to get in trouble for asking?! Would he be put to death for asking something so bold?!

Slowly she lifted her hands and placed them both on his cheeks, cupping his face with freezing palms.

“If you don’t send that boy letters,” she intoned slowly. “I might have to kill ya.”

Harry sputtered. “What?”

“Ya heard me,” she said, patting his cheek before letting go and face splitting into a grin again. “Ya got my permission if that’s what you were after. But you better folla through. Kid might try ta sneak outta Hogwarts just to pester us both if ya don’t.”

And Harry couldn’t help himself, he snorted an ugly little laugh and shook his head. “Yeah, I’ll follow through.”

She nodded, nearly tipping over with the force of it- she was definitely spell-drunk. “Good.”

“Now get,” she said, making a shooing motion while Ellie subtly rolled her eyes behind her as she steadied her mistress’s tipsy swaying. “G’on. Shoo.”

“Alright, alright,” he murmured as he left, finally standing to make his way to the destination he’d originally planned.

When he and Ginny arrived, however, they were not the only ones to be standing near the Fates. There, in all his glory, stood the Emperor, gazing contemplatively in front of the middle sister of the Moirai. The altar in front of her was lavish with black and green velvet cloth, an abundance of bone white candles, and a cascade of glittering diamonds, spinel, and jade. Dried helichrysum flowers were also liberally spread across the surface.

He tore his eyes from the altar and stopped short, breath catching in his lungs with a pleasant burn- like he was drowning. All around him was the sea. A raging dance of waves crashing upon a rocky shore. Salt stinging the air and the chill of the water plunging him into the depths. Dragging him down, down, down to the black fathoms under the end of the world.

That was what the magic that enveloped the Emperor felt like, heady and endless , as vast the oceans and as unforgiving as the sea. And Harry would gladly dive to the very bottom, letting the pressure of the waves take him under and trap his body in the cold forever. Harry wanted to breath e it all in and drown.

Hesitantly, unsure if he was allowed to approach, Harry walked just a bit closer, finally moving to stand in front of the familiar image of Clotho in the midst of spinning the thread of Fate between her hands. He felt warm at the sight of her again. He looked to the bare altar before her and decided that this would not do. He pulled his wand and got to work, weaving cloth of pure magic to place down first. It was white and gauzy, seeming ephemeral as it settled on the stone. Next he summoned candles from his stock at the palace; all in red and gold and black and lit them with the tip of his wand. He summoned white lace agate, obsidian, and carnelian, placing them under the burning light of the floating hearths. Lastly he summoned flowers; reaching his magic out as far as he could in order to cut them from the gardens of Potter Manor. He summoned spider lilies, red chrysanthemums, and orange marigolds.

Happy with his work he reached out and dropped his apple into the fires blazing around his family’s long-standing patron goddess.

He bowed his head in some semblance of prayer, thoughts refusing to shape around actual words and instead sending formless wishes and vague impressions, hoping she would understand him anyway. He’d like to think she’d known him long enough to do so. The glow of warmth blooming in the depths of his magical core was answer enough however. It made his heart pound in his chest as the feeling of ice flooded his veins at the same time the heat in his core spread to the ends of his limbs. This is why Sister Abigail had been spell-drunk. The magic from the gods was always so potent on Sabbat days. He felt light-headed with the power and released a long, deep breath like he was coming down from an adrenaline high- strung out and shaky.

“My dearest Noble,” a smooth voice sounded from beside him, causing him to startle. When had the Emperor gotten so close and why hadn’t he noticed?! “You pray to the Fates?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, forcing the words out from his suddenly dry throat. “Clotho is the Potter’s patron.”

“Truly?” the Emperor said, brow raised and expression politely curious. If Harry dared to look closely enough (and he dared) he would notice a hint of something deeper within those wine-dark eyes, something possessive and sharp and hungry.

He hummed absently, the rumbling sound of it making Harry tremble ever so slightly, voice detached as he said, “Lachesis is the patron of my most recent ancestors, the Gaunts. It is she who I have decided to give offerings to, as we are uncertain which god oversaw the original Slytherin line.”

“Oh,” Harry breathed. He didn’t know what it meant, if it had any meaning at all, to have patron goddesses so close to each other. But Harry still felt it was- intimate- somehow. And it made something deep within him stretch its jaws wide open, hungry and fanged, on the verge of devouring something whole.

“Yes,” the Emperor said quietly, drawing out the susurant end of the word like he was savoring it. “She who measures the thread of life.” And there was something about his expression now, something partly cruel and partly possessive. “She who determines the destiny of all. She who has ultimate control of fate.”

Though he kept a calm facade, there was something unnervingly fervent in the Emperor’s words. It made him nervous and so, without thinking, he spoke, “Until Atropos cuts the thread.”

The air around them grew heavy. Heavier. The lines of the Emperor’s body drew tense. His gaze cut first to Harry, who shivered at the cold sharpness of the look, then moved to the statue of Atropos- looming beside them and wielding a pair of scissors like a weapon.

Harry could not place what emotion was behind His Majesty’s eyes, churning like a raging sea, but he knew it was not a pleasant one. It kept him frozen in place for what felt like eternity.

“I suppose that is true,” he said after a moment. “For most.”

“Your Majesty,” a silky voice interrupted as it approached them.

And Harry had never been more glad for an interruption, even if it meant having to acknowledge one of the more hostile concubines. It was far preferable to being pinned in place like he had been by that malevolent red gaze, like a serpent eyeing its next meal. There was a reason His Majesty was called the Dark Emperor, Cruel Conqueror of Nations, and it gave Harry cold chills to witness.

“Noble Potter,” the voice said again after a pause, just on the edge of impolite but still hiding it well.

Harry finally willed his body to turn and face the intruder, recognizing Secondary Concubine Rabastian Lestrange donned in fine emerald robes, edged with brilliant stitching of gold. Harry wanted to raise a brow at the other’s robes but kept his face as blank as possible. They were tight-fitted and cut in a suggestive manner. The only thing keeping the ensemble even remotely appropriate was the shawl of dark green lace covering it all.

Harry gave a half-bow of appropriate depth. Not a full bow, as Lestrange wasn’t an official spouse, but more than an acknowledging nod like Harry was given in return, as Lestrange was the higher ranking of the two.

“Concubine Lestrange,” the Emperor greeted, just as cold as before. Harry noticed the disdain in his expression while looking over Lestrange’s robes, though He made no comment. “What brings you to the pantheon of the Greeks? Should you not still be giving your offering to Brân Fendigaidd near the others of the Mabinogion?”

There was an unspoken rule during holidays, Harry knew from Bettina informing him, that those among the statues of the deities were generally not to be disturbed from their worship unless given permission. It is why he had subtly asked Ellie to approach before speaking with Sister Abigail and why Lestrange’s sudden intrusion seemed so unmannerly. If one wished to speak with another of the Court, one had to wait until they were congregating with others in the outskirts of the pavilion.

“I have given Bendigeidfran his tithe of wine, Your Majesty,” Lestrange replied. If he had been disconcerted by the less than warm welcome he had received, he did not show it. “I noticed that Noble Potter had approached you and merely wished to join the conversation, if you would permit me, Your Majesty.”

“I see,” the Emperor replied simply, staring down at Lestrange with that cold and beautiful face, set like the stone of the statues around them but more perfect in its craftsmanship. “Very well, my Concubine, let us reconvene among the others,” he said with a gesture towards the others milling about the outskirts. “I have finished with my offering. Have you, my Noble?” he asked of Harry.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” he demurred, though he wished he could say otherwise. It seemed to give him a strange twisting feeling in his gut whenever he had to watch the Emperor interact so closely with the other concubines. In any other he might call it possessiveness. But that could not be because he knew full well that the Emperor was not his alone and never would be. It was just that Harry was so used to jealously hoarding anything that he considered his own because of how often he’d have things snatched away as a child. He was just going to have to learn how to share, no matter how much he didn’t like it.

A glint of cruel amusement flickered over the Emperor’s features, though Harry didn’t know the cause, before he turned and offered an arm to Lestrange- who plastered himself to His Majesty’s side in a nearly indecent manner. Harry followed reluctantly behind. He had to remind himself that Lestrange was offered the arm because he was the higher ranked concubine and to snub him in favor of Harry would have caused a small scandal. And that wasn’t something Harry wanted to deal with right now. No matter how much the ugly jealously curling around his ribs like burning tar said otherwise. He also had to remind himself that he had no reason to believe the Emperor would want to favor Harry over Lestrange. He had not earned the man’s attention, done nothing special to draw his interest.

“I see you,” the Emperor had whispered so sweetly into his ear, voice rich and deep with an edge of mocking that had slid along Harry’s soul like a knife. “Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry?”

They reached a group of Inner Circle members that had congregated near the steps that led out of the pavilion, likely waiting for the start of the banquet to be announced. Harry didn’t immediately recognize any of the people they’d joined, so until he was introduced- if he would be introduced at all- he looked out into the grassy field at the end of the steps.

It was a large meadow ringing with towering trees and stone walls. It was set up with several tables already decorated with fancy centerpieces and lacy white tablecloths. They were all arranged around a large, unlit bonfire that would likely burn big and bright for the entire night. He watched several palace maids flutter about; placing down plates and silverware and hanging gauzy drapes of white fabric adorned with fall leaves and fairylights on poles around the perimeter of the glade. It was simple, understated, but it looked gorgeous nonetheless.

In his distraction, Harry didn’t notice the Emperor detaching himself from Lestrange and approaching Harry until there was the ghost of fingers being run down his back and making him shiver at the contact. It felt electrifying. The sharp sting of powerful magic dancing up his spine in the wake of His Majesty’s touch, branding him in one long line fiery sensation.

Harry’s entire body was trembling as the Emperor leaned in close and spoke lowly in his ear, “You are distracted, my darling Noble, when you should be basking in the magic of the night.” The Emperor clamped a hand down onto Harry’s shoulder and lifted his index finger to caress the side of Harry’s neck in the most indecent touch he had ever experienced. Harry felt flushed all over and positively filthy. Suddenly, he found it hard to breathe. “I notice that Severus has just arrived and is giving his offering to Achlys. I also notice Alphard and his husband walking toward him, no doubt to bother the man insensate.”

Harry might have laughed, in any other circumstance. As it were, Harry was the one being driven insensate. He could think of nothing but the heavy hand upon his shoulder, the elegant finger still running up and down the side of his neck in a tender brush that made all his hair stand on end and sent trembling shocks and shivers down his very soul. He could think of nothing but that deep voice murmuring so lowly against his ear, those lips so close to the shell of it they nearly touched when the man spoke. Harry might swear he could feel the shape of them, how they were curved into a smirk.

“Go and join them, dear Noble,” the Emperor breathed into Harry’s neck before finally pulling away, releasing Harry from his spell. “However,” he said darkly, “I have still yet to have a meeting with you about your runework,” he moved to better look Harry in the eye, “and I grow impatient for a moment to do so. If you are so hesitant to set a time at your convenience, I will do so at mine.”

It was a threat, though not a heavy one. But Harry still felt a shudder run through him all the same. It was not necessarily from fear. Nonetheless, he nodded and gave the Emperor a gracious bow as he began to take his leave. “Thank you, Your Majesty. Blessed Mabon to you.”

“Blessed Mabon,” the Emperor replied, mostly turning back towards the absolute silence that had fallen over the others before throwing over his shoulder a quiet, “… Harry.”

And had it not been for Ginny’s steadying hand at his elbow, Harry would have face-planted into the shiny marble floor. Even with her assistance he still managed to stumble about like he’d had an entire bottle of wine. Merlin.

Uncle Alphard’s face lit up unapologetically when he spotted Harry approaching. Severus’s demeanor didn’t outwardly change very much, but Harry has known him long enough to tell that there was just the slightest softening of his eyes.

Neither of them move in any way that would attract attention, though he knew Uncle Alfie was likely restraining himself from sweeping Harry up into a hug, as he had grown want to do whenever they had seen each other before Harry had left for the Selection. He had delighted in taking advantage of Harry’s smaller stature, much to Harry’s chagrin. Though he hadn’t minded it half as much as he’d protested. Alphard’s husband Quincy stood serenely at the man’s side, ever the picture of easy grace.

Harry admired Quincy, though he hadn’t had the opportunity to meet him much. He was a tall man, thin and lithe and beautiful. His hazel eyes were always hooded, making him look perpetually sleepy, and his hair was a long cascade of silver curls. His hair was never out of place and his clothes pristine. Always so calm and so poised, no matter how much Uncle Alfie would restlessly pace around him like a caged jungle cat. Or drape himself across Quincy in a lazy heap. Or swat at something nearby in a bid to cause mischief. In fact, Quincy had once told Harry, smile fond and bemused, that being married to Uncle Alphard was like being married to a very large housecat.

Harry settled among them, back in the familiar territory of the Greek pantheon, their section of the minor death deities being devoid of any others. Achlys’ altar was just as sparsely decorated as Clotho’s had been before Harry got to it, though he saw that Cousin Severus had likely left it so, more to his own exacting and spartan tastes, than for any other reason.

“My dear baby nephew,” Alphard greeted with a deep smile, his voice low so as not to attract undue attention. He did, however end up wrapping Harry in a gentle hug despite the usual rules of decorum demanding a respectable distance between concubines of the Emperor’s harem and anyone not an immediate family member. Harry didn’t care, though, not when he was being cradled with such a warmth he had not felt since Effie’s passing, the tender quality threatening to bring tears to his eyes.

“Alfie,” Quincy reprimanded halfheartedly, making no move to actually pull them apart. “You know we have to keep a distance. None of us are considered immediate family.”

“Tosh,” Alphard grumbled into Harry’s hair. “We’re still family. And you know I have a good amount of leeway with my position.”

Alphard sighed a bit and stepped away, Harry had to fight the urge to cling tighter as he was released.

“I would not dare to sabotage Harry’s place here if I was not certain of my ability to bend the rules.”

Quincy’s face was unbearably fond when he hooked their arms together, “Of course, dear. I trust your judgment.”

Severus made a face like he wanted to vomit from where he stood behind them and Harry had to press a hand to his mouth to stop the laughter that wanted to burst forth. He was feeling rather giddy from everything that had just been happening, or perhaps he was starting to feel just a bit spell-drunk.

“If the two of you are done simpering at each other like sentimental fools, perhaps we could get on with our evening?” Severus snapped, though there wasn’t much heat behind the words, more like long-suffering resignation. “Personally, I would enjoy speaking with my young cousin without having to shout over the volume of your flirting,” he spat out the last word like it personally offended him. It very well may have, all things considered.

“Dear Severus,” Alphard gasped, playing at being offended even as a smile tugged at his lips. “You wound me. You wound my husband. You wound us both! You could not possibly be implying that Quincy and I should flirt at any other volume than the loudest possible! It would diminish our love,” he said, really putting in the effort. Harry was most impressed by the fact that he continued on this tirade with a completely straight face and measured volume. If anyone were to look over at their group, they would see the facade of the calm and stately repartee they were meant to be having. “If we were ever to declare ourselves at any measure less than; raucously, obstreperously, and audaciously!”

Severus responded in a deadpan drawl, “You are certainly raucous, Lord Black, I will give you that. We are all exceedingly lucky I was able to cast a muffliato in time for your little… speech.”

At this Harry could no longer keep his laughter in, knowing he was safe from being overheard now. He kept his fan in front of his face to hide his smile and tried his hardest to keep his back straight and steady. Alphard seemingly doubling down on his affronted charade was not helping.

Quincy sighed, interrupting their sniping. “The two of you argue more like a married couple than we do, Alfie.”

Severus could not seem to hold back a sneer, “Those are dueling words, Shafiq-Black.”

“I beg your pardon, Prince!” Alphard exclaimed. “You will not be dueling my husband! You do not deserve the honor!”

“Then beg.”

There commenced yet more squabbling between the two. They pretended to hate it, but Harry could see the amusement shining in each other their eyes. Quincy seemed to come to the same conclusion as he stood above them and simply watched in fond exasperation.

A tan hand, the tone almost matching his own, landed on his shoulder and he looked up at Quincy where the man had silently released himself from Alphard’s arm to let the other two continue to bicker in peace. The other smiled down warmly at him. “How are you, Harry? Are you well in the confines of the Citadel? And your friends? I regret that I cannot directly address Miss Weasley behind you, even under the safety of the muffliato. We have pushed the boundaries of propriety far enough tonight.”

“I am well, Uncle Quincy,” Harry replied. And he meant it- for the most part. So long as he stayed unmurdered, he’d consider himself as doing well in the Harem. It also warmed him to hear Quincy concern himself with Harry’s friends, despite the ‘lower’ position they were now in. “Ginny is suffering, having to follow me around all the time. I’m sure she would be happy to tell you how agonizing it is herself if she had the chance.”

Quincy chuckled softly as he darted a look to Ginny’s face behind Harry, which he had no doubt was twisted in exaggerated misery. “Lavender is taking a well earned spa-day after pulling together my robes at the last minute.”

“And yet, they are still excellent quality,” Quincy complimented. “I hope she gains her deserved rest.”

“Me too,” Harry said with a small smile. “I have yet to see Luna tonight, but no doubt she’s wandering the place looking for some strange creature I can never know is real or not.”

“They’re all real, Harry,” Luna piped up beside him, making him startle and bite down a swear. Harry really needed to work on his spatial awareness if he was going to continue being snuck up on like this. “I would never lie about the existence of a creature. It’s just all in the finding of them.”

“Luna, darling,” Quincy greeted her warmly, not at all surprised by her presence- the traitor. “How is my favorite cousin?”

Harry wasn’t sure where the Shafiq and the Lovegood family were connected, but considering how tangled the trees of British pureblood families had been not too long ago, it could be anywhere from the roots to the highest bough. He wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest if he were told he was also their cousin somewhere along the line.

Luna smiled serenely, her demeanor just a slightly more dazed copy of Quincy’s own. “I haven’t been bothered by a single hinkypunk, cousin Quincy! Though I am quite disappointed that I haven’t spotted any basabasa that are rumored to live here.”

Quincy blinked. “Don’t they only live in Shikoku? Are there even any bamboo groves for them to roost in?”

Harry was baffled. Because of course Quincy would just know what creature Luna was talking about. And even in enough detail to know about its roosting habits and native habitat at that, despite the fact that Harry had never previously heard of a ‘basabasa’ in his life. He considered, however, that this was why both Luna and Quincy were the Magizoology experts and not him.

Luna was about to reply when suddenly they were rejoined by Severus and Alphard, who seemed to have only just noticed their newest conversation partner.

“Lovegood,” Severus greeted, voice flat but not cold like it usually was. He was being polite for Harry’s sake, which he thought was sweet. “How on earth did you manage to wriggle your way into my muffliato? Without my noticing? The muffliato is a spell of my own invention, it should not be something you can just circumvent.”

Luna blinked up at Severus with big round eyes, face innocent as she said, “I knocked.”

Harry could tell that his cousin was barely restraining the urge to set something on fire. It was an emotion that Harry had elicited in Severus often, so he was well acquainted with the signs.

“You knocked,” he repeated.

Luna nodded gamely, “I knocked, and someone else answered.”

Before Severus could boil over like a teapot, Harry decided to change the subject with the first thought that came to mind. “Is it alright for the both of you to be away from Hogwarts on a Monday? Only, I don’t remember either of you leaving the castle to attend parties like these before so-”

“We came to see you, Harry,” Alphard said with a saddened smile, though Harry didn’t know what he had to be sorry about. “Neither Severus nor I had wished to attend before now, preferring private celebrations within the walls of Hogwarts. But seeing as this is one of the few opportunities we have to see you face-to-face, we left the Lady in the capable hands of Minerva.”

“Oh,” Harry said, oddly touched, even though he should have expected it. Severus and Alphard and even Quincy had repeatedly told him that they were his family, and that nothing would change that. It just seemed that it was taking a bit of time for that to truly sink in, Harry always afraid something would snatch them away.

He cleared his throat uncomfortably, wishing to get away from the thought. “So you wouldn’t happen to know how the rest of this night is going to go, then, would you? Everyone I’ve asked has been a bit vague.”

Alphard nods, twisting his ornamental cane in his hands for something to do. “We start with the personal offerings to any familial patron deities,” he nods to the statues around them, “as we have all already done, I presume?” Harry and Luna both nod and Severus barely refrains from rolling his eyes though the expression still conveys itself well enough. “Then we are all called to the banquet outside, though it’s a great deal smaller of a set up than usual, due to the circumstances. Then we all gather around for the Mabon Sabbat ritual, after which the bonfire is lit and we dance until the sun rises.”

“In the ritual, we thank Mother Magic for her gift,” Severus adds in, “and then we have a ceremonial trade of rule over the Seasons from the Oak King to the Holly King, ushering in the colder months and waning sunlight. Much like the smaller ceremony we host at Hogwarts.”

Harry nods- this part at least, was familiar, “Who plays the Oak King? And the Holly King?”

“Mother Magic herself chooses,” Alphard says solemnly, and Harry raises his eyes in response. Usually the ceremony was a scripted thing with actors chosen beforehand. “It’s been a long time since I’ve attended a Citadel Sabbat, but they are things of wonder-,” and there’s a hint of awe in his voice. “Sparks of pure magic dance over the chosen, and we know them to truly embody the spirit of the two kings, as they are chosen by Hecate directly.”

“Oh,” Harry says, a burst of excitement igniting within him. He wanted to taste the raw and potent power that would no doubt be swimming around the ceremony. He wondered if it would be as strong and heady as the wine the would be offering to the bonfire tonight.

“She always chooses His Majesty as the Holly King,” Alphard says with a grin. “But the Oak King has varied through the years. It has jumped from Noble Consort Black to Consort Walker and back, mostly, but has also been known to hop to others of lower ranking. The choice is always within the Harem, however. That much has not changed.”

“The Noble Consort,” Severus intones, voice tellingly devoid of emotion to hide his disdain. “Was the consistent pick for many years. She used to… vaunt about how it meant it was fate that she should climb the ranks and was destined to be the only one by His Majesty’s side. That the moment the Emperor was satisfied with the amount of heirs he had begotten, he would claim her as Empress and dissolve the rest of the Harem.”

“I imagine she was mighty displeased the first time the role was given to Consort Walker then?” Quincy asked. He wasn’t in the Inner Circle and therefore wasn’t as privy to these things as his husband. Usually he didn’t bother to ask, Harry knew, as the man was usually bored by gossip and politics.

“Furious,” Alphard confirmed. “But she was at least somewhat appeased when it moved to Concubine Grimaldi one year. And Noble Selwyn another. As she was at least assured that Consort Walker would not be solely usurping her. She’s gotten quite a bit more fervent, however, in proving how she is the one that is ‘destined’.”

Here he leveled an exceedingly serious look Harry’s way. “This is only one reason why you must tread with caution, nephew. Please take heed.”

“Yes, Uncle,” he said, as a promise. He knew what dangers lurked beneath, even if he was only slowly uncovering the details.

“The rest,” his uncle continues more flippantly, “is all dancing until everyone passes out.”

Harry grimaced. No matter how much he’d been taught, shown the steps over and over again by Lavender and Ginny and Hermione and even Blaise, Harry just was not good at dancing. He could move like a trained dancer- in the sky , on a broom, but the moment he was on solid ground? On his own two feet? He was an uncoordinated disaster. He wondered if he could beg off early. Knowing his luck, probably not.

“It’ll be fun, Harry,” Luna chimed in happily, smiling with the hint of something knowing in her eyes as she looked up at him.

“Sure, Luna,” he replied with a grimace. “Fun.”

She just giggled at him and started swaying on the spot, gaze growing distant. Likely searching the marble columns for one of her apparently very real creatures. Or just lost in a daydream as she was just as wont to do.

Harry sighed, shaking the prospect of terrible dancing and stepping on other people’s shoes out of his head. “What’s been going on on the outside?” he asked. “The Prophet only covers celebrity gossip for the most part, unless something really big happens. Anything we should know?”

There’s a bit of uncomfortable silence as Severus and Alphard share a heavy look between them. There’s something serious going on there. Something they’re extremely reluctant to divulge. Alphard catches his eye and shakes his head. Severus is the one to answer, though, with a noncommittal, “nothing of great note.” Which meant something major was going on but they didn’t want to talk about it in the open. The thought felt like a cold stone sinking to the bottom of his stomach, chilling him with dread.

“We’ll owl you if anything happens,” Quincy reassured. “You can trust that.”

Harry nodded, hoping he might get an actual answer somewhere in their letters.

“Speaking of owls,” Severus drawled, tone lighter but carrying annoyance now. “You would do well to remember to answer yours once in a while. I did not think you so arrogant as to throw away the other connections you went through so much trouble to make while in Hogwarts, simply because you are living a life of captive luxury now. It would also do you well to answer your friends if you wish to see them continue living. If Granger attempts to break into my office, despite her no longer attending Hogwarts, yet once more in order to harass me on when you will be owling her back- I will not be responsible for whatever may happen next.”

It took a moment for Harry to parse through the heavy accent of Severus’s disdain to understand what he’d been told. “Owling her back ?” he question ed after a moment. “I haven’t received any letters from her to respond to! Not from her or Neville or Blaise. The only letters I’ve received so far have been from you and Uncle Alfie,” he trie d to keep the petulance and overarching hurt from his tone, but is unaware if he succeeded.

Severus furrowed his brows just slightly. “I assure you, bratling, they have all sent plenty of owls with plenty of letters. And each and every one of your groupies has accosted me at one time or another to question your continued existence. Even Zabini deigned to show. You should be digging through heaps of correspondence.”

Harry’s hurt was now replaced with confusion. If they hadn’t abandoned him, hadn’t left him for better pastures, then why wasn’t he getting any of their owls? Was his post being tampered with? Was there really that bad of a back-log for the Knights to scan through? It didn’t make any sense.

Luna hummed beside him. “I haven’t been getting any letters either, Harry, don’t worry. I just thought the nargles were snatching them away. They enjoy the taste of ink sometimes, you know.”

Before anyone had a chance to respond, though Harry had no idea what he might have said to that, a dulcet chime rang throughout the pavilion and then a dark voice that sent shivers to his core followed like an echo.

“Esteemed guests,” the Emperor called, “it is time we all convene in the ceremonial clearing for the banquet and following celebration. The dark of the night has truly fallen upon us, and I ask that you all find your seats now.”

Uncle Alphard risks another quick hug, Harry already missing the warmth of it before he can even notice it had been there at all, and trotted off with Quincy on his arm- who waved goodbye and wished him well as they departed for the clearing. Severus stayed a moment longer, watching Harry with flinty obsidian eyes, the depths of which Harry could never begin to know. Eventually, his cousin nodded and took his leave with a muttered, “Take care, little cousin.”

It was just Harry, Luna, and Ginny left in the still active bubble of the muffliato. Luna’s maid standing discontentedly just outside the barrier. Luna looked back and dared to give Ginny a brilliant smile before hooking her arm through Harry’s and pulling him toward the steps to the clearing without a word.

There are more tables in the meadow than there had been when Harry had first been gazing out into the bustling assemblage. There were also several raised platforms on which some of the tables perched. One grand table with three seats stood the highest, then two on either side with several more, and then the last tables on any sort of surface were on either side of those- sitting barely a foot above the rest. The top table was decorated in black lace, for the Emperor and his official spouses. The others were covered in cloth that matched the color of the rank that was to be seated there. And the rest of the tables that touched the grass itself were covered in red and orange. All were stationed in a circle around a grand fire-pit, yet unlit, with the settings and chairs all placed to face it.

Luna walked him to the designated Noble’s table, giving him a jaunty wave before twirling down the steps to the Second-Class Attendant’s table on the platform just below his. He settled into the fourth chair at the very end of the table and waited for the rest of the guests to be seated in silence. Brother Viktor joined him to one side but the heights of the platforms made it uncomfortable to speak, and the other concubine seemed not to be in the mood for chatter in any case. Sister Fleur flounced up to her seat and Harry could almost hear Ginny grumbling from behind him about how- French she was apparently being.

To soften her image, however, was the toddler swaddled in her arms, blinking sleepily at the world. Harry was not good at guessing the ages of babies, but he might say she was two or three from her size. She had a gorgeous full head of silvery-blonde curls and big, deep blue eyes, framed by ridiculously long lashes. He held himself back from cooing at how adorable she was, not wanting to disturb her or Sister Fleur as the babe blinked back into slumber.

Harry paid closer attention now to the other concubines and noticed a few of them holding onto babies and toddlers of their own or fussing over children set up in seats beside them. Sister Abigail holding onto the hand of a pouting little girl, just a few years shy of Hogwarts age. Consort Carrow keeping a tight grip on a silently crying little girl that looked no older than Sister Abigail’s. It was with a great deal of concern that he noticed that the girl was only silently crying because Carrow had placed a silencing spell on her. But he did not have time to examine this further as more people flooded the clearing. Concubine Grimaldi was corralling two bouncing children of differing ages across the way, and though she looked harried she was still smiling at them both softly.

A good many of the other concubines had children with them as well. There were an additional two seats for older toddlers at the Noble table alone, with both the Primary and Secondary Nobles holding a younger child in their lap as well. Harry felt oddly out of place, being the only one of the Nobles without a babe in his arms.

It made something unnameable within him ache. Absently, he rubbed at his chest to ease the pain, knowing it would do nothing but still needing the contact. He could not envy his fellow harem members. Not yet. It would be a long time still before he had the chance to sate the deep hunger gnawing away at his bones.

Not yet.

It was hard to see the Emperor fully from this angle but Harry was still able to tell when he stood by the oppressive silence that fell on the crowd at the action.

“My guests,” he said, voice echoing in the glade now. Harry cannot tell if he was using magic to enhance it or if he was just that magnetic when he spoke. “It is time now to feast in thanks for the gifts that Mother Magic has bestowed upon us. Eat and know that your fruit was grown by the helping hand of Hecate. Eat and know that your meat was reared with the care of Ereshkigal. Eat and know that every vegetable, tuber, and green, was harvested by the will of The Goddess of All. So, my friends, my family, eat and give thanks to the Lady of the Cosmic Soul. Eat and know that She Who Breathed Life Into the World continues to watch over us all. To gift us with such a world full of magic.”

With a wave of a bone-white wand, that Harry can just barely see, and a rain of golden sparks, a feast appears on their empty plates and Harry is so warmly reminded of the opening feast of Hogwarts that he fears he might cry.

“Let us eat!”

The meal goes by in a blur after that. Though he is aware that the food he eats is delicious, he could not tell you what it was. He knows that the wine on his tongue is akin to ambrosia, but he could not tell you when he had even taken a sip. He knows there are many dishes with apples, many more cooked with wine. Dishes with hearty potatoes and light and fragrant soups. He cannot distinguish a single bite from another.

Fleur attempted to speak with him multiple times, but she was either interrupted by the cranky whines of her child, who she introduced as Princess Apolline, or the serving of yet another dish. It did not help that Harry gave only minimal responses, barely having the ability to process the world around him, let alone carry a conversation. He had still yet to shake the spiteful comments she had made yesterday at the meeting from his mind. She eventually gave up in favor of soothing the Princess with gentle lullabies in between bites.

The only thing Harry was distinctly aware of was each moment Ginny’s wand snapped over the food he was eating, lighting up to test for poisons and other malicious potions. He knew the other concubines’ maids were all doing the same, but it still felt odd to him. Wrong. Especially because he knew Ginny would not be able to join in on the feast. That she would have to wait hours and hours more before she could get scraps from the kitchen of the Noble palace. It was incredibly unfair, but he didn’t know how he could change it.

Not yet.

Eventaully, the meal came to a close, Harry still so deep in his thoughts he barely noticed but not for the apple-treacle tart he’d been pushing around with his fork disappearing from his plate.

“Gather, everyone,” the Emperor commanded, calling them all to stand in front of the towering stack of logs and twigs in the middle of the clearing. The stars were clear and abundant in the sky above their heads, as the night had truly come to rest in the boughs of the trees around them.

The Emperor raised a ceremonial athame, the light of the many candles around them glinting off the sharp blade. He pulled it across his palm, droplets of blood pooling underneath. Harry could not look away from the sight of it. Something dark within him twisted. Wished to lick every last drop clean from His Majesty’s unblemished skin, in some twisted form of worship. Harry wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and pray at the altar of His divinity. To take within him that sacred blood.

Harry pushed down those feelings. Down deep into the very center of the storm that was his psyche. He could not afford such thoughts. Not now. Not here.

Not yet.

“Mother Magic,” the Emperor cried into the velvet night. “We ask that you now show your favor. Show us who is to be your Holly King, the one to take the throne of the Season and usher us into another dark winter. Show us who is to see us safely to the birth of the New Year. He who is draped in ice and snow. He who will keep us sheltered and guide us all until the Oak King may take back the throne. Lady of the Cosmic Soul, show us your chosen!”

The blood that had been congealing on the blade of the athame rose into the air and began to glow, undulating in the dark much like a dark aurora borealis. Blue and red and brilliant. It circled all those gathered, eliciting sharp gasps as it moved over their heads. In the end, it flowed back to where it had began, slowly wrapping the Emperor in shades of eerie blue and red. The man stood proud, chin lifted and, sharp, sharp teeth on display as he grinned at them- the potency of the Mother’s power likely singing in his veins like a holy chorus.

“I accept my role as the Holly King!”

And then that glowing ring of blood sprouted branches and placed itself above the Emperor’s head, covering his glittering crown in a grand wreath of Holly.

The Emperor switched hands and sliced the athame down his other palm, Harry once again needing to suppress the urge to lick his lips in pure want. Pure need.

“Mother Magic,” the Emperor cried out again, voice thick with rapture. “We ask that you show your favor. Show us who is to be your Oak King, the one to cede the throne to the coming Season and retreat into the fading warmth until they are to rise again. Show us who is tp graciously bow to the winter chill. He who is wrapped in sun and growth. He who will wait with patience until it is time to bask in the warmth once more when the throne is under him again. Lady of the Cosmic Soul, show us your chosen!”

The blood rose once again and Harry could almost feel it on the back of his teeth. It began to move about like a serpent, the glow of it now yellow and red and just as brilliant. It circled them all, this time at a slower pace, as if savoring the choice. For an agonizing moment it hovered over Cedric, before moving on. It seemed not to spare even a glance to Carrow, for which Harry could see him grinding his teeth in barely withheld fury. It nudged at Luna’s cheek affectionately before swiftly moving on. It circled Grimaldi once, twice, before shooting off. Then it hovered over Harry.

And it continued to hover. It started to wrap around his limbs in an electrifying caress. It felt like being hit with lightning. It felt like the sharpest dive on his broom. It felt like summer thunder and rolling storms. It felt like burning heat and thorny roses.

Fear pierced his heart. He couldn’t be chosen. He already had such a large target on his back. He had barely any standing within the ranks and too much attention on him. He would fly high for but a moment before plummeting back down in a fiery blaze he would not survive. He was not worth of such attention, just a little freak trying to play at something bigger than he was. He was barely managing to keep his head above water as it were. He couldn’t have yet another mark against him. This could not happen now.

Not yet.

Harry could swear he felt a sad sort of mourning reverberate through his bones, flashing brief sensations of disappointment and understanding so like the way Hogwarts used to commune with him that it brought tears to the back of his eyes for the third time that night.

Mother Magic moved on.

Harry had no right to feel so bereft in her absence when she’d been the one to respect his wishes. And yet.

She moved to hover over Sister Abigail who seemed to accept her presence with a melancholic sort of smile, lifting a hand to play with the ribbons of blood.

“I accept my role as the Oak King,” she said, so softly. Oak leaves wound themselves around her hair and she closed her eyes to better bask in the magic settling into her veins.

She and the Emperor moved to face each other before the dead wood of the open hearth, sickeningly reminiscent of a hand-fasting ceremony, the thought of which made jealously move like sludge around his heart.

“Do you, the Oak King,” rose the voice of the Emperor once more, “cede your time on the throne of Seasons?”

“I do,” spoke the voice of the Consort.

“Do you, the Oak King,” he intoned, “promise to graciously wait the winter out until it is time again for you to rise?”

“I do,” she answered.

“Do you, the Holly King,” rang the voice of the Consort, “accept your place on the throne of Seasons?”

“I do,” answered the Emperor.

“Do you, the Holly King,” the Consort intoned, “promise to safely lead the people into the arms of the New Year until it is time for you to cede the throne?”

“I do,” he answered.

They connected arms, hands grasping elbows, and the crowns of Holly and Oak unraveled from their heads and wound around their arms instead, pulling tight for a moment before releasing them in a shower of sparks that lit up the night like a meteor shower.

The landed on the tower of wood and sizzled on the kindling before the pit roared to life in a blaze of flames.

Everyone cheered in a sudden cacophony of sound. Even Harry, in the exhilaration of the moment, whooped with joy. No one was of sound mind enough to watch for proper behavior, everyone giving up the usual strict rules of decorum for euphoria.

A clap rang above the noise, the clamor of people shouting and the deafening crackle of the fire, and the Emperor’s voice rose above even all of that.

“Now, guests,” he said, his voice now more obviously amplified to be heard, “dance and be merry! Give back to Mother Magic what she has given to us! Give her your joy! Your joie de vivre! Give her your strength! Your sinew and bone!”

He swept a hand through the air and food once more appeared on the tables; apples and grapes of every kind, and bottles and bottles of wine and cider.

“Give her your offerings!”

He then gestured to the lanterns all those attending had been required to bring, either sitting on the seats they had vacated or being held by the maids that still held vigil behind their respective master’s seat.

“Give her light and let your lanterns float your thanks to the Lady of the Cosmic Soul up into the ether, until the sun rises on the first of the waning days of winter.”

From there the cheering resumed in a thunderous roar, feet stomping and music beginning to drift into the glade from an unseen ghostly band. The lanterns were lit and then lifted into the sky where they would not come down until the dawn. Bottles of cider and wine were passed around to enjoy and then tip into the fire in a great shower of sparks. The children were all corralled to the sidelines, either falling asleep in the arms of maids or gathering on blankets that had been piled up on the soft grass for them to watch the adults make fools of themselves in peace.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of burning, burning, burning. In joy, in envy, in fear, and in a deep and insatiable want . Harry could not count the amount of times he caught the eyes of the Emperor from across the blaze, the flames between them flickering madly in the reflection of those blood-red eyes. Each time, however, it made him tremble. Made him desperate with some untameable need, in depths the likes of which he’d never felt before. But they only pass each other by, ever pulled away by another dance, another drink. They did not touch or speak again that night, and yet Harry had felt his every glance like a lightning strike to his soul and heard his every desire like a rising tide within his blood.

When Harry collapsed into bed that morning, breathing sleep with the rising of sun, all he could dream of were those red, red eyes.

Chapter Text

September 24^th 1998, Hogwarts Castle

Alphard swirled the firewhiskey in his tumbler absently. He’d poured the drink what felt like hours ago but had yet to take a sip. He didn’t really want it in the first place, he’d just needed something to distract him and going through the motions of preparing the glass had been just that. But now he was sat in his overly uncomfortable Headmaster’s chair in his office, thinking too many thoughts at once and not drinking the alcohol he hadn’t wanted in the first place.

The floo roared to life but he didn’t look up to see who had walked through. There were only so many people allowed through his floo at such an hour and he didn’t feel like tearing his gaze away from the sparking liquid he continued to swirl. Watching the glow of the candles bounce off the glass and refract into fascinating shards of light.

A slim arm clad in elegant robes slid around his shoulders as a sweet smelling body settled onto the arm of his chair. Quincy had joined him then, for which Alphard felt his body relax just the slightest.

“Dearest husband,” cooed Quincy’s smooth voice. “Your brain is not meant to be running this late at night. There is only so much that the little thing can handle.”

“I should throw this firewhiskey in your face for that,” he murmured. No one ever believed him when Alphard said that his husband had a mean sense of humor, the notion so completely incongruous with their image of the even-tempered man, and so he had to suffer alone with Quincy’s bullying.

He felt Quincy’s smile in the kiss he placed on Alphard’s cheek with his next comment, “You would never do something so uncouth, dearest. And aside from that, I know very well that you like it when I’m mean to you.”

Alphard downed a generous swallow of his drink rather than reply, because he couldn’t refute it. He hated all the pandering sycophants that flattered him with empty compliments. He didn’t know how Tom could stand it all, and he didn’t get near as much hollow adulation as the Emperor. Quincy’s teasing always felt like a breath of fresh air.

His husband sighed and arranged himself on the chair so that he was more firmly cuddled against Alphard’s side. He relaxed into Quincy’s arms, welcoming the comfort after the long few days he’d had since Mabon.

Long fingers with sharp nails ran through his hair, scratching pleasantly at his scalp and Alphard melted.

“What has you so distressed, dearest?” Quincy asked, voice low and serious now. He let the question hang in the air for a moment before continuing. “Is it about Harry? About Mabon?”

Alphard grimaced. In essence, yes. It was about Harry. It was about Mabon. It was about the blasted prophecy that continued to bounce around his head and cloud his thoughts with doubt. Tom may have already been assured in its outcome but Alphard wasn’t so sure. And he couldn’t even speak about it properly because of the vows he’d taken to keep it secret. He couldn’t even mention its existence. And yet it was all he concentrate on.

The prophecy dictated a decision would be made. That Harry would either cause the Empire to rise to new glory or- or bring about its downfall. And while Alphard would prefer one option over the other, he couldn’t help but feel he was prepared to choose whichever option was the most beneficial for Harry in the end. Which was a blasphemy of the highest degree should that mean the fall of the Empire. It was just so Merlin-damned hard to know.

Ultimately, Alphard didn’t think either option would be best for Harry. One would mean being devoured by Tom. He’d seen the looks they’d shared over the bonfire during the Mabon celebrations. How the Emperor of the World had stared down his little nephew like a predator staring down prey. He’d known Tom since Hogwarts, knew how the man could chew people up and spit them out without hesitation. How the kind of obsession Tom was starting to build in Harry would only burn the boy up in a fiery blaze. How many concubines had Tom already dispassionately watch die at the hands of the others? How many previously valued Council members executed on a whim once they were no longer useful? Alphard had seen Tom accomplish great things. But he had also seen Tom do despicable things, terrible things. The man was a great Emperor. Terrible, but great. And Alphard truly feared what would become of his sweet nephew should he continue down the road that destiny had set before him.

The other option would, however, was also untenable. It would likely see Harry used as a weapon and then killed for his efforts. Just like his parents. Just like Sirius. Likely at the hands of Dumbledore who also had no thought for people past what he thought was for the ‘greater good’. He had liked to parade around as a kind man, a benevolent grandfatherly figure, the man that would guide them into a better world away from Tom’s so-called tyranny. But Alphard knew better. Knew him for the hypocrite he’d always been. He would no sooner care for Harry’s well-being than Tom, not if it was in the name of victory. And he would lie about it the entire time. Alphard had never liked the man as a teacher, let alone as someone with any more authority over others.

No, both Tom and Dumbledore were likely to play a cold game of chess against the other while using the people of the world as disposable pawns. And while Alphard wouldn’t usually care overly much, most had chosen to place themselves on the board- himself included- after all, and he knew full well that the sort of war of attrition they’d entered would eventually demand greater and greater sacrifice- what he wasn’t amenable to was Harry’s growing role as a formidable queen. And while plenty powerful and valuable to the game, the queen could still be readily sacrificed in the name of winning the match.

And losing Harry, losing yet another member of his family, was something Alphard just didn’t think he could live through.

“Talk to me, dearest,” Quincy murmured into his ear and Alphard released a gushing sigh in response.

“I’m worried about Harry,” he replied softly. “I’m worried something will go wrong like it did with Regulus.”

“You’re always worried about Harry,” Quincy retorted. “And Harry’s not as vulnerable as Regulus was, their situations are not the same.”

“Regulus defected because of Sirius’s prodding,” he bit back, frustrated but trying his hardest to contain it. “And now he’s on the loose and only Merlin knows what his goals are.”

“Exactly,” his husband said primly, and with a nudge of his elbow. “Only Merlin knows what his goals are. You do not. He could be after anything.”

Quincy rearranged himself again until he was nearly straddling Alphard’s lap and suddenly it became much harder to concentrate on his argument. “And,” Quincy continued with a knowing smirk, “Regulus went along with Sirius because he’d felt neglected by the family and was desperate for his big brother’s attention when it was offered. Harry has plenty of support and love and has no history with Sirius. Harry is also far too enamored with His Majesty to make any sort of move against him without good reason.”

And Alphard sighed again and leaned back into his chair, even as Quincy wrapped his arms around his neck in a loose embrace.

“You’re worried about that as well,” Quincy stated.

He chuckled weakly, “Astute as always, my dearest raven.”

His dear, lovely husband just rolled his eyes. “I may not know His Majesty as well as you, having been a third year when your cohort graduated, but I have been married to you long enough, and known Him through you long enough. And, personally, I think that boy is going to take the Emperor by storm.”

That startled a laugh out of Alphard. “You really think so?”

“Dearest,” Quincy drawled, “you were the one to witness his Hogwarts years. No one short of the Emperor of the world himself would be able to handle him. Anyone else would break from the insanity of the shit he gets up to.”

And that had Alphard really laughing, both at the truth of his husband’s statement and his tendency to curse only when it made something funnier. And the man always had impeccable timing.

“I suppose you’re right,” he conceded with a sigh.

“I’m always right,” Quincy said smugly. “You just never listen.”

*

September 25 ^th 1998, Towards the Gardens of D elicate Sunshine

Harry didn’t know how to feel about how quickly he’d gotten used to being Lavender’s pin cushion. How he’d already grown numb to all the needle sticking and casual man-handling of his limbs. Of standing obediently for what felt like hours on end as she figured out the best way to drape his newest set of robes. And he had so many of them now.

He was wearing yet another new set for Cedric’s birthday party and honestly, Harry didn’t know how Lavender continued to pull off such stunning robes when he knew the budget he gave her, while substantial, still probably shouldn’t cover all the extravagant silks and velvet and lace. Whenever he asked, however, all she ever did was grin smugly and tell him that most wizard-made cloth was bought through haggling and that she was really just that good at sweet-talking suppliers into a cheaper price. And then Harry would really just feel sorry for whoever she had been negotiating with because Lavender could be an exceptionally scary woman when she wanted to be. Like when she wanted Harry to stand still and she had multiple needles in her hand.

The robes she’d made him for the day were simple and breezy, perfect for the still hot sun shinning down on them that afternoon. He wore a simple cut periwinkle shirt made of lightweight linen that had large bishop sleeves and was laced up loosely in the front. His pants were snug, as always, because Lavender said his thighs were one of his best assets and he needed to show them off. Harry didn’t understand but went with whatever she thought best. They were a darker blue, but still had the slight purple-ish hue that the periwinkle shirt had. His robes were sleeveless and made of a breezy chiffon made from an almost metallic blue that shifted into purple when it caught the sun. From his mid back and down to where the robes brushed his brown boots, Lavender at stitched in periwinkle flowers that she’d charmed to flutter down his back in a rain of petals.

The jewelry he had were simple silver studs with blue spinel gems and his usual Lordship and heir rings. The outfit was simple and elegant, dressed up for a party for a fellow harem member and respecting Cedric’s place as the center of the party despite the man ranking slightly lower than Harry. Hence all the hints of purple among the blue. The fine detailing and expensive gems, however, still denoted he respected his own station and wasn’t going to defer to those that were ‘lower’.

It was a dizzying mess of politics that Harry honestly hated having to keep track of. Which is why he was so glad to have Lavender do it for him.

“Did Cedric say in his letter who was going to show?” Ginny asked him as they continued down the walkway toward the Garden of Delicate Sunshine.

They had decided not to fuss with the carriage since the gardens they were headed to were right next to the circle of diamond of Noble and Concubine palaces. It was still such a ridiculously large stretch of land, though, that it was starting to feel like a mistake as the minutes dragged on and on in the settling heat of the afternoon.

“He said he invited most of the coterie that hangs around Sister Abigail, which I reckon we seem to be joining for now, but that the higher ranking concubines have no obligation to come. Brother Viktor and Luna are the only ones lower ranking than him that he invited, though, so who knows how big of a party it’ll actually be.”

When they arrived at the gardens, however, and spotted the pavilion where it looked like Cedric had set up his party, there was actually a few people already there.

Harry snapped his fingers for a tempus to appear and hover in the air before him. They were only just on time, so at least they weren’t late.

The pavilion everyone was settled in had tall columns of stone that were placed far enough apart to make a somewhat small space look spacious and breezy. Swathes of sheer white curtains hung in some of the gaps between pillars as well and swayed in the slight wind. They were also draped gracefully from the domed ceiling and made the whole area feel light and luxurious. Multi-colored sun-catchers also dangled everywhere, casting the white of the curtains and stone in dazzling rainbow arrays. The inside had multiple sets of plush lounge chairs and chaises with soft white cushions that the gathered party were relaxing in. Around them were low wooden tables laden with all kinds of finger-foods and sweet treats.

Cedric sat in the center, looking genuinely happy as he laughed at something Third Concubine Crouch was saying, Sister Abigail smiling from her chair across from them. Brother Viktor was also there, though he seemed distracted as he was looking out into the pasture of the gardens around them. Harry wasn’t sure, but he might have been watching the small herd of thestrals grazing in the distance. Primary Concubine Grimaldi was also in attendance, but also looked to be silent and withdrawn within the circle of party-goers.

Harry was about to approach the gathering when he suddenly sensed another presence beside him and a dreamy voice greeted him, “Hello, Harry.”

He huffed a small laugh, “’llo, Luna.”

Luna threaded her arm through his without warning and looked up at him with a smile. “Are you ready, Harry?”

“I think so, Luna,” he replied, adjusting his arm to make it easier for her to hold on.

Luna briefly looked back over his shoulder to give a warm smile to Ginny, though she couldn’t greet the other girl properly while in earshot of her own maid. The downsides of having to employ a palace maid for the head of your staff. There was no escaping their eyes and ears.

Luna turned back and hummed quietly. “Dangerous waters to tread ahead of us, Harry. But these fish are friendly and only bite when threatened.”

“Alright, Luna,” he said, feeling a bit better about the alliances he’d been building, “let’s make sure not to go fishing then, yeah?”

She giggled as she pulled them forward with a little skip. “Probably for the best.”

“Brother Harry!” Cedric greeted as they walked up the steps of the pavilion. “And Sister Luna.”

“Greeting, Brother Cedric,” Luna said with a curtsy, appropriate for her lower rank, “and a happy birthday to you.”

For all that their friend group worried about Luna, she knew when to push the boundaries of propriety and when not to. If it had just been her, Harry, and Cedric, she could have gotten away with something more casual. But with other unknowns around them, all witnesses to her behavior, she knew not to push. Despite her spacey behavior, she had been put into Ravenclaw for a reason.

“Greetings, Brother Cedric,” Harry echoed, giving a smaller bow, “and a happy birthday to you.”

Cedric smiled at them both, giving Luna a nod and Harry his own bow. “Welcome! Come in, come in,” he waved them forward to the circle of chaises and concubines. “You’re the last to arrive, but still precisely on time. Unless a few surprise guests pop in,” he huffed a bit as he dropped into his seat and then waved his hand dismissively, “but I’m not important enough for anyone to want to crash my party, so I don’t really expect anyone else.”

Harry frowned as he took one of the remaining open chairs, right next to Sister Abigail, and Luna taking the last one to his other side. “You’re plenty important, Brother.”

“Oh, yes,” Concubine Crouch added excitedly, “just look at how far you’ve come in four years! Cultivating His Majesty’s favor so steadily. You’ll be joining me among the concubines in no time.”

Cedric flushed at the attention, smiling bashfully, “I don’t know about that, Brother, but I thank you for thinking so highly of me.” He paused, staring down at the cup of tea in his hands which still looked full. “Besides, there’s no competing with Sister Fleur, catching His Majesty’s attention in less than a year and bearing him a child so soon. She was the fastest to ever rise within the ranks.”

Harry had known a bit of this, objectively, as he’d always closely followed what little the public knew of the goings on of the harem. But to see it laid out so plainly was another matter. He very desperately wanted to know what about Fleur had caught the Emperor’s attention.

Abigail waved a dismissive hand, “She was nothing but a passing fancy. His Majesty hasn’t called on her once since she gave birth to the twelfth princess.”

“But His Majesty calls on you a good amount,” Crouch said, his voice just edging on the weird side of fervent, “for an Attendant at least.”

“I thank you both for the compliments,” Cedric demurred, “and for having such faith in me.”

“Tread carefully though, Brother,” Concubine Grimaldi’s soft voice cut through the moment, heavy with warning. “There will be those within our ranks who are… displeased with your pregnancy.”

She shared a loaded look with Sister Abigail, who reached out a hand- Grimaldi gripping it tightly in return. And Harry just couldn’t help but wonder what that was all about.

Cedric turned pale, looking down into his tea again, hands shaking ever so slightly. “I am aware,” he whispered. “Thank you, Sister.”

Crouch clapped his hands, “Shall we speak of happier things? Did everyone enjoy Mabon?”

“Oh, yes,” Cedric gushed, “even though it was more subdued than usual, I still had a splendid time. I even briefly felt Lugh give me a blessing! I do hope it means he will watch over me in the months to come.”

Abigail smiled warmly, “The Green has been very happy lately, and it’s always nice to feel it so strongly during a Sabbat.”

“It’s always exhilarating when His Majesty leads a ceremony, isn’t it?” Crouch said, leaning forward with enthusiasm. “His magic is delicious.” He licked his lips, a zealous gleam in his eye.

And while the look on the man’s face made Harry a bit nervous, he couldn’t help but agree. He sighed dreamily and replied, “The rare times I’ve been near it, I’ve felt like I could get drunk on it.”

“Like a sea of wine,” Crouch added, leaning now toward Harry in his vehemency. “And weren’t you lucky, Noble Potter, to bask so closely in his presence that night! I spotted you both speaking before the ceremony.”

Harry lurched back in his chair a bit, afraid that Crouch might try something out of some misplaced sense of jealousy, though the man just grinned at him instead.

Abigail barked a laugh, “The look on Concubine Lestrange’s face was rather priceless when His Majesty insisted on your company as well.” She smiled slyly. “His Majesty seems to be showing great interest in you, Brother Harry.”

Harry blushed and hid his face bashfully behind his hand, but before he could reply Crouch was swinging toward Abigail again, his blond curls falling messily about his face with the motion.

“And His Majesty asked you for company that night, didn’t he, Sister?” he asked, and strangely, Harry didn’t hear any of the jealousy he might have expected with the question, only a sort of reverence usually reserved for worship. “Should we expect a fourth child from your union?”

Harry did well, pushing down the raging jealousy that had sprouted within him. It had no place. No reason to burn so strongly within him. He could not look upon the Emperor with any sort of possessiveness. He may be owned now by His Majesty, but it was not mutual. He would never have the Emperor to himself, never be able to claim the man that was as close to a God that walked the earth as possible, as his own. He kept his hands incredibly still within his lap, though all he wished to do was tighten them into fists.

Abigail just rolled her eyes and pushed Crouch’s face away. “You know damn well that it’s tradition ofr His Majesty to ask whoever is crowned the Oak King for the Sabbats to spend a night with him. It was nothing more than that.”

Harry’s breath caught in his throat. If he had accepted Mother Magic’s offer, would he have also been invited to stay the night? Would he have also delighted in His Majesty’s company in such a carnal way? A wave of regret washed over him. Why had he put the opinion of the other concubines into such consideration? Why hadn’t he been his usual reckless self and just gone for it? Resolve settled within him, cold like stone. That, damning the consequences, he would not let an opportunity pass him by like that again. It didn’t matter how much more danger it put him in when he’d be that much closer to Him.

Abigail patted her stomach lightly, “I’m also well done with children, I think. Mellie was a hard pregnancy. Three is a good enough number. His Majesty calls it auspicious.”

Crouch groaned, “I wish I could be so lucky.”

Grimaldi, not looking at any of them, murmured, “Don’t we all.”

It seemed, that any time the woman spoke, she brought a solemn type of silence to the pavilion. Something heavy and cold, like a sudden chill. Her magic was making her grief palpable. Harry felt like he was choking on it.

It was then that Brother Viktor cleared his throat and turned to them all, interrupting for the first time since Harry’s arrival, “Noble McCormack is approaching.”

Abigail perked up in her seat. “Brother Kirley!” she called, waving excitedly at the man just stepping up to the pavilion. “I didn’t know you’d be crashin’ the party!”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” he called back with a roguishly handsome grin. Harry noted that it was the first time he’d seen the man smile. “Not when Barty told me he’d be bringing his guitar!”

Both Cedric and Abigail gasped in delight and turned to the grinning concubine.

“Brother Barty!” Cedric cried, and it was the first time Harry had heard Cedric refer to other casually. “Are you and Brother Kirley going to perform today?”

Crouch laughed, slightly manic. “I’m not near good enough at playing to get so excited about,” he said before his smile softened at Cedric, “but I know you like it when we play together so I thought it’d make a good present of sorts.”

Abigail waved a hand at Crouch’s words. “It doesn’t matter if you’re good, not when you both make it such a romp to hear. Formal events with music are always so stifling . You and McCormack have fun.”

“Oh, please, Brother,” Cedric joined in. “And will you sing with them, Sister?” he asked, turning toward Abigail.

She laughed a bit, “Alright, darlin’, but only ‘cus it’s your birthday.”

And what proceeded from there was utterly bewildering.

Noble McCormack, who Harry had not really gotten the chance to meet before, became more animated than he’d ever seen in morning meetings or around the Noble’s palace. He bounced in place, grinning hugely as he drew his wand and conjured what seemed to Harry to be a violin made of pure magic. It floated in the air, iridescent and clear before he settled it on his shoulder. He pulled his wand across the strings like a bow and the notes rang beautifully clear when he ran a few quick scales.

And then Concubine Crouch, who Harry had only seen be somewhat unnervingly emphatic so far, was glowing with joy and a more innocent type of fun. He held the guitar his maid had pulled from a mokeskin pouch and set about tuning the strings. Harry wondered about the ability to play, McCormack was known as a magical musical prodigy, his prowess made sense- Crouch on the other hand… “Da didn’t like even the mention of me learning an instrument. After he died in the war, I picked the one he would’ve hated the most,” he mumbled at Harry’s inquisitive look. “Hope the bastard’s rolling in his grave.”

Even Abigail seemed to shine in a new light from where both she and Ellie harmonized as they sang; Ellie standing behind her mistress’s chair as Crouch played on one side and McCormack the other. She had a lower voice and the sweet tang of her accent was more prominent when she started singing.

Grimaldi and Viktor, too, seemed to be having fun. Viktor clapping along and Grimaldi swaying in place with a small smile on her face.

“Any requests?” McCormack had asked Cedric.

And Cedric had grinned back, his pale complexion flushed once again with life and excitement. “You know my favorite, Brother.”

And Abigail had groaned good naturedly, “Botany Bay it is.”

And the rest of the group had laughed, as if sharing a joke. Even Viktor and Grimaldi had smiled along. And it had stuck Harry in that moment. These people weren’t just reluctant allies in the midst of a war-zone. They were friends . It was such a novel revelation. He had thought- he had been so certain that he would have to survive on his own. That he’d have only Luna at his side. But this- the warm camaraderie, the laughing and the joking, the dispensation of propriety in favor of fun. It gave him some level of hope that he wouldn’t be as alone as he first thought.

He couldn’t put his trust in them. Not completely. Not yet. But in that moment, in that one single slice of time, it felt like he was back at Hogwarts. Like he was gathered with his friends in one of the courtyards in the high heat of summer, or celebrating a winning game of quidditch with his team- surrounded by bodies in the sort of chaotic warmth only found in the locker rooms.

Harry hadn’t thought he’d ever feel like that again.

McCormack started first, playing a jaunty tune that Harry vaguely recognized, picking up speed as he went.

Crouch and Abigail started at the same time, the guitar dropping in just as the consort began to sing.

“Farewell to your bricks and mortar, farewell to your dirty lies. Farewell to your gangways and your gangplanks, to hell with your overtime.”

Cedric cheered before standing from his chair, slightly off-balance- he swayed a bit before his maid steadied him. He paid no attention, however, instead tugging at Harry’s arm to pull him from his own seat and into some semblance of a dance that involved stomping and swinging around more than anything. They both nearly tripped over a table filled with petit fours before he heard Luna giggle and utter a spell that moved all the furniture out of the way.

“And the good ship Ragamuffin, she’s lying on the quay.”

It was completely undignified. Completely inappropriate for wixen of their station. Harry couldn't even fathom what the consequences of being caught like this would be.

But he didn’t care. Not in that moment. For the first time in a long time, he felt free. Twirled away from his worries by old friends and new.

The song seemed to stretch on forever. Luna joined them on the impromptu dancefloor, though she moved to her own rhythm that was entirely unlike the one set by the actual music, swaying ethereally. Even Viktor joined in, smiling broader than Harry would think possible on his usually stoic face.

At one point Harry bowed out, collapsing into a chair, though he didn’t know if it was the one he’d originally been sitting in or not. He didn’t much care, not when he was still flying high from the rush.

He turned his head to find he was sitting next to a gently smiling Concubine Grimaldi. As Primary Concubine she outranked him quite a bit. Not as much as Abigail, but she was still a substantial number of ranks higher than Harry’s own. She always seemed so much smaller than the power she wielded though. Like a woman made of glass, a pretty porcelain doll. Harry felt she might shatter with the slightest force. Though, at the moment, she seemed content. Happy even.

He remembered what Cedric told him. About the loss that she had suffered and how fragile it seemed to have made her. Had Abigail really had a hand in it like the rumors suggested? Despite how close the two of them seemed now? Was it a facade? But then why would she seemed so relaxed here? So at ease with the rest of them in this stolen moment of reckless joy?

“Is it always like this?” Harry finds himself asking without thought, his mouth moving quicker than his brain.

Grimaldi doesn’t seem offended, though, just smiles as she answers, “Not often, no. But it is Brother Cedric’s birthday and we all do what we can to find happiness in this place.”

Her smile dropped slightly and her hands curled together in her lap. “Sister Abigail noticed how worried he has been as of late and wished to make his party livelier than usual.”

Harry said nothing, merely watched as Grimaldi grimaced and continued to clench and unclench her hands. “The Harem is a dangerous place, Brother, and not a day goes by where I do not regret joining. I did it for my family. For my country. I love the children I have borne, but I fear for their safety so thoroughly that I cannot live in peace. I fear that I never will.”

She sighed deeply, releasing tension and looking out to the others still wrapped in their own little worlds of delight.

Harry himself was still at a loss for words, unable to articulate how thoroughly he also felt his grief and unsure if he even should. What was the loss of a grandmother he’d only known for eight years of his life, a long awaited and expected loss at that, when compared to the unsolved murder of a child born to oneself? Often he would wish that the magic he held so deeply within himself worked differently, could perform miracles of a different caliber, but this was a moment he felt it more fiercely than usual.

“It was not always like this,” Grimaldi said, voice almost wistful as it pulled him from his darkening thoughts. “Sister Abigail has pulled together a group of allies in a time and place where they are not usually seen. The many deaths of our fellow concubines have shaken us all, and it seems that the more new blood is introduced- the more violent the old blood becomes.”

“What do you mean?” Harry whispered, afraid that raising his voice any louder would break whatever spell had fallen upon them both.

She looked back to him, face solemn. “For every group that has been brought into the Harem from the Selection, at least one of that cohort will eventually die. Black and Rookwood were both from the very first Selection. Prewett and Fenwick the second. Rocasolano the third. And Avery the fourth. Even Attendant Wei, from the more recent fifth Selection, did not survive. Ranking has been of no matter either, from Concubine to Second-Class Attendant, no one is safe. The death of my Egeria has also proved that the children are equally in danger.”

“It is war out there,” she hissed, before sighing again in defeat. “But we are merely human, and we must also find joy and sense of safety wherever it can be found.”

She looked him over then, the cosmetic glamours to hide the bags under her eyes shifting in the fading light of the sun. “Revel in the peace when you can, little Brother, for it is rare even among those you may consider friends. But also,” she leaned closer, “tread carefully. Lest you find yourself the one amongst our newest blood to die.”

It was with those ominous words that the singing and dancing came to a close, laughter ringing about the pavilion as everyone settled back into their seats. Even McCormack flicked his wand to summon an extra chair to sit with them, flopping into it gracelessly in a way Harry hadn’t seen from anyone in the Harem before.

“Thank you all for indulging me,” Cedric said with a wide grin. “I know it’s been a rather bleak few weeks lately, but I greatly appreciate your efforts to imbue some cheer into my belated birthday.”

The party continued on from there, fairy lights and lanterns beginning to cast a warm glow over them all as the sun dipped below the horizon. Harry barely felt like he was present for it, though, Grimaldi’s words swirling around his mind on a loop. He’d known it was dangerous in the Harem, but to hear it laid out so starkly that was a bit startling. And he’d been so close to lowering his guard as well. He felt immensely conflicted. Should he retreat further into himself? Turn his soul cold and unyielding in order to better protect himself? Should he embrace what little bit of camaraderie he’d found here? Make himself vulnerable in order to seek some semblance of happiness?

Harry felt, not for the first time, like he was caught in the middle of a myriad of different decisions and it felt nearly paralyzing not knowing which one to make. He was so used to acting first and thinking second. Political games like these had never been his strong suit and again, not for the first time, Harry doubted his decision to enter the Harem. What was he even doing here when he couldn’t keep up with all the subterfuge and deadly plots around him? He was walking a tightrope he couldn't even see, any misstep could be his last and he was not an acrobat that could survive the fall.

Mechanically, he ate his little cucumber sandwiches and drank his overly-flowery tea, pausing only to allow Ginny to check for poison before each bite.

What was he doing here? Why was he subjecting himself to all of this?

And then he felt a strange warmth around his wrist. He held it up for inspection and the entire pavilion fell silent as he twisted around the golden band that each concubine within the Harem wore, the metal glinting in the candlelight.

He was being summoned. For a night with the Emperor.

Neat, slanting scrawl appeared on the band, September 30 ^th , it read, 9 pm, Palace of Immortal Glory.

It was with the memory of burning, burning red eyes that he remembered just exactly why he’d joined the Selection.

A strange mix of heady anticipation and dread rose within him, clashing together like a raging storm against the sea.

Not yet, a part of him thought, desperate not push himself into the center of attention when he was so thoroughly surrounded by sharks. Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry?, another part reminded, the memory of those dark words so teasingly whispered into his ear.

Not yet, part of him pleaded, knowing what danger he would have to face because of this.

No, he thought, resolute, clutching at the golden band in a bid to tame the burning ache that had consumed his soul with the thought of seeing the Emperor again.

Now.

Chapter Text

September 30^th 1998, 6 pm, Palace of Glorious Dawn

“You’re being ridiculous,” Lavender admonished, hands on her hips as she stared Harry down.

“You’re the one being ridiculous,” he shot back, ignoring the truth as he turned away from her to stare out the window with a pout. He knew full well that he was the one being ridiculous in this situation but he felt that, given everything, he had every right to be. It was one earring.

Everything else about his outfit was immaculate, as Lavender always seemed to have the capability of pulling off. He felt like a cloud. He’d never in his life felt this close to being a fairy princess, all sparkles and beauty and magic. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about that, whether he liked being dressed so femininely. He didn’t like the process, certainly, because magic did not save you from the horrid sting of having your entire body waxed. But he couldn’t say he hated the outcome- the feel of the smooth sheer navy thigh-high stockings against the bare skin of his legs was a mesmerizing experience. The fluttery swish of his baby-blue dress robes- formed more like a dress than robes- whenever he spun was entrancing.

Lavender always seemed to have a knack for making him feel more beautiful than he truly was.

He’d complained, initially, thinking that dressing so prettily, so daintily, would make him look silly more than anything- his body and looks completely unsuited for those sorts of things. But Lavender and Ginny both had admonished him. “ You don’t have to be a woman to be pretty, Harry, ” Ginny had said with a flick to his forehead. “ No such thing as a body unsuited for a style, either, darling ,” Lavender had told him angrily as well, “ just an unsuitable stylist.”

But now, truly, he was starting to like feeling pretty. Valuable, like one of Aunt Petunia’s precious porcelain dolls that she’d kept high on a shelf so that no harm would ever come to them. Admired, like a fresh blooming rose. Loved, in a way he’d never been before.

He was still a man, and he felt that quite strongly, but he found there was nothing wrong with dressing up so daintily either. That he actually kind of liked the make-up and the robes that looked more like dresses and the sparkly jewelry. Wixen were far more blasé about it as well. Preferring to focus less on rules about what boys should wear versus girls and more on nonsensical rules like what color was appropriate to wear depending on one’s station, the situation, the place, and whether or not the moon was waxing or waning.

When he’d told Lavender that he was okay with adding a few more frills to his wardrobe, however, he’d not liked the glint that had appeared in her eyes. He’d told her, in no uncertain terms, that he still liked to wear trousers most of the time, thank you very much. But she’d just waved a dismissive hand and had told him not to worry about it. Harry was worried about it.

He was, however, going to put his foot down about his jewelry. It was incredibly important to him for this outfit that he change out one of the earrings for the special one he’d been saving for an occasion that he’d need a great amount of luck and comfort to get through. This was such an occasion. Why Lavender thought it would ruin his ensemble was beyond him, however. She’d dressed him up exceptionally well this time, in consideration for what he would be doing later that night. (And what a scary thing to think about- and he was trying so hard not to think about it-)

His robes were mostly a soft baby-blue in color, ruffled around him like the petals of a flower. The bodice hugged his chest and draped off his shoulder with large, airy chiffon bishop sleeves of the same pastel blue. Around his waist was a matching blue corset covered in lace that was so light it looked nearly white. (It made him a bit nervous to tread so closely to a color reserved only for an Empress, but Lavender had insisted that if there was any outfit to use it with, it was this one, and he’d conceded after some convincing.) Along the bottom was more of the same lace that flared out just above his hips. Under the corset, and the robes, was a navy garter belt of soft dark lace that was helping hold up his stockings.

The whole ensemble underneath his robes made him shift uncomfortably, not because the fabric was scratchy or rough or any such thing, but more because of just how comfortable he was in them. The silky stockings, the delicate lace, the tiny bows decorating his pants, the sparkling sapphires and aquamarines set in silver as further ornamentation. It was all deceptively easy to wear.

On his feet, Lavender had managed to wrestle him into actual high heels instead of his usual heeled boots. It was another thing he was becoming reluctantly comfortable with. The heels weren’t too high, so while he was a bit wobbly on them, he was slowly getting better on them. He could also admit they were very pretty- the same light blue as his robes with a satin base and covered in the same lace that draped off his corset. There were satin bows just above the heel with ribbon that wrapped around his ankle and partway up his calf- like ballerina slippers. A string of pearls hung from the strap around his ankle as well, edged with blue diamonds that also sparkled when they caught the light. What he like most about them, however, was that they made him feel tall.

His hair had been pulled up into relaxed bun, letting his dark curls frame his face, held up with a pin decorated with pale blue metal roses and gems of aquamarine. He wore a necklace of a similar design and he had one set of earrings that were simple silver drops with round blue moonstone gems.

And over the whole outfit, he wore a cape of light blue tulle netting that trailed behind him with blue roses enchanted to bloom along its edges as it shimmered in the light of the slowly setting sun.

He watched it descend with rising trepidation. Time was slipping through his fingers and Harry was feeling extremely… something about it. Anxious definitely. Nervous. Though was there really a difference between them? Did it matter? He was certainly feeling both. But he was also feeling a certain swooping in his belly. Like a moth taking flight with duty wings within his stomach. A moth for the way it was drawn, invariably, inevitably, to the flame that was always burning deep within his soul. That hungry desire that smoldered like a quiet ember, running low and long and hot, just waiting to be stoked into a roaring blaze.

Harry was feeling a lot of things, certainly.

What was he to expect from the fast approaching night? Would the Emperor really… take him to bed? Would he truly be experiencing carnal pleasure for the first time tonight? The thought burned him as much as it scared him witless. He’d never done anything more than the occasional heavy petting with Blaise in storage closets in the dungeons, and a lap dance from Pansy at one memorable quidditch after-party celebration.

He’d always been attracted to the Emperor, though. Always pined quietly for something he’d long thought unattainable. He’d pushed it aside, labeling a silly celebrity crush that would fade with time. But here he was now. And while the attraction and fascination had never gone away or even waned with time, he still barely knew the man and the thought of getting so intimate with a veritable stranger was- unpleasant.

Not to mention the political ramifications the summons would bring. Being called on so early in his tenure- it was unprecedented. It was a power move he couldn’t control, couldn’t back up should he be attacked for it. The thought of what the more powerful concubines might try to do to him caused a knot of fear to tangle up with the sick anticipation and only heightened the nerves he’d been trying so valiantly to ignore.

Was he ready? Would he survive the resulting chaos?

“Do you wish to warm my bed, Harry?”

He shivered. Had it really been so short a time since those words had been whispered into his ear?

“I refuse to let you ruin such a carefully crafted ensemble, Harry,” Lavender’s angry voice bringing him back from his racing thoughts.

“No one is even going to notice,” he shot back.

“It’s yellow!” Lavender argued, throwing her hands in the air. “That is a color that is far above your station! And it’s hideous!”

Harry pulled his wand and wordlessly charmed the tiny earring blue. He even managed a nice pastel to match his robes.

“Ginny!” Lavender cried, whirling around to the redhead that had just been lounging on one if Harry’s fancy chaises while idly creating colored sparks with her wand. Ginny startled at the shout and nearly set his rug on fire. “Knock some sense into this useless man!”

“Useless!” he protested. He wasn’t useless. It was one earring! And now it was even a matching color!

Lavender snapped back around to glare at him. Harry refused to back down, no matter how scary the woman could be, and glared right back. From the corner of his eye he could see Ginny’s gaze bouncing between the two of them before she raised her hands in surrender.

“This fight is between the two of you,” she said. “I’m not getting in the middle of it.” She mumbled something then and Harry barely caught the words, “kill me in my sleep.”

Lavender huffed. “Fine. Why is this stupid little thing so important to you?”

“Luna gave it to me for good luck, you know that,” he fidgeted and rolled the tiny stud between his fingers. “And if there was ever a time to need good luck, it would be now.”

At that, Lavender sighed and let her shoulders slump. She eyed him up and down before flipping a hand. “Put the Merlin-damned duck in your ear then. We need to move on to make-up anyway.”

Harry groaned.

Lavender gleefully marched him over to a vanity and started pulling out products he didn’t even know he owned. While she did that Harry switched out one of the small sapphire studs with the small duck earring Luna had gifted him during the Selection that still felt forever ago. It comforted him, to know it was there. Proof that he had others to support him. That no matter what happened tonight, he had friends waiting to help him with the aftermath.

“I know you don’t want anything too heavy,” Lavender rambled as she started applying a cream onto his face. “So we’re going to do a nice foundation to smooth things out- not that you really need it, you keep your skin immaculate, somehow, even though you don’t do much for it,” here she tsked, but Harry knew that no matter how much she fussed, he would still not bother with all of that anyway.

“Then some eyeliner and mascara for your eyes. And I was thinking of trying some eye-shadow on you. Something to really make them pop,” she mumbled as she finished covering his face and moved on to rummaging around the products again. “What do you think of this color?”

She turned and handed him a tiny far filled with the prettiest blue sparkling dust he’d seen.

“It’s mixed with pixie dust to really make it shine,” she said proudly.

“Pixie dust?!” he sputtered. “That stuff costs a fortune and you want to put it on my eyes?!”

“Yes!” she chirped. “It shifts colors in the candlelight! And the green undertones will bring out your eyes. They’re your best asset.”

Harry huffed and closed said assets to let Lavender continue doing whatever she wanted. He desperately needed something to distract him from the three hours he had left until his appointed summoning time anyway.

He’d been busy with preparations all day . It had started in the morning with a bath wherein he’d been ordered to scrub down everywhere upon threat of Lavender marching in there and doing it herself. Needless to say he cleaned in places he’d previously not known he had. It had been relaxing afterwards though, Harry nearly drowning himself in the large tub by drifting back to sleep in the warm waters. He’d spent a good amount of time in there, not wanting to face the rest of the day. Alas, he’d been forced out, smelling of jasmine and lilies, and squeaky clean.

Then Lavender had done- things- to his hair. He had no idea what all she’d put in it, magical products that made it softer and tamable, shiny and silky. She’d also made his curls grow a bit longer in order to better pull it up all fancy. She’d told him the potion would only last twenty-four hours so he wouldn’t worry, but he’d honestly not minded the length. He might try and grow it longer even.

The day after that had been all dressing and worry and arguments. Lavender yelling at him to keep still, Harry yelling back simply because he couldn’t keep his nervous energy contained.

And now the sun was setting, the sky turning a brilliant pink and red and purple before settling into the rich dark color of a late summer’s night sky.

“Do you wish to bear my children?”

His fists clenched in his lap from the same unnameable feelings that had been swirling around in the pit of his stomach since his bracelet as warmed against his skin those days ago.

*

September 30 ^th 1998, 8:30 pm, Outside the Palace of Immortal Glory

Harry was staring fixedly out the small window of the carriage as they were led through the first portcullis of the Slytherin Stronghold, the iron gates and rough stone keeping the rest of it from view until they could make it into the inner walls. Both the Emperor’s Palace of Immortal Glory and the Imperial Children’s Palace of Youthful Radiance were nestled in the stronghold. This was the single most protected area of the entire Citadel, which in itself was a fortress. Harry could feel the rumblings of potent defensive magic even from inside his carriage and he yearned to know which wards and rune matrices might have been involved. They reached the outer bailey and the carriage rolled to a stop.

Harry took Ginny’s hand for balance, which was much needed with his new heels, as he stepped out of the carriage and looked up for his first glance at the palace. Harry stared up at the castle in awe. He seen the structure from a distance before, but seeing it up close like this? Looking up and up and up, to witness just how tall and beautiful it was? He didn’t have the words for it.

It was a castle that could, and did, rival Hogwarts in size and majesty. Beyond, even, what you might find in the most grandiose of fairy-tales. The stone of the walls was bone white and shone even under the pale light of the moon. As he ascended the steps to the top he noticed the stone was made of a swirling black and white marble shot through with strands of pure silver. Shadows from the torches illuminating the front facade stretched long and ominous and flickered with the wind that blew to caress Harry’s bare shoulders. His heels clicked loudly with each step, the muted thud of Ginny’s boots following just a beat behind.

Guards were stationed at the door, the skulls of their Death Eater masks doubly intimidating with the darkness shrouding everything else. They bowed when Harry neared, however, and it made him a bit uncomfortable to see such powerful wixen bend in subservience to him. What had he done to earn such a thing, after all?

Nonetheless he did not let his unease show as he waited for them to finishing heaving open the doors. They were made of black oak and intricately carved with yew trees and great serpents. Harry almost wished he could stand outside and observe more details, if only to delay whatever he would be facing inside. But he did not pause, simply strode toward the castle with his head held high.

A man Harry vaguely recognized as His Majesty’s personal valet was waiting for him in the doorway. Mulciber, Harry thought his name was. The man bowed, though it was far more shallow than the guards outside. As the Emperor’s valet, he carried a great amount of power himself and was therefore not beholden to the same rules as others outside of the Court.

“Welcome,” the valet said, voice soft and lacking any emotion, though there seemed to be a curious glint in his dark eyes as he looked Harry up and down, “to the Palace of Immortal Glory, Noble Potter. His Majesty awaits you in the gardens.”

With that he turned sharply on his heel and walked deeper into the foyer, beckoning Harry to follow after a moments pause.

Harry inhaled sharply as he stepped foot past the threshold, having to breathe deeply in order to not collapse at the sudden inundation of power around him.

He could feel it. The Emperor’s magic. It was saturating the place. The stone beneath his feet sang with it. The walls around him bled dark power. The air itself was heavy with the scent of the ocean and Harry felt himself sway slightly like he was being eddied by invisible currents, as if he were drifting on the waves of the sea itself.

It was breathtaking. Intoxicating. He could almost hear the rhythmic crash of waves upon towering cliffs. Could feel the spray of cold saltwater on his face.

Harry wanted to groan when his magic sparked and reached out just like it did when greeting Hogwarts after summer hols, only to be met with a cold impenetrable wall. As if the great wave of an approaching tsunami had slammed into the thin tendril of his curious magic. The brunt of it crashed around him in a sweeping caress, causing his robes to flutter and his hair to rise. He lifted his arms as if to embrace a gust of wind, letting the magic of the palace surround him like a rising tide, closing his eyes to the curious probing. The magic of the place was feeling him out, not quite as welcoming as the magic of Hogwarts, but nor was it as hostile as he’d have thought it might be.

It was dark and sultry, surrounding him like the coils of a serpent encircling its prey and preparing to squeeze . Harry stood and waited, unafraid. It was cold- the way the Black Lake had been cold in the thick of winter and left the impression of scales wherever it found skin. There was a small hiss and Harry shivered, tilting his neck so that phantom fangs at his throat had better access to his jumping pulse. He would not be scared off so easily by such an exhilarating magic. Damn the danger but he wanted to feel more of it.

He wanted. And wanted.

Slowly, as the fangs of the Emperor’s magic seemed to hover in place, Harry let his own magic loose around him- the heat of a summer storm rising to the surface of his skin, warm winds teasing at the waves still lapping at his robes. The faint sound of thunder rumbling as the feathers of his magic rustled and softly caressed the scales that had tightened around him. He was not trying to fight off the beast, merely meet it where it stood.

Everything grew still and the world seemed to hold its breath.

And then the waters receded and the heavy body of the serpent seemed to slide away. He felt the gentle tickle of a forked tongue across his cheek before the crushing weight of the Emperor’s magic sank back into the stone of the castle once more.

He settled his own magic back into his core, nearly struggling to wrestle the great storm of it back into his chest, and heaved a great breath in as he was finally able to let his lungs expand fully.

He blushed as he turned to see Valet Mulciber’s open expression of shock and Ginny’s incredulously raised eyebrows. He cleared his throat awkwardly and messed with the ruffled skirts of his robes. He did not even dare to touch his hair in fear of making worse.

The valet’s face quickly shuttered back into a stoic mask and merely gestured the way forward into the depths of the palace. The walk was silent aside from their echoing footsteps.

It sent his thoughts into a tailspin, remembering precisely how the other concubines had reacted when they’d noticed his attention snap to his bracelet. The mixture of envy and fear and fervent anticipation and even… concern.

Grimaldi’s face had paled and the look of fear and pity she’d shot him had chilled him to the core. Crouch had been the one to look at him with both envy and an uncomfortably avid sort of curiosity. Cedric had looked happy for him, though he had also hidden a flicker of jealousy and an even deeper flicker of concern. Viktor and McCormack had been stone-faced, giving nothing of their thoughts away. Abigail had been awash with both concern and amusement. Luna had just given him a blinding smile, the only reaction that had managed to set his nerves at ease.

The party had tapered off then, pieces of delicious cake passed around- though to Harry it had tasted of ash in his dry mouth- and stilted conversation floated around the group until it had been finally decided to end the night.

He had not left that night unaccosted, however.

“May I speak with you, Brother,” Cedric had nervously asked, cautious and awkward. With Harry’s hesitant nod he’d continued. “The Emperor can be a kind man,” he’d said, a sentence which Harry had never thought he’d ever hear, “and he will be gentle if you request it. Just- just close your eyes and it won’t take long.”

Would tonight be like Cedric had suggested? Quick and painless and completely devoid of any passion? A chore, a duty, rather than the act of love he’d always romanticized it to be? He had not fooled himself into believing it would still be something intimate to that degree- he could never presume he was worthy enough to earn the Emperor’s love nor deluded enough to think he already had it- but would they not at least pretend?

Abigail had also pulled him aside, all good humor and a hint of mischief, “Don’ let the others scare ya off, darlin’. Tom can be plenty fun when he wants ta be. Just relax and enjoy it, kiddo.”

Which had been- legitimately more comforting words, he supposed. But was His Majesty only like that with Abigail? Who was his current favorite? Did she get special treatment that Harry had no hope of receiving? He had so many questions, so many concerns. He knew, in theory, how it all worked- what went where and how things happened and even some spells that would be useful during it all- but he didn’t know how it would work with Him.

Luna had been the saving grace to quell some of his anxiety, as always. Luna had met with him for tea the day after Cedric’s party and, desperately, he’d asked her if she’d had any visions about the outcome of his summoning.

She’d merely smiled at him serenely and sipped her overly sugared tea. “You’ll have a nice night, Harry, I’m sure. Take George with you, though, if you think you need the luck.”

Which is how Harry had ended up with a rubber duck on his ear. It had taken him quite an embarrassing amount of time to figure out what Luna had meant though, just calling the earring George of all things and then refusing to elaborate. He’d been going through all the little figurines she’d often made and handed off to him throughout their years at Hogwarts, wondering if any of them could be the mysterious George when he’d come across one that had, in fact, had the name etched onto the bottom in Luna’s erratic scrawl.

He’d stared at it for a good long while, wondering how he was supposed to smuggle in a clay duck that was the size of his hand when Ginny had remarked at how similar it was to the trinket Luna had given him during the Selection.

She’d done it to distract him, he reckoned, and it had been fairly successful too. Just as it was successful, even now, from distracting his thoughts. Dispelling the Wrackspurts, as Luna would say.

It wasn’t to last, though, as the valet brought them to a great archway in which the gardens could be seen- sparkling with fairy-lights and a riot of plants swaying in the late summer’s night breeze. He directed Harry toward a cobblestone path while guiding Ginny away and toward whatever quarters Harry would be given for the night. (He had no illusions that he had any right to spend the- entirety of the night with the Emperor.)

He would be on his own completely for this. He took a fortifying breath and stepped into the night.

*

September 30 ^th 1998, 8:30pm, Gardens of the Palace of Immortal Glory

Tom knew the exact second Fourth Noble Harry Potter had stepped foot into his palace, his magic coming to life within the bones of his castle as a veritable storm blew through the doors.

What magic the man possessed. How delicious it felt on Tom’s tongue, electrifying in the way standing too close to a tall tree during a storm was electrifying. Soothing and pure in the way that cool rain felt soothing and pure against one’s skin in the heat of summer. Impossible to ignore the way a thunderclap was impossible to ignore, demanding your attention as it boomed around you when the lightning was directly above.

Wind whipped around him in a frenzy, rustling the leaves and flowers of the garden in the prelude to a fierce gale. He could feel that Potter was holding back intentionally, could feel where the magic might turn into a hurricane, much in the same way Tom’s could turn into a violent whirlpool.

He felt the soft caress of a sharp beak just under his chin before the magic faded and he was left slightly breathless in his gardens.

Oh, but he could not wait to speak with the man.

Potter, whether intentionally or not, had been avoiding him for too long. He was aware that this meeting would have consequences for the other, jealous concubines that Tom no longer cared to call upon likely to place the blame at the new Noble’s feet and this summoning giving them an excuse to strike. He did not like the thought of harm coming to something that was his , as all of his concubines were in his possession, but he could do nothing without proof of intent- lest he just make the situation worse. It was a lesson he had learned full well in the early years, though he hadn’t cared near as much about the casualties, and now he just refused to bother.

So long as his children remained safe in their own palace or took refuge in his, he was content to let his playthings battle it out amongst themselves.

It was an unfortunate time, perhaps, so close to Bellatrix having lost yet another child- but Tom himself had been prepared to mourn the moment Bella had told him she was carrying again. Whether it be through purposeful sabotage or simply the fragility of her womb, she had not been able to carry to term for many years and he refused to acknowledge any pregnancy as the potential for a child until the babe had actually survived to birth. He did not know why he even continued to indulge her, and in fact had decided to refuse any more attempts at children after this last disaster. All this was to say that while many on the outside might find the timing… uncouth, he and most of his Court hadn’t been all that affected by the event and therefore didn’t consider it a relevant concern.

Nonetheless, it was time he had the chat with Potter that he had been itching to have for weeks. Tom may have focused his efforts more into conquering the world and then ruling it with an iron fist, but he was still an academic at heart, and my what fascinating things had Potter done in his chosen area of study. Alphard had often bragged of his pseudo-nephew’s talent in spell-craft and runes, but he’d taken them for exaggeration.

Seeing the complex matrices that Potter had made himself placed upon gifts for his precious children, matrices made to protect and guard his children? It had fascinated him. He wanted to pick the man’s brain apart, see what chaos laid beneath. (How long had he spent on such research and why use it for something so small? Had he somehow managed to create and other matrices? Had he any research done on others in progress?)

Only, he had been denied that pleasure for too long. He’d given Potter a grace period to get his bearings within the Citadel, but his patience extended only so far. He’d issued his warning as well, so, damning the possible consequences, he’d called upon the young man to- spend the night.

He had no plans to take Potter to bed, not yet at least, but he knew the rest of his harem would kick up a great fuss thinking he had done so.

They could think whatever they liked, however, it mattered not to him. He would not dictate his actions based on the harpies disguised as concubines within their ranks, just because they might snap and hurt one of their fellows. So long as no one ended up dead again, that was for them to sort out and for him to not care about.

Tom had always been possessive of his toys, but never particularly careful with them. Especially not after he’d risen to power.

He snapped his fingers so that the fairy-lights among the garden blazed to life and bathed the expansive garden in a gentle glow. Potter was approaching and he need not let his newest toy break an ankle because it could not see a pebble along the cobblestone path.

He waited beside his carefully tended hedge of Gilded Beauties. His garden held a variety of them, his favorites being the black roses edged in white gold, but he’d stopped to admire the light blue and gold variation tonight. They glowed under the gently bobbing fairy-light and he watched the shadows dance across the shining petals. The gilded roses were among his more prized flowers in the garden, their upkeep both expensive and complex. They were exceedingly rare in the wild, rumored to only survive by the grace of Mother Magic herself. The roots would draw from nuggets of gold embedded in dried up riverbeds and the blossoms could only be pollinated by a particular species of pixie, the dust of which added an iridescent shimmer to the plants.

He heard the click of heels approach as the storm blew in. The scent of petrichor and jasmine reaching him just as he saw the first blush of blue petal robes emerge around a curtain of thick pink cherry blossoms.

It was not often that Tom was actually taken by the beauty of his concubines. Carnal desire was not something he felt frequently, if at all. He’d convince himself he was above such impulses until some sensation or sight stirred a sluggish hunger within him. He’d felt something at some point for Bellatrix, the darkness of her magic had once been alluring before her madness took hold. Abigail was a pleasant sight and he held a sort of fondness for her, but even their rolling in the sheets lacked a certain eroticism. A bit of fun and pleasure, but neither held any true desire for the other. Nearly every other concubine was a chore to lay with for one reason or another, the act always quick and perfunctory.

He’d never been arrested at the sight of someone so quickly and completely.

The exposed collarbone that he felt the urge to bite. The long, long legs all wrapped in sheer blue nylon that he wanted to rip to pieces. The way the corset cinched the other’s waist and the lace hugged his hips. The curls that framed his face and piled elegantly at his nape- that Tom wanted to sink his hands into and pull. And mostly, the way those toxic green eyes glowed in the night and did not waver at the sight of him.

Most wixen would be cowed at the sight of him, the thick dark magic that he knew surrounded him would have them bowing in fear at the immense pressure of it. The wrongness and feeling of death that pervaded the air around him made most uneasy at best. Tom knew he was a great force to be reckoned with, power akin to the gods, power gifted to him by said gods, so stifling to the mortals around him. They could sense, though they did not know it consciously, that he was a being of otherworldly design. Even Abigail, though she hid it well under a veneer of cheer, often became unnerved by his mere presence. Even Bellatrix, fervent though she was in her worship of him, shied away at the touch of his colder magic.

Harry Potter, however, was not most wixen.

Tom watched in fascination as the other seemed to melt when their magics once again became enmeshed in the air around them. Potter had opened his mouth slightly and let his eyes droop to half-mast as he took in a deep breath of the air around him, as if savoring the taste of their magic. Had Tom any less than iron-clad control of himself, he might have done the same.

Eventually, Potter gathered himself and drew closer, dipping into a low bow and greeting Tom softly with, “Good evening, Your Majesty.”

“Good evening, My Noble,” Tom returned as he stretched out a hand for his concubine to take. “Let us walk the gardens.”

Potter’s hand slipped into his own and their magic sparked. A storm blew over the ocean and whipped the waves into a frenzy, while the sea spray splattered the heavy clouds to engorge the torrential rain. Lightning struck the waters and Tom heard Potter gasp at the feeling. Together they were pure chaos and destruction, great forces of nature colliding in a thunderous clash. The deafening clap of thunder meeting the great roar of waves crashing against the cliffs.

Tom breathed through the feeling, wondering if it was a moment like this that he was to know Potter as his equal as the prophecy had claimed.

He pulled the smaller man close, tucking Potter’s arm into the crook of his elbow before leading them deeper into the garden. If Potter leaned a bit more than necessary into Tom’s side as they walked, neither mentioned it.

A late summer breeze blew past, pulling a rainbow of petals from their flowers and whisking them around the pair’s feet in an enticing whirl, the soft glow of the fairy-lights catching on the shimmer of precious metal from the Gilded Beauty petals and making the night sparkle.

It was terribly, disgustingly romantic.

“I summoned you tonight, Noble Potter,” he began without preamble, voice breaking the quiet of the night, “to continue our discussion on the spell matrices you created for Kassios’ and Eudora’s birthday presents.”

In the past, Tom may have dithered about with small talk and eased his way into the conversation topic he wished to pick at. He might have once been a more patient hunter, waiting only to strike when the timing was right. He had toiled away at learning the finer art of conversation, using his words to charm and beguile. Used what few tools he had in his arsenal to claw his way up from the dirt he had been abandoned in.

Now, however, as conqueror of the world, Emperor of All, he spoke as he pleased and no longer had to waste his time with hollow palavering and empty niceties.

Potter, if he seemed shocked or offended by his directness, did not show it. If anything he seemed to brighten at the subject.

“Of course, You Majesty,” the man said, and Tom could almost feel the little hop in Potter’s step as they walked through the gardens. “I had just finished drawing up the array for the cave inimicum matrix, yes? And I believe we left off on the merits of using that instead of the established protego matrix.”

“I believe so,” Tom answered, pleased that his concubine’s memory was sharp enough to remember such details. Or more that he cared enough to remember.

Most of his concubines were picked for their intelligence, having to pass rigorous testing in order to get anywhere within the Selection in the first place, let alone for him to ultimately choose them. Now, whether or not they exercised said intelligence was beyond his control. And, indeed, when he wished to have a more academic discussion with one of them, they often- did not. More concerned with simpering and batting their eyelashes in the hopes they might be allowed to crawl into his bed.

It never worked. Abigail was his most tolerable concubine, but more in that he considered her a friend- however appalling the notion of a ‘friend’ was- over being his wife . And he knew she felt the same. But if he spent all of his time with her, one of the more annoying worms might get it in their head to try and kill her, and that really wouldn’t do. So he was forced to mingle with the others. Krum was another amiable presence, if only because the man never wished to speak . Which held true with Selwyn and Grimaldi as well. He’d been tolerant as of late of Diggory, enough to indulge the other’s wish for a child it seemed, because the man was so painfully earnest and naive he didn’t even attempt at the ineffective and clumsy seduction techniques the others tended to employ, which both baffled and bemused Tom.

Really, with so few concubines he could actually stand to be in the presence of he’d rather do away with the whole thing. He’d plenty of children now. And whatever anyone else thought it was about heirs and succession, it was not. He cared more that his lineage would grow . He wanted the Slytherin name to prosper and not die out until he was the only one left for a second time. He didn’t need a line of succession he needed a family, however sickly saccharine that sounded.

He did not dispense with the entire system for three reasons. One- the Council would have a fit that no amount of crucios would curse them into silence. He’d end up killing them all out of annoyance and then he’d have no one to deal with the boring bureaucracy portion of ruling the world. Two- it could upset his children, especially the younger ones that wouldn’t fully understand what was happening. And three- there was some small- infinitesimal- part of him that still was searching for someone that could stand up as his equal. And ever since that damn prophecy…

“When I first considered using the protego matrix,” Potter interrupted Tom’s thoughts, voice soft and almost hesitant, as if trying very hard to weigh his words before speaking them, “all I could think of was how predictable it would be.”

“Predictable?” he questioned. He wouldn’t consider any matrix particularly predictable, considering they were an advanced branch of a niche magic that most wixen didn’t bother to study. Ward-weavers, curse-breakers, and enchanters were the only ones to study runes to such a level, normally. Tom was beginning to find that there was nothing normal about his newest Noble.

“Yes,” the other murmured, suddenly solemn as he tightened his grip around Tom’s arm just slightly, “should Their Royal Hignesses ever find themselves surrounded by enemies, I want them as safe as possible. I worried that if the enemy had a curse-breaker among them, that a protego matrix would be too easily cracked open because of its popularity. Cave inimicum is already an obscure spell, creating a matrix for it from scratch makes it all the harder to identify and break. It would take time to disengage the protections- hopefully enough to use the revelocus matrix to find them and save them.”

Tom looked down upon his newest concubine with even more avid curiosity. There was something that bothered him, however, “Do you have reason to believe my children will face such dangers, Noble Potter?”

And those startled green eyes found his. “No!” Potter cried, and it soothed the overprotective serpent of his magic to hear the truth ring out with the protest. “I- I just… worry.”

Tom released a sigh. “I as well, my Noble,” he admitted, seeing no harm in revealing such a small thing. Slowly, he would reel Potter in, make himself seem more human than he was in order to lure the man so securely in his arms he would never think to leave them again. Tom was a possessive bastard and once he’d obtained a toy, he’d rather not let it go. “Abigail and I are thankful for your gifts, truly. It is hard to see any of my children out of my reach, even with Hogwarts so close. It has been good to know they have an extra layer of security. Especially one so well thought out.”

Potter ducked his head, a blush spreading across the man’s cheeks. Tom found it fascinating to watch. Most of his more annoying concubines would pull this sort of move to look demure on purpose, a stupidly obvious sort of manipulation that usually made him want to roll his eyes if he weren’t above such actions. But with Potter he could tell it was sincere. The man was tugging at a lock of silky black curls in a nervous gesture that Tom would normally think of as a sign of weakness. On Potter it was… endearing.

He needed to be checked, immediately, for compulsions or poisoning from love potions. He had never thought of something as endearing before. Perhaps with his children… but this was not- that. It was frustrating, however, because he knew he was not under any such influence. He’d long since protected himself from such things. So why? Why on earth would he suddenly find someone… endearing. It was confusing. It was sickening.

He did not like it at all.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Potter mumbled, so quietly Tom almost didn’t catch it. “I was wondering, er, though, if another sort of… failsafe could be added?”

And wasn’t that intriguing enough to take Tom’s mind away from whatever illness had befallen him.

“What are you proposing?” he asked.

“Well, er,” Potter fidgeted nervously for a moment before continuing. “I know that the proper thing is to submit the matrix schematics for peer-review and have them published but… I was hoping to keep them secret? I would give them to you, Your Majesty, of course- and Sister Abigail should she wish it. But I think it would be best to leave them- out of the hands of the public. Or anyone untrustworthy, really.”

“An agreeable proposition,” Tom assented, though Potter’s level of caution still left him a bit suspicious… “though rather a bit paranoid, My Noble, yes?”

And here Tom watched as Potter grew solemn once more. There was something more there. And with Potter avoiding eye-contact he couldn’t dig as deeply as he wanted into the other’s mind. From wary glances he could only catch snippets- something involving rosebushes, English breakfast spreads, and the mocking laughter of a child. It reminded him, bewilderingly, of that long ago time at Wool’s.

“I suppose so,” Potter answered, deflecting, arm squeezing Tom’s just that slightest more again. “But it never hurts to be too careful, you know?”

Tom hummed, deciding to let it go for the moment and not push just yet. There would be time enough for that. “Very well,” he pulled Potter down the path a tad more, passing large arching windows lit up with a warm yellow glow and framed with crawling vines of ivy. Around them, pixies flickered about the garden freely, multi-colored blinking lights hovering around like rainbow fireflies. “Let us see the second schematic, as I still have the first. I want to see how you’ve interpreted the revelocus spell into a matrix and how, exactly, you added a remote activation.”

“Oh!” Potter exclaimed, looking excited? “Yes, of course, Your Majesty!”

Tom brings them around a towering hedge of white lilac and toward a white marble pavilion covered in hanging Bell Wisteria- a magical variant of the mundane flower that glowed gently in the moonlight and also sounded like wind-chimes whenever a breeze would rustle the light purple blooms. Inside the small space was a single iron-cast table with two chairs of the same rose design. As Tom led Potter up the steps he brushed a hand against one of the columns to activate a rune that would light the few candles floating around the ceiling. The light was dim but serviceable. A more plebeian man might call it romantic. Tom just disliked harsh lighting.

Tom wordlessly, and wandlessly, summoned parchment and quill with a sweeping wave of his free hand and placed them on the table before pulling out one of the chairs and gesturing for Potter to take a seat first.

Potter smiled his thanks, ducking his head afterwards and smoothing out the parchment to avoid eye-contact again. What a meek little thing his new concubine seemed to be. Would it hold? Would he only grow more timid the longer he stayed within the bear-trap of the harem- would he falter like Grimaldi and live in fear? Or would he prosper- harden like steel and become just as sharp?

Potter grabbed the quill but paused, squinting in the dim light. He murmured something Tom didn’t catch before snapping his fingers and a pair of round, black-wire reading glasses appeared in his hand. He got right to work after perching them on his nose, picking up the quill and immediately scratching out runes with just an offhand comment about some potion Severus had brewed for him to cure his poor eye-sight only working ‘most of the way’, whatever that meant, as explanation for the spectacles.

And Tom was glad the other man had become so focused, so that he would not bear witness to the sudden stillness of Tom’s figure, the widening of his eyes, and the sharp hunger that had suddenly overcome him at the taste of such casually powerful magic.

Tom had encountered many powerful wixen, of course, but none could wield magic with such ease. None but him. And Potter apparently. To summon something wordlessly, wandlessly, and seemingly without any moment of concentration at all? Especially in what was likely a good amount of distance from the Noble’s Palace to Tom’s own?

They were equals, really and truly and in every way- or had the potential to be, at the very least, just as the prophecy had foretold. ‘… and the Emperor will know him as his equal, and he will have power the world knows not…’

How exciting. But would they truly become equals in every way? And what would that be like? To share this world he had conquered with another he had found deserving. Would they share it together with others? Children born from the two of them?

And he is swiftly overtaken by the need to see Potter swollen with their child, to see him surrounded by their surely prodigious offspring. Children of great accomplishment, no doubt, with their combined magical force and- from what brilliance he could see unfolding on the parchment under Potter’s quill- a penchant for cleverness as well. What a worthy legacy to the Slytherin name they could create together…

But he shook himself. That would be a long while yet. He had to have patience with his newest concubine. It would not do to scare Potter off so quickly.

“There,” the other said triumphantly as he set the quill down and stood to the side to allow Tom to fully examine the parchment. It was a masterfully done matrix and Tom was impressed that the man had come up with such an intricate thing and kept it hidden for so long.

“How long had you been working on these matrices?” he asked out of curiosity.

“Oh, er,” and the enthusiastic academic was again replaced with a nervous and fiddly thing. “Day of?”

Tom blinked. “What do you mean, day of?”

“I didn’t know what to get Their Royal Highnesses!” the other burst out. “So I panicked and went with the idea of the bracelets that Luna had given me and decided to make arrays that would go well with them.”

“You made this matrix in one day?” he asked incredulously, pointing harshly at the parchment.

Impossible. Completely, ridiculously, impossible. It took wixen years to put together a proper matrix, let alone to add fancier things like remote activation or flip-switches. What kind of insanity had he invited into his Palace?

And then there was a glint in Potter’s eye and the shy little thing was gone. In his place was a raging wildcat that Tom had just provoked.

“Is that so hard to believe?” Potter asked sharply. “I’m not stupid, you know. I know my runes and I can pull together a matrix with the best of them. I’m young, sure, but-”

“Potter,” Tom interrupted whatever absurdity was going to spill out of that mouth next. He pinched his brow ridge, a move he usually reserved for dealing with his Council, or his children. “Are you aware of the average length of time, from the conception of the idea to the publishing of the product, it takes to create a matrix?”

“I know the peer-review and accreditation process takes time,” was the petulant reply.

Tom sighed. “It takes years , Potter. What you accomplished in a single day , supposedly, takes even the most accomplished ward-weaver literal years to complete.”

And that seemed to stun the other, though how such information had escaped Potter was a mystery to Tom. Was he so completely oblivious to the world around him? In his own area of research? How baffling.

“Huh,” was all Potter could utter, turning his gaze back to the parchment and staring blankly down at the runes upon the paper.

“When you spoke of having created the arrays for the bracelets themselves, I had assumed you meant you had pulled from research you had already done. Now tell me,” he moved to loom menacingly over Potter, making the seriousness of his next words known, “how in Merlin’s name did you do it? What is your methodology? Surely your matrices cannot be as sound as they seem from the outside if they are put together in such a slapdash manner.”

“Hey!” and the spitfire was back, Tom somehow excited by the reappearance of the fierce blaze within Potter’s eyes. “My work is not slapdash! My runes are perfectly sound I’ll have you know.”

Potter moved back to the table and tsked in annoyance as their shadows stretched over the paper and obscured the dark ink. He idly reached up and a candle slowly lowered into his open palm, the flame closer and better able to illuminate the runes. He didn’t react at all to the dripping wax, simply released the candle to hover a hands-breadth from the surface and shook the wax away with an absent flick of the wrist. Tom was equal parts frustrated and fascinated.

“It’s not that hard a process,” Potter began. “I start with a handful of anchor runes. I like to pull from the elder futhark and emrysian codex the most. For the revelocus matrix I started with Kenaz, to mean ‘beacon’ and ‘finding clarity’ as well as Nauthiz for ‘need’ and ‘necessity’ and then from the emerysian codex I used Mniun for ‘connection to family’ and Mndwy to mean ‘travel’ and ‘insight’. This really takes people years to research?”

Tom stared a bit dumbfounded in the easy way Potter just pulled together runes that meshed so well together. Did the man not know about rebounds and rejection? That runes had to fit together precisely, else the whole array would combust? And yet, the more he looked over the array, the more he could confirm that they did fit, and immaculately at that. Everything was perfectly aligned. What was a complex mathematical equation to most seemed like a simple children’s puzzle in Potter’s hands.

“That cannot possibly work,” Tom protested.

“But it does!” Potter rejoined heatedly, momentarily seeming to forget who he was arguing with. Again.

And it was thrilling, in a way, to find another of such passion so willing to argue with him in order to defend their position. Most would simply demure, even if Tom was in the wrong, and simply concede whatever argument there might have been and thus halt whatever discussion he’d been wanting to mete out. Terribly frustrating when he wanted stimulating conversation and not a sycophantic doormat.

“All it takes is knowing what elements make the spell work. Which rune the wand movement is based on and what runes correspond to the root words of the spell itself. The root words for revelocus are easy enough, just reveal and locus or location. Which would be Kenaz and Mndwy and the wand movement follows a combination of Nauthiz and Mniun. From the upper left quadrant to the bottom right, then flick up and twist left.”

And how thrilling it was to find someone so masterful with their study of choice, they didn’t even realize their worth? Just so skillfully, effortlessly gifted that the entire craft seemed like child’s play in their hands. What a travesty that no one had told him before that he was a prodigy. What a delight that Tom was the one now tasked with polishing such a gem.

He had one question, though, that continued to ring in his mind as he looked over the runes.

“Why spell-craft?” he asked sharply, regrettably interrupting another rant Potter had fallen into.

“What?” Potter stuttered, hands still halfway in the air from where he’d been demonstrating the arc of one of the inner runes he’d chosen to incorporate for the flip-switch.

“You’re remarkably talented with runes, as evidenced by the matrices you’ve created with inhuman ease,” Tom said. “So why spell-craft? Why not pursue certification in ward-weaving? You’d be world renown in a second.”

“Oh, that’s easy,” Potter answered with a grin that was equal parts annoying as it was charming. “Because spell-craft is fun.”

He was at a loss for words. Fun? Potter could revolutionize the entire field of ancient runes and he chose to study spell-craft instead because it was fun? It was ridiculous. Incomprehensible. Had Tom had the same type of easy talent that Potter had, he would have used that to his advantage to the fullest, climbed the ranks quicker than anything and become a respected scholar with international connections within a minute. And this- this foolish boy had thrown away all that raw potential because he wanted to have fun instead? Were they certain he was a Slytherin? Had he no ambition?

“Absurd,” was what he finally landed on saying. “Utterly insane, even.”

“It’s not insane,” Potter pouted. “I’m going to go for a ward-weaver certificate, eventually, as well. So there’s no need to tell me about wasted potential- Cousin Severus gives me enough grief about it already. I just want to dabble in spell-craft more. Matrices can be fun but spells are what I’m passionate about.”

And Tom sighed, giving in. There would be no arguing with Potter. He was still curious, however, what Potter found so fascinating about spell-craft that he would ignore such brilliance in one subject for another. He looked back over the matrix, noting how flawlessly each sentence was phrased inside its girdle. How well placed each lay line was and how each rune fit together as if they weren’t from completely different alphabets.

He waved a hand over the parchment and a breeze drifted in and dried the ink before he snapped his fingers and the paper rolled itself into a scroll that he tucked into the inner pocket of his robes. It was time they continued their stroll.

Tom held out his arm again, hiding a shiver when Potter stepped close to hook back into place. As if hanging off the crook of Tom’s elbow was where he belonged. Like two runes, two puzzle pieces, snapping together perfectly for the first time.

“Tell me what has you so enthralled with spell-craft, then,” Tom said as he led Potter further into his gardens. “I know you’ve already published a few.”

And Tom couldn’t do anything but admire the fervor with which Potter spoke of his favored subject. Tom himself had dabbled quite a bit in spell-craft and also enjoyed pulling one together, but Potter was passionate about it on an entirely different level. Tom had created his spells because he wanted to prove that he was a superior sorcerer and that he had absolute mastery over magic. Potter created his spells as an ode of love to magic, wanting to explore the infinite possibilities that the forces of magic and nature could provide. It was… refreshing to see magic in such a way.

It had been a very long time since he’d seen the magical world with such fresh eyes. Most wixen took magic for granted. When Tom had first been introduced to magic, though in such a subpar fashion by Dumbledore , he had been thrilled and awed and hungry for a chance to prove himself. He hadn’t realized that he’d started to look at the Mother the same way most wixen born within their community did. As a given, as if all she had to offer was already on display, that what was would always be as such. As if her gifts were stagnant, static.

Potter, however, brought back those feelings of boundless wonder that he had long ago forgotten. Reminding Tom of the fluidity of her nature. Of how much they had yet to discover about magic and her marvels. It was one of the driving forces of his bid for immortality, to have the time to explore it all. Yes, he had once feared death, before he had conquered it and become its master, and that had been what had set him on his original path- but it had not been his only motivation. He had feared death so fiercely not just from the destructive nature of it, but because of how short everything had seemed. How little time he would have to live, to achieve all his lofty goals, to plunder every secret magic had hidden within itself.

Potter’s enthusiastic chatter as they walked seemed to bring it all back to the forefront. How exciting. How extraordinary.

They strolled through the gardens for what seemed to be hours, neither paying any attention to the beautiful sights to be found within-only having eyes for the small feats of magic they were weaving together. The warmth of emotion in Potter’s exuberant voice, the glint of fascination in Tom’s eyes.

The moon was high in the sky when they’d finally come to a stop in front of one of the grand fountains within the maze of the gardens, the water burbling pleasantly and the pixies dancing behind the falling streams creating a blinking rainbow of scattered light.

“How unconventional you are, My Noble,” Tom said as he watched Potter skim his free hand over the small waterfall of the fountain, casting droplets about that sparkled in the light of the moon. A small magic of its own. “A Slytherin with no ambition, the foolhardiness of a Gryffindor, loyalty of a Hufflepuff, and sharp wit of a Ravenclaw. What an enigma you make.”

Potter scoffed and the audaciousness of it was stunning. “And what makes you think I have no ambition, Your Majesty?” he challenged.

Tom spun Potter so that they were standing face to face in the shining moonlight rather than side by side and peered curiously into those deadly green eyes that dared him into speaking the way nothing else had ever done before.

“You have no immediate plan to pursue further education, despite the opportunity laid before you in the Citadel Academy and your skill in both runes and spells,” Tom listed heatedly. “You did not take any of the numerous quidditch league offers I am told you were given directly out of Hogwarts. You have yet to do anything with your multiple seats on the wizengamot.”

Potter glared and leaned in closely. “Is your idea of ambition so narrow, Your Majesty? To think that any of those things are what matter to me most?”

“What then?” Tom hissed in frustration, surprised at how easily they had fallen into yet another argument. “What else could possibly matter to you so much?”

*

September 30 ^th 1998, 12:30am, Gardens of the Palace of Immortal Glory

Harry was growing more frustrated by the second. What an infuriating man. How easily he piqued Harry’s temper, how easily the Emperor riled the storm within him into a tempest. Was the man blind? How could he not see what was right in front of him?

Harry leaned in and lifted unto his toes as far as he could reach, still so much shorter than the other even in his heels and further annoyed by it. The Emperor did nothing to stop him and he felt- powerful for it. Slowly he brought the other’s head down so that Harry could curl his arms around his neck and whisper into his ear. He could not stare into those red, red eyes. He was afraid of what he would find within them.

“When I was very young,” he began. “I saw you for the very first time. The Selection of eighty-six as it was broadcast live on the telly.”

Electricity was sparking up and down his spine as their magics clashed in the air with their proximity. He could feel the Emperor’s pulse beneath his fingertips and could feel his own heart rabbiting and rattling the cage of his ribs with how fast it was beating.

“I could not see much,” he continued to murmur, “the quality of the program was poor. But-”

His magic was going haywire. Harry had never experienced a hurricane before but he imagined this is what it felt like to stand in the eye of the storm, the buzz of nerves where a supernatural calm had blanketed his body- the anticipation, knowing the ripping winds and rain could descend again at any moment and whip the world back into a roaring frenzy. He felt like he was on the brink of something. What, he couldn’t say, but the precipice was before him, all he had to do was run into the storm.

And Harry had never been afraid of a good storm.

He pulled his courage together and slipped down so that he could directly meet the gaze of the man that had bewitched him from afar for so much of his life as he spoke his confession and begged for absolution.

“I remember your eyes. The beautiful red of them. Like an ocean of freshly spilled blood.”

He dared to reach up, emboldened when the Emperor did nothing to stop him, the man standing frozen like the statue of some powerful, ethereally beautiful god before him. His hands cupped the Emperor’s face and both of them drew shocked breaths from the force of the magic singing with the contact. Harry swallowed hard and swiped his thumbs oh so tenderly under those red, red eyes as he whispered his worship.

“And I have thought of nothing else since.”

And then, like a serpent striking prey, the Emperor lunged , their lips crashing together like waves against a cliff.

Harry was caught by surprise by the force of the kiss, but he melted into it nonetheless. Large hands came to wrap around his waist, steadying him where he had rocked backwards and almost tumbled into the fountain, the warmth of them searing even through the layers of his robes. Thunder rumbled and lightning flashed, blinding light illuminating the back of his eyelids as they fluttered closed.

The kiss was warm and wet and filled with teeth. He had never been kissed so hungrily before, as if compelled to devour his very soul. He gasped into the kiss when a sharp canine nipped at his lip and drew blood. Harry felt like he was drowning in a sea of it, as if he had taken a dive right into those eyes he admired so fervently and promptly forgotten how to swim.

A tongue swiped over his own teeth and the resulting crash of heady sensation and intoxicating magic nearly had his eyes rolling back into his head. The crest of a wave clashing so madly against another at the height of a raging storm, the resulting sea spray of it scattering across his soul. He pulled back, gasping for air in breathless pants, trying so desperately to ride the current of the deliciously dark magic around him without succumbing to the tides.

Those lips, like a brand, traveled down his neck instead, hot and heavy against his skin, teeth sharp like a knife blade skimming against his pulse point. A sharp nip just above his collar bone followed by the soothing lathe of a tongue. Like a lightning strike followed by a warm ocean wave gently brushing over golden sand. A soft peppering of kisses like the patter of hot summer rain.

“How sweet the words from spiteful mouth,” a sharp rebuke so gently murmured against his skin.

“You say that as if they were lies,” Harry protested, hands clawing into the soft black silk of the Emperor’s robes where they laid upon broad shoulders.

The kisses had stopped, the Emperor resting in the crook of Harry’s neck- tall frame looming over Harry and enveloping him whole.

“Were they not?” was the reply muttered into his neck, a hint of bitterness curling around the edges of the words. “Sycophantic flattery designed to best place yourself in my favor.” The hands around his waist tightened until they were just on the edge of bruising.

Harry jerked back and, irrespective of the man with whom he was arguing, he glared. “If I am anything,” he spat, fist clenching around black silk and those damned scars standing out in white with the force of it, “it is not a liar.”

The expression on the Emperor’s face darkened but Harry stood his ground, meeting that blood red gaze without fear.

Those eyes searched his, the dangerous shadow slowly receding the more they delved, curiosity taking over. There was a more tangible mixing of magic in the air, but Harry could not place its purpose even as the scent of saltwater surrounded him and coated his lungs.

“No,” His Majesty eventually drawled, a slow grin twisting the edges of his lips. The light in his eyes was mean and the smile almost manic, but still Harry was unafraid. “No, I don’t suppose you are.”

Hot, heavy hands slid down over his hips and rounded over his backside, the intimate touch- so unfamiliar, so delicious- causing Harry to jolt as they settled on his thighs just below the curve of his ass. Those possessive hands pulled him closer until he was flush against the Emperor, his feet nearly leaving the ground from the force of it.

“How refreshing you are, My Noble,” he said, voice twisted so sweetly around the words even as they dripped with something cruel. “But how long might that last? You will not survive long within this Court with such principles, darling.”

Warmth bloomed over his cheeks as the Emperor kept one arm around Harry’s waist while the other parted the petal skirts of his robes to search for bare skin, skimming against the edge of his stockings and only narrowly missing the straps of lace and bows holding them up.

“Will your convictions falter? Will you crumble?” The Emperor was impossibly close, hovering over Harry while also holding him up against that broad chest, staring down his nose at Harry with a strange intensity he didn’t know what to do with. Harry could feel his heartbeat rabbiting once again inside his chest, knocking against his rib cage as if asking for entry to the outside world. Would the Emperor hear it and grant its request? “Will you die?”

And still Harry refused to shy away. The hat had considered him equally for Gryffindor as Slytherin after all, and here stood the culmination of his ambition and he refused to not have the courage to take it .

I want, I want, I want, beat the rhythm of his blood. I need, I need, I need, sang the tempest of his magic as it roared within his core. Both were the music with which his fingers danced as they clenched once more around black silk, using it for the leverage he needed to pull himself even closer and daring to hitch a leg up around the other’s hip. The hand that had been caressing the skin of his thigh moved to grasp it, tight enough to bruise.

“Never,” he growled. A promise.

This time it was Harry who surged up to steal a kiss, the soft lips of the serpent above him pliant and accepting of his clumsy attempt, despite the audacity of the action and the unpleasant click of teeth scraping teeth. He could feel the rumble of a pleased hum beneath his hands. Long, elegant fingers teased the edge of his stocking before sliding up and discovering the lacy thigh garter helping hold it up.

He felt the Emperor pause for the slightest moment before he started twisting the garter around his finger tight, tight, tight over Harry’s thigh, before releasing it to snap back sharply against the soft flesh.

Harry pulled back and gasped with the sting of it.

“Ah, My Noble,” the Emperor purred with dark amusement, “had you more intimate plans in mind for the evening?”

“I- No!” Harry stammered, all courage he’d gathered fleeing in an instant, hand in hand with his wits, “Erm.” He ducked his head instead of trying to give any coherent response, hiding his blush against the Emperor’s chest.

Harry felt the deep chuckle against his burning cheek as the Emperor laughed at his inarticulate distress. Slowly those hands released him and lowered him back onto his heels, but, blessedly they continued to hold him and let him hide. Why had he let Lavender accost him with those Merlin-damned garters? They were frilly, unnecessary things with too many bows and expensive gems in cutesy little hearts. And now he looked like a presumptuous, airheaded little tart in front of the Emperor. His life might as well be over now. Might as well just beg Mother Magic to suffocate him where he stood. Maybe She would show him mercy where Lavender had not.

The Emperor let out a little hum and then shocked Harry out of his humiliated stupor by hooking one of those lovely fingers underneath his chin and raising Harry’s head to meet his gaze. “None of that now, My Noble. The hour grows late and it is time to retire, so there is no need to stew in unwarranted embarrassment.”

The Emperor was being far too gentle with him. It was almost unnerving. Even when the man leaned down again and placed a quick kiss against Harry’s lips, sending another lightning bolt of magic down his spine. Then that sea-salt ocean wave of magic was swirling in the air again, surrounding them both in a rising tide of shadows before Harry’s sight was overtaken by black and when he blinked his eyes open again they were standing at the entrance to the gardens, the Emperor’s valet waiting at the door.

That had not been apparition. There had been no unbearable squeezing sensation. No deafening pop of sound. No warning, no feeling of movement. They had simply been in one place one moment and then another the next. Harry had heard rumor of His Majesty holding knowledge and powers unknown to the rest of the wixen world, only one of which was a supposed ability to move any distance, anywhere, simply with the aid of shadows. Shadowstepping. Harry glanced up hungrily, he must know how the other had done it.

The Emperor simply grinned at his expression, smug and taunting. He shook his head, “Another time, perhaps.”

Harry accepted defeat before he’d even attempted to ask, huffing a bit petulantly but letting it go. He hoped that refraining from pressing the issue would make the man more likely to follow through on that promise of another time. Shadowstepping was a lost art and it was bloody cool , okay?

“I enjoyed the night greatly, my dear,” the Emperor said, the words making the blush rise back into his cheeks. “And I dearly hope we may meet again like this soon.”

“I-,” Harry stammered. “Me too.” Dammit, Potter, get it together! “The gardens were lovely and it is my dearest wish to be graced with your company as often as His Majesty will allow,” he rushed through the words and gave an awkward half-bow, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands. Walking disaster, he was.

“Mulciber will show you to your quarters for the night,” the Emperor said, mercifully not acknowledging Harry’s fumbling. “Until next time, darling.” And then there was the faintest hint of salt and sandalwood as His Majesty leaned down to place a soft kiss on Harry’s cheek before sweeping away.

Harry dazedly brought a hand up to his cheek, wanting to savor each and every kiss the Emperor had blessed him with that night. Wishing they could all soak into his skin and settle in his bones, preserved forever as carvings in his marrow. He wanted them all to bruise. To brand. He couldn’t help but worry, couldn’t help but fear, that for whatever reason those would be his last- that he had to memorize the feel of those lips against his as quickly as possible, elsewise he would forget entirely. And yet, how could he? How could he ever forget what it felt like to be held, be kissed, by the most powerful man in the world. To be so thoroughly drenched in the darkest fathoms of the sea. But still he felt that should he come up for air, should he breach the surface and crawl to land, that he’d never see the ocean again.

He couldn’t stand the thought.

It was on absent feet that he followed a silent Mulciber into the grand Palace of Immortal Glory. His head was floating in the clouds the entire journey and he could scarcely remember bidding the valet a good night after being brought to stand in front of the opulently gilded black oak doors to the chambers he’d been given.

He undressed mechanically that night, barely giving Ginny’s insistent questions any coherent thought as she helped him unlace from his corset.

It would only be later, as Ginny gathered his old robes to pack and take back to his own Palace after dressing in a new, more demure set for the harem meeting that morning, that he would notice that he was missing one of his thigh garters. And realizing, with a blush, that the missing garter had been the one the Emperor had twisted so tightly against his skin.

He refused to answer any of Ginny’s questioning glances not matter how often he rubbed a hand over his thigh- pressing against, even through his robes, the lovely dark bruise that had been left on his thigh.

Chapter Text

October 1^st 1998, 6 am, Road to the Palace of Immortal Glory

Lavender Brown had never once thought of herself as a selfless person. Growing up, she’d been nothing but the shunted off daughter of a disfavored concubine. Fighting for any scrap of attention or care by any means necessary.

Many of the wizarding gentry, and even those that were left of the muggle gentry, followed in His Majesty’s footsteps and instituted harems of their own- though not as expansive as the Emperor’s. For wizarding society this was seen as a boon to increase the number of one’s political ties as well as increase the chances of begetting powerful wizarding children. Lavender’s “Lady Mother” was one such Pure-blooded Noble who had become the Head of her House and decided to start a harem. It was unusual for a woman to take charge as Head of a Household, but not completely unheard of, and Lavender’s Lady Mother was decidedly unusual anyway; usurping her younger brother Corban for claim to the Heirship, much to his displeasure.

Lady Adosinda Yaxley was not a woman to be trifled with, nor was she a particularly caring or empathetic one. Lavender knew that Lady Yaxley was where she’d gained her blonde curls, the lighter shade to her skin, and perhaps they had the same aristocratic nose. Where they might have had more similarities, she couldn’t know- she’d never even heard her Lady Mother speak. She’d only ever seen cold grey eyes stare down at her with a disapproving frown. Stoic, distant, and barely ever stopping when she deigned to sweep through the impressive castle the lot of them all lived in. Not that she ever made her way to the corner Lavender and her other mother occupied. No, they had been banished to a small set of chambers close to the servants quarters before she’d even been born.

Lavender’s other mother had not been much better, in terms of attentive care. Lucy Brown had been a muggleborn witch with very little to her name, picked up as a lower ranked concubine by Lady Yaxley for unknowable reasons. Always desperate for Lady Yaxley’s attention and never receiving it. She spent most of her time forgetting that Lavender even existed, too caught up in pining for the impossible and lamenting her poor fortune. Lavender had spent most of her childhood watching the other children of the more favored concubines frolic in the gardens, attended by their more illustrious parents and more attentive maids. Most of them had even been awarded the last name of Yaxley and were officially tied into the family tree.

Lavender was more often treated like a bastard child.

So she had grown up rather pragmatic and self-sufficient, learned through necessity. She’d bullied one of the castle maids into teaching her how to sew and she’d made her own clothes. She’d learned to read and write from an early age by sneaking into the rooms her older half-siblings were being tutored in. She’d learned to heed the whispers of the castle staff, that maids had more power over the running of things than anyone ever gave them credit for. She’d learned how to build a network of people willing to drop idle gossip- and sometimes even offer more vital information. How to trade an embroidered handkerchief for a juicy rumor, a favor for a warning. She’d learned all that she had to in order to pull ahead of all of her siblings, being the only one to accomplish entry into Hogwarts- even beating out her half-brother Barnabas, the favored Heir just a few years older than her. It hadn’t mattered in the end, not to anyone but herself. She’d learned that no matter what she accomplished, neither of her mothers would give her much mind. One being like a distant statue and the other an absentminded mess.

It was what had driven her to succeed. Not for the attention of mothers that would never care for her, but for herself. For her own survival.

It had, frankly, been a miracle that she had been sorted into Gryffindor at all when she was full of nothing but cunning and ambition. It was what had gotten her into the Citadel, in a sense, designing clothing for a member of the Emperor’s harem- one that she felt had the mettle to climb high into the ranks. It was her dream job. But, and perhaps this was one of the reasons she hadn’t been sorted into Slytherin, she hadn’t gotten it through cunning necessarily. She’d simply gone up to Ginny, who she hadn’t spoken to much previously, and shoved her sketches at the younger girl. Then demanded to speak to Harry at some point about becoming his tailor.

She hadn’t started her Hogwarts career with many friends, and despite becoming friendly with several girls in her year- she’d always known her connections with them wouldn’t run very deep. Padma and Parvati were kind but also too caught up in their own worlds to ever put much mind on anyone else. Romilda had been a raging gossip, more invested in everyone else’s life than making connections in her own (which is why it had been such a surprise to see her accepted into the Harem- there was a story there that Lavender was missing and she was determined to sniff it out). Parkinson would sooner have hexed herself to death than ever do anything for Lavender that resembled a favor.

But then she’d gotten to know Ginny and Luna and Harry and even started to form friendships with the rest of his group- Hermione, Neville, and even Blaise. And she’d felt welcomed for the first time in her life. Like she wasn’t taking up space meant for someone else. Like she was allowed to belong somewhere for once.

Another reason, one only the Sorting Hat could have predicted, was that despite thinking herself selfish, when faced with real friends for the first time in her life- she was actually quite willing to do almost anything for them. Without thinking of a price to demand for once. It was also what had gotten her into her current position, in another sense- riding a thestral at six o’clock in the Merlin damned morning in order to arrive at the Emperor’s palace in time to get one of said friends ready for the snake-pit he was about to find himself in.

She was worried, deeply worried, about what was in store for Harry at the morning meeting today. It was the first of the month, which meant any announcements about promotions would be made- and moreover any of the more vicious concubines who didn’t receive one that they felt they deserved, was going to take out their jealousy on anyone they could. And Harry was going to be a prime target. She was especially worried with the warning notes from Luna that had arrived just before she’d planned to set off. There had been one directly addressed to her, telling Lavender that she would need to take Fenny the snake to Harry for extra protection at the meeting. And that she would need to keep her ear to the ground with extra caution in the coming weeks. Neither of which boded well for them.

Lavender could only hope that her help would be enough. While she couldn’t march into battle with Harry, she could still dress him in the most splendid armor she was capable of making.

Armed only with a needle and thread, she was ushered through the servants’ quarters of the Emperor’s palace to prepare her friend for war.

*

October 1 ^st 1998, Hall of Gathering

Harry sat still as a statue, spine straight, face blank, and hands clenched around Luna’s note under the sleeves of his robe.

His robes were the most subdued set he’d worn to date, nothing fancy- nothing flashy, nothing even remotely suggestive. His overrobe was made of a blue-grey Breanish tweed, a finely made hand-spun fabric- expensive, as befitting his station, but not eye-catching. It had long angel sleeves that reached down to his fingertips and it all settled around his shoulders and waist in a demure sort of cut, not Lavender’s usual form-fitting style. He wore a waistcoat instead of a corset underneath and the ruffled cotton shirt he wore with it were both just barely different shades of the same dull blue as his robe. His only accessory was the snake draped round his neck.

There was no dreamy organza or fluttery chiffon. No magical embellishments meant to set him apart from his fellow concubines. The goal of his outfit for this particular morning meeting was to blend in, to fade into the background as much as possible so that he wouldn’t attract undue attention. So that he would not garner more trouble than he was already bound to encounter.

But, as he twisted Luna’s note in his hands once more, it didn’t seem he was going to get his wish today.

Harry,

The Emperor will be testing you. Issuing a challenge. This meeting will be a dangerous one. I asked Lavender to take Fenny to you so that you may have more eyes watching your back. But I do not know if he will be more hindrance than help. The anguane was not very clear on that when she spoke to me by the river last night.

Best of luck,

Luna

Harry was not even going to touch on what an anguane was, but he was grateful for the warning nonetheless. Whether it had come from Luna herself or she had passed it along from some magical creature he’d never heard of.

More to the point, he thought, pulling his hands from his robe and stroking along Fenny’s smooth scales in order to calm himself, was just what the hell the Emperor thought he was doing.

The man was taunting him. He was the one to have set up this entire treacherous system, was the one that let it run rampant as it was. He knew full well the dangers the other concubines would pose to Harry considering all the recent upheaval. A challenge. Well. For all of Harry’s more Slytherin qualities, nurtured so carefully by the other snakes of his house, there was still a great deal of Gryffindor in him. Which meant he was not one to back down from a challenge. Especially not this one. Whatever it would be.

“This Fenny does not understand the funny wizard,” the snake’s grumbling interrupted Harry’s growing frustration. “Taking the poor Fenny out into the cold. How odd. How rude. The Fenny grows tired as the days grow short and the funny wizard does not even offer a juicy rat for the troubles.”

Carefully, very carefully, he tried out a few of the new words the snake had taught him, shaping the hisses in a way he hoped was accurate, “Rat, l ater.”

“Oh, so now the funny wizard is keeping the rats from this Fenny on purpose!” the snake hissed irritably, and Harry almost wanted to laugh at the indignation the snake was expressing even as he stuck his head in the collar of Harry’s robes for warmth. “Lying to Fenny about juicy rats even as the funny wizard does not keep his promise about keeping the Fenny warm! How cruel! How rude!”

Harry sighed, his hissed conversation being the only thing he could use to distract himself from the poisonous glares he was receiving from the incoming concubines. Word about last night’s summoning had spread already, then. It was no surprise, but he still had to resist the urge to squirm under their hateful gazes.

“Later,” he hissed again before concentrating instead on weaving a wandless heating charm over the snake, hoping it would last the entirety of the meeting- though he doubted it, as this one was bound to drag on well into the afternoon. He could not draw his wand in such a crowded space, nor could he let the others feel the pooling of his magic, lest anyone think he was doing so as a threat.

He scrunched his brow, ignoring everyone else as the meeting time ticked closer and closer. No one dared to approach him, either.

It was delicate work to cast a charm without a wand, most especially when one wasn’t doing it with brute force and iron will- which was how Harry usually tended to cast without a wand. He simply took magic by the reigns and directed it as he wished, like cupping a hurricane between your hands and making it bow to your every whim.

This, however, was like threading a fine- invisible- needle. With invisible thread. While also holding back gale-force winds. It was enough to take his mind off of his other troubles, for certain.

“Calesco,” he whispered, feeling a gentle warmth leave his hand in a tingle at his fingertips and wrap around the snake that was coiled around his shoulders like an ill-tempered scarf.

“Well,” Fenny hissed, popping his head out so that it rested comfortably in the crook of Harry’s neck, “at least the funny wizard is good for something.”

He huffed a small laugh and could feel Sister Fleur’s questioning side-eye like a brand to the side of his head. Before he could even think of reluctantly speaking to the other, the doors to the Hall sprang open with a great bang!

Noble Consort Bellatrix had finally arrived, and she did not look best pleased. She stormed down the aisle even as the footman at the door was still announcing her titles, sharp golden nails digging into the parchment she held with a white-knuckled grip. She did not use her maid’s hand as she descended the stairs, instead stomping past them all in a fury.

Harry was glad to have put the warming charm on Fenny before her entrance, as her arrival seemed to sap the room of any warmth if might have held. While starting October might have been a herald for colder days, it suddenly felt like the dead of winter- everyone frozen by the chill that had blanketed the atmosphere. Bellatrix’s magic raged around them like a snowstorm- howling wind let loose by her vicious temper.

If Harry had ever encountered a dementor before, he might have compared the sensations and found them eerily similar.

The woman did not even bother to sit upon her throne when she reached it upon its dais. Instead she stood with her hands on her hips and turned her glare to the entirety of the room, pinning each and every concubine with a cold grey gaze that was filled with the force of a blizzard and the looming threat of frostbite.

Harry froze like a prey animal when it landed on him, sharpening like a knife as her fury only grew at the sight of him.

“Noble Potter,” she spat. “How dare you flaunt the rules like an insolent little upstart.”

Harry had no answer. He had broken no rules. Though he knew what rule she likely thought he’d broken. But she wasn’t stopping for an answer. And he knew that whatever answer he gave would be insufficient anyway. It was much like being back with the Dursleys; Uncle Vernon screaming in his face about what a dirty little freak he was when he hadn’t washed the windows just right- no matter how clean he’d actually gotten them, Aunt Petunia nearly taking his head off with a frying pan when she yelled about finding shells in the scrambled eggs even though he’d almost burned his fingers off making sure there hadn’t been any, Dudley taunting him endlessly about how stupid and weak he was and Harry even starting to believe it.

He shut down- bowing his head and hiding his clenched fists in the sleeves of his robes once again. He simply let her go on her tirade without interruption. Speaking now would only make things worse. He had long since learned the art of making no noise and pretending he didn’t exist.

“Does ickle baby Potter not understand his place?” she went on, the high-pitch of her mocking baby-talk grating against his skin. “Does he not know how to read? Or how to follow instructions? Or maybe the ickle baby Noble is just too stupid to recognize when he should bow to his betters.”

Harry did not look up, did not engage. His own rage was building like a storm within his chest, indignant and torrential, but he kept it on a tight reign. He could do nothing without making things worse for himself. The frustration of his helplessness, his inability to defend himself, only served to infuriate him further.

She kept going, but Harry stopped listening. Instead he focused on the kaleidoscope shadows that were dancing across the marble floor, cast by the giant stained glass window that always sat so prettily behind the reigning concubine’s throne. Something in their pattern spoke of danger, moving in erratic spikes of restless magic. Would he be able to defend himself well enough if the glass shattered? If a rainbow of deadly shards were to rain down on them all with the concussive force of uncontrolled magic? Would he be punished for it afterward, if he succeeded?

“Your Grace.”

The quiet words should not have echoed through the meeting hall so effectively, stopping Bellatrix’s rant in its tracks. Her wild eyes snapped to the man that had spoken, jaw tightening and teeth bared in a snarl that she could not release.

The Noble Consort had a great deal of power, and in fact as the Primary Spouse to the Emperor, she was the second most powerful person on Earth. Officially, at least.

Unofficially, as her favor with the Emperor had waned through the last few years- the true power laid with those that had His Majesty’s confidence. Those that could whisper into the man’s ear, those that had the ability to try and sway his opinion, those that reported directly to the man himself.

Zhelyazko Mulciber, His Majesty’s personal valet, was one such man. He was a tall man, with dark hair and dark eyes, he stood proud with his shoulders back and spine stiff, but when he moved there was a slight limp to his left leg, an old war wound. He looked commanding and severe and he held the Noble Consort's livid glare without fear.

He was not often at the morning meetings, far too important and far too busy to bother himself with the frivolous concerns of concubines, not when he was executing the direct will of the Emperor himself. When there was trouble brewing, however, or when the Emperor knew his announcements would cause a stir among them- he would send Mulciber to keep things from going too far. Where that line was drawn though, was, reportedly, much further out than one might usually think reasonable. The Emperor, and therefore his valet, was apparently entertained by the occasional bouts of bloodshed, so long as no one died. Or if they did, that no one got caught.

Bellatrix whirled on the man, snarling like a rabid animal, “I have every right to punish the chit! That whore ,” she spat, pointing a rigid finger back at Harry, “has broken too many rules so he can rise above his station! I won’t have it! Not in my court!”

The hall was completely still, nobody daring to move as they all held their breath at her words. To call the court her own would have consequences, Harry was sure, though he couldn’t say what they might be. Would her claim be validated and her rule made absolute? Or would she be cast from her throne for attempting to lay claim to something that wasn’t hers.

“Perhaps,” Mulciber’s voice carried, calm and measured. “your wrath would have merit, had something of the sort actually happened.”

There was a round of titters rolling through the hall, fans being snapped open and fluttered, whispers spilling out and spreading across the floor.

“But seeing as Noble Potter has broken no rules,” he drawled, “then I suggest you save your ire for a more appropriate time and continue on with the morning announcements… Your Grace.”

This only seemed to rile her more, the air trembling with her fury and shards of ice starting to crystallize around her- sharp and deadly.

“Of course he broke the rules,” she snapped, “he broke my rules. Mine!” And there was a hysterical edge to her now, her sanity slipping further and further- like she was on the brink of snapping. “How dare he be summoned so early? How dare he spend the night with my husband without getting my permission first?”

Delusional. She’d gone completely round the bend. This was a harem . The Emperor was not her husband alone. Harry hadn’t gone out of his way to ask for a night, he’d been summoned. Was he meant to have feigned an illness to avoid it? Was he meant to have denied the Emperor of the World on her whim?

The whispers grew louder around them. It seemed, from what little he could hear over the pounding of his heart, that this was a level of madness unusual even for Bellatrix. And it was only natural, of course, that Harry be the one to face the brunt of her breakdown. Some of the others seemed smug, hoping Bellatrix would cross that unforgivable line, that she’d murder him in broad daylight, so that she’d be kicked from the harem and take Harry down with her.

Harry wasn’t going to let that happen, though. Outwardly, he didn’t move- kept his head slightly bowed and his shoulders hunched. But he kept his gaze sharp and let his magic flow down to his fingertips, silently summoning his wand into hand under his sleeves.

The valet, however, was unmoved by Bellatrix’s overly erratic behavior.

“His Majesty has granted you leeway in these trying times,” he said, the heels of his boots clicking on the stone steps as he stalked toward the center- arms braced behind his back which stood straight and tall, expression bland as he walked toward the veritable blizzard whipping around Bellatrix’s dais. “It would serve you best not to squander it… Your Grace.” He paused in his steps. “I would suggest moving on with today’s announcements, lest this unfortunate lapse in control need be reported back to the Emperor.”

Bellatrix paled at the words, the building snowstorm around her dropping in an instant.

“Unless you are not feeling well enough to continue, Your Grace?”

“No,” she snarled, clutching the scroll of announcements to her chest. “Your interference will not be necessary.”

“Very well,” he drawled, tilting his head in the smallest of bows before retreating to stand in the shadows of a wall nearby. His form became unobtrusive, but his presence was still like a force looming over Bellatrix’s shoulder- as if daring her to toe the line again.

Still trembling with rage, Bellatrix spun on her heel and threw herself onto her throne, snarl still affixed to her face with blood-red lips. The bright carnelian gem of her crown was buried under a tumble of black curls as it was knocked sideways by her haphazard movements.

She unrolled the scroll without further commotion, blandly reading off the formal greetings at the beginning of every announcement, voice monotone as she tried to seem like she no longer cared about anything or anyone else around her.

“His Imperial Majesty, The Dark Emperor, first of the Slytherin throne, bids good morning to all of his dearest concubines and wishes good health and spirits upon them all.”

It was unusual for Bellatrix to bother actually reading the entirety of the announcement aloud, usually skipping to any parts that she, personally, found entertaining to read. Thankfully, likely knowing of her penchant for skipping large swathes of the announcements- all of which held major news about changes in the Empire, news of minor changes that would effect them personally, and any important goings on in the Court that was pertinent for them to know- a copy of the announcements was sent out to every harem member after the meeting. This was also for those that were unable to make it that morning for whatever reason.

Likely, Bellatrix was trying to behave properly after being reprimanded by the valet- thought she did so in the manner of a petulant child.

Harry could admit, though, that hearing it all read aloud like this- especially with Bellatrix making it sounds as bland as possible- he might have preferred her way better. At least he didn’t have to sit through an hours worth of overly-flowery platitudes that way. He was already zoning out and it had barely started.

It wasn’t until Ginny nudged his arm a few minutes later that he realized he really had just… stopped paying attention. To his credit though, Bellatrix was reading in such a way that was incredibly boring and Harry hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.

“His Majesty hereby declares a Changing of the Ranks,” there rose a soft rustle of whispers and shifting robes. That had certainly gotten everyone’s attention. “As is done on the first of the month thereafter a time wherein a Change in Rank was earned. As it is done, so mote it be.”

Bellatrix paused, gaze calmly sweeping over the increasingly restless concubines around her- likely reveling in the anxious fidgeting of those she saw as beneath her.

“First, however,” she said, a malicious grin spreading across her face, “His Majesty wishes to express his displeasure with one of our Brothers.”

There was a distinct stiffening of spines and a waves of whispers, there were even quite a few furtive glances his direction- though he hadn’t thought the night had gone that badly. But Luna had warned him that the Emperor had planned a challenge for him. Was that it? A demotion? It made his heart sink to think of it. If he was demoted now he’d be moved into an entirely new palace, and he’d have to choose which of his maids were to be let go, and he’d have to watch his back for ridicule and further sabotage from those still in the ranks below him- they’d be emboldened by his apparent downfall and would see it as an opportunity to further see him to ruin.

“Secondary Consort Amycus Carrow-Slytherin,” heads snapped in the consort’s direction. The man had the facade of someone wholly unfazed by the Noble Consort’s announcement, but the downward twitch of his mouth and hands tightening to fists gave him away. “While His Majesty does not wish to issue an official Change in Rank, he has nonetheless earned His Majesty’s displeasure and would do well to remember to comport himself with greater refinement and dignity moving forward.”

There was no hiding the murmurs around them now. The whispers could only barely be classified as such, with how loud and vicious they were becoming, swelling like the crest of an approaching wave. Harry could only catch snippets from those around him; Fleur whispering to her maid, Kirley speaking lowly with Selwyn, the other maids trading hushed speculations among themselves. Most seemed to be saying that Carrow had been on thin ice with the Emperor for awhile now, but it hadn’t been officially acknowledged until this meeting. Everyone seemed to think that the only reason he hadn’t been demoted already was that he was protected from it with his status as an official spouse.

Once a harem member reached the coveted rank of Consort, there was no going back- you could only move up in rank from there. You couldn’t become unmarried, after all, not unless His Majesty wished to divorce you altogether. And they had yet to find the line to cross that would force the Emperor’s hand; there didn’t seem to be one. You could be admonished and punished, yes, but never lowered in rank.

Everyone else, however, had to watch themselves. You could be dropped or elevated for anything and everything. It was all on the Emperor’s whim. One day you might get away with hexing a palace maid half to death, another you could be shamed into oblivion for simply ‘being too annoying’. A treacherous game they all played, but the rewards at the top were worth the gamble.

“Well, Brother,” Bellatrix cooed, the malice edging her words unsettling, “do you have anything to say for yourself? You’re a senior member of the harem after all, you need to be setting a good example for the whelplings.”

Carrow’s lip twitched in an aborted snarl before he controlled himself and spoke through gritted teeth, “There is no excuse for my behavior and I will endeavor to set a better example for our lesser-ranked Brothers and Sisters.”

Bellatrix cackled, clapping her hands together in glee, “Very good, Brother! We’ll have you properly trained and everything soon. Should we work on making sure you’re housebroken next?”

Carrow’s calm facade slipped altogether at her words, arm reaching for his wand but his maid held him back. He shrugged her off harshly, causing the girl to fall to the ground as he threatened to have her executed for laying hands on him. The girl sobbed as she prostrated herself on the floor at his feet, all while Bellatrix laughed- high and vindictive.

But eventually Consort Carrow settled back in his seat, whatever violence had been about to break out avoided. Harry could only hope Carrow forgot about his promises of extreme punishment for his poor maid; she didn’t deserve that kind of treatment when she’d likely been the one to save Carrow from punishment himself. He could have gotten in real trouble for firing a spell at Bellatrix, and the other woman knew it- a dangerous glint in her eye suggesting she would have taken full advantage of any attack and used the opportunity to see Carrow brought low.

“Moving on,” Bellatrix continued blithely, snapping the roll of parchment back open and scanning down the announcements for a moment before she smiled- though it seemed a bit forced. “His Majesty hereby declares a Change in Rank for Secondary First-Class Attendant Cedric Diggory wherein he will be henceforth known as Primary First-Class Attendant Cedric Diggory, in award for his efforts in ensuring the continuance of the Slytherin dynasty and the flourishing of the Imperial bloodline.”

There was a polite smattering of claps, though there were few that were truly enthusiastic. When Harry looked toward the row of First-Class Attendants he could see Cedric smiling widely, while the large woman beside him, Wilhelmina Bulstrode, scowled and shot him a dirty glare. Likely unhappy about losing her position as Primary First-Class Attendant no doubt. Though she likely knew Cedric wouldn’t keep the position for long, not if he successfully made it through his pregnancy. The chances of him joining Harry among the Nobles soon was very high- should he be able to bring a new Royal Heir into the world.

“I thank His Majesty for his generosity,” Cedric replied, ever the face of graciousness, “and will endeavor to always conduct myself in a manner befitting my newly declared rank.”

“As you should,” Bellatrix replied primly before glancing back at the announcements and freezing. “His Majesty-,” she cut herself off, stopping to close her eyes and take a breath through gritted teeth. When she snapped them open her glare was just as deadly as it had been earlier and, once again, it was trained directly at Harry. “His Majesty hereby declares a Change in Rank for Fourth Noble Harry Potter-” there were gasps all around the room and Harry felt rooted to his chair- stomach filling with dread, “wherein he will be henceforth known as Third Noble Harry Potter, in award for his- pleasant company and clever use of runes- what is the meaning of this?!”

The meaning was that the Emperor was a complete ass that wanted Harry to get murdered, painfully and violently. He would not think about hexing the bollocks off of the Emperor of the Entire World, he would not. He would have to take a petty revenge elsewhere. He was sure he could get into contact with the Weasley twins, they’d have something, surely.

The bubbling rise of soft exclamations and susurrating insinuations around the hall were not helping his panic-fueled rage. He could hear them all like an echo in his skull. It had already been a rare thing to be given the rank of Noble when he’d first entered the harem, it was another thing entirely to have been promoted within the rank in such a short amount of time. The only ranks that had held concubines without children had been the lower Attendant ranks- before he’d arrived. It’d been enough to stave off rumors when he’d been placed at the lowest Noble rank- but now that he’d been promoted above Fleur…

“He’s only just spent the night with His Majesty, surely he can’t have gotten pregnant already?”

“Do you think he somehow whored his way into the Emperor’s bed before this? Or maybe he’s full of some other louse’s spawn, he is a dirty half-blood after all, and trying to pass it off? His Majesty wouldn’t be fooled by that though…”

“Heard from my younger cousin that Potter was a slag at Hogwarts, small wonder he got promoted for pleasant company.”

“Potter!” the Noble Consort snapped, an ice storm of wild magic starting to take shape behind her once again, “What do you have to say for yourself? Desecrating the proper order of things and making a mockery of the Court! I’ll have you kicked from the Citadel for your insolence!”

“Your Grace,” Mulciber interrupted her tirade before it could gain half as much traction as the first one had. Harry didn’t much like owing a debt to the valet for saving him from Bellatrix’s wrath twice now, but he much preferred that over being forced into a duel in the middle of the Hall. “Perhaps its best to address this another time? There are more announcements to be made.”

The Noble Consort stared down the valet with a look of unhinged murderous rage for an uncomfortable moment before she seemed to gather herself and turned back to the parchment in her hands without another word, tonelessly reciting the words on the page at a pace too fast to fairly grasp what was being said.

Not that Harry really had the wherewithal to pay any attention to the rest of the meeting, head still spinning as it was. He’d been promoted . He’d been singled out for attack with no time to prepare for defense. He schooled his features but could still feel the anger building up inside him like a wildfire. This was all just some sick game to him, the Emperor. He was having fun at Harry’s expense. He didn’t care much for any of their lives, just so long as they entertained him. The seven dead concubines before Harry could attest to that.

A challenge. A test. For what? A laugh? Just to see Harry squirm? To see Harry have a paranoid breakdown- worried for his life and that of his friends? To make him fear that every cup of tea from this day on would be full of poison? To make him dread waking up to find one of the maids in his employ dead on the steps of his palace? Or worse, that one of them would betray him and attempt to put him in the same position?

Harry knew the Emperor was not a nice man. No one became the Emperor of the Entire World by being wholesome and friendly. But this callous taunting still stung. It still felt like duplicity, like he’d been tricked into believing in a version of the man that didn’t exist- even though it was his own fault for lowering his guard.

Above all, he felt like an idiot.

Had he not just kissed the Emperor last night? Had he not just melted in the other man’s arms less than twelve hours ago? Had he not just gone to bed that night daydreaming about what it would feel like to never leave the Imperial Palace- to never stray further than arms-length from each other?

He’d been a besotted fool, too naive to see that he was just being toyed with. A shiny new fascination that His Majesty could toss around as he pleased, to pinch and poke at and see how far he stretched until he snapped.

“There,” Bellatrix said, “all done. Any questions? No? Good,” she waved a flippant hand in their direction. “You’re all dismissed.”

A loud burst of chatter broke out at her words, though few actually moved to leave with the dismissal- even Bellatrix herself had simply reclined back in her throne as she was approached by a few of her posse.

Harry felt Ginny’s hand on his shoulder and turned to speak with her before another figure approached. Harry would have hoped it was Luna, or Cedric, or any other handful of harem members. But instead he was meant with the sauntering, smirking visage of Fourth First-Class Attendant Merula Snyde. A woman that had had it out for him since the Selection.

Her robes were ostentatious and unsightly, the skirts took up far too much room and were made up of layer upon layer of wavy ribbon- vaguely reminiscent of the curly fur of some animal if it were an eye-watering shade of bright purple. Her cloak was covered in rhinestones that caught the light in a way that was blinding rather than charming, and seemed haphazardly done. A rather large bow trailed behind her where it had been tied around her poorly fitted corset.

Harry had a feeling Snyde’s maids in particular despised her if they were letting her out of the palace dressed like that. He almost pitied her. Almost.

“Congratulations, Brother,” she simpered in a way that distinctly reminded him of Umbridge, the thought enough to make him gag. “How very lucky that you should be summoned by His Majesty for a night and then promoted the very next day! What skill you must posses. Did it take much practice to learn how to… charm a man so well?”

If Snyde was trying to be subtle about implying Harry was a slag, she was doing a poor job of it. And considering Harry didn’t care about her opinion on his nonexistent history of sexual partners, her inelegant attempt at taunting him was more amusing than anything. He’d heard worse from his dormmates, and it’d been more tastefully phrased. The arrogance of Snyde thinking she was hot shit when she was so many ranks lower than Harry was almost pathetic.

“Oh, none at all, Sister!” Harry replied brightly. “His Majesty simply enjoys stimulating, intelligent conversation, you know? Are you wanting some advice on that?”

Snyde narrowed his eyes at Harry, seemingly trying to gauge whether Harry was really being genuine in his offer or if he’d insulted her intelligence on purpose. He continued to smile guilelessly, crossing his legs in a practiced motion that was supposed to look elegant- according to Lavender anyway. He didn’t have to look at Ginny, still diligently standing guard behind him, to know she was holding in laughter.

Finally the Attendant moved closer with a scowl, looking like she was gearing up to say something else when she stopped dead. Becasue that, unfortunately, was the moment Fenny chose to wake up from his warming-charm induced nap and poke his head out of Harry’s robes, scenting the air curiously as he examined the new arrival.

Snyde took one look at the innocent snake and started screaming.

There was a great commotion as the other concubines turned to witness the spectacle Synde was making and guards flooded the room from all sides, wands drawn and focused on both Snyde and Harry. There was a mean glint in the woman’s eye as she started wailing and clutching her hand. Harry could only sit there in disbelief as she only kept sobbing as she collapsed to the floor, pointing an accusatory finger in Harry’s direction.

The guards hesitated as they drew closer, though one was sent out to summon a Healer. Conflict between concubines was to be resolved between concubines, unless the Emperor himself stepped in to handle whatever altercation had occurred.

It was Bellatrix who came storming toward them that would investigate what was going on. Though Harry very much doubted this was going to end in his favor, despite not having done anything. But wasn’t that just the story of his life anyway?

Abigail arrived behind Bellatrix at a slower pace, arm in arm with her maid Ellie, as they stepped closer to a still wailing Snyde.

“What is going on here?” Bellatrix demanded, sneering down at the both of them. “Oh, stop your sniveling,” she snapped at Snyde, “and just tell me what happened already.”

“His snake,” she blubbered, still pointing that one trembling hand at Harry while she curled over her other as if she were in great pain. “It bit me! I was only congratulating our Brother on his new ranking when he hissed at the snake and it lunged at me!” Massive tears were falling down her face and Harry was reluctantly impressed. “It hurts so much, Sister. Am I dying? I didn’t mean it, whatever I did, I swear it.”

“There, there, darlin’,” Abigail said, though she didn’t put much feeling into it, “that’s a Fenny snake and they’re not venomous at all. You’ll be just fine. Lemme have your hand, c’mon, lets have a look see.”

Snyde simply curled tighter, complaining about the pain and not being able to move it. Harry simply sat back. Saying anything right now would only get him in trouble, something he’d learned the hard way throughout his youth. He would just have to wait until this mess unraveled itself. Unless Snyde had some clever way of giving herself puncture wounds on the fly, her lies would come to light. It hadn’t been a very well thought out plan, to be honest, and it made his estimation of her intelligence plummet just a bit.

“What do you have to say for yourself about that, Potter?” Bellatrix turned to Harry, lips turned down in a parody of disapproval- but the unholy light of vindictive glee gave her true feelings away. “Attacking another concubine so blatantly could call for a hanging if I took this to His Majesty,” she said, purring the Emperor’s title in a disturbing manner. “If she dies from any venom in her system… well, you might even be tortured first before you’re killed.”

“Fenny is a Fenny snake,” Harry said calmly, making sure his tone was even and measured. He could not show any weakness, not here and especially not now. “They have no venom potent enough to harm wixen. Sister Snyde would not have been harmed, even if she had been bitten.”

“Are you accusing your Sister of lying, Potter?” Bellatrix crowed, seemingly having the time of her life in all this mess.

Abigail eventually got a hold of Snyde’s hand and, despite her protests, she looked it over before declaring, “There now, darlin’, hush your wailing. I see no bite marks. Not even a bruise. You’ll be fine.”

Bellatrix whirled toward them with a sneer. “Let me see,” she snapped, snatching Snyde’s supposedly injured hand for herself.

And that was the moment Harry knew he was truly fucked. Snyde was one of Bellatrix’s lackeys, and Harry was Bellatrix’s least favorite person at the moment anyhow. It didn’t matter now how badly Snyde was lying through her teeth, the Noble Consort was Head of the Harem and she was going to use this opportunity to ‘put Harry in his place’, he knew it. His innocence be damned, he was going to be blamed for something here.

“What a nasty looking bite,” Bellatrix exclaimed, the feigned concern in her voice almost comically exaggerated, “how horrible of our Brother to attack you in such a manner!” She turned and lunged at Harry, ripping a strip of cloth from the ruffles of his shirt before he even had the chance to react. The violence of the movement left him frozen for a few seconds, trying to process what had just happened.

Bellatrix cooed as she tied the strip around Snyde’s hand, covering a nonexistent wound and patting the woman’s head as if she were a child.

“And you, Sister,” Bellatrix turned to Abigail and Harry felt a swoop of dread take wing within his stomach. Even his allies were being dragged into this. Would he have any left that dared to stand by his side after this? “The audacity of trying to cover for him! I know you’ve taken him under your wing lately, Sister Walker, but that’s no reason to lie for him when he’s committed a crime so heinous. Behavior like that will not be tolerated in this harem! Not under my authority!”

She dropped Snyde’s hand without a care, nearly smacking the woman in the face with her own hand with the force she threw it down. This was a farce, a circus. But Bellatrix knew damn well she could get away with it, so barely bothered to put up a pretense. It was insulting. They didn’t even bother to frame him properly.

“Well,” the Noble Consort stood and faced him with an imperious sniff. “Did you intend for your snake to bite Sister Merula?”

Harry leveled her with a glare as he answered, knowing there was only one way to respond and hating it. They both knew that Bellatrix and Snyde could go no further with their farce, but nor would Harry be able to prove his innocence against their claims so far. Not with the Noble Consort’s power as the Head of the Harem.

“No.”

“See, Sister Merula,” she cooed, still keeping her smug gaze on Harry, “an unfortunate accident. So there’s no need for an execution today it seems. Still, an attack still grievously injured our dear Sister, so a punishment must be meted out.” A grin no one but Harry could see spread across her face. “Since this is your first offense, Little Brother, and you are so new and recently promoted, I have decided to show you mercy. A full month of confinement to your rooms should suffice.”

Harry was going to go mad being stuck indoors for so long. And his contact with his allies was going to be severely limited. Not to mention that he would be unable to ‘bump into’ the Emperor for an advantageous meeting in a move that the other concubines were fond of utilizing. (Not that he wanted to see the man at the moment, the pompous git. But the principle would still stand.) It would also be a question whether he would be allowed to participate in the Samhain celebrations at the end of the month, or if he would still be suffering from quarantine- making him unable to mingle with the wider Court and gain more favor.

“I thank Her Grace for her magnanimous verdict,” he said through gritted teeth, “and will carry out my punishment without complaint.”

“Mm,” Bellatrix leered over him, patronizingly patting his head. “That’s a good boy.”

Then an odd gleam entered her eye as she looked toward his neck. “I think,” she said, tone sinister, “that you shouldn’t be allowed access to such dangerous pets, either. Until you can demonstrate better control over them.”

“No-!”

But it was too late, she was already moving her wand through the spell and finishing the incantation. “Vipera evanesca!”

And Fenny, his funny little companion since he’d entered this hell, vanished in a puff of black smoke from around his neck. He could summon a snake again, much like he’d done to originally bring Fenny to him, but there was no guarantee it would be the same snake and it fact it was almost impossibly unlikely. His only consolation was the she hadn’t outright killed the poor thing at least.

“Run along now, Ickle Baby Brother,” she cooed. “Best get on with your time-out, now.”

Harry said nothing, keeping his head down so he wouldn’t be tempted to hex the nearest person. He left the Hall with a swirl of robes and a cold rage building in his chest.

Chapter Text

October 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

October began both cold and rainy, a herald of the winter that would soon befall the mountain range on which the Citadel sat.

Harry spent the month drifting around his quarters like a ghost, trailing a hand along the stone of the castle listlessly as he moved from one room to another. It pulsed beneath his fingertips, a warm brush of concern and comfort. He’d been given quite a lot of time to think (brood, more like, according to Lavender and Ginny), and he was going to use every day of the empty month before him to gather his wits before he was thrust back into the cold war that called itself a harem.

He felt sick at the thought of having to return, wishing nothing more than to hide- find a nice little cupboard in which he could comfortably tuck himself into and spend the rest of his life like it had begun- imagining a different world that wasn’t quite so cruel and making himself as small as he possibly could. Hogwarts felt like a dream. A glorious interlude to his life, filled with that single breath of freedom. And yet, he’d chosen this prison for himself. He’d voluntarily locked himself within the Citadel and given the keys to people that would sooner kill him than allow him anything more than empty comforts of the flesh, all while delighting in denying him the sorely needed comforts of the soul.

All the plushest pillows and softest silks in the world could not make up for the gaping wound that was slowly growing within his heart.

More and more he was beginning to doubt himself. Doubt his ability to navigate these rough waters. He’d never had much faith himself in the first place, anyway. Always thought it was a long shot to make it anywhere in this death trap of a place. He’d never had a head for politics and that’s really what all this was- a political battle dressed up as a romantic dance, with children as collateral and one missed step a death sentence.

He had moved in rank, one step closer to his goal, and yet it had done nothing for him. He was still punished, still trapped in a hell of his own making. It made no difference, materially, whether he was Third Noble or Fourth. He had been moved on a whim and he could just as easily be moved back should the Emperor’s fancy change. And what chance did he have? What could Harry; the Freak, the Boy, the Stupid Thing- ever hope to offer the man that ruled the world? How could he ever hope to catch such a man’s attention again? Not with Bellatrix Black’s heel pressing the rest of them down, kicking them into submission so that she may monopolize his attention. She ruled them all with an iron fist of insanity, and would break them in any way she could. Even Abigail’s long reign of favor had not unseated the other woman from power. He felt defeated at the thought.

But even in his despondency, even within the torrent of helplessness that had surrounded him, Harry’s core burned with rage.

It burned him, to know that there was nothing he could do. Not now, not against Bellatrix. Not yet.

He had an ally in Abigail, yes, and while she was the second most powerful concubine in the Harem- there was still only so much she could do. She had children to protect. Harry didn’t blame her for not trying harder to intervene- she had already done as much as she could. All of his other allies were either equal to or lesser in power than him and therefore also couldn’t do much. And none of them would be willing to put their lives on the line for something as trivial as a snake. No matter how much Harry had begun to adore Fenny. There was comfort, at least, in the knowledge that he had merely been sent back to the home he had made before Harry. He was not dead, merely elsewhere.

No, if he wanted revenge, Harry would have to bide his time.

He could not be the one sneaking around and hunting for clues this time. Not like he was used to doing around Hogwarts, though his heart greatly yearned for it. He missed those times he could simply throw on his father’s old invisibility cloak and skulk about the castle as he pleased. But these were not simple school-yard mysteries anymore.

There was far more at stake than just detention.

And while he couldn’t be the one snooping anymore, that didn’t mean nobody was snooping. Ginny and Lavender had both worked hard to set up a gossip network, gathering valuable information from other maids as it was whispered about the different palaces. He’d also lent his precious cloak, however tattered it was, to Ginny- though he’d made her promise to never go where she didn’t have a plausible explanation for her presence. Eavesdropping was an easy crime to lie about, trespassing- especially in the Citadel- less so.

The process was going to be agonizingly slow, he knew, but it was the only way to get things properly done.

Still, there was a large part of him that wished to lash out now, to take all the fury inside of him and explode with it. To attack Bellatrix as she deserved, to rage against the injustice of it all. But the other part of him, the part that had been tempered and taught by his Slytherin housemates for seven years and carefully advised by Severus for eight, knew that ultimately reacting that way would do more harm than good. His revenge could not come in the form of a furious bomb of action, but instead must slice like a cold knife honed in quiet anger.

He would have to play the long game. And he intended to win it.

*

October 6^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

The first week of his confinement he received a letter from Luna, sent by a very distressed Jeremy. The little elf owl’s feathers had been ruffled and he flapped his wings in agitation even as Harry reached out for the scroll tied to his leg.

The little bird had even snapped his beak at Harry, and though he hadn’t actually pierced any skin- it had been unnerving nonetheless.

Luna’s blocky, unconventional penmanship, was rushed and messy beyond her usual scrawl, with ink blots and crossed out words that belayed a hesitation she did not usually have.

Harry, Noble Potter,

I’m so sorry. Please don’t hate me know that I didn’t mean for this to happen. I would never want anything to happen to Fenny like it did and I very much didn’t want you to get in trouble. I knew not to trust the anguane but I did anyway and I can’t believe this happened-

And if you’d rather I not send any letters anymore I would understand. I will still support you, no matter what, but if you want some distance between us then I’d understand…

Your Friend, Sincerely,

Second Class Attendant Lovegood

It broke his heart to read.

Quickly, he summoned ink and parchment and scrawled out a letter as fast as he could. He would not leave his dear friend in such agony for longer than he could help. He cursed the children that had bullied her so thoroughly before they met for making her believe she had to grovel for friendship like this. That something so trivial as ill-advice would be enough to drive them apart.

Luna loved animals and she was one of his most loyal friends. He was upset about what happened, absolutely, but he’d never think to blame Luna for it.

Bellatrix Black was the bully here. The deranged bitch. As well as the rest of her cronies that would sooner jeer and hex those they thought below them, than lift a finger to defend the innocent. Merula Snyde had been the one to stage the incident, and no forces of fate or destiny or what have you, could be blamed for the actions of the witch alone. Luna could no more be faulted for dispensing the advice of the anguane, whatever they were, than he was for following it. Though it did make Harry wonder what hand they had in it all.

He folded the letter to Luna, filled with affirmations of their friendship and reassurances that nothing could ever cause that to change, and tied it to Jeremy’s leg with a whispered apology.

He watched the owl fly off into the distance and wondered, bitterly, what set of events would arise from the debacle that had needed such harsh intervention from Fate. Was it worth it? He didn’t think so- no matter what the outcome would be. What million other ways could the meeting have gone that would have produced the same results that Fate or Destiny wished to create, without sacrificing Fenny? He didn’t like the thought of a predetermined path he would be forced to walk, especially if the losses around him grew. He refused to walk toward his goal in the wake of innocent bloodshed and resolved to forge his own, regardless of what Fate might want.

The only blood he was determined to see was that of the pretentious bints that thought they ruled the world and could hurt whoever they wished. They were bullies with more power than sense, and Harry would tear them down so thoroughly they wouldn’t dare to set foot in public again.

He just had to have patience.

*

October 10^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

Lavender’s birthday was approaching and Harry mourned the fact that they couldn’t celebrate it the way she deserved. Maids were not supposed to be celebrated, were meant to barely be acknowledged, despite all the hard work he knew each of his house staff put in every day. The Ton were to treat them like furniture rather than employees, and Harry hated every bit of it. Lavender was a friend, and he refused to toss her aside and treat her like so much filth simply because she had chosen a path that included servitude. He knew what it felt like to be treated like the dirt beneath someone’s heel just for existing and he would sooner hex himself to death and back before inflicted that upon another.

He had long since determined he would do at least something small for the birthday of every one of his maids and other staff. Birthdays were extremely important to him, after all, and with having so many of his own go unnoticed, he would not allow anyone else to feel unwanted on their own. Not if he could help it.

Lavender was a puzzle when it came to presents, however. It was easy in the sense that he knew what types of things she would like; lush fabrics, beautiful accessories, fine jewelry- but there was more to consider that complicated the matter. He didn’t want to get her anything that she would, in turn, use to create new robes for him . The gift should be solely for Lavender. He knew she probably wouldn’t see it that way, would likely insist that it wasn’t a job- that it was something she enjoyed , but he could get her rare fabrics and threads and such anyway whenever she wanted- he had a separate budget for robes after all. No, he wanted this to be special for her.

Another complication was that if he gifted her anything too fancy, he knew she would be accused of stealing, or of dressing above her station, and would be punished despite any protests he could make on her behalf.

Maids were only allowed to wear a standard uniform; a black dress with long sleeves and full skirts and a full apron over top in the rank color of the concubine they served. Palace maids with no definitive master wore aprons of dull gray and those directly serving the Emperor wore a strict, signature white. Bonnets and small accessories were optional, lace and embroidery could be added to the dresses and aprons for more personalization. There was a limit, however, and maids dressing above their master or their master’s rank, would be punished just as surely and severely as a concubine daring to dress above their rank as well. The higher the rank of the concubine they served, the more extravagant the maids were allowed to dress. More lace, more jewels, more expensive fabric and shoes.

Pearls, he thought, would be a good place to start. Elegant but not extravagant. A single necklace and a matching set of earrings. Simple studs. A darker luster would mark them as a less expensive set and save her from any accusations. Something he learned from Lavender herself, how there were certain qualities of pearls he was allowed to wear and how to tell them apart.

Did pearls come in blue?

He paced his room as he thought further on Lavender’s gift. He had already worn a path in the delicate threads of the rug his quarters had come with and he was likely to wear the poor thing into oblivion eventually with his restlessness. Then he turned and faced the vanity he so rarely deigned to use without Lavender’s prompting, stopping at the sight of the gift his Uncle Alphard had sent him upon his induction to the harem.

It was a small jewelry box, pitch black with intricate carvings and silver hinges. Inside, it contained every piece of jewelry that had been stored in the Black family vaults. Every piece of blue jewelry, at least. The box itself was locked to Harry’s magical signature, and if anyone besides himself attempted to open it they would be met with a seamless block of wood, with no discernible way to lift a lid- despite the hinges.

When he touched it, the box would recognize his magic and the lid would split open as if it had never been sealed in the first place.

Inside, there was no end to the drawers of velvet, each expanding upon the last and revealing yet another stunning set of earrings or fine necklaces. There was also a special trap he’d carved into the bottom of the box, a rune matrix that would activate should anyone but himself carry it out of his quarters. First, the box would stick itself ruthlessly to any uncovered patch of skin and secondly, it would activate a tracker that would allow him to hunt down whoever had tried to steal it. The first of which he’d found in a book from the Black Family Library, and the second of which he’d devised himself. He would not be the one to lose centuries worth of family jewels. Most especially when he was only tacitly part of said family in the first place.

He pulled open the lid to the box, something he rarely ever did without Lavender needling him into doing it so she could select something to match his robes, fairly certain he’d seen a few strings of pearls somewhere in there.

And there were fifteen full sets of pearls, all in varying shades of blue and amounts of luster.

He was, thinking on it, pretty sure pearls weren’t naturally blue either. White and pink were the more expensive shades, probably. He wasn’t fully paying attention to the explanation. Something about shape and nacre thickness? Lavender was quite knowledgeable about all things clothing, accessories, jewels, and make-up and if he listened completely every time she explained in depth about one facet of fashion or another, his head might have been fit to explode. He tried his best in the name of friendship, but his brain had no more room for these things after being stuffed full with spells and runes and quidditch plays.

Whatever the cause of their blueness, there were plenty of pearls to choose from. Many of the strings were accompanied by elaborate drops of striking sapphire or brilliant aquamarine, or were gathered in heavy rows to cover someone’s entire neck and chest. One necklace was simple enough, but the iridescent shimmer over the bright cobalt blue of the pearls was too eye-catching to not get Lavender in trouble.

But, there, a simple string with two pearl studs, all in dusty cornflower blue. They were of a good size but a slightly dull luster. They looked nice, but not outstanding. Something Lavender could wear with pride and not worry about execution.

Perfect. Or, almost perfect.

He closed the drawers of jewelry back into the depths of the box and snapped the lid shut definitively, double checking that it was locked and the runes activated. He then sat at the vanity, gently rolling one of the pearls between his fingers. He was careful with his fingernails, and made sure not to apply too much pressure. Pearls were soft and easily scratched. Something he would have to fix.

It would be the last rune he would place, he decided, after he’d etched all manner of protection matrices and such, he would have to reinforce them so that they couldn’t be broken or damaged.

He had a plan and a present, now all he could do was hope Lavender liked them. That the project was less a need and more a distraction was neither here nor there.

*

October 22^nd 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

“I just don’t understand it, Miss Bettina,” Harry said, scooping up another spoonful of ripe persimmon with one hand as he gestured into the air with his other. “Am I missing an unspoken rule? What am I not getting?”

Bettina scoffed as she continued to bustle about the kitchen, rolling out dough and mixing several different cauldrons with different soups. It smelled mouth-watering and Harry felt extremely lucky to have been assigned Bettina as one of his palace maids, she was an excellent cook.

He was learning a lot, as well, not just about the Citadel and harem rules (though that information was priceless), but also about anything and everything inbetween. Bettina was a very knowledgeable witch, with over eighty years of life experiences and education to call upon. She also had a wealth of stories to tell, gossip to give, and memories to share, and Harry relished in the opportunity to sit and have a simple chat with the woman. It helped greatly that her manner and short stature greatly reminded him of his old librarian Amelia. He felt they would have gotten along famously, had they ever the chance to meet.

“The rules be as they always have been,” she said, slamming down a baking sheet and flicking her wand to scour it clean. “Dictated by the whim of the powerful. The reason ye got in trouble was because Noble Consort Black sees you as a threat, not because ye actually broke a rule.”

Harry ate another spoonful of persimmon, grateful for Bettina setting them out for him- as she was wont to do now that he regularly came down to the kitchens to bother her. She claimed it was because she didn’t want him riffling through the ice box or picking off the fruits she planned to use. But there was something just a bit more gentle in her intentions when she always asked what fruit or snack he’d never had the chance to try and having it prepared the next time he wandered down to see her.

“And what of the Emperor?” he asked, dragging his spoon around. “Isn’t he the one that’s supposed to approve any punishments? Did he…” he hesitated, was it simply arrogance to think that His Majesty cared enough about him to prevent such a severe punishment? Was it simply too presumptuous to think that the Emperor wouldn’t have allowed such injustice? “… approve mine?”

“Oh, dearie,” she said with a sigh, “the Emperor likely doesn’t even know. It’s an official rule, for certain, but His Majesty in’t always the one to stamp the approval. More often than not it’s that valet Mulciber, an’ he does as he pleases. The Emperor only steps in ‘imself if ye have his favor. Another reason so many of the harem fight so hard for it. Else they keep their heads down and don’t look for trouble.”

Harry… felt like he shouldn’t be as surprised by that information as he was. He looked down that the scant remains of his persimmon, lost in thought. It made sense, though. His Majesty was a busy man, running the entire world, and while the rules stated that every punishment need be approved by him- it couldn’t work like that on a purely practical level. Lower concubines were punished for small infractions every other day, how could the man be expected to step in over every petty little argument?

In what world could Harry have ever fooled himself into thinking that the Emperor actually cared?

Bettina rounded the counter and dropped into one of the seats at the small table Harry had taken to occupying, summoning a cup and pouring a cup of tea for herself. Harry watched with wide eyes as she fixed her cup with a dash of milk and a swirl of honey, not having seen the witch ever act so casually with him- not so openly at least.

She drew a deep breath, savoring the steam from her tea before setting it down and pinning Harry with a serious look.

“I joined as a maid to the Citadel during its infancy, lad. ‘Afore the harem was even established in seventy-eight. I’ve been here a mighty long time, seen a mighty lot o’ things. First Lady I served was Former Concubine Rookwood. Was with her a good three years before the Pox hit. Sickness cost her her life and those of the babes she’d been carryin’. Those early days were brutal, my lord.”

Idly, she stirred her tea, watching the depths of it swirl within the cup. Harry couldn’t find the words to speak, not even to ask that she not be so formal with him, and merely kept silent as she continued her tale.

“His Majesty rarely called upon any of the concubines and every time he rejected their bid for his company, they only grew more desperate for it. With so few of them, too, they were at each other’s throats day an’ night. No one was safe, not ‘fore the children started bein’ born.”

Bettina took a large sip of her tea before continuing.

“His Majesty started paying more attention after the First Prince was born, bein’ more careful with any of the harem that might have fallen pregnant- watching ‘em more and making the others hesitate before attempting anything. Second Lady I was placed with was Former Noble Crisanta,” her eyes softened at the name and it made Harry’s heart clench, knowing that there could be no happy ending to this tale. “She lasted ten years,” the woman said, a tad wistfully, “before that spineless bitch Charlene pushed her down the stairs.”

Harry gasped. He knew of the incident Bettina was talking about, but the official ruling had been that her fatal fall had been an accident. Had it actually been a murder like most speculated?

“Charlene got what was comin’ to her, aye, put to death for negligence, but I know that coward didn’t do it on her own. One of the others, one of the harem, one of ‘em put her up to it. Told His Majesty, told him that half the harem had already found out about her second pregnancy despite her keepin’ quiet, and that the fall had been no accident. But neither of us could do much of anything without proof.”

Her hands clenched around the teacup as she stared angrily down into the depths, her stormy gray eyes narrowed as she took a moment to contain her indignation.

“Those bracelets ye all wear,” she eventually said, nodding her head to the golden band around his wrist. “Aren’t just for summoning. His Majesty put a special enchantment on ‘em, one hardly no one knows about. Protects the mind from legilimency attacks. Though I ‘spect His Majesty might a made a way around it, should he be inclined. Not that I’ve ever seen him bother. Also prevents ye from spillin’ any secrets you ought not to to outsiders. He had ‘em made at the tail end of eighty-one.”

Harry held the bracelet up to the light in fascination. He must have had them made after the rebellion’s attack on the Citadel. What strong magic, to enchant one object with so many purposes… And to find a matrix, and it most certainly had to be a matrix, that could shield the mind? He’d never heard of such a thing. He wondered, perhaps, if he could request to speak with the Emperor on the matter… It could aide his research greatly…

There was also to wonder, though, why. Was the threat of being used as a weapon against the Citadel so great that His Majesty would take such a high risk in shrouding the minds of his concubines? Hiding their truest motivations from being turned over by a skilled legilimens?

Was it the same reason they were all confined to the mountain so strictly? Was that why they were mostly hidden from the world save for announcements in the newspaper? Why they were monitored so closely?

The Emperor, he realized, would sooner let them kill each other without consequence than let any secrets of the inner court spill free.

“You’ve entered yourself into a dangerous game, my lord,” Bettina said, eyes boring into his with a steady intensity. “Ye need only ask your palacemate, Noble Selwyn, to know the worst of what the other concubines here have wrought- short of killing their own,” she sneered at the mention of murder- offended on a personal level, “even if none have been proven behind the deed.”

“The rules change on a sickle,” she plowed on, “if ye don’t have solid proof then it didn’t happen, and even somethin as sacred as a child can be just another pawn in the grand scheme o’ things.”

“I-,” Harry attempted to say, hands clenching at the thought of the nursery he’d seen upstairs being nothing more than a political maneuver. The thought that any child he bore would not feel the love they deserved, that they would only ever know themselves as a tool. “I was under the impression that His Majesty was fond of his children.”

She softened just the slightest and said, “Aye, he is. But that’s also part of the problem.”

She took another sip of tea, pausing, gathering her thoughts. Harry wondered what she could be thinking, what memories of the harem she was sifting through. What horrors had she seen here? Why had she stayed? Eventually she dropped the mug and sighed before continuing on.

“Because the babes are also more than babes, my lord. To the public they’re an honor- what a great privilege it is to bear another of the Slytherin line. An heir to the Empire. But here,” she tapped the table with a finger, “in the Citadel, they are a trophy. And a mark of protection. It is harder to harm a parent to a royal child and get away with it, because His Majesty will investigate anything that could have caused harm to the little one. You are at your most protected and most vulnerable when bearing a child, lad. His Majesty will actually deign to pay you mind, but so will the rest of the harem. Children are a shield and a golden snitch all in one. It’s cruel, aye, but its the way the game is played.”

Harry, having long since stopped eating his persimmon, raked a hand through his hair- trying to take in the woman’s words. Objectively, he’d known what he was signing up for when he’d entered the Selection. There had been no illusions of a happy marriage, of a perfect family. But there had been long buried desires.

Do you wish to bear my children? See our family lines flourish?

If he wanted any chance, any chance at all, to achieve that nameless yawning thing that he desired- to reach, to grasp, to hold and bask in that burning, burning red that haunted his every dream- he would need to dig further into his Slytherin side. He would need every ounce of cunning and ambition within his body. Because the things he wanted, the things the depths of his very soul yearned for, would require power. The power to control, the power to change, the power to topple the entirety of the harem altogether- to eliminate the competition so they no longer posed a threat, and in the most complete and absolute manner possible.

Short of murdering them all himself.

He had a long way to go before he had the sort of leverage that would require, though. He would need to climb higher than any other concubine had ever managed. He would have to be patient, bide his time. And above all, be careful.

He took a deep breath and blew it out, falling back into his chair, pointedly avoiding Bettina’s shrewd gaze upon him. After a few more contemplative moments he rose and thanked her for her time before beating a hasty retreat.

*

October 27^th 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

Despite the birth of a new plot, there wasn’t much he could do to advance it. It wasn’t something he could put any real focus on without driving himself insensate with the endless spiraling of possibilities. Therefore, the most he could do was haunt his own home like a ghost.

The days were blending together. He felt useless. Lost. The Dursleys had rarely allowed him any leisure time, had always kept him confined and busy with chores. There had always been some sort of adventure to stumble upon at Hogwarts. And Potter Manor had been filled with all sorts of things to discover and investigate.

But here, despite all the fantastic little rooms he could explore, and despite all the space such luxurious apartments within a palace could afford, he felt just as trapped as he had been as a child- locked away under the stairs with nothing more to do than make no noise, and pretend he didn’t exist. Just because the bars were golden now, they were no less a cage as the cupboard door had been.

Whenever he felt the itch to hide away in his closet, he knew it was time to find something new to occupy himself with.

With Lavender’s birthday it had been contemplating the perfect gift and then finding the best rune combination for said gift. He had also taken to studying more matrices he had thought could be pieced together, but every time he went down that avenue of study it only reminded him of his night with the Emperor. How the memory of it made him flush with both desire and fury in equal measure. How he could not shake his need to bask in the crushing feel of the man’s ocean of magic, even as his anger with the other only grew. A line of thought that would often leave him completely distracted and subsequently made him drop whatever he’d been planning to study.

Often, he would also attempt to resume his research the spell he’d been working to create just before he’d graduated Hogwarts. It was more work than the usual spells he had a habit of intuitively puzzling out, mostly as this one was to be a counter for an already existing spell. His usual method of spell craft, as Severus would put it, was ‘infuriatingly stupid and nonsensical’ wherein he made unusual leaps of logic and etymology trails most could not follow- and his eclectic knowledge of runes made for unconventional wand movement pairings that Severus always claimed were ‘just ludicrous enough to work’.

But while he adored the wild and impulsive way he was usually able to pull a spell together, it was not the first step, and was, in fact, precluded by the portion of spell craft he dreaded having to complete the most. Research. Long, tedious amounts of research.

It started with etymology. And however adept Harry was at this field of study, it made it no less tiresome to complete. One had to first find the right language; Latin or Greek or Aramaic, or even French or German, or a combination of any of them. Most would delve into research on which language would compliment the purpose of the spell the most, or whatever, but Harry preferred a more trial and error sort of approach. Severus was always utterly baffled at Harry’s ability to intuitively feel which language might work best for an intended spell and often complained of Harry being the source of all his headaches when he was able to reverse engineer the work Harry should have taken to reach his conclusions- only to verify that Harry had, in fact, chosen correctly according to the usual avenues of research.

On gut feeling alone.

The spell he had been working on, and was attempting to continue working on, was not like the others he’d thus far successfully created, however, and required more up front research to get right. Which is why he had found himself continually stumped with how to proceed. It often felt like he’d move one step forward before further study and then realize he had to take three steps back. It was the most frustrating spell he’d ever attempted to create, but if he was anything- he was stubborn as a graphorn and twice as willful, and he refused to give up.

The spell had an urgent purpose, after all, and the more enemies he accrued in the harem the more pertinent it became to finish his work. It was notoriously difficult to catch when someone was placed under the Imperius curse, and even harder to prove who had cast the spell in the first place. Not without witnesses or immediate apprehension of the perpetrator’s wand.

It had been one of Hermione’s more brilliant ideas, though she hadn’t meant it as one. In fact, she’d thought he was crazy just as much as Severus had. They’d just been discussing what kinds of nefarious plots he’d might find himself entangled in should he become an official harem member, when she’d brought up the possibility of the Imperius Curse. He’d scoffed and reminded her of their Dark Arts lessons in fourth year, when Professor Carrow had held them all under the curse and Harry had proven he could break out of it. To which Hermione had wacked him over the head with a roll of parchment for his arrogance and told him that while it was all well and good that he could resist it, those close to him might not be so lucky.

It would only take one Imperiused maid to hex him when his back was turned, after all.

Which had then led to his obsession of finding a way to counter it before it could ever be a problem.

The problem was that he was not first to attempt creating a countercurse, and all before him had failed. No one believed you could craft a counter, even Severus was deeply skeptical of his goal.

The Imperius curse had a very straightforward Latin root, coming near directly from the word imperiosus meaning “commanding, mighty, and powerful,” as well as imperio being the direct Latin word for “to rule”. Therefore the sensible thing would be to find a countercurse in Latin. But this is where Harry thinks everyone had failed before him. For whatever reason, Latin just didn’t feel right for a countercurse.

Greek, he felt, was something close but not quite there. It was something else, maybe an additional language but not where he needed to look for the base of the main incantation. It was a combination, of that he was almost certain, but which ones was where he was stuck. And if his intuition couldn’t direct him the way it usually did, he had to resort to… research. And not the fun, forbidden type either, but the dull and drudging type that meant digging for hours and hours in dusty tomes with convoluted academic gibberish that Harry felt he could no more parse than Mermish above water.

This type of study, like a chase in a maze with a blindfold and a confundus charm, where he didn’t know where to go, where to focus, was exactly why Harry had a passion for spellcraft but not the desire to turn it into a profession. Proofs and theses and academic spell approval boards were simply beyond his patience.

It was another dead end when it came to distractions as well. He would find himself surrounded by books he couldn’t fully comprehend, resisting a sneeze each time he cracked open a spine, and very shortly finding himself barely restraining the need to set them all on fire.

He’d stalk the halls until he also became bored of that and had to find something else to occupy his time.

He found himself penning letters to all of his friends, even if he hadn’t the courage to send them. Not with how long it’d been since he’d received anything. He would lock them away after finishing. He couldn’t stop himself the lonely act of writing them, nor could he bring himself to destroy them afterwards. He would simply remind himself that he was lucky he had anyone to write to at all.

He had Luna and Ginny and Lavender. He had Alphard and Quincy and Severus. That was plenty enough, surely. Far more than he’d started off with, certainly. He’d never been allowed friends when he’d stayed with the Dursleys, kept locked away in the house as he had been. The closest thing he’d had back then was Miss Amelia from the library. So what if Hermione and Neville and Blaise had all stopped writing to him? So what if it felt as if his friends had all given him up once he’d left for the Citadel, as if relieved to longer have him around?

He still had friends. Still had family.

So what if it had only deepened the sting of doubt that always plagued him? That he truly was a freak? That the Dursleys had been right all along? That the only possible reason the people around him could tolerate his presence was because they had something to gain or because they felt obligated?

It was ridiculous, part of him knew. His friends and family loved him, loved him in a way he hadn’t thought he’d ever feel until Euphemia had swept him away. And he knew it was love, because it was a feeling unlike he’d ever known from the Dursleys. He knew they loved him for who he was, that they would never call him a freak in reality, like they did in his nightmares. But still there was part of himself, the part still locked away in that lonely cupboard with none but spiders for company, that grew stronger with each week that passed without a friendly word.

It hurt, more than words could express, to find just how much he’d missed Hermione’s unwavering support. How she showed her love through meticulous planning and good-natured scolding. How sharp and smart and passionate she was. He missed her tenacity, even her temper- which could only ever be rivaled by his own. And most of all he missed how much she’d cared. About him, about everyone.

Had he been wrong? Had it been a facade? Had all the years they’d spent together in Hogwarts actually meant nothing to her, when they’d meant everything to him?

He hadn’t been as close to Blaise as he was everyone else, Slytherin politics demanding a certain amount of distance between peers, but he’d thought they were amicable enough. He hadn’t joined in when Malfoy and the rest of them would surround him with taunts and jeers and jinxes. Which wasn’t asking much, but Harry had held his own anyway and he wouldn’t have wanted Blaise to get hurt on his behalf. It had been lonely in the Slytherin dungeons, having been shunned by near the entire house for his parents being dirty rebel scum, and the other boy had been a silent shoulder to lean on. Blaise had warned him about his sister, too. And no matter how much he protested, he still showed up to study sessions and lazy hang-outs. He hadn’t hesitated to drop himself down on the grounds, ignoring the grass stains that might occur on his uniform, whenever the rest of the group had found themselves enjoying the rare sunny day outside by the lake. He’d kept a certain amount of distance, but he’d never been out of reach.

But perhaps he’d overestimated their acquaintance. Was a lack of response the other boy’s way of saying he didn’t wish to talk anymore?

And Neville, no matter how much he despaired in the lack of communication he just could not bring himself to believe that the kind-hearted, loyal boy that he’d befriended in the dungeons of Hogwarts, would have turned in character so spectacularly. Neville was the embodiment of all things good and humble and kind. Did his abandonment mean that- Harry was just bad? That he’d somehow done something wrong and drove the other off? It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d spent so much of his time at the library with Miss Amelia because the rare visits of other children to check out books- despite how carefully Petunia always was to only bring him during school days so that he wouldn’t ‘infect the innocents with his freakishness’- always ended with the others finding him off-putting and weird. He didn’t know the same things they did, didn’t read the same things or watch the same television shows.

Or maybe it had been something more innate? Maybe Petunia had been right to not want him around other children. Maybe there was just something wrong with him.

Harry shoved himself away from his writing desk, quill and ink pot tumbling to the floor with the force of it, though Harry could care less at the mess it made. He fled the study, head bowed and fists clenched. He couldn’t stand thinking like that again, like he’d never moved on from being shoved into that cupboard. Like he would be stuck there for the rest of his life, never truly being able to shake the cobwebs.

He hated feeling so weak.

His hands shook, he needed to do something, something to occupy his time. Something physical that would prevent him from thinking too hard. He needed to duel. He needed to fly. But trapped here as he was, he could do neither.

It felt suffocating.

He nearly tripped on the stairs as he made his way down from the top of the tower, fleeing from an enemy that did not exist. He felt the castle pulse beneath his feet, catching his attention and reminding him that he was not still trapped in that horrible house with its horrible lack of magic and horrible people inside.

He slowed, a hand reaching out to brush his fingers against the wall in thanks for the castle’s reminder that while he may be trapped- at least he wasn’t trapped alone. Always, there was warmth beneath his feet and magic curled within his soul.

His footsteps grew more sedate as he moved, leaving the tower itself and wandering down the hall. This was a less explored portion of his residence, the rooms seemingly without purpose- empty and uninteresting. Nonetheless, he strode forward- peeking his head into every room as he went, curiosity as insatiable as ever.

There was another pulse of warmth beneath his feet, though what for he could not fathom. He moved on, though cautiously, only to realize that his footsteps made no sound now.

Concerned, he crept forward until he came upon an open doorway from which he could hear the crackling of a fire and the metal clink of a poker scraping against stone. Warily, he dared to risk a glance inside. It was Karla, tending the fireplace of an otherwise empty room. He wanted to ask her what she was doing, but held his tongue on instinct. There was more to this than just the fire, he could feel it. It set a cold stone to drift into his stomach at the thought. While true that he hadn’t come to trust any of the palace maids, trusting and enjoying the company of someone were two different things. To know that one of them was most certainly up to something she shouldn’t be was a tad disheartening.

Just because he had expected betrayal, didn’t mean it stung any less when faced directly with the possibility of it.

But first he had to understand what was happening. All hope that her actions were innocent had fled before they could even take root. This was no such place for that sort of optimism.

He watched as she pulled a thick stack of parchment from the pocket of her skirts, eyes widening as he realized that it wasn’t just a stack of loose paper as he’d first thought- but a stack of letters. He pulled his wand as she prepared to throw the first of them into the fire. Who was she corresponding with that she felt the need to hide it by burning all evidence?

He- didn’t know what spell he was going to cast, hadn’t thought that far ahead, frankly, despite having pulled his wand. But then he noticed the wax seal of one of the letters as it was dumped into the flames, it was a distinctive honey-amber color. And another had a seal of dark rose-red.

Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but he was fairly certain he could recognize the signature family colors of those of his friends. Amber was the color of the Longbottom seal, and Red the Zabini crest.

She was not burning her own letters, no, she was burning his.

Harry saw red, his wand burning in his hand as he cast a petrification curse with one flick and summoned the letters not yet burned to ash with another. He let Karla’s body fall back onto the hardwood without remorse, scowling down at the woman as he stepped closer. He took no pleasure from the abject horror he could see blooming in her eyes, but nor did he do anything to relieve it. She could lie in the bed of her own making, nightmares and all.

Reverently, he held the letters up in shaking hands. Making sure they were, in fact, sealed with the Longbottom and Zabini crests as he’d thought. There, as well, was the handmade seal Hermione had created for herself as a first-generation wix. He smiled as he remembered the day she’d made it, she’d scoffed at first- indignant at what she felt was blatant discrimination. Harry had understood where she was coming from, letters with recognizable seals or attached to more prestigious family names would be opened before those without a specific imprint and therefore leave muggleborns at a disadvantage when applying for jobs or requesting services via owl post.

Neville had pointed out to her, however, that not everyone within a family used the Official Family Seal- as that was usually used by Lords, Ladies, or Heirs. The only others of non-nobility to use an Official Family Seal were the heads of a household of an established family. Plenty of wixen, muggleborn and pure-blood alike, used seals of their own design, and with the amount of Official Seals already in circulation there were very few who actually kept track or which was which.

She had then set out and created her own Official Family Seal to use, a lovely cinnamon brown color with an elegant crest of laurel vines and a single otter. The motto she chose to scratch underneath was ‘gutta cavat lapidem’. A water drop hollows a stone.

He ran his fingers over the wax, soaking in the familiar color with relish. Here, here was the proof that his friends had not abandoned him. That he’d not been left on the doorstep of the Citadel in order to fend for himself in a hostile environment.

He tucked them into the inner pocket of his casual robes. As tempting as it was to tear them all open and read all of them now, he couldn’t let himself get distracted.

He had a traitor to interrogate.

He knew the proper thing to do was alert the palace guards and have her sent away to the Punishment Bureau for questioning, but he hadn’t much faith that they’d do their jobs as thoroughly as they should. Harry wanted answers. And he wanted them now.

Silently he strode closer to loom over the witch, examining her face as it was still stuck in that expression of total fear. He hated doing this. She deserved to be punished for her actions, yes, but he also knew that from the moment he turned her over to the Bureau, she would be facing far harsher consequences than he could stomach imagining. Punishment should fit the crime; but all that lived within the gates knew that the Citadel had no mercy for those that broke the rules. The severity of the crime was inconsequential in the end.

Reluctantly, he summoned rope and bound her with it, taking care to be gentle in this at least. He sat her up, her gray eyes tracking his movements- her pupils contracted to pinpricks to reveal the vibrant color of her eyes- her irises the only thing able to move on their own as he pulled her hands behind her back and tightened the knots.

Her hair was a wirey red, shot with streaks of gray. She wasn’t as old as Ginny’s mother, but Karla reminded him of Mrs. Weasley all the same. It made it all the more difficult to treat her like a such a threat, to do her such a cruelty.

But she had wronged him first, and finding out why was an unavoidable task- no matter how unsavory.

He twirled his wand, not bothering to mutter the countercurse, and watched as her body collapsed upon itself as the petrification reversed itself.

She did not move afterwards. Did not speak.

Harry simply stared her down, crouched as he was above her, and said only one thing, “Why?”

A bitter silence stretched between them. Harry rolled his wand between his fingers and Karla flinched.

“I won’t say anything,” she snapped. “Just send me to the Bureau and be done with it.”

Her words were spiteful, but they had waved just the slightest on Bureau. She was afraid. With good right to be if the rumors were true. Supposedly, the halls of that place ran thick with blood.

“And let them cut you open without getting any answers?” he asked, watching her eyes dart nervously to the side again. “I don’t think so.”

“You found me burning your correspondence,” she said, twisting slightly in her ropes. “I committed a crime, now send me off already.”

“That’s what you were betting on happening, wasn’t it?” he mused. “So you’d never get truly caught? Just stand a little flogging and then be sent back on your merry way without anyone digging any deeper into the matter?”

She wriggled again in protest but said nothing in response. He could see the calculation in her gaze, though what sort of math she was attempting to do- he couldn’t guess. She’d been in the game for far longer than he had, having been employed by the palace for nearly twenty years. She’d been happy to tell him all about working her way up from general scullery maid to one assigned to tend to the imperial harem members- a prestigious position, she’d told him with pride. She had pledged, once upon a time, to be a dutiful and dedicated maid to him.

“Who are you working for?” he asked, keeping his voice as calm as possible and twirling his wand again to watch her flinch.

She spat on the floor, glare sharp as she kept her silence.

He hummed, tilting his head in slow consideration as he silently vanished the spittle on the floor with a negligent wave of his hand. He relished only slightly in the widening of Karla’s eyes at the show of power. Harry was not usually one to keep someone in suspense, to play with a captive like a cat with its prey, but his anger- his betrayal- his pain, had to be directed somewhere. Cold precision was all he had. The raging storm within him had to be held back- he could not afford to let it explode outwards as he dearly wished. He swallowed it down and summoned a tiny vial of potion that Severus had gifted him.

“Accio Veritaserum,” he murmured aloud, solely for Karla’s benefit.

He didn’t intend to use it, not for something so small like this. But he hoped the threat of it might be enough to loosen the maid’s lips.

He was proven correct as Karla started sputtering denials the moment the small vial of clear potion smacked into his palm.

“You can’t-,” she said, feet scraping uselessly against the hardwood as if trying to scramble away. “That’s not allowed-”

“Oh?” he said, malice lacing his words. “Are we mincing rules now, Karla? By my tally you are the one to have broken quite a few, while I’m still in the clear.”

“But- it’s forbidden-”

“Yeah, to smuggle in outside potions,” he dismissed. “To bring them in without permission of the Knights, or the Council, or His Majesty directly. This,” he shook the bottle, “was a gift from my cousin. Who personally brewed it to ensure its quality.”

“Lord Prince,” she whispered, her face paling as she realized there was no getting out of this. “Who sits on the Council.”

“Very good, Karla!” he cooed sarcastically. “You would put that together rather quickly, though, wouldn’t you? You couldn’t block his letters, after all. It would raise too many questions with all the wrong people. But now you’re caught, Karla, it’s time to give it up.”

He leaned in closely and held his wand just under her chin. “Who is your master?”

She hissed at the pressure, her face going sheet white and her eyes wildly darting about, but she stubbornly kept her silence. It was only when he threatened to uncork the vial that she caved.

“His Grace,” she said through gritted teeth. “Consort Carrow.”

Well. That was a bit surprising, actually. What need would such a high ranking concubine have to try and sabotage him in such a small way? He knew he’d caused waves, not only with such a high rank to enter with, but with his recent promotion, as well. Still, he didn’t think himself worthy of such scrutiny from the more powerful of the harem. Not in such a seemingly small scale sort of plan, burning letters from his friends. A bigger plan to take him out completely, he might have suspected. But to risk being caught for such a small infraction? She could be lying, of course. But Harry didn’t feel that she was. Was she just the first step in a larger plot that he’d foiled by catching her early? Hard to say.

“Anything else?”

She glowered at him, once again refusing to speak. Well, he hadn’t really expected anything less. Still, it was a bit disappointing he couldn’t cleave a tad more information from her. She probably wasn’t told much to begin with, though, so there might not have been anything more to extract in the first place. Amycus Carrow did not strike him as the type to care to give his servants anything more than the bare necessities- including information. Which begged the question why Karla would have turned against Harry for such a cruel man.

He sighed. “Will you tell me why you did it at least?” he asked her tiredly, already growing weary of the game they all played. “I try to treat you and the others well. Give you the respect you deserve. Never take you for granted. Have I been failing in that? Have I done something wrong?”

Karla threw her head back and laughed, cruel and sharp. It made him feel small to hear it. Like his spirit was shrinking within the cage of his bones, huddled in that thrice-damned cupboard again.

“This isn’t about you, boy,” she cried, voice full with derision, “this is about power! I’ve been working the system since before you were born. Consort Carrow promised me a spot among his own maids after your inevitable fall. And you will fall,” she sneered. “You’re too soft. Too naive. You play at being among the cutthroat, but you’ll never manage to wield the knife. They’ll tear into you like a lamb among wolves. Being a maid to such a weakling will do me no good. His Majesty’s eyes are fleeting upon you, and you won’t survive here without them. Carrow might not be the best bet for success, but he’s a sight better gamble than you.”

He flicked his wand sharply, uttering a soft, “Silencio,” as he turned to finally summon the guards to take Karla away. He’d heard enough. Reluctantly, he handed over the letters as evidence- though they needed little else, as the guards were willing to apprehend her and march her out on Harry’s word alone. While the downsides of a lawless snake pit were many, one could still appreciate the few advantages when you were the one with the upper hand.

He didn’t know if requesting to have her banished from the Citadel would actually result in anything, but he was damn determined to try. He would not give her the satisfaction of letting her climb the ranks at his own expense.

He watched dispassionately as they dragged her from the room, from the palace itself, kicking and screaming without sound. A guilty pit formed in his stomach as the guards manhandled her out the door, but only because of the fearful looks his other maids shot him as they watched. He would not give them any reassurance, however, hoping that the of terror of the moment would dissuade them from acting against him as Karla had done.

Later, he would go back to that little, unused room, and scrape what ashes remained of his past letters together. Hoping, somehow, the tattered proof that he was loved by his friends would mend the ache that had sprung in his soul.

*

October 31^st 1998, Palace of Glorious Dawn

After thirty days of imprisonment, he spent the very last night of his confinement in complete solitude.

Samhaim was a day of mourning, a day of celebration, and a day to remember how fleeting the joys and sorrows of life could be. There would be bonfires lit and altars adorned in honor of ancestors past, there would be sacrificial offerings made and large amounts of spiced mead to be enjoyed by all. Most would surround themselves with friends and family, would revel in the company of all their loved ones as they celebrated the lives of the ones they had already lost. So that they might take comfort in each other and know they would always have others to love and adore.

Harry would spend his Samhain alone.

He sat, clothed only in a simple black set of robes and black velvet cloak, a bundled offering of holly, yew, and foxglove clutched in his hands- ready to be thrown in the small fire he had built in his private courtyard on the stroke of midnight.

Lavender and Ginny were with the other remaining maids, a lively celebration among the servants being hosted in one of the lesser used gardens- for those not directly serving their lords and ladies that night. The other concubines were no doubt gathering either with the Emperor himself, or with each other among the lower ranked. The Imperial Heirs were likely also in attendance, either at Hogwarts among their peers, or with their parent directly. It would have been a delight to join the rest of his fellow wixen on such a holiday- however, even had he not been stuck in confinement, he would have celebrated this particular day of the wheel alone.

His soul was far too raw for that.

In the past, he had only mourned the dead he did not know.

He had mourned his parents, but only because his grandmother had mourned them- not because he’d known them enough to feel their absence. He had mourned his great aunt Eileen, not because he had known her but because Cousin Severus had mourned her- however conflicted Severus had felt about said mourning. He had paid his respects to the dead and had even dared to dream of warm family scenes made of ‘what if’s and ‘could have been’s- had he gotten to know the family that had long since passed.

But he had never grieved them. Had never felt that piercing sadness at their passing, had never felt that deep ache within his chest at the thought of never seeing their smile again. Had never felt their absence like a knife slashed through the fabric of his heart.

He would never miss them in the visceral way he missed his Grandmother Effie.

It was one thing to sit in the long and quiet nights of winter, warmed by the fire in the hearth and his grandmother’s weight beside him, listening as she carded her fingers through his hair and spoke of his parents and his godfather, and even his great aunt and his grandfather- to miss what felt like characters within a story and opportunities long since wasted. It was another thing entirely to mourn the feel of those gentle hands in his hair, the soft voice lulling him to sleep, and the warm press of a kiss to his forehead as he drifted off.

This would be his second Samhain without her, and the first he would spend completely alone.

Last year he had been at Hogwarts during Samhain, where it had been easy to slip into the dungeons where Severus’s quarters were located. He had yet to tell anyone else of his grandmother’s passing, the grief too new and heavy to even consider expressing- but Severus knew and Severus had known her, had called her family as well.

They had mourned her together last year, that Samhain particularly solemn and subdued- offering shreds of lily petals and nightshade berries into the fire in Severus’s office. Harry stared into the dancing flames he had before him and remembered the few snippets of conversation they had managed between each other then.

“Do you think she’d be disappointed in me, Cousin? For wishing to marry the man that killed her son?”

“I did not know Aunt Euphemia terribly well,” Severus murmured, not looking away from the fire. “I… had ignored her letters to me at first, bitter to know that I had had a family member out there that had sat back and letter me suffer all that I did in my childhood. I had not realized then that she had been completely unaware, that my mother had hidden my existence from her for so many years.”

The fire crackled, one of the logs popping loudly as Severus threw in another lily petal.

“I did not give in until I had witnessed her at a distance, devastated over another lead in finding you going dry. I admit… I had eavesdropped on her private conversation, curious to know more of the little family I had left- looking, truthfully, for validation that my scorn of her had been the correct course. And then I had listened as she spoke of her distress with a friend that had been helping her search, how she spent endless nights without sleep, hoping on such a little amount of hope to find you. How she feared what could have happened to you. That she needed, with every inch of her magic, to know that you were safe and happy.”

Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in remembering just where Grandmother Effie had found him. He threw a few more berries into the fire to distract himself instead.

“It was this that, to be a bit crude,” Severus cut a look in Harry’s direction, “was what got me to get my head out of my ass.”

Harry barked a short laugh, unused to hearing his cousin curse in such a way. Severus allowed a small quirk of his lips before sighing.

“Once I started writing her, the letters rarely stopped- and more and more often I would visit and get to know her. However- there had been little time before her death to truly do so,” Severus let the room fall into silence, the crackling fire the only sound between them. Harry didn’t dare to break it himself.

“I… cannot say for certain,” he continued after a long, long moment, “but as long as you were happy- I don’t think she would have minded too much. Lily, your father, and that mutt all chose to commit treason, whatever their reasons, and therefore it was their choice to face death or confinement. You should not hold back on your ambitions for some misplaced need of approval from the dead.”

He wondered now, if his cousin was right. Was she watching from aether, wishing only his happiness? Or was she disappointed? Two-fold, because he was chained to the man that killed her family but also because he wasn’t even happy where he was? Should he even care about her opinion, now that she’d shuffled off the mortal coil? Was she even watching him, now that she had finally achieved the rest she had longed for? The death that had haunted her for years before she had finally been able to succumb?

He’d known for years, that her time would come sooner than later. He had felt it long ago with the stuttery rise and fall of her chest, the way her breath had caught and would shake after walking shorter and shorter distances. He had felt it when she’d first come to fetch him from his awful aunt and uncle- how her hand in his had shaken with a fine, fine tremor.

And it hadn’t mattered, in the end, how much magic he had poured into her. How strong she would become after each holiday he had spent trying so desperately to keep her alive. Every year he left for Hogwarts was another year he would come back to her having grown weaker and weaker after their time apart. He had known, even then, that he had only been staving off the inevitable. Had known that the dragon pox would continue to eat at her core and any magic he wrapper her in would only slowly get eat away as well- like moths making work of a wool blanket.

It didn’t matter that he’d known, that he had long since prepared himself for this- this sitting alone in front of the fire with nothing but fond memories and a bundle of dead flowers.

The grief tore through him anyway.

Midnight rang out through the Citadel, the deep tones of a tower bell being struck echoing from everywhere and nowhere.

He tossed the yew and holly twigs into the fire, the sorrow within him so deep and dry that the tears he bid to come refused to fall. It was with a certain amount of numbness that he pulled out the family athame and cut a line across his palm, coating the last of the foxgloves in his grasp before letting them fall into the fire.

The flames burned higher for a moment, the smoke turning a sort of silver as it wrapped around his form in a warm embrace. Echoes of the dead swirled around him, the soft voices of the parents he’d never gotten to meet whispering words he could not understand even as he felt his mother’s hand run through his hair and his father’s palm ghost across his shoulder. The intangible hands of all those that had come before him landed upon him in some manner; catching at the hem of his robes or tugging at a lock of his hair. Their voices layered upon each other as they all spoke at once, barely audible whispers cascading together like the rustle of leaves in the winds.

There was one voice and one voice alone he could understand.

“Do what you must,” Grandmother Effie rasped gently into his ear, like the soft swish of a breeze over an open field. “Do what you must to be at your happiest.”

The tears that had been absent earlier ran freely down his face, warm as the smoke that still curled around him and the fleeting feel of a kiss against his cheek.

“Thank you,” he whispered back, fighting to keep his voice steady as he passed his hand through empty air. “I miss you.”

There was no reply as the smoke vanished and the fire died down until it was barely more than embers. Harry stood in his courtyard, surrounded by nothing but stone and fading spirits, and gathered himself together. His grandmother had told him to do what he must to be at his happiest. He knew what he needed to do to achieve that, knew the lengths he would need to go to make those deepest darkest desires of his heart come to fruition.

Harry wiped the tears from his cheeks and steeled his soul. He was no longer looking to merely survive within the harem, he was looking to conquer it.