Title: Fairest
Pairing: HP/LV, one-sided BL/LV, HG/RW, GW/DT, one-sided HP/GW, dub-con DM/HG
Disclaimer: I don't really own Harry Potter or the Grimm Fairytales. I also don't really own the idea of this whole thing. The trailer for Snow White and the Huntsman and Game of Thrones inspired me.
Note: Wow, so interesting that it's far easier to write every other character but, Voldemort and Harry. I've added more complex motivations for all the characters so, sorry if it's a little hard to keep track of all of that in your head.
Fairest
Chapter Six
"I killed them."
He said it so matter of factly. As if it were something that he did every day. Harry supposed that he did. The Dark Lord Voldemort was an executioner. A murderer. Harry swallowed, his mind running a thousand leagues a minutes. Should he run? Scream? Attack? Harry bit his lower lip and took another step back as the Dark Lord stepped forward.
"Why?" Harry whispered and hated him when his voice broke.
"Because they threatened everything I held dear."
The raw honesty was unsettling. Harry frowned at Voldemort in confusion. He couldn't understand how the man was so nonchalant about confessing to the murder of Harry's parents but, so vulnerable when talking about why. It was incomprehensible. Harry ground his teeth together, steadying himself.
"Everything you hold dear? The empire? My parents were normal people," Harry said.
Voldemort sighed, shaking his head. "Dear sweetling, you didn't even know your name. What do you know about how 'normal' your parents were?" Voldemort asked. When Harry didn't answer, he took another step forward. Harry didn't flinch this time. "Your name is Harry Potter. You have many names. Harry Potter. Prince of House Gryffindor. The Fairest."
"I...I am not a Prince. I'm Harry Evans," Harry pleaded. "I'm not anything."
Voldemort looked at him, his eyes strangely cold. "You are everything."
"Why did you kill my parents?" Harry repeated, his voice cracking with emotion. Voldemort took another step forward and Harry gasped when he felt his back pressed up against a tree trunk. Voldemort settled a hand next to Harry's head, boxing him in.
"Does it matter?" Voldemort drawled.
Harry's grief broke away, replaced nearly instantly with fury. Voldemort raised an eyebrow as the boy's magic whipped around them, burning and smoky, threatening to choke Voldemort.
"Of course it matters," Harry snarled.
His eyes glowed in his rage. Merlin, he was beautiful.
"You truly have no idea, Fairest," Voldemort murmured. This was so beautiful with his vibrant green eyes and his wild nature, untamable and unbreakable.
He knew if allowed this boy to live, he would become a worthy opponent. Where Lily had failed to ever wield the Sword of Gryffindor, this boy would do so proudly. But, only if he were allowed to live and Voldemort had no intentions of allowing that to happen.
"Fairest?" Harry asked.
Voldemort brushed a gloved finger down Harry's soft, porcelain cheek and Harry shivered from the touch. He looked cross with himself for a moment but, Voldemort's lips tilted into his a smirk of amusement.
"You heard them. They called you Fairest-Of-Them-All. They weren't wrong," Voldemort said.
"They called...me?" Harry whispered.
Voldemort let out a high cold laugh that descended into a warm, intimate chuckle. Harry froze and he let out a whimper, writhing against the tree trunk, caught between getting away and getting closer. So, it wasn't only Voldemort that was caught.
"You are Harry of House Gryffindor, son of Lily of House Gryffindor and James of House Potter. They call you many things, sweetling. Things that you must die for," Voldemort whispered against the shell of Harry's ear.
He couldn't help himself. He ran his tongue down the cartilage, sucking gently on Harry's earlobe. Harry let out a tiny gasp and a soft mewl that made Voldemort want to bend over the sweet boy and fuck the innocence out of him.
Harry blinked, attempting to clear his head as things started to make sense and less sense. His fire, the constant burning, was magic and his 'aunt' was increasingly protective despite the fact that she didn't want him around, really. He had been putting her family in danger.
"Prince of Gryffindor...the Fairest-of-Them-All. The most beautiful person in the world. Do you know what your heart does to me?" the Dark Lord whispered, his hands sliding down to cup Harry's neck, over his shoulders, brushing against the threadbare fabric. Harry felt the head of the man's broad hands and whimpered. The Dark Lord pulled him tight against him and grounded their erections as he hissed, "I will devour your heart, sweetling. I will eat it from your ribcage and be young and beautiful forever."
Harry gasped as Voldemort pressed their lips together. The Dark Lord was a good kisser but, he wasn't generous. No, this man took. He plundered Harry's mouth, tasting every crevice, running his tongue over the cap of each tooth. He kissed with his whole being, possessing Harry. Harry moaned into the Dark Lord's mouth, his hands tightening on the man's broad shoulders.
This man was beautiful and...and…
"You're a fucking psycho," Harry mumbled against the Dark Lord's lips and brought his knee up, his hand pressed against the taller man's waist.
The Dark Lord roared in pain as Harry's knee connected with his cock and Harry shoved him back, stumbling away. The Dark Lord pulled his wand, suddenly and Harry lifted the knife in his hand. Voldemort stopped, keeping his eyes trained on the ceremonial knife. The knife he had used to harvest Helena and Lily's hearts.
"You stay away from me. You're not taking my heart," Harry snarled.
Voldemort growled, pulling his claymore. "Are you sure, sweetling?"
Harry stopped and moved forward, pressing his hand to Voldemort's chest. Voldemort frowned, suddenly caught off-guard. Harry swallowed his pride and simpered, looking up at the Dark Lord.
"What are you attempting to distract me with, pretty?" Voldemort drawled.
"I've never lain with a man. Will you let me die a virgin?" Harry murmured.
Voldemort's eyes burned. "Oh, sweetling. You'll have to do better than that."
Harry dropped his pout, twisting it into a snarl. "Doesn't matter, I suppose. I have no intention of dying today."
And with a mighty snarl, Harry slashed the stolen knife, nicking the Dark Lord in his jaw and shoulder. Voldemort roared in pain and Harry spun on his heel, taking off into the forest.
Voldemort roared, waving his wand, healing his wounds.
The pretty ones always like to play hard to get.
MIRROR
Narcissa liked to brush her own hair.
Her entire life, she had been surrounded by maids and house elves. But, they had never touched her long flaxen hair. Before Narcissa did her own hair, her mother did it, and sometimes, Narcissa could pretend that the fingers weaving braids into her hair were her mother's hands and not her own.
Narcissa's mother had always called her, her 'little doll'. Narcissa had owned a doll that looked just like her, an old doll that she kept safely locked in a chest underneath her bed, far from unforgiving eyes. That little doll had been part of a set. The other doll. The other doll had been buried with its namesake. That sweet doll with dark hair and eyes painted pale. Helena.
"I think he loved you," Narcissa whispered. She hesitated, searching the room. There was no one. She prepared for Mortem Phoenix alone. Every year. "As much as he could love anyone that wasn't himself. Or rather, he was fond of you. Fonder of you than he ever was of me. Is that how beauty works, Helena? You are worthy because you are beautiful?"
Narcissa never expected an answer and she never received one. For all that Helena couldn't do because of her natural limitations, she had never been afraid. Narcissa shivered. That doll. Helena had given her that doll after their mothers had conjured a pair for them. Helena was older and doted on Narcissa. Narcissa had slept with that doll for a week after Helena died before giving it to Rowena to be buried in the crypts.
"I am worthy, Helena," Narcissa breathed, weaving her hair. "I am no longer porcelain. My dear friend: I shall not be ignored or lost. Not in favor of a mad woman. I am not a fool. I have done all that he asked of me and more. He will remember that I did everything for him and this family."
Everything would come together. The Crown Prince had a bride-to-be. An heir would be solidified. Her son was healthy. Virile. The Granger girl was not the obvious choice—a Mudblood and skeletal—but, she was submissive to her son's commands. Narcissa could take her under her wing. Guide her. Advise her. The House Zabini was a generous ally. War was brewing. Lady Zabini still held the loyalty of her dead husbands and their money pouches.
Narcissa's soft expression hardened into stone. Helena.
"Why do we pretend, Helena? You didn't ever have to pretend. We were porcelain and ivory. Sweetness. If you had lived...nevermind," Narcissa breathed. She shook herself, standing up, cold as ice. "I cannot be sweet and soft and breakable like we were. I must be more. Untouchable. Unreachable. Like them. Hard onyx and unbendable steel, the pair of them. Always a pair, Bella and Tom. But, Helena, my friend?"
Narcissa stared at her reflection. She closed her eyes. Sometimes, when she tried to remember Helena, she only found a hazy figure that drifted farther away the more she tried to remember. But, she could always remember Helena's laugh.
Narcissa's eyes opened.
"Do you know what can cut onyx, Helena?" Narcissa breathed. She smiled. "A diamond."
MIRROR
Harry ran. The crunching of branches and leaves under his feet sounded like earthquakes and his labored breathing like thunder. He could feel Voldemort catching up to him, his wand pointed. Harry didn't dare look back. If he looked back, he'd falter and Harry wasn't in the business of dying.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Harry screamed, spinning behind a tree. The bolt of green light shot pass him. Harry took off again, raging feuling him. That psycho had shot the Killing Curse at him.
"You need better aim, you wanker!" Harry taunted. He doubled his speed when bolts of neon green and violent purple magic shot over his head.
The boy weaved between the thick black trunks, skidding under low hanging branches. Adrenaline pumped through his veins and the fire burned hotter than he'd ever felt in his life. The Prince looked over his shoulder for just a moment and though that Forbidden Forest grew darker with every passing minute, he could still see those crimson eyes. Harry spun back around, another swelling of fear and ran harder. He bit his lip bloody in determination.
"Merlin...help me," Harry hissed through the burning in his chest.
The Dark Lord was catching up to him. He could hear the pounding of his feet growing louder and louder. Harry swallowed his fear. He was no coward.
Harry ran and suddenly spun around, his nostrils flared.
Voldemort skidded to a stop, shocked. Harry held out his hand as if warding Voldemort away. Voldemort's knife stayed clenched tight in Harry's other hand.
"You stay away from me," Harry warned.
Voldemort's lips curled into a tiny smile. Softly, he said, "Harry, your magic is powerful but, I have had years honing my craft. I came with a purpose and I intend to fulfill it."
Harry looked around, a skittish deer. Harry swallowed hard. "I...I…" he stammered. Voldemort smiled as his power began to writhe around him, out of control.
The Dark Lord raised his wand. And then, Harry was stricken by a memory—a book that he had once read about witches and wizards.
"INCENDIO!"
Voldemort threw himself back as fire exploded around Harry's body, swirling around him like a funnel, shooting into the sky. He whipped his wand around him, creating a Shield and he watched as the flames raged, destroying everything in its path, and in the middle of it all, Harry kneeled on the ground, watching the flames ravage the Forest in horror.
Voldemort moved forward, battling the flames.
A beautiful song, devastating and mournful, exploded in the air. Voldemort took a step back, faltering, and he felt his wand vibrate in his hand, the phoenix feather core singing its own song of power. Harry froze as the flames stilled. The lament of a phoenix was a great and terrible thing, Harry thought, and he wondered how he knew that.
He stiffened when he felt a heavy weight land on his shoulder and he turned and looked.
The majestic bird was large and the color of fire. It was the size of a swan and its plumage told stories in vibrant shades of scarlet and gold. Its tale trailed far behind Harry, long and powerful. It rubbed its long neck along the side of Harry's face and the bird was scorching and yet, Harry did not burn.
"Who are you?" Harry whispered.
Voldemort trembled. "Fawkes."
The phoenix trilled and Harry took it for affirmation. Fawkes had come to him. Lily Gryffindor's phoenix had come to him.
"I will find you," Voldemort promised and before Harry could ask, fire erupted around Harry and enveloped him whole.
Harry whined, the sound of Voldemort's scream following him into the flames. When he emerged on the other side, he collapsed into overgrown grass, gasping for air. He fell onto his back, wheezing.
"Fawkes?" Harry called, looking up at the bright blue sky. He didn't hear the trill of the phoenix.
Harry sat up and his heart stopped.
He looked around in fright and his breath left him. Slowly, he got up to his feet and stared.
It looked like his clearing but, it was occupied by an enormous tower, tall and crumbling and familiar. Harry inhaled and he could taste the comforting incense and smoke on his tongue. He took a step forward to the grand marble structure at the foot of the tower. He raised his hand to push open the marble doors and he flinched when they creaked open before he could touch the cool stone.
There was something about this place that was so familiar. He looked at the window at the tower once before he continued into the marble structure, descending a long set of stairs. Harry shivered. It grew both colder and warmer the more he descended and when he finally reached the bottom of the staircase, he wished for fire.
The darkness was impenetrable and terrifying, more than the Dark Lord even.
Harry stumbled in the dark and his hand brushed against something wet. He rubbed his fingers together.
Oil.
Suddenly, the flames exploded and he watched as two long troughs of oil caught fire. Harry watched the fire along the walls, leading the wall. Harry chased the flames, his heart beating faster and faster. He could feel his pulse in his stomach.
And he gasped.
The statue was marble. She stood against the wall, her hands cupped in offering, covered in ashes. Harry reached forward, fingers trembling and the phoenix on the statue's shoulder cooed, nodding at him, as if it knew.
Harry stared at her—the kind curve of her jaw, the firm set of her lips. She was dressed simply, in long robes that was definitely not something the ladies of the current court would wear. He could imagine them in color instead of a pale grey—bright gold and red. He could imagine that the long hair that curled around her barefeet was bright, like the flames that had exploded around him.
He didn't have to imagine her eyes.
They were green. Green emeralds for her eyes. Green like his.
This was not just a tower. Not just a building. This was a mausoleum. And this woman.
This woman…
"Mum…"
ON THE WALL
Ron knew as soon as the ink burned.
Madame McGonagall stiffened, a sharp inhale as her tattoo burned but, it was her only tell. The others hissed and whined in discomfort. McGonagall had been right—as always. The crypt had been breached. He looked over at the woman.
"Go," she drawled.
Ron nodded once and stood, holding out his arm. Ginny reached for it, grabbing it and with the other hand snatching up her bow and wand. Swiftly, they Disapparated ignoring the deafening crack. Ron no longer felt discomfort when he Disapparated. The first few times, he'd turned purple and vomited but, running as he had been running for nearly his whole life made him get over his aversion.
They landed. Ginny stumbled and righted herself, tossing her bow over her shoulder.
"The doors are open," she said.
"I noticed," Ron retorted with a smirk. Ginny gave him a rude hand gesture that only made him grin wider. As always, his sister looked grim.
Ginny led the way, her thick red braid bouncing against her back. She was in her battle leathers. The brand new ones that she had wanted to wear on the raid at one of the Queen's outposts in Balmorra, just North of Hogsmeade. That was before they knew Fabian and Gideon were the ones that were going to be executed. Ron had cried angry tears while he watched, clutching on to Fred and George.
Ginny didn't cry anymore. Not after the things that she had witnessed. The things that had been done to her.
"Who d'you think is in there?" Ron asked.
Ginny stared straight ahead. "Someone with connections to the Order, I expect. We're the only ones that can get in. Us and Fawkes."
"Maybe Fawkes is back," Ron said in excitement. He'd seen the phoenix once, when he was twelve and his sister was eleven. He could still remember the vivid bird, bright crimson and gold. They descended into the darkness and Ron lifted his wand. "Lumos."
Ginny followed suit and she swallowed. "There's light," she whispered.
Ron's eyes narrowed and he saw it. The light. He walked faster, Ginny on his heels and he came to a sudden stop, rocking back.
Ron stared.
The oil was lit, the entire crypt bright with fire. He looked over at Ginny but, she was staring straight ahead. And Ron saw him.
He was kneeling before the statue of Lily, running his fingers through the ash offering that Ron knew was Fawkes' leftovers from his rebirths. Fawkes rested on the statue's shoulder, cooing down at the boy. The boy had beautiful black curls that hung to the nape of his neck and he was lithe, thin with wiry muscles. His knuckles were bloodied and a strange ceremonial knife sat on the edge of the altar.
"You...turn around," Ginny whispered.
The boy jumped up. Slowly, he turned, defiance in those bright eyes. Fawkes hopped off the statue's shoulder and onto the boy's. He trilled and the boy lifted his hand. Ron stared as flames danced between the boy's fingers.
"Harry Wildfyre," Ron breathed.
The boy with eyes bright as emeralds, hair black as ebony, lips red as blood, and skin white as snow, stood taking a step back. He swallowed hard and stiffened, running his hand through his hair and Ron saw the lightning bolt upon his forehead.
"I'm...I'm Harry," he said. "Who are you?"
"My name's Ron. This is my sister. Ginny," Ron stammered, looking as if he had been hit upside the head with a club. Ginny rolled her eyes and elbowed him in the side. Ron shook himself.
"Harry...I'm Harry Potter. That's what...that's what he told me," Harry whispered.
Ginny took a step forward. "Who told you?" she demanded.
"The Dark Lord. Voldemort," Harry said and Ron inhaled sharply at the name, stricken by the sound of it. He leaned forward, frowning. "What did you call me?"
"Your name is Hadrian," Ginny declared, taking a step forward. Fawkes cooed from his perch on the stone shoulder of Lily Gryffindor. "Of House Gryffindor and Potter, Prince of Gryffindor, the rightful King-Emperor of Albion."
Harry looked over his shoulder, his gaze softening as he looked at the statue.
"This is my mother," he whispered, a wild sense of glee to his face. He looked back at Ron and Ginny and swallowed. "I was being chased. By the Dark Lord. The phoenix brought me here."
Ron shook himself and nodded. He held out his hand.
"Prince Harry, I think it'd be best if you came with us."
WHOM
In the night, Bellatrix had very sharp eyesight. She had taken after her father, in that aspect. It was the only thing that she had inherited from her father. Voldemort had the tongue of snakes, that was true, but Bellatrix liked having one thing that she could share with her exiled father, no matter how much she hated the man. Bellatrix hated her father so much that she burned with it and thirsted for his blood.
The Queen waited on her balcony, watching the gates. The castle and grounds were full to the brim with her visiting court and with her sister's uninvited household. Bellatrix could see them in their tents, dancing and laughing around bonfires, celebrating outside like heathens instead of with the rest of the nobility or servants. She did not care that dawn would come; she would not sleep until she had Harry Potter's bloody heart in her palm and between her teeth.
Bellatrix would give that boy the chance to pry her deserved crown from her head. She would clutch her throne until her skin peeled away and there was only bones and dust.
And that would never happen. She would be immortal and beautiful and whole for all eternity.
Draco wanted her throne. He happily shrieked and shouted that he was 'Crown Prince. One day, I'll be Emperor'. It made her smile. Her sister's sweet little boy, the Crown Prince, was her little court fool. The Queen laughed, her cackles echoing on the wind. The Warden's household looked up, searching for the laughter and Bellatrix hushed herself, giggling under her breath.
She felt him before she saw him.
"Was it done?" Bellatrix asked. Voldemort walked to her side, staring out at the Warden's household of heathens, dancing and coupling by the fire. She kept her territories in strong hand but not her own people.
"He was beautiful. Far more beautiful than Lily or Helena. The mirror did him no justice, I tell you that."
Bellatrix stared at her brother, jealousy surging through her body. Her head went hazy with jealousy and she felt her stomach lurch. Bellatrix crossed her arms underneath her full breasts and smiled, masking her irritation. There were always cracks in the mask though. He always knew. Somehow, they always knew.
"Did you fuck him before you killed him?" Bellatrix asked crudely.
Voldemort looked at her, crimson eyes burning. He took a step towards her before thinking better of it. It had been a long time since Voldemort had had to still himself from being violent towards her. Longer since Voldemort had wanted to be violent towards her. Bellatrix leaned forward, her cheeks flushed.
"I did not."
"We did not think you would. You wouldn't do that to us. You know—" Bellatrix said, smiling proudly.
Voldemort hummed and turned away; closing his eyes and thinking back to something that Bellatrix could not see. Bellatrix sighed and thought of the great gift her brother had given her. She would bite through sinew and feel it catch between her teeth, giving her power. She would no longer feel compelled to drink the blood and eat the hearts of insignificant serving girls.
Bellatrix would be powerful and beautiful and loved.
"No. Bellatrix. I did not kill him."
Voldemort had been called Kingmaker once. He had made her instead. When they had turned fifteen, Bellatrix had been given a name too—Chaos-Bringer, and her mind was lawless and tumultuous. She gnashed her teeth, and her magic roared within her, beyond her control. She didn't notice when she drew her wand and pointed it at him.
"WHAT DID YOU DO?"
Her shrieks were deafening but Voldemort didn't flinch. He stared at her with unyielding eyes. Bellatrix lunged, her hands curled into claws. She tore her nails across his face and blood welled to the surface, marring his perfect face. Voldemort raised his wand and passed it over his face. The flesh knitted together as if it had never been torn apart.
Bellatrix seethed with resentment.
"I did nothing. He escaped me."
"How? How could you let him go, Tom? He will be our downfall!"
Voldemort's eyes flashed and he lifted his wand. "Crucio."
Bellatrix's back arched and she shrieked out a terrible laugh as agony ripped its way up her spine, pulsing in her ears, tearing her brain apart. Voldemort watched as she crumpled to the ground and squirmed, like an insect. Her black hair fell into her face and she smiled up at him, biting her tongue bloody to silence her screams. Voldemort released the curse.
Bellatrix curled in on herself, twitching from the aftershocks.
"He will be your downfall unless you control yourself," Voldemort warned.
Bellatrix shuddered as she took in a deep, ragged breath. She giggled again, still twitching, her eyes unfocused.
"We would not worry about control if you had done what you were put to do. We commanded you to rip her heart from her chest as your Queen and you failed," Bellatrix hissed and she spat on his boot, a glob of blood and mucus on the top of the shiny leather. She stared at him, a demented smile twisting her beautiful face into something wretched.
Voldemort's nostrils flared as he swung his foot, catching Bellatrix in the face. Bellatrix fell back and laughed again, harder than before. She wiped the blood pouring from her nose and mouth on her sleeve, giggling. Slowly, her laughter tapered off and she stared at him, shocked.
"You...you hit us," Bellatrix whispered.
Voldemort took a lazy step forward and kneeled before Bellatrix, utter sincerity in his eyes. He took Bellatrix's face between two pale, spidery hands. Bellatrix flinched but there was nowhere for her to escape to. Voldemort leaned forward, pressing his forehead to hers, the illusion of intimacy around them. And still, Bellatrix's terror was undeniable and so was the demented torment too.
"Do not test me, sister. I made you. I made you who you are. I made you Empress. I made you Queen. I made you beautiful. And I can make you ugly too."
IS FAIREST
Ron couldn't stop staring and Ginny was starting to notice.
He watched as Prince Harry, the Fairest-of-them-All, walked as if he knew where he was going. He followed Fawkes, head held high as he chased the red feather plumage. Ron swallowed hard and exchanged another glance with Ginny. She looked just as enchanted. Harry was beautiful in the dying sun light of the day. Ron had even found himself jealous when Harry had asked to side-Apparate with Ginny.
"This way, your Highness," Ginny said.
Ron shivered as they passed through the wards. Fawkes let out trill and swooped low, landing heavily on Harry's shoulder, his long tail tossed over Harry's other shoulder, wrapping around him. Harry didn't shiver. He held his head high and look in the war camp, eyes narrowed in concentration.
The edges of the camp were made up to be a tent city. People—Muggles, witches, and wizards alike—milled about, doing their own duties or chattering and eating as if they didn't have a care in the world. As they walked through the tent city, small, well-built cottages began to pop up, more and more occurring as they approached the largest building, a two-story manor house. Just beside the manor house was a worn stables and a small hut.
Harry looked over his shoulder, frowning when Ginny's chocolate eyes connected with his own.
Ginny flushed and looked down, embarrassed.
Ron observed briefly, intrigued by his sister's odd behavior before he turned.
"MADAME MCGONAGALL!"
Harry flinched at Ron's obnoxious roar. Fawkes made a spitting noise but nobody else reacted at Ron's cries. Even the young children didn't look up from their suppers or games. The manor door swung open and a severe woman in tartan and glasses walked out. She was a regal woman. Dark hair was pulled back into a tight bun, streaks of grey making her handsomer.
"Lower your voice, you babbling buffoon," Madame McGonagall hissed and even still, Harry could see fondness in the lines around her eyes.
Ron stepped forward and Harry cleared his throat. The Madame faltered as she stared at Harry and the phoenix that sat comfortably on his shoulder. Harry's attention was grabbed as a large, hairy man emerged from the manor despite the fact that the door was half his size.
"Minerva—" the giant man started and he gasped.
"Madame, when we arrived at the tower, we saw that the mausoleum had been breached. When we entered to secure the area, we met...him. He matched the description," Ginny began, so serious and Ron bounced forward, clearing his throat.
"May I introduce you to Hadrian of Houses Potter and Gryffindor, Prince of Albion, and the Fairest-of-Them-All," Ron said, bowing dramatically and he turned, winking at the golden-haired young woman that had approached.
Harry straightened. People were watching, whispering, gasping.
Harry swallowed his nervousness and took a deep breath, attempting to force the flush from his cheeks. McGonagall took a step forward.
"You have her eyes," McGonagall said, her voice so soft.
Harry frowned. That wasn't what he expected. "I-I'm sorry?"
"You have her eyes, Harry Wildfyre. I was there. The night of your birth. The night that summer died and was reborn again when you cried out. You were the most beautiful babe I've ever looked upon and I was there. For the birth of your mother, Helena, most of the children of Hogwarts Castle. Except for the twins. They are before my time," McGonagall allowed and Harry took a step closer, his lips pulling into a soft smile.
"You were there?" Harry whispered. "You knew my parents?"
"Aye," McGonagall confirmed. "Hair, black as ebony wood. Skin, white as snow. Lips, red as blood. And Lily's beautiful eyes. Welcome, Prince Hadrian."
Harry thought back to that gorgeous marble statue of his mother. She looked stern and powerful but, all he knew was how beautiful she was. He wanted more. This woman could tell him more.
"I...my name's not Hadrian. I'm just...Harry, please," Harry whispered.
McGonagall's lips curled into a tight smile and she nodded before dropping into a curtsey.
Ron and Ginny bowed as did the hairy man as he mopped tears from his eyes. Fawkes trilled in Harry's ear and Harry glanced over his shoulder. The people that had begun to gather bowed too. Harry flushed, bashfully and he shook his head, holding up hands.
"No! Now bowing. Please…"
McGonagall straightened. "Why not, your Highness?"
"No! None of that either. Just Harry," Harry pleaded.
McGonagall frowned, unsure of herself for the first time. She shook her head and looked towards Ron, her expression stern once more.
"Ronald, escort the prince inside. I shall summon your brothers to the table. Percy is inside. Tell him to call the table. Ginevra informed the camp of the Prince's arrival," McGonagall commanded and she looked around. Just her glance seemed to dismiss the spectators and they scattered, whispering and gossiping.
Ginny snickered at the expression on Harry's face, showing genuine emotion for the first time since they had met. The redheaded girl darted off and Harry turned back to Ron. He struggled with the right words to say before settling.
"She's rather scary, aye?" Harry choked out.
Ron grinned. "I know, right? McGonagall is so cool. Hey, your Highness—"
"Harry."
"Harry, then. Harry, this is Hagrid. He was the groundskeeper of Hogwarts Castle but now, he's working with us. He's a great friend and you'll be seeing him around the camp a lot," Ron said, gesturing vaguely at the large hairy man.
The giant of a man had a long scraggly black beard and small black eyes but, they were the kindest eyes that Harry had seen in a long while. Harry beamed.
"Hello, Hagrid," he said, gently stroking Fawkes' tail.
"'Ello, Harry. I hope ye find the camp nice 'enough. Erebody's workin' to 'elp ye win against th' Queen and You-Know-Who," Hagrid said with a big smile. He leaned forward, staring at the phoenix. "Beautiful phoenix, ye got."
"He's not mine," Harry said, hurriedly, but Hagrid was already lumbering off to do his own duties.
Ron shook his head. "You're his. He chose your mum once. Now, he chose you."
Harry bit his lip, looking around the camp. He shook his head and turned back to Ron whom was already standing in the doorway. Ron held out his hand to Harry. The green-eyed boy snorted at the hand and walked forward. He froze, worried that he had hurt Ron's feelings.
Harry's lips curled into a smile when he saw Ron's sheepish grin. The redhead rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.
"Er...sorry. I was treating you like a girl just then, wasn't I?" Ron apologized.
"No. You were treating me like I was weak. I pulled a knife on the Dark Lord. I'm not weak," Harry said, matter-of-factly and he waved the ceremonial knife at Ron.
Ron's mouth dropped open and he stared. "W-what? You didn't say that. You haven't said anything about what happened!"
Harry faltered. "Oh…"
"Wait until everyone is here. McGonagall will want to know," Ron said as he led Harry through the manor home.
It was so much nicer than the Dursleys' debilitated manor. In this manor, the walls were cream, freshly painted and panelled with wood. The floor was smooth wooden silk. Harry almost tripped when Ron made a sharp left and went up a flight of stairs. Harry backtracked and followed him into a room.
The room was large and dominated by a long, heavy darkwood table. By the far wall was a fireplace, where bright green flames danced merrily. Harry looked at it, intrigued and Fawkes trilled. Harry turned his head into Fawkes' beak and smiled. Someone cleared their throat and Harry turned back to the table.
They were all looking at him.
The first to catch his eyes was a woman with bright pink, spiky hair in a thin black dress, her middle squeezed tight by a corset. He stared at her very low neckline. Her breasts were almost completely exposed. If she removed the scarf draped around her neck and down over her breasts, he was sure that he'd be able to see her nipples through the threadbare fabric. She had a red cloak tossed over the back of her chair, and she looked so at ease that Harry was jealous.
The man next to her donned a shappy, patched white shirt, a jerkin with missing buttons and shabbier, threadbare brown trousers tucked into worn boots that had seen better days. His tawny hair was streaked with gray but his amber eyes shined brightly and he was staring, slack-mouthed.
The young man sitting to the left of the head of the table was staring at him with pink cheeks. Curly red hair spilled over his ears and he nervously fiddled with the scrolls in front of him, holding his quill so tight that it snapped. He was definitely related to Ron and Ginny.
More people. A man with one fake eye, whirling and spinning in his face. Four more redheads with smatterings of freckles, the oldest looking one with a long fang tattoo in his ear. More Weasleys, then. That brought Harry's count up to seven Weasleys. A dark-skinned man with a heavy jaw. An older grey-haired man with electric blue eyes. A woman that looked strangely like the weird Squib from Little Whinging, Arabella Figg. A few younger people, only a few years older than Harry.
The shabby man leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Harry? Harry, is that you?" he rasped. Harry swallowed.
"That...that's me. I'm Harry. Harry Potter. The...the...Prince of Gryffindor."
And the world exploded.
OF THEM ALL?
"Sister," Andromeda greeted, pressing a kiss on each of Narcissa's cheeks.
Narcissa responded with a gentile smile, she held her hands out, pulling Andromeda into her parlour.
"It's late, I know, but I missed you," Narcissa said softly. "Thank you for accepting my invitation to tea."
"It's not just late, Narcissa. It's the middle of a ball. A middle of a ball and not a single Slytherin child is there," Andromeda drawled as she clunked into Narcissa's parlour, wearing the incessant dress of chainmail. "What an utter faux pas."
"We are Slytherins," Narcissa said, as if it were an excuse.
It was.
"No matter. I missed you as well, sweet little sister," Andromeda said, sitting down primly at the tiny table prepared with sweets and tea. She waved her hand wand watched as the teapot lifted, pouring tea into the two cups. "Do you take it with milk or cream?"
"Neither," Narcissa said primly.
Andromeda grunted and waved her wand. Two lumps of sugar bounced their way into her cup and a splash of milk. Andromeda slowly turned her wand in circles, mixing the tea. She took a sip and hummed, satisfied.
"What would you like to talk about, sister?" Andromeda asked.
"How is your self-exile to the West?" Narcissa asked.
Andromeda laughed. "It is tiring. I do my duty, though."
"Right…" Narcissa drawled, pursing her lips as she drank her own tea, relishing in the bitterness on her tongue. Andromeda laughed again.
"I know what you think about me, Cissy—"
"Do not call me by that childish nickname again, Dromeda," Narcissa spat and she inhaled deeply, taking another sip of tea, smiling as easily as she did before.
"I don't mind childish nicknames," Andromeda drawled. "I miss childhood."
"What is there to miss?" Narcissa demanded.
"The lack of meaningful mistakes. Every mistake I make costs a life," Andromeda said. "That is what it means to be Warden but, you wouldn't know."
"I am Warden of the East," Narcissa spat.
"I hear your style nowadays is Duchess of the East, and you do not rule your territory. You send envoys...your boy to do it for you. Training him to be king already?" Andromeda asked. She smiled wider when Narcissa winced, and Andromeda took a sip of her too-sweet tea. "Or will he go by the style emperor. Far more flashy. More his style, I think."
"Don't talk about my son. He'll make a fine emperor one day," Narcissa said stiffly.
Andromeda let out a wicked laugh and she reached for the little lemon cakes sliding it whole in her mouth. Narcissa's nose wrinkled as Andromeda chewed and laughed before she swallowed.
"Is that what you tell him when you put the brat to bed? The brat who doesn't know how to treat his toys well? Imagine what he'd do with an empire," Andromeda spat.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. Andromeda spoke of the Mudblood. The little Mudblood with the empty eyes and the ill-hidden bruises. The bruise on her face had not been so noticeable at the ball. Her maids must have put in an extra effort or had given her bruise-healing potions.
"He's Crown Prince. He has learned much from his father, from his uncle, from me."
"His uncle? Tom?" Andromeda squawked.
"Don't call him that," Narcissa warned. She had learned the hard way.
"I'll call him whatever I like," Andromeda snarled, suddenly full of rage. She took a deep breath and drained the rest of her tea. "She won't relinquish a throne, you know. Never. And she will live far longer than we do. Our brother and her both. They have done dark magics, Cissy."
"This is madness!" Narcissa hissed, voice pitched low as she looked around. Andromeda smiled. Her siblings were suspicious as ever. There was no one in the room and yet, she still searched for enemies. "She's insane. I sat upon that thrice damned throne and now, we have a mad woman upon it. We've had a mad woman for sixteen years. I have done all he has asked of me and more. I ask one thing, Dromeda."'
Andromeda's lips quirked into a smile. "You asked the one thing you knew he wouldn't give. Your son is not easy to control, Narcissa."
"I can control my son," Narcissa snapped.
"Exactly."
"No more, Andromeda," Narcissa whispered, her voice wintery as the North. "I told you once and I'll tell you again, Andy. I shall not be pushed into anonymity. I shall not be ignored or lost."
The older woman's look of amusement disappeared and her eyes came into focus. The grim set to her mouth hardened.
"You don't know what lost is," Andromeda said. "You don't understand what that means. If you did, you would crave to lost as I was. You once told me that marriage means wisdom."
"It does," Narcissa said, sagely.
Andromeda laughed. "Being fucked every night like its your husband's God-given right and squeezing a child out of your cunt doesn't give you wisdom, Narcissa Slytherin. Nor does it give you a throne."
Narcissa froze. Then, she moved faster than Andromeda had ever thought she could. Andromeda's head snapped to the side as Narcissa's hand connected with her cheek. Andromeda turned back to face her sister, a grimly smug smile on her face.
"What do you know about my marriage?" Narcissa snarled.
"You once loved him, yes. I remember. You mooned after him. Begged that Tom let you marry him. Then all you did was resent each other and try to control each other. You cause each other pain," Andromeda condemned.
Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "That's marriage."
Andromeda let out a shocked laugh, as if she couldn't believe her sister's words.
"If you believe that, you're a bigger fool than I thought you were," Andromeda said.
"You do not speak that way to me, sister," Narcissa hissed. "My name is Narcissa of House Malfoy. I have married a man of noble blood and I have provided this empire with an heir. I have killed for the prosperity of House Slytherin. I have bled for us. What have you done?"
Andromeda moved towards her sister, pulling her forward and holding her tight against her body. Narcissa's head was tucked against her neck. Narcissa could feel the rhythm of Andromeda's pulse and Andromeda kissed Narcissa's hairline, right above her head.
"You are a Slytherin, Narcissa. You will always be one. Come to accept the fact that you are greatness personified, but never great enough for him."
:::
A/N: I added more interesting scenes between Narcissa and Andromeda. I like their dynamic. Also, the relationships are going to be much darker and complex-romantic and otherwise. So, get ready.
