Fairest

by sistersgrimmlover

In a world called Albion, there were four rulers; fair and just. That fairytale is over; a new one begins. Harry Potter is an orphan-boy, wandering through the world alone and ignorant of the power that dwells deep within him. But, soon, when the Dark Lord arrives to rip his heart out for the Queen, he learns that he is the rightful heir of a kingdom lost. Slash: HP/LV. Reposting.

26. Chapter Twenty-Two

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: So, I have finally compiled a list of all of the fairytales I'll be using in this work. If anyone wants to know about that, you should PM me or review me, if you want to know. They're sorta spoilers so I don't want to put it in here.

Fairest

Chapter Twenty-Two

Amelia Bones hated the desk she sat behind. She had served two princes at the desk that she sat at, and she knew that she didn't belong behind it. She especially hated the look of awe and deference that the desk gave her, in addition to her white robes, rightfully won. But, the desk...it would never belong to her.

"Princess—" young Leanne said, quivering in her dove grey robes with excitement.

"I am not a Princess," Amelia said, firmly. It was something she oft-repeated, and would not budge on, despite the circlet that graced her grey-streaked hair. "What is it, Leanne?"

"Sorry, Madame-General," Leanne corrected, as carefully as she could. She skipped forward, flapping a piece of parchment in front of Amelia's face, overwrought with excitement. "It is from the Prince. His crest is upon there. I haven't open it though. I swear."

Amelia sighed, shaking her head. "I know, Leanne. Come sit. You're making my head hurt," she said gruffly.

Her trainee—now that Susan had gone—bounced forward, and sat in the chair in front of the desk, her smile not falling in the least. She leaned forward as if she would be able to see through the parchment though Amelia hadn't even cracked the seal just yet.

"Do you mind?" Amelia muttered.

"Sorry, Madame-General," Leanne said though she didn't sound sorry at all. Still, she leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands in her lap, waiting for Amelia to announce the contents of the letter.

Amelia sighed and opened the letter, reading it carefully. She paused.

"It's from the Prince, indeed," Amelia murmured. She ignored Leanne's squeal of excitement. "He tells me that the King of Albion is indeed as beautiful as his titles claim. He is 'kind, good, beautiful, and just' and has procured the loyalty of thousands, including a dragon."

"A dragon?" Leanne squeaked, bouncing up and down in her chair like a child.

Amelia snorted. "Yes, a dragon. The Prince has promised our aid and has requested that I begin to prep our troops. The King, modestly, asked for a quarter, but the Prince has agreed to three-fifths of our troops, ready to be sent over within the next three months as they prepare to host them at Afallon. Well, then, the king of Albion has made an impression on our Prince," Amelia murmured.

"Do you think he has? Do you think he's really as beautiful as they say?" Leanne demanded and Amelia nodded once in confirmation.

"I do not think the Prince would lie about such a thing," Amelia said and Leanne lept up, squealing, spinning in a circle in excitement before she stopped, her chains jangling around her waist.

"Will I go, Madame?"

"No," Amelia barked, finally cowing Leanne in submission. Leanne sighed, looking down and Amelia's eyes softened. "No. After all, I'll need all the help I can get after I send some of our best warriors. Now, go fetch me a bird from the falconry. I will pen confirmation and send it to the Prince straight away."

Leanne's lips turned up into a sweet smile and she nodded, bouncing from the room. Amelia sighed, leaning back in Cedric's chair and she shook her head.

She had had enough of sending children to war. Susan, Cedric, and even, Cho, to an extent. Amelia had been the one that had sent her after all. Cho had been the one to utter those terrible, unforgivable words against that horrid man, Roger Davies. Cho had been the one to let loose that green light in order to save Cedric and everyone else. Cho was not a child any longer.

Amelia was tired of sending children to war.

Amelia wouldn't send another.

MIRROR

"How do I look?" Hermione asked for the third time as she looked at her reflection in the window that they passed. Luna smiled kindly at her Lady, shaking her head.

"For the third time, you look lovely, Hermione," Luna insisted. "Even more so than Lady Daphne."

"Good...good," Hermione repeated, nervously, as she continued down the hallway, holding her chin up. She felt good about the day. She would be at court but, she wouldn't allow anything to bring her down. She was alone but, that was by choice. She would be okay.

She would make sure everything was okay.

"I'll go in on my own," Hermione murmured.

"Okay. I have work to do and...Rodolphus is Portkeying from his secret mission with the Dark Lord to see me," Luna said with a quiet smile. Hermione nodded in quiet understanding and they parted ways not long after they went down a flight of stairs into the Entrance Hall.

As she emerged into the Great Hall, she made sure to keep her smile steady but not overly exuberant. She nodded as the servants curtseyed, murmuring her name over and over again. This was normal. It wasn't normal that suddenly, her arm was linked with another's.

"Sister," Blaise murmured into her ear.

"Step-brother. I haven't seen you in so long, I thought that you fucked back to the Republic. How unfortunate that you haven't," Hermione said from the corner of her mouth, keeping her lips just slightly upturned as he escorted her to the lady's tale.

"Oh, come now, sister. I can't just leave you here utterly alone and unescorted. What would Mother think?" Blaise drawled.

"I'm surprised your mother hasn't tried to poison me. After all, she can't wait to get her hands on my fortune," Hermione sighed. She paused. "Well, that makes her sound like a caricature out of a fairy story. How quaint."

"Now, don't be petty, Hermione," Blaise warned, teasingly though there was a malicious glint in his green eyes. He tilted his head as he regarded the woman, approaching the table where Pansy watched with maliciously dark eyes. "I am the Lord of Whispers, and I hear you have been jealous lately. Are you feeling a little ignored? Would you like an audience with the King?"

"I have many audiences with the King," Pansy piped up. Her little sycophants all perked up, watching Pansy and Hermione steeled herself for the barb. "Lady Granger has been witness to one. Haven't you, Lady Granger?"

"Yes. You appeared to have had...clotted cream in your hair, wasn't it?" Hermione retorted with a razor-thin smile. Millicent Bulstrode guffawed into her bear paw of a hand until Pansy elbowed so hard that she grunted.

"Well, I'm not the only one with private audiences with the King. He's been asking Lady Greengrass to tea an awful lot lately, hasn't he?" Pansy drawled as she lifted her goblet of wine to her lips.

"Now, now, Lady Parkinson, I hope you aren't suggesting anything untoward," Tracey Davis giggled.

Hermione shook with rage as she looked at the women. These dreadful, horrible woman.

"Of course not. The King is loyal to his intended. Isn't that right, Lady Granger?" Pansy asked, softly.

Hermione ripped her arm for Blaise's and slowly made her way back down the aisle, away from the Great Hall before she did something unwise. Her magic tingled, unused but searching for an outlet. Hermione would give anything to curse the bitch into oblivion. She paused, looking over her shoulder. Lady Narcissa watched her with cold eyes, as if she was as intriguing as a dead fish. The King watched her with some semblance of interest. The two empty seats next to them struck more despair through her. Her potential allies had abandoned her here to rot.

At least, the King still was interested in her.

And then, Hermione saw that his gaze was not on her at all. She turned and saw Daphne in the doorway, laughing softly at something her ward-brother had said. Daphne noticed her presence, her eyes lighting up.

"Hermione—" she called.

"Don't," Hermione snarled as she pushed past her, ignoring Daphne's reaching hands. She stormed up the stairs, her eyes gleaming with tears of fury. She wasn't sure where she was going, blinded by her rage, but when she found herself standing in the doorway of the library, she couldn't say that she was surprised.

Hermione took a deep breath and released it through her nose. Slowly, she breathed until she blew away all of her stress and anxiety. Suddenly, she felt the urge to wrap herself around Luna and cry. But, she wouldn't. Luna was with her paramour, who had become increasingly scarce as the Dark Lord had made himself. Hermione would let her have that. Luna should have her time with her love, especially when she spent so much of her time reassuring Hermione.

"Hermione?"

Hermione winced as she heard his voice and she turned around, laughing waterily.

"Oh, Barty. I wish you weren't here, for once," Hermione said, attempting to laugh though she knew how cracked and broken it came out. Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had genuinely laughed.

She thought it was perhaps when she was with Fleur and Gabrielle. Her heart ached for them. She wondered what they were doing, if they were even still alive. She liked to imagine that they were still in their idyllic dress shop, Gabrielle still walking on Fleur's heels, begging for a few galleons to buy a new book on Albion history or apples.

"I want to be here. I want to comfort you. You're my friend," Barty said and he sounded much closer then. Hermione felt his hands on her sides, slowly turning her until she was facing him, looking him in the eye. He had very kind eyes. "Hermione, what's happened?"

"I am a mockery," Hermione said, her lips twisted into a bitter smile.

Barty hushed her gently, taking her by her hands and slowly drawing her deeper into the library, to their little nook. It was where they met to exchange books and speak softly or just read together in silence. Luna was usually there too. Now that she wasn't, it was like magic charged the air around them.

"You aren't," Barty insisted. "They love you, you know? The people in Hogsmeade. They adore you."

"I will be a well-loved Queen everywhere but in my own home, then. Merlin, Barty how can you live here? This is hell," Hermione rasped as she leaned her hips against the edge of their table, shaking her head.

"I was raised here," Barty said, quietly. He looked over at Hermione's inquisitive look, shyly. "As Daphne Greengrass was fostered by the Longbottoms, I was fostered by the Dark Lord when I grew too unruly for my father. I know what it's like here."

"Were you ostracized too?" Hermione murmured.

Barty hummed. "I had to prove myself. My Lord made me a Death Eater when I was barely a man. Severus and Lucius and the others...well, they weren't kind, at first. But, I proved myself. I'm one of them now."

"Why would you want to be?" Hermione demanded to know, staring at him. "The Death Eaters have done heinous things."

"Why do you want to be a Slytherin, little bird?" Barty retorted, just as swift. "The Slytherins have done even worse things. But, you'd like to belong, wouldn't you? You want to belong somewhere?"

"I want to survive," Hermione hissed and when had Barty gotten so close?

She couldn't remember.

They were breathing each other's air, lost in each other.
"You should want more than that," Barty murmured.

Hermione slowly lifted a trembling hand, her fingers playing with the ends of his straw-colored hair.

"I haven't ever been allowed to want more than that," Hermione admitted. "I want now."

And she looped her arm around his neck and pulled him close, slotting their lips together.

It was a messy and frantic kiss. Hermione wasn't particularly practiced but, she'd kissed a man before. Draco, when he had been kind and the good prince that he had proclaimed to be. Before she had noticed the greed in his eyes when he mapped his hands across her skin. But, this kiss was different. Hot and all-consuming, their lips moving together, their tongues brushing against one another. Barty's hands were tight on her waist, pulling her against him and they were of a height, so she had to tilt her head just so.

Hermione pulled back to breathe, her lips spit-slicked and parted. She was breathing hard and Barty was watching her like he'd never seen her before.

"This is not wise," Barty admitted. "You're the King's intended."

"The King fucks all the women he wants. The King is allowed to want. I'm supposed to be Queen, aren't I? Then, I want too," Hermione insisted, pulling him against her again, chasing his lips. Barty leaned forward immediately, kissing her soundly.

His hands tightened on her waist and slid her up on the edge of the table. He stepped between her legs, crumpling her skirts, his hands brushing up her sides to cup her small breasts. His lips pulled away from hers with a soft sound and then he was on her neck, the exposed skin of her collarbone, sucking bruises into her skin. Hermione moaned softly as he worshipped her and she tore at her bodice, unlacing it swiftly to reveal her breasts.

"Merlin, you're perfect," Barty whispered as he stared at her.

Hermione smiled as she leaned back on her hands.

"I would like to taste you, my Lady," Barty breathed, breathlessly.

Hermione's cheeks were flushed as he dragged his hands up and down her sides, his lips pressing over and over again to her chest, to her breasts. Hermione whimpered softly as his fingers tweaked at her small nipples, his tongue lapping over them.

"You...you are tasting...me…" Hermione breathed, moaning softly.

Barty hummed and he slowly sank to his knees before her, his hands tight on her tiny waist.

"Lower," Barty breathed as he hiked her skirts up, his fingers dragging along her stockings, at her small clothes and he tugged at them before pausing. He looked up at her, eyes bright. "May I?"

"I...I don't...that's...I've never," Hermione finished, unsure of what to say.

She hadn't ever done much of anything.

"Let me. Please," Barty begged.

Hermione slowly nodded, only aware that where he touched, she burned. She burned so pleasantly that she thought she might burst or vomit or both. Barty grinned as he ducked under her skirts, sucking and nipping at her inner thighs. The sensitive flesh tingled under the touch of his lips and Hermione moaned as his fingers pushed aside her small clothes, brushing against her folds.

"Barty, that's...oh…" she breathed as he ran his fingers up and down, running them against her nub, teasing her.

And then, she felt something wet press against her hot core and she fell back against the table, pushing one of the books aside with a loud thump. He ducked from under her skirts, looking up at her with a wide smile.

"Shh...we mustn't be found out," he warned with a grin before he went back under her skirts and his tongue pressed against her wet folds again.

Hermione wondered if this was what the afterlife felt like. Warm and tingling and exquisite. His tongue lapped against her folds, tasting her wetness and her breathing quickened as she clenched her thighs around his ears. Hermione whimpered softly as his tongue slowly began to thrust into her hot core and she mewled softly, biting into the soft flesh of her arm to muffle her sounds. Hermione opened her half-closed eyes and she gasped when she caught sight of a pair of eyes, just behind a bookcase.

Her step-brother hovered in the shadows, his eyes narrowed in rage. Hermione's lips curled into a tiny smile.

She reached for Barty's head under her skirts and moaned again.

"More...more...Barty, I…" she whined and then she came, her back arching, her chest aching for breath, and her eyes never left Blaise's.

Blaise snarled.

Hermione smiled.

MIRROR

Narcissa pressed her face into her hands, breathing slowly in order to will away her frustration. She looked up again, her ire twisting her face into something ugly as she regarded her stupid, stupid son. Draco glared at her, defiant until the end.

"You must realize that just because you are king doesn't mean you can do anything you want," Narcissa said, keeping her voice level. She ignored Dolohov, lingering in the corner, watching them like they were a jousting match.

Narcissa's mood soured. She had first met Lucius at a tourney.

"You always said—" Draco started.

"I know what I said," Narcissa snarled and Draco fell silent, his lips curled into a sneer. Narcissa looked at him and shook her head. "If anyone...had seen...you and that girl."

"We were having tea," Draco retorted.

"And she was on your lap while doing it? The damn Greengrass girl, Draco?" Narcissa bit out and Draco scoffed, shaking his head as he looked out of the window, like a child.

"Why does it make a difference? You don't care when it's Pansy," Draco muttered.

"Pansy is a stupid girl with her legs open for everyone, and her father is loyal. Don't touch the Greengrass girl, Draco. The Longbottoms aren't as loyal as they seem," Narcissa warned him and she knew that she was warning him in vain. She knew her son, her stupid son that she had raised.

"I haven't even kissed her, Mother, and Neville Longbottom swore his family to me," Draco retorted.

Narcissa closed her eyes. She remembered the look on Neville Longbottom and Daphne Greengrass' faces when she had walked into the hall, full of slaughtered men and women. She had been humming, nonsensically, as she shot Lady Longbottom through the throat, as she tortured her. She had hummed loud enough to dispel the woman's screams. Now, the tune had been fashioned into a song. After it was done, Narcissa had walked over the bodies, blood splashing at her feet and she had kneeled before them.

'They will write songs about this night. Don't cry, little fish. They will write songs about you, as they have written songs about me. Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled.'

And she remembered the looks on their face. Neville's pale, round face, his wide eyes haunted. Augusta, ashen and old. And Daphne. Daphne's fury.

Narcissa had wiped the tears from her face. They had tasted like the sea.

"Fine," Narcissa hissed. "But, you will not dishonor your betrothed again. You wanted her—"

"What if I don't anymore?" Draco said, petulantly.

Narcissa hummed. "You will keep her. Do you know what they say about her? Out there? They love her, far more than they will ever love you or Daphne Greengrass. And she is the heiress of an immense fortune. You will keep her, Draco. In fact, you shall keep her sooner than you expect. Keep away from Daphne Greengrass."

"Or what?" Draco asked.

Narcissa's eyes narrowed. "Or you shall reap what you sow. Now, get out of my sight."

Draco paused, ready to rage at her again before he seemed to remember the last time he had disrespected her. Narcissa watched him flinch away from her as she lifted her wand to spell her books and scrolls away. Her heart sang with sorrow. Her own son, her boy, was terrified of her. But, she was terrified of him, as well. Her little monster.

Draco nodded once and glared at Dolohov.

"Your Grace," the man said, bowing low.

Draco nodded and stormed out of the room. Narcissa leaned back in her chair and snapped her fingers. She watched as a house elf appeared before her, wrinkled and sad-looking. Narcissa's lip curled into a sneer.

"Yes, Mistress?" the house elf squeaked.

"Fetch Lord Crouch for me. Tell him that he may take his time," Narcissa said and then she turned away, disinterested in the house elf's answer. The house elf disappeared with a loud crack of magic, and the Lady of the Coin looked at Dolohov. "You were witness to something private."

"I was. But, you called me here, my lady," Dolohov challenged. His gaze narrowed on the woman. "I won't speak of what happened here."

"Good," Narcissa murmured. She stood from behind her desk, regarding the man before her. "My Lord, you have served well on the King's council."

"I live to serve," Dolohov confirmed and Narcissa laughed.

Dolohov didn't.

Narcissa slowly walked towards him, slinking forward like a snake before she changed direction, going towards the window. She looked out, towards the gates to the Forbidden Forest, as if she expected Voldemort to emerge. Narcissa sneered. She hadn't seen her brother in weeks, just as she hadn't seen Lucius.

"I have asked you here because we are moving up the King's wedding to the Lady Granger," Narcissa said, and Dolohov scoffed.

"Forgive me, my Lady, but I don't have time to plan weddings. I have a war to win for the King instead," Dolohov said and he turned to leave. Narcissa spun around, her wand on him, and the Death Eater froze.

"You will not leave unless I dismiss you, my Lord," Narcissa said, coldly. Slowly, Dolohov turned around, his eyebrow raised and Narcissa slowly strode towards him, her lips turned into a cold smile. "I require your assistance, my Lord. I hope it won't be a bother."

"You've never had anyone say 'no' to you in your life, have you, my Lady?" Dolohov asked. "Never experienced rejection."

Narcissa nearly took a step back. Dolohov watched her, impassively, and Narcissa's smile was sharp as glass.

"You think I do not know pain, Lord Dolohov?" Narcissa asked, gently, as if speaking to a child and she gazed at the handsome man, with his strong jaw. She reached up, tracing her fingers against him and he shuddered. "You think I do not know horror? You are horror. You have done horrifying things, haven't you?"

"What do you mean, my Lady?" Dolohov asked.

Narcissa's lips curled into a soft smile. He never turned his gaze from hers. He looked deep into her eyes. That was his first mistake.

She peeled his mind open and smiled.

His second mistake: what a handsome man, he was. With his strong jaw.

"You like little girls a little too much, don't you, my Lord?" Narcissa murmured as she stepped closer to him, her breasts pressed against his chest. Dolohov opened his mouth to protest but Narcissa hushed him, soft and quiet. "Do not...lie to me. You cannot lie to me."

"I...I have committed indiscretions, yes, my Lady," Dolohov breathed and he squirmed as his groin tightened and pulsed as he looked at this beautiful woman.

"But, it's not about...just the little girls. It's all the women. The women that you can express control over. Do you think you can control me, my Lord? Or would you like to be controlled?" Narcissa murmured, brushing her fingers down his chest, her lips twisting as he tracked the rise and fall of her breasts, the way her lips parted just so.

"I...I don't know…"

"I'll have you on your knees for me," Narcissa promised with a sly smile and she pressed her hand back, pushing him away as the door swung open.

Dolohov staggered, falling to one knee to center himself. Narcissa suppressed her laugh as Lord Crouch emerged, looking as severe and tepid as always.

"My Lady," Crouch said with a short bow and Narcissa nodded.

"Lord Crouch, I'm glad that you've come. We have much to discuss," Narcissa said and she waved Crouch over to the seats before her desk, walking past Dolohov as if their past exchange hadn't happened at all. Crouch nodded.

"Where is the King?" Crouch asked, roughly, as he sat down.

Narcissa hummed, sitting behind her desk. "His presence isn't required. The King has better things to do than plan a wedding. Now, come. We shall discuss the Lady Granger's wedding and coronation."

Crouch's eyes lit up. He saw this for what it was. Narcissa extending her hand, in gratitude for his continued loyalty. Ever the political animal, was Bartemius Crouch Sr. But, Narcissa was no longer the young mother that had had a family slaughtered in order to secure her and her family's future.

No.

Narcissa did her own butchering now.

ON

Cedric walked through the training grounds, his arms linked with Cho, their heads bent together.

"Do you really think this wise?" Cho murmured.

"I signed the contract, Cho. It is done," Cedric said, firmly, for what felt like the twentieth time. Cho sighed, and nodded, as she had the other nineteen times that she had asked the same question. Cedric never got angry with Cho but, it wouldn't be a lie to say that he was a little irritated by her doubt.

"I know. I just...I'm so worried, Cedric. I'm worried about you," Cho insisted. "What if you...if you die?"

"Then, you'll lead a country newly prosperous after the King of Albion's win," Cedric said, firmly. He ignored Cho's moan of dismay. "I do not fear death, Cho. I thought I'd die a long time before now. I thought that I would...you know."

"Don't speak of that, please," Cho whispered.

Cedric nodded once. He knew how much Cho hated speaking about the darkest parts of his life—when he had first met her. When Cho had come to his castle, seeking out her father, he had been desolate, only wandering his mother's garden for comfort. His mother was like Cho in so many ways—kind, fair, well-read, and from another land. While Cho was from the Republic, Cedric's mother had been a common woman from a village outside of the Albion stronghold of Arcadia. She had made the gardens to look much like the ones in Arcadia.

Cho's father had disrupted that tranquility and Cedric had been consumed by black rage and grief. Only Cho had been his guiding light once she had gotten his Adored Ones to return after he had done nothing but driven them away.

"Alright, my love," Cedric murmured. He gently tugged her out of the way of a sparring pair and he nearly walked right past them before he hesitated, getting a better glimpse. "Dean?"

"Aye!" Dean shouted, breathlessly as he sparred with a redheaded woman with a long thick braid down her back. Cedric frowned. If he remembered correctly, Ginevra Weasley, the Commander of the Archers.

She fought well for an archer, though a little dirty. Cedric grinned when Ginny was caught in a stranglehold and escaped with a well-placed kick back at Dean's groin. Dean cried out, falling to his knees before he pushed through the agony and tackled Ginny to the ground. Cho scoffed, shaking her head.

"Fighting for fun? Again?" Cho sighed.

"You know that's not what that was," Cedric chided, gently, as they continued past to another one of his Adored Ones.

Justin and Ernie and Firenze, the centaur, were watching a spar between two older men. By their dress, Cedric assumed that they were Death Eaters. Brothers even. One of the men had a terrible scar going through a hazy eye.

"It's Rodolphus Lestrange, Cedric. He's glorious, isn't he?" Justin whispered in admiration.

The Death Eaters' prowess had reached even the farthest recesses of the world. As it had spread, it had seemed like nothing but fairy stories but, Cedric was in awe. Rodolphus and Rabastan twisted around each other with a brutality that spoke of an urge to kill, not just a simple spar. To see them in true battle...Cedric was glad that they were on the same side.

Cedric couldn't help but nod. "He's good. No Severus Snape but…" Cedric murmured and he wondered if he'd ever get to see the great swordmaster fight in person.

"If you're looking for a real fight. Look who just kicked Anthony's ass," Justin chuckled, pointing further over.

Cedric's eyes widened as he saw Harry Wildfyre, standing amongst a small crowd, his head tilted back in his laughter. Anthony kneeled on the ground, between Susan and Hannah. Hannah was cursing softly, punching Anthony in the shoulder as she looked over his wounds. Cedric approached fast, Cho on his heels.

"Really, Anthony?" Cedric sighed.

Anthony shrugged. "I thought I could beat him."

"You can't even beat me," Susan groaned, shaking her head. She glanced over at Harry. The King's back was to them as he was congratulated by his followers—the redhead, Ron Weasley, Tonks, and the Dark Lord. "Look who has taught him."

Cedric shook his head and stepped forward. "You've beaten my man bloody, your Grace," Cedric called. "I don't think he minds though."

Harry looked over his shoulder, laughing into his hand. "I don't think he does either. I smiled at him and he nearly threw himself at my feet."

"Not true!" Anthony roared as the men and women around them laughed. Anthony flushed a blotchy pink and he shook his head. "I bet you couldn't beat my Prince! He would grind you into the dust!"

Harry tilted his head in interest. His lips curled into a smile.

"Do you really think so?" Harry murmured.

Tonks frowned. "Harry…" she said, full of warning.

"Cedric, don't…" Cho murmured. Cedric grinned, taking a step forward.

The Dark Lord barely reacted, his eyes darting between all of them. "Your Grace, must you always be so reckless?" he sighed, as if already tired of Harry.

Harry laughed, softly. "Come now, my Lord," he teased. "What do the Adored Ones think? Can he beat me?"

"Yes," Hannah said, firmly, so full of belief. "He is the prince of a warrior country. Of course, he can beat you."

"So cocksure, Hannah," Harry laughed. "I am not the prince of a warrior country but, I am a warrior in my own right. Some might even call me a conqueror."

Cedric nodded in agreement. "That's a word for it."

"You think maybe...you could beat me?" Harry Wildfyre asked, his eyes alight with mischief.

Cedric paused, looking down at Anthony. The man was breathing hard, blood smeared across his mouth and the rim of his water skein. Anthony took another sip, wiping away the sweat on his sleeve. Cedric tried his hardest not to look at Cho as he took a step forward, slowly lifting his wand.

"I've been trained to fight from birth," Cedric allowed. He took up Anthony's fallen sword and slowly began to circle the self-proclaimed King of Albion.

He didn't twitch, his lips twisting into a small smile despite himself.

"I have been made King by the most brutal man in the world. I have bled and been beaten for my cause. Forgive me for saying that I think we'll be quite matched in skill, your Highness," Harry said over his shoulder as he looked back at them.

"Then, prove it," Anthony said, spitting out a tooth.

And Cedric threw himself forward towards Harry's open back. And then, Harry was on his knees, spinning, swinging one foot out at Cedric's ankle, followed by the line of his sword. Cedric threw himself back, eyes wide at the sudden move, and Harry's green eyes sparkled with mirth.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Cedric cast, his wand in hand.

Harry dodged and rolled across the ground, the sands of the fighting pit scarred black by the spell. He propelled himself upwards with only his legs and landed in a crouch. Cedric stared at him as Harry's eyes narrowed.

"Are you sure, Prince Cedric?" Harry asked, softly.

Cedric's lips curled into a small smile. "I'm sure."

Harry grinned a terrible smile. "Good," he said, and then he snarled, his lips pulled back over his teeth, like the dragon that hissed and spat in the background. "This might hurt a bit."

He began to run forward and Cedric only had a moment to react as Harry threw his sword down in a brutal arc and pulled his wand with the other, hissing a spell that Cedric couldn't hear. Cedric caught the sword with his own and curved out of the way of the spell. The jet of magic was so close, he could feel it crackling against his skin. His face was only inches from Harry's, and Harry grinned as he threw himself backward.

Cedric rolled back his shoulders. His arm had vibrated from the force of the blow. He looked into Harry's bright green eyes, and he couldn't help the grin that spread across his face. Harry grinned back and spun out of the blow, twisting his wand just so the spell spiraled with the momentum of his body. Cedric flew backward, knocked flat on his ass, and he let out a gasp of shock. Immediately, he twisted onto his hands and knees and pushed himself up, dragging his sword into an arc.

Harry just barely ducked out of the way, holding his wand and sword defensively.

"You're good. Really good," Cedric complimented as he gathered himself, regarding Harry.

"Thank you," Harry said, sounding mildly out of breath. "I've had a good teacher."

"You can't have just started learning," Cedric debated. Harry's lips curled into a secretive smile and he winked. Cedric grinned. This beautiful man was something else indeed. He shook his head in amusement. "You said you could beat me. You'll have to show me something I've never seen before."

Harry's lips curled into a grin. "Sure," he said and then he slowly stowed his wand and waved his hand through the air, as if gathering something into his palm.

Cedric's eyes widened when he saw the tiny ball of fire resting in Harry's palm. And then Harry blew softly, and the tiny spark exploded into an inferno.

Cedric dove out of the way, rolling away as the Earth was scorched by a fire that burned so hot that he felt his skin tingle and crack with the power of it.

"What is that?" Cedric asked, his eyes wide.

"Warned you!" Anthony shouted snarkily from between Hannah and Susan. Cedric glanced over his shoulder at his Adored Ones.

Cho's nostrils were flared, her eyes wide with terror.

"Eyes on me, Prince Cedric," Harry called and rolled the fire between his fingers as he stalked Cedric. He threw his hand forward.

Cedric brought his wand up and shouted, "Protego Maxima."

The fire exploded around his Shield Charm. Harry watched, his eyes wide with delight as he watched the magic pulse in time with his own fire, fighting against the strength of it.

"Suffumo," Cedric called, and a large cloud of smoke exploded around him, obscuring everyone's view. He waved his wand, giving himself sharper eyes—the eyes of the Beast—and slowly moved through the smoke.

He could hear the shouts of disorientation from the spectators but, his eyes were on Harry. Harry's back was to him, twisting and turning through the smoke. Cedric raised his wand, as he pressed against Harry's back, pressing his wand against the King's temple.

"I think I've won this round, Fairest," Cedric said with a grin.

Harry snorted. "Have you, Beast?" he asked and then he slammed his head back, cracking it against Cedric's face and spun, slamming the pommel of his sword into Cedric's face. "When it comes to winning, your Highness, unfortunately, I lack any semblance of honor."

Cedric roared with laughter even as his nose cracked and bled. He threw out his wand, blowing away the smoke with jinxes after charms and Harry laughed too, blowing each back, bending and weaving between the sizzling magic. He was like fire, ever-changing, and just as destructive. His Fire exploded around him again, like a halo and Cedric gritted his teeth.

"Honor doesn't win wars," Cedric conceded.

"Aye," Harry chuckled, and he spun, throwing his sword down, his Fire following in arc after him.

And so it was on. Cedric battled Harry's steel with his sword and his Fire with his wand. He watched as the Fire weaved and bowed with Harry's movement, just as it had when Harry had been working with Freia. The fight was nothing short of brutal. Rapid parrying and violent thrusting. Cedric caught Harry in the side, grazing him with a Disarming Charm, causing him to stumble. Harry returned it with a headbutt when Cedric got too close.

Cedric wasn't sure if it lasted for years or minutes. He knew that he was tiring. Sweat poured from his brow, obscuring his vision, and his robes were singed from the moment that Harry had let his Fire get too close.

"Ready to end this?" Cedric called.

"I'm just getting started," Harry responded as they backed away from each other, still grinning. But, Cedric knew that Harry was just as exhausted as him.

He also knew that Harry was holding his Fire back.

"Bring everything you've got, Fairest," Cedric prompted, taunting.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure, Beast?"

"Yes," Cedric said, affirmatively.

Harry slowly backed away until they were meters apart. Cedric slowly held his sword out in front of him, his eyes narrowing on the target.

And then Harry began to run. Cedric gasped as Harry spun, his flames spinning with him, attaching themselves to him as if a shield. The fire spiraled out from his sword, threatening to burn him alive. Then, there was a great screech, and Cedric looked up as the dragon soared overhead, as if called to Harry's side by the heat of his Fire. The dragon opened her mouth, eyes trained on Cedric.

"FREIA! No!" Harry shouted.

Cedric gasped as the dragon closed its mouth and continued to fly overhead, circling them, as if watching him. And then, he saw his chance. He darted forward, bringing his sword down as Harry tried to calm his dragon.

That was a mistake.

Harry's Fire twisted, and blasted outwards, catching Cedric across his body, settling his robes afire, and tossing him onto his back. Cedric roared at the sharp flash of agony, and he thought he could hear Cho's voice mingling.

"No!" Harry cried out, throwing his hand out as he pulled his magic back, and the flames disappeared just as quick as they had come. Cedric gasped, clutching at his chest and when he looked down at himself, he was unburned. "No more Fire. We can just—"

"I yield...I yield…" Cedric gasped as he staggered to his feet.

Immediately, Cho was running at him and threw herself around him.

Cho brought Cedric tight against her body as his head felt against her shoulder in exhaustion. She sighed in relief, her fingers scrambling over the back of his singed robes, brushing away the sweat and blood from his brow without a care.

"You're okay, you're okay," she whispered, over and over again. Cedric only hugged her back. Cho was from the Republic. She was not like him. She didn't have violence and brutality thrumming in her blood.

Not like Cedric.

Not like Harry Wildfyre.

"Why did you yield?" Hannah hissed into his ear as she checked him over wounds, running the tip of her wand over his chest, sealing the gash there.

Cedric turned to look at Harry Wildfyre. Harry was watching Freia, running his hands through his hair. Blood dripped from his temple and sand and dirt smudged across his cheeks. His hair was a mess, matted with blood. The Dark Lord stood in front of him, raking his finger through Harry's hair, whispering words.

"I couldn't have beat him. Even without the Fire," Cedric confessed, softly.

"Why? You have been trained since birth," Hannah hissed, warningly. She glanced over at the other Adored Ones. Cedric could see the barely-contained fury in Susan's face, so much like her aunt's.

"And he possesses brutality and fire that one must be born with. He has something that I've never needed. The unrelenting will to survive. To endure," Cedric said, firmly, and the longer he looked at this enigma of a man, he saw how true his words were.

This man had endured.

The King didn't even glance in their direction. Tonks stood behind him, her arms wrapped around his middle and her forehead pressed into the nape of Harry's neck. Voldemort stood in front of Harry, tilting his chin up this way and that, inspecting him for wounds. An older woman had rushed to his side, forcing potions on him that he seemed to be refusing to take.

"He will live," Cho called, snappishly.

Harry pulled away from Voldemort, reaching out to the Alfheimeans. Cedric's Adored Ones closed rank, eyes narrowed on him. Harry jerked back, his hand dropping.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to get distracted and let the Fire loose...I didn't think that Freia would do that. She knows it was just a game. It was just…" Harry trailed off, shaking his head. He looked up at the circling dragon. "Freia, baw. Baw füir."

Freia screeched at him in response, almost defiant. Cedric watched, ignoring his Adored Ones.

"BAW, FREIA!" Harry shouted back at the screech, snarling and Freia shrieked once before taking off, as if in a huff. Harry buried his face in his hands for just a minute. He looked up again. "Are you...are you hurt? Did I burn you?"

"He's fine," Tonks murmured from Voldemort's side.

"No thanks to you," Cho snarled back, angrily.

"I'm unhurt," Cedric interjected. "In war...in war, that is a mighty weapon to have."

He said it pointedly, looking at his Adored Ones. Now that they saw that he was unharmed, there seemed to be a different light in their eyes. Even Susan was watching Harry, still was fear of the unknown but a sense of respect in her eyes.

"How did you...do that?" Susan asked.

Harry's lips quirked into a hesitant smile. "It's...I was born with it. A manifestation of my magic before I knew that I had magic," Harry suggested.

Cho trembled as she looked at them all.

"And the dragon? You speak to it?" Ernie asked, hesitant.

Harry nodded eagerly, and he took a step forward. Only Cho flinched back.

"She is Freia. Freia is still a child. She is defiant and doesn't want to listen and is...overprotective," Harry said, firmly. He looked at Cedric with a raised eyebrow. "You are a remarkable fighter indeed. You are better than me, in technique."

"But you are more powerful," Cedric conceded. "The most powerful wizard I've ever met."

Harry laughed. "I still lose to the Dark Lord so perhaps not yet," Harry said. He hesitated when Tonks leaned in, whispering into his ear. He nodded, slowly and smiled at them all. "I've been informed that I have a war meeting to plan. Cedric, I ask for your presence in this meeting, along with your second."

Cedric nodded, and he watched as Harry walked away, his blood thrumming from the thrill of the fight.

"That was...I hope he fights in battle with us. We'll win, surely," Susan murmured. Her admiration was nearly palpable. "That was extraordinary."

"But, did you see the way he moved?" Anthony demanded. "Merlin, I feel like I've just had sex."

"You're disgusting," Hannah snorted and she linked arms with Susan, leading her away towards the older woman that had tended to Harry.

Anthony rolled his eyes and nudged Cedric in the side.

"He is beautiful in his brutality," Anthony murmured.

Cedric nodded as he continued to look at Harry Wildfyre. He was the most beautiful creature in the world, bar Cedric's Cho. Cedric had seen Harry's good heart before but, the feeling of respect—the utmost respect—well within him. It was new, the type of respect that he'd only held for his Adored Ones and Madame Bones and grudgingly, the Slytherins. This man was an equal, in all ways.

"He is," Cedric whispered.

Cho sneered and she glowered at Harry's back.

THE

Cho paused in front of the door, nervous. She raised her hand to knock and then let it drop again. She repeated the process at least three more times. She ground her teeth together as she gathered her courage again. She was the Princess of Alfheim. She could do this. She would do this. She could not fight and she abhorred war but she would do this. She had done many things. For her people. For her husband.

Cho knocked.

"Come in."

Even his voice made her lips curl into a sneer. Cho threw the doors open, her shoulders thrown back. She had worn her most Alfheimean outfit. Her skin looked delicate in gold and cream. The cream—near white—might not have meant something to these Albionians, and it might look underserved but, Cho had worn it. She had done many things.

Cho paused when she did not see the man lounging in his bed or on one of the many sofas. Cho paused when she saw a familiar black cloak tossed haphazardly over the back of a chair. The Dark Lord. Cho wouldn't dwell on that just yet.

"Your Grace?" Cho called, keeping her voice hard.

"Second door on your right!"

Cho nodded once and stormed forward again, refusing to lose her resolve as she approached the heavy oak door.

She pushed the door open and gawked.

"I-I'm sorry...I didn't know!" she squeaked, slapping her hand over her eyes. She turned around, her cheeks bright red.

"I invited you in. What is it you need of me, Princess Cho?" Harry Wildfyre asked.

Cho was forced to turn around and she processed the sight before her. She felt a rush through her body. Harry Wildfyre was so beautiful, even more beautiful than her Cedric. She knew that if she hadn't met her Cedric, she would've...could've...well, she could look. Harry was unabashed, slowly washing the blood from his skin and hair as he lounged in his bath.

"You may call me Cho, your Grace," the Princess of Alfheim said, stiffly. It was clearly an attempt at a peace offering but, was too wooden to be sincere.

"It's Harry. I told you. Just Harry. What is it you need, Cho?" Harry asked absently, scrubbing the dirt from his pale skin. His eyes twinkled with amusement as he regarded her.

"My husband wants to help you but, I don't like you," Cho said, bluntly.

"May I ask why?"

"You are brutal and quick to fight. Fighting for sport," Cho scoffed.

Harry's eyebrow rose.

"I was under the impression that your country thrived on such violent entertainment," Harry said loftily before he waved his wand, filling the tub with more oils and soaps from the half-full vials on one of the window ledges.

"We don't fight for sport. We fight to defend ourselves," Cho said.

"You prepare children for war," Harry retorted. He leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Cho's. "Your Adored Ones mocked me behind my back. You think I do not hear? You think I do not see? You think I am arrogant and stupid. Odd and brash. Reckless and a terrible idea. But, now...they see what my people see."

Cho took a step forward. "And what do your people see?" Cho asked. "Someone that is beautiful? Someone that is brutal?"

"Someone that is worthy," Harry snarled. Cho faltered at the cold look on Harry's face. His expression was dark and he looked older than he had looked seconds before. Dark red lips curled into a fearsome sneer. "I have fought for my titles. Just as your husband."

"How?" Cho laughed. "You know nothing about the life my Cedric has lived. The horrible things that he's had to endure. You call him 'beast', reminding him of the darkest years of his life. You speak about his shame in public. You—"

"I know about shame," Harry said, coldly. "I felt it every day of my life until I was found. I am reckless. And I am arrogant, sometimes. And brutal. And I'm beautiful too. Do you know what it's like to be beautiful, Cho of Alfheim?"

"Easy."

"Terrifying," Harry hissed, his nostrils flared. "I have been told so many terrible humiliating things by men that want me. I have been stalked and assaulted. I have been beautiful all my life, and it was the ugliest thing I've ever experienced."

Harry had only been twelve. He closed his eyes, remembering the way he had taken the blade to his cheeks, tearing gouges and scars and grief across his face. The blood had flowed heavy and slick. It seemed like it would never end, tears of blood gathering at the point of his chin, staining the stretched collar of Dudley's hand-me-down tunic.

And even through the agony, he smiled.

Pretty boy. Let me hold you down and fuck you.

Little slut, let me make you cry with my cock.

Pretty boy. Pretty boy. Beautiful boy.

When he woke up in the morning, he wept, his face whole and unscarred.

But, that was not Cho's story. That was his secret. That was his secret that he would take to the grave.

But, she saw it. She saw the shame. And that was all that mattered.

"I know what shame feels like. And it's not easy," Harry hissed. "My life has never been easy but, it's made me worthy."

"How?" Cho asked, her voice softer now. As if she wanted a true answer.

Harry looked at the woman. Cho could unravel the alliance if she wanted. Harry knew that Cho was beautiful and beauty did things to men like Cedric, even if he wanted to pretend that it didn't. That he was above that. Tonks had taught him well.

"I have watched men throw themselves before me to protect them. I have broken the chains off of my people, to free them from bondage. I have grown up in war, and have seen the most terrible things. But, the most beautiful things too. I have given all of myself to my people. I am Albion," Harry said and he stood from his bath, grabbing his towels to properly cover himself. Cho looked away as he dried himself off and walked out of the bathroom. She walked after him, staring, as he dressed.

Harry was so beautiful in crimson robes, settling that crown of gold and rubies into his hair. In his battle robes, he looked different—darkness and tarnishing silver. But, the Harry before Cho was bright as war and beautiful as gold.

"And this makes you worthy?" Cho asked.

Harry frowned, looking away. "I wasn't joking when I said I was called Wyrdfod. Fateborn. This was always the way it was meant to be. A Seer hailed a Kingmaker. The Kingmaker hailed me," Harry said, shortly.

"Do you want to rule?" Cho asked.

"It's my birthright," Harry said instead as he pulled back his drying hair and cast a Hot-Wind Charm, drying it as fast as he could. He looked at her, put off-balance by her sudden change in mood. "You ask many questions."

Cho flushed. "I want to understand you because I don't. At all. My husband says you have a good heart. I want to see it."

Harry's lips curled into a smile.

"Your husband is a good man. It must be nice to love a good man," Harry said.

"It is. Do you not love a good man?" Cho asked, carefully.

Harry knew what she was really asking. He regarded her for a long moment though his smile never fell.

"Oh, I love the most wicked man of all," Harry said, simply.

Cho stared at him, thoughts racing through her head. So, that confirmed that rumor. Harry was in love with the Dark Lord. But, that didn't matter, did it? Harry was different from what she expected, and perhaps, Cho was blinded by her overprotectiveness of her husband and her people.

"Why do you do these things? Tell me that," Cho said.

She didn't specify what things.

Harry hummed. "I was a good boy, you know. A good boy who listened who followed the rules. The funny thing is...kings and queens don't have any rules except, one: survive."

Cho hesitated as she looked at this man. She remembered the green light and the way Roger's eyes had gone blank. She remembered Cedric's broken body before the white-haired witch had asked her a question What do we say to the Stranger, Death? She remembered how she could only remember the answer in her dreams. She remembered how she only had nightmares.

"Do you have nightmares too?" Cho asked, her voice soft now.

Harry smiled. "Yes. But, I have happy dreams now, too."

WALL

Harry stared worriedly as Freia's screeching mounted again, in rage this time.

"She won't eat anything we give 'er," Hagrid explained again as they watched Charlie try to wrangle his once sweet dragon. Freia snarled, as if she hadn't known Charlie since birth, as if he hadn't been feeding her and taking care of her. "She's been goin' out longer and longer. Heard some stories. People are catching sight of 'er."

"Harry...unless you want to bring Freia into battle...she must remain a rumor. Nothing more," McGonagall warned on Harry's other side.

"I know. I know," Harry breathed, his eyes widening as he watched Freia snarl, smoke billowing from her nostrils. "Why is she acting like this?"

"She's a dragon, yer Grace," Hagrid said, unapologetically. Harry looked up at the half-giant and frowned. "Dragons don't like to be told what do, I reckon."

"But, she's my dragon. And she has to eat," Harry said, helplessly.

They watched as Charlie turned away from Freia, jogging back towards them and she settled when the man gave her space. Harry remembered a time when Freia had been around humans all the time. Now, they had to keep her on the other side of Westeron, in isolation, or atop one of the towers, near his rooms. It hurt.

"Oh, she's eating," Charlie said, darkly.

Harry paled. "What is she eating?"

"She's been hunting. Cattle, according to Percy. She might graduate to humans soon enough if she doesn't eat what we feed her," Charlie sighed and Harry shook his head once, dismissing the idea immediately.

He would die before letting Freia eat anyone.

"She's been aggressive," McGonagall said. "Harry…"

Her voice was full of warning.

"I know, I know. I don't need you saying 'I told you so'," Harry snapped. He winced at the steady look that McGonagall rewarded him and his face softened into pleading. "I just...if Moody finds out, he'll be the first one spouting off."

"Oh, he's already found out," Charlie said, as cheerfully as possible. "I heard him, Vance, Fendwick, and McKinnon plotting and complaining. As always."

"Dammit," Harry whispered.

"Maybe the Dark Lord…" Hagrid trailed off, hesitating.

Harry groaned. "Merlin, no. He'll be insufferable about it. I'll...I'll take care of this," Harry said, steadying his resolve as he marched up to the dragon. "Freia!"

He didn't flinch when she screeched at him, angrily, throwing her head back and letting out a plume of fire. Harry paused in his movements as he looked at his dragon. Freia's actions reminded him of Teddy, when he was throwing a tantrum. Freia had been confined for so long, and now that he had given her an inch, she was taking a mile. It didn't help that she was enormous, much larger than even Hagrid now.

Still, where everyone flinched away from her, Harry continued to move towards her. Freia wouldn't hurt him. She could never hurt him.

"Freia, calm yourself," Harry said, sharply. Freia spat at him, the grass in front of him bursting into flames. He ignored Hagrid and Charlie's yelps of warning. Instead, he extinguished it with a wave of his hand and walking over the charred ashes.

"Careful, your Grace," Charlie called.

Harry glanced over his shoulder. "I birthed Freia from a petrified egg. There is no one I'm less afraid of."

And then he pulled his wand, slowly, as if he didn't want to alarm Freia. Freia snarled, spitting out flames and Harry spun his wand, redirecting the flames away from him as he circled her. Freia was angry and bratty, acting out. She was like Voldemort, in that way. Always wanting more and more until there was nothing left.

Harry stopped when Freia roared over his head, spitting fire straight at Hagrid, Charlie, and Madame McGonagall. Harry threw his hand up, redirecting the flames into the air. He glanced over his shoulder. Charlie and McGonagall had thrown up Shield Charms immediately but, now Harry was enraged.

"I am the one thing in my life that I can control," Harry snarled. He seethed as he watched his dragon. He stormed up to her as she bucked and seethed. She spat at him, hostile and full of fury. "And you are part of me. So, you will calm down."

He snarled at her and he ignored the awe as Freia spat fire at him and he threw out his hand, throwing it to the side, channeling his way through the plume of dragonfire. When he emerged on the other side, Freia seemed surprised. Harry didn't hesitate to her press his hands to her head, just between her eyes and stared.

"That's enough, Freia," Harry rasped. "No more. I am here. With you."

And they witnessed as Freia seemed to settle under Harry's touch. Harry slowly sank to his knees, never pulling away from the fearsome creature, never turning away. Freia bowed her head and Harry let out a broken little laugh as Freia settled her enormous head in his lap, slowly curling her body around him.

"You're a brat, you know that," he snarled. Freia purred in his lap. "You want attention. And you are hungry. And I have been busy with Hedwig and the war. But, I have not forgotten you, my love. I could not."

Freia hummed in his lap and settled. Harry only just noticed as Madame McGonagall came up to his side. Freia opened one lazy eye but, did nothing antagonistic. It looked like a welcome change.

"What would you have done if you couldn't calm her?" McGonagall asked. "Put her down?"

"Not an option. But, she wouldn't have hurt anyone. That also wasn't an option," Harry said and McGonagall's lips twitched into a thin-lipped smile.

"Your stubbornness is both a hindrance and an asset. You are too stubborn to lose but, too stubborn to listen to reason. What you did was reckless," McGonagall said, firmly.

Harry looked up at her in outrage. "You all say that I'm reckless. Over and over again. But, this? This is the least reckless thing I've ever done. I am not afraid of Freia. And her fire could not hurt me," Harry said, firmly.

McGonagall nodded, conceding his point but, she still looked at him, sternly. "But, look around you."

And Harry looked.

He blanched when he saw the scorched earth, the flames that still flickered around them from Freia's tantrum. The fire that he had thrown around recklessly. If anyone had been around, except for Charlie, Hagrid, and McGonagall, they would've died in the intensity of the flames.

"Fuck," he whispered.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."

"I've gotta...control that better," Harry allowed, softly.

"You will," McGonagall said. "Harry, this is war. And your gift with fire is a great asset. One of our greatest assets, just as much as a hindrance. Like your stubbornness. And you will use your stubbornness to master this gift."

"I don't have much time," Harry murmured. "For all this training...it feels like it's coming to an end. Or something is beginning. I'm not sure which. How do you know I have the power or control? Fate?"

"You are Harry Wildfyre," McGonagall said. "It's not about fate or power. It's not even just about control. It's about faith, and I have faith in you, Harry Wildfyre, just as you had faith in yourself."

WHO

They laid on the bed together, their breaths mingling. Harry didn't know the last time they had turned away. They didn't touch. Being in one another's presence was enough. Harry's tunic was just a tad too large; it wasn't his. It exposed the bruises on his collarbone, crafted from war and lust. His green eyes grew darker in the flickering light and his lips curled into a mocking smile, the color of drying, cracked blood. The white cloth clung to his sides, bunched around his thighs, so that creamy skin was open to the air.

"You hate that Cedric is here," Harry taunted.

It was so quiet but, it sounded like the rumbling of thunder, quick and absolute.

"I do. But, you have secured a powerful ally in Alfheim. We are stronger," Tom said and he turned on his back, having seen Harry when he was bare, without iron or war.

"You do not like how they look at me. You do not like how Justin stares at me, or how the people that have come here, stare at me. You are a selfish man. I knew that before. But, now it is different," Harry said, his voice a soft hiss as his hand slithered up Tom's bare chest, fingernails creating crescent marks around where his heart beat slowly, half-dead. "Now, I know your heart."

Harry moved swiftly though Tom anticipated the movement. He didn't stir even as Harry straddled his waist, tunic bunching around his thighs. Tom's gloves slide over the exposed flesh, resting there. He looked up at Harry. Harry did not smile. Tom didn't expect him to.

"I do not have a heart," Tom said, nonchalantly.

Harry laughed. It was a strange sound, a cross between the growl of Hedwig and the shrieking of Freia. It was feral.

"You would swallow me whole, Tom Marvolo, if you could," Harry taunted. "Or perhaps you would consume me slowly. You would tear through my skin and bite through sinew. You would crack my bones between your teeth and drink the marrow. You would suck me dry until there was nothing but dust and I was all yours."

Harry bent over, pressing a kiss to the skin above Tom's heart. He looked up, smirking.

"You play a dangerous game," Tom hissed.

"You would own me," Harry rasped. His eyes hardened. "But, I am not to be owned."

Tom's eyes flashed and he sat up abruptly. Harry didn't move from his lap.

"I made you. You will always be mine," Tom snarled. Harry's lips, red like the poppy flowers that grew in the City-States, twisted into a smile that was neither kind nor mocking.

"I belong to Albion. I am Albion now," Harry promised and he fell forward, pressing his ear against the hollow of Tom's collarbone. "You are my equal, and still, it is not enough. You have my love—all the love I can spare."

"Don't say that," Tom breathed as he combed his fingers through Harry's wild curls. Harry purred against him.

"Why not? It's true. And you could own me too. Only one way," Harry whispered, tilting his head up and Tom swallowed hard.

He stared down at the cruel beauty. He had been enchanted by lips of blood, and skin of snow, and hair of raven's wings. But, now, the fairy stories had ended and he was red like Fate's string, and black as Death's cowl, and white like Time's breath, breathing ice and fire into everything until it was nothing but frozen ash.

"Tell me how, then," Tom indulged.

"You would tell me you loved me too," Harry said, honestly.

Tom flinched, his arms tightening around Harry.

"I cannot love, Harry Wildfyre."

"You loved your sisters," Harry murmured. "I know you did. It's how you watch Andromeda, urging her to kneel to me to protect her, because I know you did not do that for me. In how you don't kill Narcissa, can't kill Narcissa, won't kill Narcissa, even when you promised me you would. How you don't speak of Bellatrix because it hurts too me. You loved them but, you cannot love me?"

"I cannot love," Tom repeated, his voice hard.

"I don't ask for anything more than yourself, Tom. Just as you asked me and I have given. Freely," Harry snapped.

Voldemort let out a harsh laugh that cracked through the room like lightning, quick and resonating.

"You have given what you could, just as I have. Your fears and your secrets remain your own. The heart that I have, the bits that remain, belong to me. Let me keep it as I have let you keep your own. I did not ask for it. You gave it," Tom spat and Harry's lips quivered and he looked away, shivering in the dark of the night.

Tom pulled the blankets higher. Harry let his eyes shut and his breathing evened out. Tom swallowed hard, sure that he had been heard until Harry spoke again.

Harry, who always needed the last word.

"And it is yours. Inwi nwaly ten'ke, Tom Marvolo. And eké nwaly ten'n."

I ache for you, Tom Marvolo. And you ache for me.

IS

Fleur turned the wheel, slowly, watching it. It did nothing at first. It never did. To the common eye, it was nothing but a spinning wheel, common if a little outdated. No one used spinning wheels anymore, except for Muggles. But, with just the right words, a spinning wheel became so much more.

Softly, she whispered the ancient guttural language of the Veela. The dialect was hard to parse for the other Faes, and an oxymoron, at that. A deep, ground-wrenching language for creatures of the air. But, an oxymoron was required to see the things meant to be hidden to the eye. Fleur slowly pumped her magic into the spinning wheel, turning it over and over again, her fingers never stopping as she spun golden thread from the simplest grain—straw. She wanted to see everything tonight.

On the full moon.

"Pokazhite mne proshloe," Fleur breathed, drawing on the magic of the past.

The past came to her in a swirl of magic, as clear as the gold that pooled at her bare feet.

The beautiful boy, from her last vision, was there, standing before a statue with eyes green as emeralds. Flames erupted around him, lighting the way. Wyrdfod, a thousand voices chanted. WYRDFOD. The fire cleared away, showing that same boy as a man. Time had barely passed but, this was a man now, standing before an army of creatures, clothed in battle robes, prowling through the sea of an army, a dragon flying overhead. WYRDFOD! WYRDFOD!

Fleur wiped at her wet cheeks as she trembled at the sight of him.

The image shifted.

The blonde woman, who she knew now to be Narcissa Slytherin, walked amongst a sea of bodies. She was younger, then, her eyes alight with fury. Her face was painted with cosmetics, her hair pulled back in a warrior woman's braids. Two little children and old woman. Little fish...Do not cry, little fish..tears are blood, ill-spilled...the words of Narcissa Slytherin echoed. When she turned away, she hummed. What a beautiful voice. The boy wept. The little girl was strange, something about her upturned nose, the color of her eyes...a salt storm on the sea. The little girl snarled, and her whispered words echoed.

I will drown you, Narcissa Slytherin. I will drown you.

I WILL DROWN YOU.

"Ukaž mi budoucnost," Fleur gasped when the past became too much. The language of the future spun her wheel backward, and still, gold thread pooled, looping between her toes, tieing to her ankles.

Hermione again. Draped in white robes, a green scarf wrapped around her neck like a noose. But, she was running now. Screaming. Weeping. WYRDFOD! But, she wept in triumph. Rage pulsed through her. She had never looked more beautiful. And at her side was a girl, with long silver-blonde hair, almost like a Veela but...not.

Almost like...but, it couldn't be.

There are more than the Dtrwies. There are Seven.

Fleur gasped and the image shifted.

A pyre burned and the scent of burning flowers filled her nose. She couldn't see the bodies until there were so many bodies. War smelled like burning flowers and tasted like copper and fire. And standing around the last pyre—a shroud made of irises and lilies and daffodils—were Seven, all with faces she could not see except one. She tried to count them all: War eyes. Mother-moon's hair. Wise maid. Two crowns of flames. Mirrored crone. And the last: a Stranger draped in war.

The image shifted.

Mirrored crone, and pale hair and burning eyes. And again, young and powerful and beautiful, spinning a curse on a wheel that put a land to sleep. And again, a woman with more power in her pinky finger than Fleur would ever possess in her life. And again, the woman walked through darkness, through dreams, a white cloak on her back. A woman that turned elder into power, riverbed rocks into grief, and silk into nothingness. And she smiled a ghastly smile.

How do you become DEATHLESS?

Fleur knew her by many names—Baba Yaga, Marzanna, Frau Trude—and none at all.

Fleur saw her own reflection and a full moon, and a woman with a sword of silver and steel and scars on her back.

"Ukaž mi Súčasnosť," Fleur cried out, spinning away from the future, looking towards the present.

And Fleur gasped, her back arching as her fingers ran across the spinning wheel. She tried to pull her fingers away but, the spinning wheel turned and turned and turned, until the spokes blurred together into a collage of images, all more terrifying than the last. Fleur's eyes burned as she tried to make sense of each scene.

Gabrielle, her eyes glazed over strangely, was being slammed into the ground. Beaten and scarred. Fleur couldn't look away, though the horror made her want to vomit. She heard and felt every bone crack and grind, knitted together my magic and rage. And when Gabrielle was whole again, she was someone Fleur barely recognized. This Gabrielle ran through the dark woods, a pack of wolves—men, women, and children— at her heels, and Fleur recognized the largest.

Fenrir Greyback.

A werewolf.

And then there was an apple, just as red as the last she had seen in the spinning wheel.

A door.

The door that must never be opened.

Except, it was. Fleur could see inside. She saw it all. The door should have never been opened.

And Fleur screamed.

FAIREST

"Thank you for joining us, your Highness, Anthony," Harry said as Cedric entered the room, Anthony on his heels. Cedric hesitated as he saw Harry's council already amassed around the large topographical map of the continent.

Andromeda and Regulus Black sat in front of the topographical map, two empty chairs waiting next to the pair. They were clearly for Cedric and Anthony. Cedric walked forward, taking his seat, Anthony doing the same only a half second behind. Cedric glanced at his friend, and second, but the man only had eyes for Harry.

"What is on the agenda for today's meeting?" Cedric asked, curiously.

"We amass to discuss the most important things," Kingsley said firmly. "Coin, war, and allies."

Harry nodded. He cracked his knuckles. "Before we begin, I want to once again thank our allies, the Alfheimeans."

There was a round of applause that Cedric did not expect. He squirmed, uncomfortable with the attention but, willing to bear it.

"Thank you. I have recently sent forth a falcon to Madame-General Bones. We are preparing to send three-fifths of our troops here to aid in the war efforts," Cedric said, awkwardly and he squirmed under Harry's pleased smile. Harry turned away from him and sat back in his seat again, looking to Bill Weasley.

"And Bill? You have something to report?" Harry addressed.

Bill nodded. "I have recently reached out to Gringotts Bank. The loan has been confirmed and the Goblin King himself proclaims fealty to you, your Grace," Bill said.

"A loan?" Cedric asked in surprise.

"I do not have war coffers that extend back centuries as Draco does. I must look to others to help finance my endeavor. My bargain with Gringotts was clear. Lady Warden Andromeda has been a great asset, in this respect, but, soon, the money will run out. We will no longer be able to trade or sell for much longer. Not when I'm discovered here. But, to ensure a loan from the Bank, I had to secure your allyship along with having Lady Andromeda bend the knee. I have both now," Harry explained, apologetically, and if Cedric was shocked or betrayed by the fact that Harry had used Alfheim's financial straits as leverage for the deal, he didn't show it.

"How much is the loan for? How much do we have to spare on weapons after we begin to arm our men and women?" McGonagall asked.

"One million galleons," Bill said, softly. "And upon his victory, half of it shall be forgiven."

There was a long moment of staggering silence.

"And...if I don't win?" Harry murmured.

"No, Harry. Don't think like that," Ginny insisted. Harry ignored her, waving Bill along in his explanation.

"All of the creatures that you have freed will be...repossessed and sold accordingly as King Draco decrees. They will have it back in blood," Bill said, keeping his voice as steady as possible.

McGonagall scoffed. "This is preposterous. When we asked for a loan, we only had high-interest rates to worry about," McGonagall snarled, keeping her fury in check.

"The stakes are higher," Kingsley allowed.

"You must agree to it," Voldemort said, looking up at Harry. The rest of the council turned to him, eyes wide. "You know that."

"I know," Harry said, softly. "I just...won't lose."

"You won't," Tonks said, firmly, without any room for argument.

There was a long tense silence before Harry cleared his throat and glanced over at Cedric, nodding once.

"Hmm?" Cedric asked.

"I will reach out to Gringotts, speaking on your behalf on your country's loan. We will work out a deal," Harry promised. Cedric's eyes widened in surprise but before he could thank Harry, the King was already turning away to look at Voldemort. "My Lord, next potential allies?"

"MACUSA is the next ally we must reach out to," Voldemort said, paging through his small leather notebook and he looked across the table at Andromeda, his eyes narrowed. "Do you still have friends there?"

"Friends? I lost all my friends the minute we committed regicide, brother," Andromeda scoffed.

There was a long moment of tense silence. The reminder of their sins was blatant and unapologetic. Harry didn't flinch, only looking between the Slytherins with a solemn look on his face.

"What do we need the City-States for?" Ginny grumbled. "They don't have a sizeable army and the numbers are growing here. With the Alfheimeans, we're easily at 20,000."

Voldemort rolled his eyes.

"But, MACUSA has a fleet," McGonagall said thoughtfully.

Voldemort nodded. "MACUSA has a fleet," he confirmed. "A sizeable one."

Ginny scoffed, turning away from the man to look at Harry. "We don't need a fleet, Harry. What would that do for us? Hogwarts is landlocked," she said, pointedly looking around at everyone at the table.

"That means nothing," Bill said, firmly. Ginny looked surprised that her brother didn't agree with her. "The best way to approach this is to conquer the empire parts at a time. That means hitting port cities, fast and hard. Controlling resources will make controlling the empire easier."

"That'll take too long," Regulus said, firmly, looking over at Bill and Ginny.

Harry was still silent, quietly taking in everyone's opinions.

"If you want the Gilded Throne, take it. We have a dragon and an army. We should hit Hogsmeade now, with everything we have. The city will fall in a day and another day, we'll have Hogwarts," Ginny said, firmly, slamming her fist on the table and Kingsley shook his head, his eyes narrowed on Ginny's face.

"You wish the King to be King of the ashes, then? Thousands will die," Kingsley said, firmly.

"It's called war," Andromeda said, sharply. The others looked to the Warden of the West, all eyes, and attention on her. "Do you not have the stomach for it?"

"We don't murder thousands in cold blood, Mother," Tonks said, firmly. Andromeda's eyebrows rose as if she were surprised that Tonks had spoken against her. She looked over at Harry, shaking her head. "The people have to love him."

"The people didn't love Bellatrix but, there was never open rebellion, except for the Order," Andromeda retorted. "Common people and nobles are all children, my dear. They won't obey him unless they fear him. After all, when was the last time this empire saw peace? It certainly wasn't during my father's time."

"And who's fault was that? Your brother's," Bill bit out uncomfortably.

There was a long silence when everyone turned to look at Harry and Voldemort. Harry's face was impassive as he listened to their words, the debate happening around him. He slowly turned to look at the Dark Lord, watching his face.

"You've been silent, my Lord," Harry said, quietly.

"I've no time for this squabble. All of you are wrong," Voldemort sighed.

Andromeda let out a bark of laughter, terrible and mocking. "And may I ask why?"

The Dark Lord raised his wand, ignoring how Cedric and Anthony flinched. The Dark Lord flicked his wand, expanding the map to include the edges of Alfheim, the Laug Republic and the beginning of the City-States.

"An army and a dragon aren't enough. Simply taking Hogwarts isn't enough. The war won't end only because he sits his arse on the throne. The war hasn't even begun," Voldemort said, firmly, as he looked around at all of them. He glanced over at McGonagall and hummed.

She looked thoughtful. "Perhaps, it hasn't," McGonagall allowed.

"How do you mean? There have been skirmishes, haven't there been? Battles?" Anthony asked, curiously.

"Yes…" Harry allowed. He looked at Voldemort, curious. "My Lord?"

"The law is clear," Voldemort said. "As it was for the Tabooed, as it was for my father and his cohorts, so it shall be for you. You must declare war. You must declare it for the world to hear."

OF

Gabrielle stood in front of the door, the keys jingling at her waist. Slowly, she bit into her crisp apple, letting the sticky juices run down her chin, and stain the bodice of her dress. She snapped the book close and placed it facedown on Fenrir's desk. Gabrielle leaned back against the edge of the large desk, watching the door. She pulled her wand pointed it at the lock.

"Alohomora," she cast.

The lock lit up and she waited for it to click open. It didn't. The lock hissed in protest. Gabrielle huffed and took another bite out of the apple, chewing as she mulled over the locking spells she knew. The young woman picked up her book, and flipped through the spellbook again, eyes narrowed as she searched. Her annotations marked the margins. She nodded once and lifted her wand again.

"Alohomora Duo."

The lock reacted the same and Gabrielle slowly put her apple down, tilting her head as she regarded the door.

The second Delacour daughter had never had any real desire to see what was behind the door, before. She had been so preoccupied with the massive library and the sheer amount of maps that she had poured over. And yet, now, here she was. She was alone in this house, scarred and pulsing with rage. Alone with her husband's secrets. Her husband's secrets that had brought her nothing but beatings that was supposed to make her strong.

"Husband...what are you hiding from me?" she whispered. "Annihilare."

The entire door rattled, shaking, intended to explode but the lock only glowed for a moment, dispelling the power of Gabrielle's spell.

"Oh, you really are hiding something, Fenrir. You must know you cannot hide from me," Gabrielle growled and she slid off the edge of Fenrir's desk, gathering herself. And one after the other, she threw spells at the door. "Portaberto. Liberare. Dunamis. Aberto!"

The door rattled and shook in its frame but, ultimately, the lock stayed still. Gabrielle scoffed, tossing her wand onto the desk, snatching the ring of keys from her waist. She hadn't wanted to use the key. If she used magic, she could erase all traces of magic, and Gabrielle would be confident in telling him 'no' in response to the question that he always asked when he returned.

Did you open the door?

Gabrielle shook her head. She was tired of secrets and closed doors, especially now that her eyes were open. The young woman pulled her wand up and searched through the ring of keys. She found it easily, pulling it up and pressing it into the lock. It was a beautifully crafted key; brass and skeletal like, almost. As if someone had taken the bones of a hand to twist it into the haunting shape.

She didn't turn it.

The lock clicked open, ominously. Slowly, Gabrielle pulled it open, peering inside of the dark room.

The first thing she noticed was the stench.

It smelled like the constant taste in the back of her throat—copper. War. Blood.

"Lumos."

Gabrielle stopped in the doorway, lifting her lit wand. She stared for a long moment, attempting to make sense of the horrid scene before her. The stitched flesh that formed faces, the pale skin pinned to the walls like pelts. And at the center of it all, was a long silvery mane of hair, like a prize.

The apple fell from her hand and rolled into a puddle of blood.

THEM

"Well, well, Hermione. You are bold, aren't you?" Blaise drawled. He swaggered into her sitting room. Hermione didn't flinch, calmly sipping her tea as she regarded her stepbrother. Her tepid smile made his eyes narrow.

"Now, I'm sure you know how to knock, don't you?" Hermione drawled.

Blaise scoffed. He glanced at Luna, who wandered around the room, humming softly to herself. He looked at Hermione with a raised eyebrow and Hermione rolled her eyes. When Blaise dismissed Luna, Hermione had to hide her smirk.

"You play games that you are ill-versed in playing, sister," Blaise spat out as he stood before her, towering over her. Hermione only sipped at her tea, looking up at him through her eyelashes, her lips tilted into a clever smile.

"I think I've learned how to play the game well. Or you wouldn't be here," Hermione drawled.

Blaise scoffed. "You're a little whore, aren't you?" he bit out. "And you forget I am the Lord of Whispers. Knowledge is power here."

And Hermione's smile widened as she set down her cup.

"If there's anything I've learned, power is power," Hermione corrected. "I am going to be Queen, Blaise Zabini. And I am not afraid for your station at court."

Blaise glowered, trembling with suppressed rage. If they were in the Republic, Hermione's front teeth would've been punched out of her face. He'd done it before; the first time he'd hit her. They had been on the cusp of adulthood, her only thirteen years, and him about fifteen. Lady Zabini had sent for a Healer to fix them but, that had been Hermione's first learned act of violence.

She had learned much violence in Albion.

And she had learned about power too.

Hermione knew that Blaise was terrified. If Hermione went, so did Blaise, very much in the same way. Death was a marked end. After all, they were foreign, and Hermione had no doubt that Blaise had had some hand in the strange events that had led up to her betrothal. She knew that Blaise had noticed her at that ball, and he had wanted Draco intrigued by her.

"You will get us killed," Blaise snarled.

"No," Hermione corrected. "I will do as I please. I will have any assortment of lovers to comfort me in this hellhole. And if, Barty Crouch is one of them, so be it."

"A Death Eater," Blaise snapped. "And a nearly disgraced one. His own father doesn't want him as an Heir."

"But, the Dark Lord has taken a liking to him. Fostered him. He's nearly above you. Does that bother you, step-brother?" Hermione taunted and Blaise twitched as if he wanted to pull his wand on her and strike her dead. Hermione laughed. He wouldn't.

He couldn't.

"You think you've won," Blaise breathed.

"It's a long engagement. I've no fear of being found out," Hermione drawled. She stood up, and walked away, towards Luna who hummed to herself as she mended. She stood just beside the girl and Luna looked up at her with sharp, knowing eyes. Hermione suppressed her smile again.

"You're a fool. The wedding has been moved up."

Hermione froze. She slowly turned.

And Blaise's eyes were lit up with triumph.

"What...do you mean, it's been moved up?" Hermione snarled.

"Narcissa is as uncomfortable and insecure about Draco and Daphne's relationship as much as you are," Blaise said, scathingly, taking pleasure in the heat rising in Hermione's cheeks. "The wedding has been moved up...your Highness."

And Hermione stormed out of the room, pushing past Blaise as roughly as she could. She shoved past servants and Lords and Ladies, ignored Pansy's tittering with her sycophants. She pushed past guards and Aurors, practically blowing past Lord Crouch and Lord Dolohov as she approached the eagle. She pulled her wand swiftly, ripping at the wards that kept her out, tearing at them, her raw magic welling inside of her, welling with her rage.

The wards healed themselves just as much as she tore at them but, it was just enough for the eagle to leap aside for a moment to allow her entry. Hermione stormed past, running up the stairs. She lit the way with an unsaid Lumos, and when she emerged in the council room—Draco's office—she allowed herself to breathe.

"What are you doing in here?" Draco snarled.

He sounded more like the man she had known before Goyle had died. Petulant and whiny. An overgrown man-child.

"Your mother moved up our wedding," Hermione hissed.

Draco stood from behind his desk. Hermione noticed the shattered inkwells against the walls, the broken bobbles, the torn and hastily fixed paintings. The fury that painted the room. So, he knew. Of course, he knew before she did. Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if Narcissa had kept it from her until the wedding day.

"I'm aware. I'm not pleased either but, I'm the King. You do not show up here—" Draco began.

"No."

The growl was low and infinite. Draco paused.

"No?" he repeated.

"No," Hermione bit out. "I want to go home."

And she had said it. She had finally said it.

Draco looked at her as if he had never seen her before. Hermione imagined that he hadn't. He had never seen Hermione in all her glory, and full of anger. He had never seen the edge of desperation that had lurked in her chest, like a shard of broken glass, since her father had died. No, Draco hadn't ever seen her before.

"You have your wand," he noticed, sounding almost lost. Hermione looked down at her wand, dangling from her fingers, and she flung it up, pointing at him, as he walked closer to her. "How did you get your wand?"

And he continued walking, towards her, unafraid. Hermione's eyes slammed shut.

"You will not touch me."

"I'm not."

Slowly, Hermione opened her eyes and she stared. Her wand tip was pressed against Draco's chin. He wasn't moving, his hands up on either side of his head.

"I could kill you," she ground out. "I could end you and end the suffering of this country."

Draco's lips twitched into a terrible smile. "I don't want you either, you know. But, you're good for me. That's what my mother says. They hate me but, they love you even more."

Hermione snarled at him, the words on the tip of her tongue.

"I've read about the Killing Curse. You have to mean it," Hermione whispered, full of a terribly ugly hatred, one that she had never felt for anyone before. "You've tormented me from the moment we met. You've beaten me. Humiliated me. Degraded me. I would mean it."

Draco hummed, and his lips curled into that sharp, cruel smile that had made her curious to begin with. She hated that smile.

"This was why...I wanted you," Draco murmured. "This is why I won't let you go."

"Why?" Hermione barked.

Draco tilted his head. "What an ugly, ugly throne. And how ugly it has made me," Draco whispered. "You were beautiful. You were once beautiful so, so beautiful. I saw you and was bewitched. And you were kind once too. When I met you. Brash and rude but, kind. Beautiful. The Fairest is beautiful too. But, this throne...how ugly."

"Why won't you let me go?" Hermione barked.

Draco laughed, soft and cruel. "You think I am done playing games? My mother was a busy woman. My father was a coward. My uncle ignored me. One aunt ran away. The other was so mad I don't think she knew who the fuck I was. All I did as a child...was play games. All by myself."

Hermione pressed the tip of her wand deeper against his jugular, pressing hard.

"You were a prince. You don't know what being alone means," Hermione snarled.

Draco raised a pale eyebrow, so pale one could barely see it.

"Pansy? Goyle? Crabbe? I suppose. But, everyone leaves, Hermione, and I am tired of playing games by myself," Draco taunted, as he stepped closer, shuddering at the pain. Hermione's eyes widened when she smelled the scent of burning flesh. She jerked her wand back and stare at the blister. It would scar.

"This is not a game. This is a war," Hermione snapped.

Draco's smile widened into a broken grin, full of desperation and mirror shards. "But, it is. It's a game. And this ugly, ugly throne has made me so ugly. It'll make you ugly too. So, let's play the game, Hermione Granger. Tell me...are you having fun yet?"

Hermione ran.

ALL?

It was cold here.

Though he could sometimes see the summer sun, through the haze of clouds, it was always cold. Winter was always here. He had not felt anything but winter in a long, long time. Sometimes, he didn't think he remembered anything else—as if he had been born into hell, and hell was not fire but, ice. Always ice.

When he remembered that he had been from another time, another place, he remembered the comfort that fire had brought him, once upon a time.

Fire reminded him of a little boy with long black hair. A little boy that had always nipped at his heels, declaring that he'd be an Auror too. Just a child but, the true apple of their mother's eye. He had never minded for fire reminded him of summer lilies and grass. Howls at the moon, and running through the Forest in the shape of wild things. Hazel eyes and brash laughter. A band of brothers, and a girl with flags of fire streaming from her hair, pooling around her feet. And then, he remembered the terrible things too. The blood. The way her open chest must've looked, a mess of ivory smeared red with blood, an emptiness where her generous heart should have been.

And the boy.

Wildfyre, he thought.

Sometimes, a voice, not his own or any of the other voices in his head—a voice that looked like pale hair and mirror eyes—whispered, No. Wyrdfod.

But, he knew him as Wildfyre. He imagined what that boy would've looked like when he was a man. Most probably tall and broad-shouldered, like his father. Hazel eyes or green? Hazel, like James. A square jaw like James. Tan-skinned like James. Wildfyre...perhaps, red hair. That would be it. Red hair for the Phoenix.

But, that boy was dead, and he wept with grief.

When he cried, it kept the dementors away. Dementors...they had liked him at first. But, now he was a broken thing, made of grief and bones, and there was no more happiness to eat. He was a carcass, devoid of meat or life. The walking dead.

Sirius Black shivered in the corner of his cell and looked out. The summer sun was smiling today.

But, he was so cold.

:::

A/N: Hello! Well, here I am with a chapter finished EARLY for once. I did promise someone that I'd try to get this out by Thursday night, so I've done it. I hope you enjoyed it! I worked super hard on it to get it out, and I actually read it over for once instead of just going through it with Grammarly. So, I think it flows pretty well since I rearranged some scenes.

Now, I've recently looked at my outline and I was SHOCKED when I realized that after this chapter, I only have 4 more chapters and an interlude before the next arc. I'm super excited! I have the entirety planned out, and I think it would be safe to say that the climax is finally being truly built, with the introduction of our final new character of this arc: Sirius Black. I've been hinting at him for quite some time and I hope that you're glad to see him because I'm glad to see him.

And, the next chapter is currently being written so, I'll say goodbye to you all! Until next time! Please review!