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-Five

"So...you said that there's an underground entrance? Here?" Harry asked, leaning over Sirius' shoulder and pointing right outside of the lines. He inspected the layout for the basement level of Rowena's haven, making sure to memorize it all. Sirius looked up with sparkling grey eyes, nodding slowly.

"Yes. Y-you cut through here, go to the statue garden. T-tap on the statue of Helena and you slide into the base," Sirius said. He looked over at Regulus who waited by the window, ever watchful of the palace he'd claimed as his own. Sirius sighed, frustrated with his persistent stutter.

"It's fine, Sirius," Regulus said without looking away from the training. "You've only been out for three days."

"B-but, I-I c-can't fight like this. I can't even g-get out a sp-sp-spell," Sirius snarled, spitting out the word with a sort of venom that could only come out of never-ending frustration. Harry gave a small smile, shaking his head.

"You don't even have a wand, yet, Sirius. Don't worry about fighting. You're helping in the best way now," Harry insisted, ignoring the look of disbelief the Black Lord cast him.

"B-but, I can—"

"No, Sirius, you cannot. You can barely stand for long," Regulus said, finally tearing his eyes away from whatever had captured his attention. He drew himself up, arms crossed, and for a moment, Harry thought he resembled Percy in his most pompous, self-righteous though well-meaning state. "You still cannot eat the meals that we eat. It is too hearty for you. You haven't got a wand yet, and you have a stutter. You cannot go on this mission."

"B-but, I'm the only one that k-knows the castle!" Sirius protested.

Regulus stormed over, sitting in the chair across from Harry and his godfather.

"That's why you're teaching Harry. And he'll teach the Dark Lord," Regulus said, firmly.

Sirius scoffed at the mention, shivering violently. "Voldemort? W-what does he care?"

"He cares, Sirius," Regulus said, firmly, never tearing his eyes away from his brother, even as Harry looked at him with soft, pleading eyes. "Trust me and the gods. The Dark Lord cares."

"I-it's all just a trick anyway. H-he locked me away in Azkaban. F-for seventeen years," Sirius snarled, his grey eyes festering with hatred and Harry swallowed at the sight of it, momentarily shaken.

"And now you're out. If he didn't want you out, you wouldn't be. Right?" Harry whispered softly and Sirius looked at him with narrowed eyes.

"I-I suppose," Sirius said. He leaned forward, a bright look in his eyes. "Y-you d-don't look anything like I thought you would. T-they call you t-the Fairest."

"Yes, I suppose they do," Harry said.

"What does that mean, exactly?" Regulus asked, suddenly curious. "It was never...clear."

"It means that if the Dark Lord ever wanted immortality and eternal beauty, he would cut out my heart and eat it raw," Harry said, as plainly as he could. He rolled his eyes at the horrified stares on the Black brothers' faces. "Please, he's not going to do it."

"H-how do you know?" Sirius squeaked.

"Because he made an Unbreakable Vow that he wouldn't, Sirius. And we have an...understanding," Harry allowed. He ignored the way Regulus' lips curled into a sneer of disgust.

"A-an understanding," Sirius muttered under his breath. "T-this is surreal, you know. I-I'm your godfather a-and I k-know nothing about you. W-what's your favorite f-food? Y-your favorite animal?"

"I know nothing about you either. We're even," Harry said with a grin. "I like treacle tart. And my dragon, Freia."

"D-dragon?" Sirius barked.

Regulus rolled his eyes. "Yes. A dragon. I didn't believe it either until I saw her."

"My sweet dragon. She's a Horntail," Harry said with a smile. "I'll introduce you when you're up to going outside."

Sirius shook his head in disbelief. He swallowed hard and then glanced at Regulus. Then he looked back at Harry, a sad look on his face.

"You're s-s-so much like James," he decided.

"What? I've never been told that," Harry said, his eyes wide with interest. "I've always been told that I resemble my mother more. Lily."

"Y-yes, i-in a lot of ways. B-but, you t-trust too easily. T-That was James," Sirius said, and though he didn't say it like it was a terrible thing, Harry felt his cheeks flush with something that nearly felt like shame anyway. "Y-you should be wary."

"Wary," Harry repeated softly.

Sirius took his time speaking now, careful to keep his stutter in check. "Well...I've noticed...that Voldemort has access to you. It's not...safe."

"He can't hurt me. He would never hurt me," Harry said. Sirius looked surprised by how sure Harry was. Harry sighed, leaning back in his chair, crossing his legs. "Sirius, a lot has changed."

"N-no one can change t-that much," Sirius said stubbornly.

Harry's eyes narrowed. "This isn't a matter for debate."

"I-I'm your godfather. I-I have to keep y-you safe!" Sirius shouted, his voice still hoarse and thus, losing much of the intended effect. Harry snarled.

"Keep me safe? From your cell in Azkaban?" Harry hissed. The flames in the fireplace began to grow, spitting sparks dangerously. Regulus looked between the two, alarmed. "You don't get an opinion on him. I'm so, so tired of people having opinions about him. You don't know him at all."

"And y-you do? N-no one k-knows him, H-Harry," Sirius demanded.

"I. Do. This isn't a matter for debate. You may be my godfather but, I don't even fucking know you. I'm your King. This isn't a debate. This conversation is over," Harry snarled and he gasped when a burst of flames punctuated his small speech. Sirius' eyes widened as the flames from the fireplace leaped forward, wrapping themselves around Harry like a shield.

"Your Grace," Regulus said, alarmed.

Harry took a step back and took three shaky breaths, slowly breathing away the flames before the room was suddenly a few degrees colder. He shook his head.

"I'm...I'm…" Harry rasped. He gathered himself. "I'm sorry about the Fire. Not about what I said. You don't get to question Tom. I question Tom."

"Tom?" Sirius asked in confusion.

Harry took a deep breath. "That's his name, Sirius. His name. You know he's got one, right?" Harry whispered. "It's not… 'the Dark Lord' or 'Voldemort'. He's a person. Have you all forgotten that?"

He didn't let them say another word, storming from the room. He was already cursing himself for his stupidity. Harry had seen the validity in Remus' argument in the end. It was best to keep Sirius in the dark until after his recovery but, Harry's patience was quickly fraying. He was tired of everyone's opinions about who got to be in his bed, and who didn't. He was tired of being told who he could love and who he couldn't. Harry had been told what to do his whole life, and he didn't necessarily mind when it came to politics—some had a much better knack for it than him—but, not about that. He would never compromise on Tom.

"You shouldn't have done that, your Grace."

Harry spun around, staring at Regulus. Regulus lifted his wand and cast privacy wards, allowing only the two of them to hear the burgeoning conversation.

"Done what? The Fire? I apologized, Regulus," Harry sighed, feeling a thousand years older than he was.

"No. Not that. The Dark Lord kept Sirius in prison for nearly two decades. And you're defending him? Why are you doing this to him, your Grace?" Regulus whispered. "He's suffered enough."

Harry took a deep breath. "I've suffered too, Regulus. I'm tired of my trauma being forgotten and disregarded because I'm beautiful. Because I don't look like I've suffered. I've suffered, Regulus, and he makes me incredibly happy. Happier than a gods-damned throne could ever make me. And I know we don't know each other very well yet, but don't you think I deserve to be happy?" Harry whispered, his voice cracking and pleading with vulnerability. Regulus' eyes widened as he looked at him.

Regulus had never seen his King so raw and open.

"You...you do. But, with him?" Regulus whispered. "I don't want Sirius to hate you—"

Harry's eyes shuttered. All vulnerability was chased away by anger.

"Let him," Harry growled. Regulus reared back, surprised by the irritation in Harry's bright eyes. "You think I should be ashamed of him? I'm not. I'm not ever going to be ashamed of him because his sins aren't mine. And don't feed me that shit that I don't understand the scope of what he's done because I do. My parents are dead because of him. My empire is broken because of him. So, I understand."

"Then, how do you do it?" Regulus snarled back. "How do you know all of these things and still flaunt your relationship with him?"

Harry didn't back down. "Because I believe that he's worth fighting for. He's done terrible things. Evil things. The things he's done are past mistakes but, everyone's got a story. I know his. His story is a gods' damned tragedy."

"Everyone's got a tragedy, Harry," Regulus snapped.

Harry took a step closer, his eyes narrowed. "Yeah. He's mine."

MIRROR

Sirius watched through the paddock fence, his eyes wide as Harry ran around, chasing after the albino lioness that leaped away from him, growling playfully. Harry threw back his head, letting out a laugh as the lioness—Hedwig, Sirius was told—tackled him, nuzzling her face and licking his cheek, as if intent on grooming him. Harry wrapped his arms around her, ignoring the sharpness of her claws. He groaned when she collapsed all her weight on top of him.

"Come now, Hedwig! You're too big for this!" Harry groaned against her mass but the white lioness ignored him, yowling in his face as if she were talking to him. Harry whined again through his laughter.

There was a screech and Sirius looked up at the same time as Hedwig and Harry. Sirius' mouth dropped open in awe as he saw the great beast for the first time since he'd arrived at Westeron.

Freia was enormous though quite sleek. The crown of her head adorned with large spikes that trailed down her spine and tapered off at his tail. She flew through the air as if she owned everything above her and below her. She landed in the great space next to Harry and Hedwig, causing the ground to tremble. Hedwig jumped off Harry immediately, jumping and yowling at Freia, like they understood the same language.

Harry slowly stood up, his grin broadening as he walked up to Freia, grabbing her by the snout and rubbing his cheek in the space between her smoking nostrils.

"Extraordinary, isn't it?"

Sirius turned towards Remus, a slow smile spreading across his face, as his oldest friend finally came to him.

"It is," Sirius said, stilted.

He had learned in the past five days since his arrival that the best way to avoid his stutter was to be careful with his words. He had to slow down, a far cry from how he used to run his mouth at everyone and everything. Another thing lost at the hands of Slytherins.

"How...did this happen, Remus?" Sirius asked, softly.

Remus looked at him, a dry look on his face. "Which part, Sirius?"

"You...have a kid. L-Lily and James...are dead. Voldemort...is sworn t-to their son. T-their son has a dragon. H-how did this all happen?" Sirius asked.

The two remaining Marauders watched as Harry whispered softly to Freia, smoothing his hands over her scales while Hedwig loped around, weaving in between them with excitement. Hedwig yowled once more before she settled into the tight space between Harry and Freia, right underneath Freia's large head.

"Time," Remus said, finally. "Time passed. Harry grew up and he became this...extraordinary human being."

Sirius nodded slowly. He didn't even know Harry, not really, but he could see how amazing he was. Harry was fair and powerful and beautiful and gracious. Sirius had seen him training with the troops, commanding them with an ease that even McGonagall didn't possess. He fought with a brutality Sirius didn't think he'd possess. Seeing him go up against the Weasley boy, McGonagall's protege, had been a revelation. Ron had looked shocked when Harry had introduced him to the dirt. Harry was the perfect King.

"H-he is e-extraordinary. I wish I k-knew him," Sirius stammered.

Remus looked down, overwhelmed with guilt. "I wish I did too. I've only just started speaking with him. Recently. It hurt too much. Before."

"Remus...I understand that you need time, b-but...h-he's the last of them. Y-you were supposed to…" Sirius trailed off. He didn't know what Remus was supposed to do, but ignoring Harry wasn't it in the slightest. "W-what's he like? W-who does he speak to?"

"He's kind but, has a fierce temper. Like Lily. He likes to laugh and he loves his companions: Freia and Hedwig. He has Tonks. They spend hours locked away together, whispering and gossiping. They got on from the moment they met," Remus said. He sighed, leaning forward. "He's friends with most of the Weasleys. He spends a lot of his time with...him."

Sirius' eyes narrowed as Voldemort strode forward, leaving behind Andromeda. He leaped over the fence and went directly towards Harry. Sirius swallowed hard as Voldemort went directly up to Harry, and bumped his chin up so that he could grab his attention. Voldemort made an aborted move, instead running his fingers through Harry's hair and whispering softly. Harry let out a long laugh, shoving at Voldemort's side before he quickly grabbed the Dark Lord's hand and pressed it against Freia's neck.

Freia huffed noisily but made no move to murder Voldemort like Sirius really wanted her to.

"They're close," Sirius said. He didn't need confirmation.

"They are."

The two Marauders looked up as Andromeda drifted over to them, her face as still as ever. Sirius didn't think he'd ever seen her smile before, though he'd rarely seen her when they were all at Hogwarts Castle.

Harry was talking excitedly about something, his hands moving wildly. Voldemort seemed to be listening intently, his lips twitching every few moments as if he were stopping himself from smiling.

"Tom," Harry whined. "It's funny."

"Tom?" Sirius asked again. It was the second time Harry had called Voldemort by that name, but the first time that Sirius had heard him addressed like that. "He really calls him that? And Voldemort lets him?"

"My brother lets Harry get away with a lot of things," Andromeda said, dryly.

As if on cue, Harry shoved at Voldemort's side, a warning look in his eye. Voldemort smirked back, shoving Harry. It was like a game between children. Harry suddenly tackled the Dark Lord, knocking him flat on his back. Voldemort snarled something and tugged Harry down until he was lying next to him and they just laid there, staring at the sky, as if there wasn't a care in the world.

"How did this happen?" Sirius asked again.

Andromeda hummed. "They are very similar, Sirius Black. I know you don't think so, but they are. Cruel and terrible my brother may be, but he holds great affection for Harry Wildfyre. And they are similar. They are both beautiful. They are both strong. They are both terrible. They are both great. They are both terrifying. They are both survivors."

Remus couldn't help but nod.

"Tomorrow is the day," Remus whispered. "Should we get them?"

"No," Andromeda decided. Sirius and Remus turned to her and then looked back at where Harry and Voldemort were lying. They were in Freia's shadow, heads turned towards one another, whispering quietly. "Let them have this. Today is another day for them. Tomorrow is war. War is hell."

Tomorrow, then.

MIRROR

She was air.

She was nothingness.

Hogwarts Castle seemed far emptier than she remembered. It had been centuries since she had last stepped foot in the castle but, still, it seemed lost and broken with no on the throne. There should always be someone on the throne. She turned away from the Great Hall and moved up the stairs, moving past the stray servants without a single hesitation.

None stopped. None saw.

She was air.

She tugged the white cloak tighter around her body, keeping her hood in place as she stood on the landing and the moving staircase jerked in his path. Slowly, it curled in the direction that she wanted. With only a flex of her muscle, the magic that seemed embedded in the stone shuddered, bowing to her might. She rolled back her shoulders and closed her eyes, tasting it on her her tongue.

Such old, ancient magic.

"Yes…" she breathed, panting through the magic as it coursed through her.

The back of her tongue tasted like blood but, the magic tasted like life. She had been devoid of life for so long. Slowly, her eyes rolled back into place.

She could feel the mirror, deep in the depths of the castle. Her mirror. She could taste her children in the air—Chaos-Bringer, Kingmaker, her moon, and...her Stranger had been there, long before. Not any longer. Her Stranger was long gone. Good, her Stranger, her Shadow, had no place there. Not yet. Not yet.

She had no place there either.

She continued up the steps, straight-backed and constantly moving, dragging her pale sun-bleached hands along the banisters, soaking it all in. If a servant crossed in front of her, they moved, cringing away from her though they did not see her. They only felt her, cool like ice, hot like fury, and they trembled from the force of her power. She used to be terrified by the power she held. Now, it was nothing to her.

Now, she was nothing but power sewn to bones.

Power had bleached her clean.

She did not pause when she reached the crumbling staircase that led up to the North Tower. She was not afraid of falling. She had never been afraid of falling. When she reached the trapdoor, she only reached out and imagined the door open and the ladder unrolling and there it was. Slowly, she climbed, she ascended, she never reached the top.

And then, she stood before the three women.

More children. Her children.

"Get out!" Cassandra Vlabatsky roared, staring at her with blind eyes, blind from the same power that she had once cringed from.

"'Get out, get out'," Celestina Warbeck mimicked in that singing, lilting voice of hers. She cowered against the corner, her hands over her face and then, she dropped them her face going slack as she stared at the woman standing before her. "Baba Yaga?"

Cassandra flinched and jerked, calling her eyes back. Cassandra stared up at her, eyes full of terror and she smiled, delighted.

"M-Marzanna? Marzanna," Cassandra said, pulling her ragged strings of hair from her face to peer up at her as if she couldn't understand what she was seeing. And then, Cassandra fell to her knees, crawling forward to kiss her bare feet, as white as her cloak. "Marzanna, Marzanna, Marzanna…"

"Get up," she said. "There is work to be done."

"We cannot leave. There are enchantments—" Cassandra began.

The woman did not laugh. She was devoid of laughter. There was only power bleached clean.

"There is work to be done," she repeated. "The Wyrdfod is here. The Stranger approaches. There is work to be done."

And Sybill Trelawney crept from behind the ragged curtains, staring at her with big, wide eyes. She smiled. Sybill was one of her children that had never seen her.

"Hello," she greeted.

Sybill lifted a trembling finger. "You...I know who you are."

"You do?" she asked, softly, taking a step forward.

Sybill stopped breathing. "Pandora."

ON

She stood before the large chateau, ignoring the rain that drenched her clothing, making the cotton mold itself to her body. She didn't shiver. She wasn't affected by the cold. Her long silver hair fell in wet ropes, sticking to the back of her neck. The coins in the pouch around her neck jangled with every step.

Fleur Delacour did not care about the rain. Not when she was about to make the world spill with blood. She took another trembling step forward, a sword bumping against her side with every movement.

It was a beautifully crafted sword. The silver glinted malevolently though there was no light. It was crafted to Fleur's exact specifications, though the smith had taken some liberties. The hilt was beautifully crafted, the pommel crafted in a roaring bird—similar to the birds that Veela became. It was a long blade and terribly sharp. Its scabbard was plain, rather suspiciously so but, Fleur didn't care.

She took a step forward, her eyes trained on the house. Then, another step. Slowly, she stomped her way through the mud, her eyes trained on the door. She had never felt so unafraid. Fleur had been afraid nearly her entire life. Her mother had always told her to be afraid. Her father had always told her to be afraid. Her grandmother and her entire line before her.

Be afraid, they said in life.

Be afraid, they said in death.

Her visions told her to fear for the future.

Fleur used to be afraid all of the time. Now, she only felt terribly cold and determined.

Her sister was inside. Her sister, the girl she had raised, was inside and engaged in a war that she could not fight alone. Fleur had left her little sister alone for too long. Her little sister who was hardened by scars. Her little sister who needed a sword.

The door opened before she even needed to knock.

Fleur stared.

Gabrielle stared back. Gabrielle didn't look like Fleur. Fleur looked beautiful as all other Veelas, though a little water-logged. Gabrielle was pale as the moon, with ash-blonde hair and chalky skin and pale, pale eyes. Her jaw was sharp and pointed as if she were on the precipice of transforming at every moment. And still, Fleur didn't think she'd ever been more beautiful.

"Fleur, you shouldn't be here," Gabrielle said.

Fleur slowly pulled the sword from its sheath. Gabrielle's eyes widened as she looked at the beautiful weapon, glittering dangerously.

"Neither should you," Fleur said softly.

Gabrielle opened the door wider. Fleur gasped.

Lining the steps were men and women. There was at least three dozen on the first flight and there were more, going up either set of stairs that went from the first landing. They all stared at the two with amber eyes, glowing menacingly. Each was dressed in rags, practically slathering as they stared at the two Veela women. Standing at the very bottom was Fenrir and the woman that Fleur had seen beating her sister half to death in her visions.

Gabrielle slowly stepped in front of her sister, her eyes trained on her husband.

"No, Fleur. You really shouldn't be here."

THE

Harry looked at himself in the mirror, swallowing hard as Tonks adjusted his robes. The dragon scale and chainmail glowed the red but, if he shifted just so, they became black. Tonks stood up behind him and gently weaved his coronet into his hair. She lifted her wand, sticking it to his head with magic, her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.

"You look beautiful," Tonks whispered, in awe.

He glanced at her reflection. She looked nothing like herself and everything like herself at the same time. Her hair was still short but, the pink was gone, leaving the soft brown that she only let him see when she couldn't help it. Her black robes were fitted to every dip in her body, every curve. Her two swords—one of glinting silver and the other red—were hidden beneath her crimson cloak.

Tonks had never been in awe of him but as she looked at him now, she looked stricken.

"I'm not supposed to look beautiful," Harry warned her.

Tonks' eyes narrowed. "Beauty is terror. You are terrifying," she insisted. She took a step back, turning him towards her. He looked up at her, confused, and Tonks' eyes softened. "There is so much I want to tell you."

"Like what?" Harry asked.

Tonks gave a tired laugh. "There's not enough time in the world, Harry Wildfyre. Just...I know you love him. You're extraordinary. Don't let what he wants change you. He's very handsome, Harry, I know. But, he is not the sun. You are."

Tonks pulled away from him, leaving Harry staring dumbstruck.

"Tonks…" Harry breathed, taking a step towards.

"Harry. There are things in this world that you will learn. Things that you will learn about me. And you may hate me, eventually, but know that everything I ever do is in your name," Tonks said and then she held out her hand. "It's time to go."

Harry grabbed her hand before he even thought about it. Slowly, Tonks led him out of the room. Harry swallowed as he stared at the men and women lining the walls of the hall, all the way towards the stairs. As far as Harry could see, they waited, stone-faced, all standing with pikes in their hands. Harry looked at Tonks and carefully she pulled her hands away from him.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice stiff.

Slowly, Harry turned to face forward and then it began. Solemnly, they all thumped their pikes in time, a thunderous roar of respect that echoed in Harry's mind. Harry thought that he'd remember that moment for all his life.

He walked forward, stone-faced, never picking up pace as he thundered down the hall. As he made his way down the stairs, the stone-faced lines continued, never pausing in their salute to him. Harry walked down the steps, Tonks respectfully a few steps behind him. Harry swept down the stairs, and through the Entrance Hall where most of his Council waited by the doors, draped in battle robes emblazoned with the Phoenix.

"Your Grace," McGonagall said, falling into a low curtsey.

Kingsley, Ginevra, and Bill followed her example. Harry nodded and continued forward as they fell in line behind him. The doors swung open and Harry raised his eyes as he met with a wall of roars. Harry lifted his chin as he looked at them all, draped in iron and steel, ready to battle to the death in his name. Harry looked at the Death Eaters that led the pack, draped in black and bone-white masks. Harry took a step forward and opened his mouth, intending to speak.

The words wouldn't emerge.

Slowly, frantically, he looked towards Ron who waited amongst his brothers. Ron nodded at him in understanding.

"GET READY!" Ron roared from the side. "WE LEAVE IN TWO HOURS!"

The crowd dispersed, running to do as they were told. Harry felt his breath return as all of their eyes turned off him and they went to ready themselves, probably to mount their horses and to get into formation. The Portkeys all waited in a line, thousands of them, by the cliffside where they were leaving from.

"Y-your parents would be so proud of you."

Harry looked up, startled by Sirius' sudden appearance. He was standing next to Remus, a small smile on their faces as they looked at Harry.

"Thank you," Harry murmured. He frowned when two Death Eaters approached. They dragged their wands across their faces, revealing their faces.

Lucius and Snape.

"My Lord is waiting for you. He needs to speak with you," Lucius said, firmly.

Harry frowned. "He hasn't left yet?" he demanded.

"You know he won't until he speaks with you," Snape said, his lips curling in disgust. Slowly, he turned to look at Remus and Sirius. "Black."

"Snivellus," Sirius hissed. "I shouldn't be surprised that you're one of the Death Eaters here. You so easily switch sides. It's like you have no sense of loyalty."

Harry groaned. A pissing contest. Great.

"I'd be very careful about the words I'd choose if I were you. After all, I'm the one with the wand and you're...rather unnecessary, aren't you?" Snape said, turning up his rather large nose. Remus ground his teeth as he looked at the two but held his tongue.

"I'm the one that knew how to get into Rowena's haven, arsehole. You're just another body," Sirius spat.

Snape sneered. "Are we sure you know what you're talking about? Azkaban might have addled your brain. How was your extended vacation?"

"I should—" Sirius barked, lunging forward. Suddenly, the two men were yanked apart by an invisible force. Harry took a step back as the Dark Lord appeared, draped in battle robes.

"Enough," Tom hissed. "Severus, leave. Black, watch yourself."

"F-fuck you!" Sirius barked.

Tom's eyes narrowed but Harry reached forward, lacing his fingers with Tom's. Tom looked down at him, surprised. Harry ignored the strange look on Sirius' face.

"You wanted to speak with me?" Harry whispered. "I have...I have to speak with you. It's important."

Tom nodded. "What I have to say is important, Melui-âr," he said, gently.

Harry took a step back, drawing Tom with him when Barty appeared at Tom's side and McGonagall at Harry's.

"My Lord...there's a problem with the Portkeys. We aren't sure if it's correct," Barty said, apologetically. Harry sighed, shaking his head and he looked over at McGonagall.

"What is it, Madame?" Harry murmured.

McGonagall's eyes narrowed. "There's a discussion to be had."

Harry nodded and he glanced over at Tom, squeezing his hand tight. Tom squeezed back.

"Don't leave...not until we talk. Okay?" Harry murmured.

"You know I won't," Tom said, softly.

Harry swallowed and tore his hand away. He looked over at Madame McGonagall and nodded.

"Let's talk," he said. They melted away further, ignoring the curious stares. In the midst of all the chaos, it almost felt like they had some sort of privacy though Harry knew there was nothing of the sort in war. "What is it?"

"Your Fire, Harry," McGonagall began. "You shouldn't use it unless you absolutely know you can control it. You've been having trouble, haven't you?"

Harry's eyes widened. He thought about all the times that his rage had gotten the better of him recently. The times when his frustration would feed the flames and they would nearly spin out of control. Against Remus, Regulus, and Sirius.

"How...how do you know that?" Harry murmured.

McGonagall's lips twitched into a small smile.

"Harry Wildfyre. The Boy Who Lived," McGonagall said, softly. She took a step forward, and her eyes were softer than Harry had ever seen them. He smiled at her, weakly. "The Fairest. The Wyrdfod. So many titles for one so young."

"Half of them undeserved," Harry joked nervously and McGonagall shook her head.

"None of them are undeserved, Harry. You are extraordinary," McGonagall insisted and when Harry opened his mouth to protest, McGonagall pressed her hand to his cheek. "I know who you are, Harry. I was there for your birth. You are not just the Fire in your skin. You are not just a king. You are important. Necessary."

"I-I…" Harry stammered, thrown by how sudden McGonagall was speaking.

"You are not destruction. Think about this Harry: what is the largest source of flames?" she whispered. And then she cupped his cheeks and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, pulling back to stare into his eyes. "You look so much like your mother."

And then she pulled away, going to mount her horse. Harry trembled.

He was ready.

WALL

Hermione felt numb as the ladies dressed her. Madame Malkin supervised as the servants laced her up, using their fingers. The dressmaker had claimed that the robes were too fragile for magic. She was worried about everything fraying. Hermione closed her eyes as Luna stepped in front of her, taking her by her hands.

"Are you sure you don't want one of my girls doing your hair, my Lady...I mean, your Highness?" Madame Malkin asked, a jovial tilt to her voice. Hermione felt tears well in her eyes at her new title.

"No...Luna always does it," Hermione whispered.

Carefully, she opened her eyes and lifted her skirts. She padded across the room, barefoot, her skirts trailing after her. Luna sat her in front of a massive vanity and stood behind her, pulling her wet hair out of the long braid that it had been in. Being braided wet always kept most of Hermione's natural frizz at bay. She waited for Luna to apply Sleakeazy to her hair but instead, Luna pulled it back and began to apply a Warming Charm, blasting hot air over it. Hermione's eyes widened as she saw her naturally frizzy hair bush out around her face.

"What are you doing?" Madame Malkin squawked.

Luna's eyes narrowed. "Today, my Lady, will look like herself. Not what you want her to," Luna snarled. Her eyes softened when she looked at Hermione. "Simple cosmetics, Hermione. And a braid."

As she spoke, she began to braid Hermione's hair. It was a five-strand braid, leaving soft curly tendrils to frame Hermione's face. Hermione swallowed. She looked like herself. She looked like Hermione Granger of the Republic. She wondered what Fleur would think if she could see her now.

"Luna, I don't want this," Hermione whispered, just low enough for the two of them to hear.

Luna paused in her braiding. "Hermione, everything will be okay."

"How do you know? I feel so alone," Hermione admitted.

Barty was missing. Blaise had never been on her side. Luna could be taken from her at any moment. Lady Andromeda hadn't bothered to come, and Lord Voldemort didn't seem to give a damn about anything. She hadn't seen Daphne since arriving at Rowena's haven except in passing. It terrified Hermione. Everything terrified her.

Luna shook her head. "No. You are never alone. You will never be alone. I am always here for you," Luna insisted firmly.

Even as she said it, Hermione's heart broke in half and for the first time since she had arrived in Albion, tears spilled from her eyes and she let out a terrible sob. Everyone in the room stopped, and suddenly, Hermione couldn't stop crying. Her shoulders trembled with the force of her gut-wrenching sobs that came out more like shrieks. She fought to breathe through her tears but, she found her breath strangled in her throat. Luna hugged her from behind, burying her face in Hermione's neck.

"Don't cry. Don't. I'm here. Wyrdfod is coming," Luna whispered against the skin of her neck.

Hermione cried harder.

"It's over...it's over…" Hermione cried, snot dribbling from her red nose. She wiped it away with the back of her hand.

"It's never over. You will survive this, Hermione Granger. You are strong," Luna insisted.

"Today...I will be Hermione Slytherin," Hermione spat in rage and she screamed a terrible scream that shredded at her throat. The glass in the room trembled with the power of her raging magic. Her wand vibrated against her side.

Luna's eyes hardened. "Never."

"How can you know?" Hermione whispered.

"Because. The Wyrdfod is coming, Hermione. And you will be saved. And you will save yourself. Now, get up. Do not cry," Luna growled.

And Hermione wiped away her tears, slowly looking up. Luna nodded and continued to braid her hair.

Madame Malkin and her assistants didn't seem to know what to make of everything. Madame Malkin stepped forward to inquire about Hermione's health when there was a knock on the door. Narcissa didn't wait to be invited in, only stepping inside.

Once more, Hermione was reminded of how beautiful her future mother-in-law was.

Narcissa Slytherin was powerful in her navy robes. Her face was painted beautiful and her hair was braided in long ropes that were intertwined. Warrior's braids. She held a box in her hands.

"My Lady," Luna greeted and the other ladies echoed her, dipping into short curtseys. Hermione barely looked up.

"Lady Narcissa," she whispered.

Narcissa took a step forward, her eyes glinting maliciously. "You look...pretty, Hermione. A sweet little foreign girl from the Republic," Narcissa murmured. Hermione whispered her thanks. "I have a gift. From your husband."

Narcissa removed the top and Hermione was stricken.

She hadn't seen them in such a long time. Fleur had put them on her feet the day that Hermione had gone to the ball. When Hermione had run away, she had tripped in them, shattering one against her foot. The shards had cut deep, leaving scars on her feet. The other one had stayed on but blood had pooled in the bottom from the sores that they had left on her feet.

Draco had kept them.

Her glass slippers, covered in her blood.

WHO

Bellatrix knew the tomb when she finally reached it after days of walking.

Her silver robes, gifted to her by the Sea Warlock, were in rags. Her feet ached and bled. But, she knew. She could feel the magic thrumming in her blood.

It wasn't a tomb.

Bellatrix hadn't really expected it to be. The deathless was hidden separate from the body. The death was inside a needle, which was in an egg, which was in a duck, which was in a hare, which was in a chest of gold, buried beneath the green oak tree.

Bellatrix stared at the only oak tree in miles. She pressed her hand to the bark and felt Pandora, though she was not there. Pandora seemed to consume so many of her thoughts, lately. As much as Tom did. Bellatrix had never been close to Pandora like Tom was. But, Bellatrix had never been jealous of Pandora. Pandora's interest in them had always been a strange, clinical type of interest. As if she couldn't quite feel the same affection that they had for her. She wasn't capable.

Eternity did that.

The tree felt so alive under her touch. There was no wind but, Bellatrix could feel the oak tree swell and then exhale as if it were breathing. Bellatrix pulled her driftwood wand, suddenly missing her own wand down to her core.

"Bombarda," she cast at the base of the tree.

The ground cracked and exploded around her, showering her in dirt and debris but, Bellatrix brushed it away, not even bothering to clean herself. Immediately, she fell to the ground, tossing her wand aside and began to dig through the loose dirt. She clawed forth and barely winced when her nails cracked against loose rocks. When she pulled back to inspect her hands, her nails were broken and caked with dirt and blood.

"Enough. So close. We are so close," Bellatrix hissed and she knew she could feel it beneath her. Her hand struck something hard and she brushed her hands over the surface, clearing it of dirt. Bellatrix's eyes lit up as she spotted gold. She had to lean nearly all of her body into the hole to grab a firm hold of the golden box but she did, pulling it free and setting aside her. The entire world seemed to go still and quiet. None of the natural sounds of nature could be heard as if they cowered before what was inside the box.

Bellatrix sifted through the dirt to find her driftwood wand and she rapped it against the top of the golden chest. Bellatrix stowed her wand away in her side and pulled her knife free from her small burlap sack. She had no more Galleons or any coin at all but, she still had her knife. Slowly, she opened the golden chest.

The hare jumped free, attempting to scurry away but, Bellatrix had no patience. She snatched it by its ears and slit its belly from skull down. The hare split open and a blood-slicked duck came forth, quacking loudly. It tried to waddle away and this time, Bellatrix had to throw herself forward to catch it. It nearly escaped from her hands, it was so wet with blood and entrails but Bellatrix simply slammed her wet knife into its back and squeezed until an egg slid out with a wet plop.

Bellatrix grabbed the egg in her hands and crushed it between her palms, the shell digging marks into her filthy, cut palms. The yolk fell into the dirt and grass and Bellatrix dragged her fingers through the yellow mess, searching and searching until she let out a quiet hiss.

Her finger twinged with the pain from the needle's brick but carefully she brought the silver needle, dripping with yolk to eye level. She inspected it, curiously.

This was it. Inside the needle was a death. She wondered if there was a spell. Or any particular words she needed whisper. She wondered if the needle itself was the wand until she thought on something Pandora had said once to her.

The simplest answer is usually the answer.

Bellatrix took the needle in two hands and cracked it in half.

There was a long moment of silence and the oak lurched and let out a cracking sound, the leaves falling around her, sticking to her hair and falling in her lap. Bellatrix looked up and watched as the oak tree died around her, turning withered and black. Bellatrix dropped the broken needle and held out her hands in offering.

The wand was longer than her old wand. It also felt ancient. As ancient as Pandora felt whenever Bellatrix had been around her. The wand was unique in that every few inches, it was covered in carvings that resembled a cluster of elderberries. Bellatrix wrapped her fingers around the wand and gasped when felt the magic rush over her.

She felt her skin knit together, blood washed away by magic. The dirt that had been caked on her skin evaporated and her skin felt young and tight again. Bellatrix gasped as the magic embraced her somewhat but, she knew not fully. Not until she was truly Deathless. Bellatrix shuddered, brushing the wand against her cheek.

She thought about what Tom would say if he saw her, holding the Deathless' wand.

Her Tom. The Tom she knew when they had been young. The Tom that had slaughtered men and women and children without thinking. She didn't think he'd ever been more beautiful than when he was covered in blood, his face smeared with it.

Bellatrix would find her Tom. She would kill this Tom and make him ugly like her. Twist him inside. She would.

"You will be naked…" she promised. "And bloodied...and clean...and mine."

And she thrust the Elder Wand into the air, releasing her rage.

Her rage looked like lightning.

IS

"Your Grace, you called for me."

Draco slowly turned, clad in white and green robes, looking to the young woman that waited in the doorway. His breath was taken away once again as he looked at her nubile body. She was wearing his colors. The Slytherin colors, but softer. Her dove grey dress was really a few pieces of cloth tied together, exposing her flat belly, the soft flesh at her sides, crossing over her plump breasts and tying around her neck. Draco felt his cock twitch.

"I did," Draco murmured as he stalked forward.

Daphne Greengrass' lips curled into a slow smile. He was so close, they could practically breathe the same air.

"On your wedding day, your Grace?" Daphne whispered. "How tawdry."

"If I could have you by my side, I would," Draco said, firmly. He lifted his hand, dragging his fingertips down her cheek. Daphne leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed. "You see it, don't you?"

"See what, Draco?" Daphne murmured.

Draco groaned at the sound of his name. "You belong to me."

Daphne whimpered as Draco slipped his hand behind her back, pulling her tight against his body. She lifted trembling hands up to his face, cupping his jaw and swallowing. She bit her lower lip and looked away.

"But...you aren't mine," she whispered.

Draco's eyes narrowed. Fiercely, he said, "I'm always yours, Daphne."

He pressed his lips all along her face, fluttering kisses to her cheeks, the tip of her nose, her eyelids, and then her mouth. He pecked her mouth in succession, once, twice, thrice, and then pulled back. Daphne's eyes were still closed but a soft smile stretched across her wide, pretty face. Slowly, she opened her eyes to look at him.

"You're not. You're getting married," Daphne whispered. "I want you to be mine."

Draco nodded. "I know. But, I have to. The people love her and we're on the brink of war," Draco whispered.

Daphne let tears well in her eyes as she looked up at him. She pressed a smirk onto her face as if to disguise her sadness but, she wasn't quite able to.

"I wish that you could be mine," Daphne murmured.

And Draco decided. He slowly pulled his green scarf away, throwing it to the side. Daphne's eyes widened and she scrambled at him, wrapping her arms around his neck, pressing kisses to his neck. Draco stripped her bare, revealing skin, dragging his fingers down her bare skin, worshipping wherever he touched. Daphne gasped at the feeling.

She cried out when he entered her, fucking her up against the wall. She slammed her hand back against the wall as if to brace herself while he fucked up inside of her, whispering his adoration into the crook of her neck, in the hollow beneath her ear. And even as she stared at the door, chanting yes, yes, yes.

He came inside her with the words, "I love you," on his lips.

They stared at one another for a long moment, with him still inside her. Daphne laced her fingers through his short blonde hair and she smiled.

"I love you too," she whispered. She pressed her mouth to his, licking into his mouth, tasting him, pressing her nails into the back of his neck.

For the first time, Draco noticed that she tasted like salt and seaweed. He pulled back and didn't smile. He staggered back, staring at her as she slid down the wall, catching her footing. He looked at her and saw everything he wanted and couldn't have, would never have.

"Stay with me. Stay at Hogwarts with me," Draco begged.

Daphne shook her head as she began to tie her dress back into place, running her fingers through her loose hair. "I can't. I won't be your mistress. I won't be pregnant with your bastard. I wouldn't do that to a child."

"I would claim him," Draco begged.

"And dishonor your wife? Humiliate my friend? Draco…" Daphne whispered. She smiled, softly. "Be happy that we had this."

Draco nodded, his eyes darting around the room as he lost himself in his swirling thoughts. Daphne glanced in the mirror, looking at herself. She licked the saltwater from her lips and rolled back her shoulders, tugging at her muscles and cracking her bones.

"Bed your wife tonight. I will find you in the morning before we leave," Daphne promised.

Draco nodded, lost.

Daphne turned on her heel and left the room, without a backward glance. As soon as she left the room, her smile dropped in favor of a look of stone. She stalked down the hall, blowing past servants, feeling Draco Slytherin's seed drip down the inside of her thighs. Daphne didn't stop even as she trotted down the steps, and stormed outside of the castle, past the servants still carrying flowers into the Throne Hall. She blew past the Lords and Ladies milling about, ready for the event to begin.

Only when she was outside, did she slow, and only to pull apart the flaps to her family's tent.

Daphne entered the tent, her lips pulled into a gentle smile. She kept her eyes trained on her ward-brother and their grandmother. Augusta stared at her, her eyes hard as Daphne walked into the empty tent, her hands clasped behind her back.

"Daphne," Augusta said in greeting.

Daphne Greengrass' lips curled back into a terribly wicked grimace. "It is done," she hissed.

Augusta grinned.

"What is dead may never die," she said, reciting the Longbottom motto.

Daphne nodded and held out her hand. Neville took it immediately, allowing his ward-sister to pull him to his feet. Immediately, they walked away from their grandmother, arm in arm, waving their wands as they sealed the boxes, whispering the family charms that would settle everything for them in its proper place.

"How do you know it took?" Neville asked, softly.

Daphne's grim expression brightened into something like wickedness. She thought back to her salt of kiss, and the way he watched her, so utterly, foolishly, in love. He ought to know; his mother should've told him.

Love was for children.

"Because I can feel him now. Every breath he takes...every move he wakes...every step he takes...I'll know. And I will feel his heart weakening...his magic cracking, and when he falls, as he should, I will know," Daphne rasped.

Neville's gaze hardened. "And Narcissa Slytherin will know what it is to lose everything."

FAIREST

Gabrielle kept her back to Fleur. She only had eyes for Fenrir, and she cursed the Dtrwies for allowing Fleur to come. It was raining so hard that she should've drowned outside. The Dtrwies must have given her a vision on the wheel and she had come because she thought had to. But, Gabrielle was not the same girl that Fleur remembered. She was scarred, and scars were harder to break than skin.

"What...what is this?" Fleur whispered into her ear.

"Ah, my sister-in-law. Welcome," Fenrir growled, his lips curled back into a yellow grin. He looked at Gabrielle again, his eyes flashing. "What a...surprise."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. "I tried to kill him. This morning. In our bed. He summoned his pack," Gabrielle said, sharply. She looked at them all. Some looked more human than others. The others were slathering, thirsting for a taste of her blood.

"You betrayed me, Gabrielle. I asked one thing of you—"

"You hunt creatures, Fenrir. You hunt women," Gabrielle hissed, her nostrils flared with fury. "You hunt them and skin them and mount them on your wall like animals. Was I next?"

"Not until now," Fenrir allowed. He took a step forward, slowly shrugging off that fine silk over-robe that Gabrielle had noticed the first time that she had seen him. With every layer he stripped off, the more she could see the animal in his eyes.

She hoped he could see the animal in her eyes too.

"You'll look pretty on my wall," Fenrir said, softly, taunting and yet, she could read his eyes. She could see that this was eat or be eaten, and he would consume her alive though it would hurt him anyway.

"I prefer pelts," Gabrielle spat.

Fleur grabbed onto her shoulder and Gabrielle tried to shrug her off but Fleur was insistent as her hand trailed down Gabrielle's arm to her wrist. She brought Gabrielle's hand back and slowly wrapped it around something. Gabrielle didn't have to look to recognize it as a sword. Slowly, Gabrielle pulled the sword forward.

"Gabrielle…" Fleur breathed. "Kill. Him."

Gabrielle stared at the blade as she lifted it in front of her. She knew it wasn't iron or steel and from the look on Deyanira and Fenrir's faces, they knew it too.

"Gabrielle…" Fenrir warned.

Gabrielle screamed for the first time since she had been scarred. It was a deafening sound that drowned out everything else, even the pounding of her own blood. She screamed for the girl that she used to be, for the woman that she was about to become, for the things she was about to do. She screamed for lost love and never-ending rage. She screamed for Fenrir, her poor dead love.

"Gabrielle, the gods wouldn't—" Fenrir began.

"Your gods are dead, my love. Who will save you now?" Gabrielle whispered, taking a step forward. One of the wolves growled, launching themselves forward before Deyanira or Fenrir could stop him.

Gabrielle spun on her heel, roaring as she brought her sword down across his chest. The wolf screamed, dying before he ever hit the ground. Gabrielle slammed him down onto his back and twisted, watching his skin hiss and spit around the silver blade. She pulled it free and wiped it against her trousers, smearing them with blood.

"Fenrir, my love, I challenge you," she said, softly. She looked from Deyanira to Fenrir, stepping over the wolf's broken corpse. "A girl, Gabrielle Delacour-Greyback challenges the Alpha of Laug."

Fenrir froze. "To what?"

"To the death," Gabrielle whispered.

Fenrir stood up straight and he slowly pulled his wand from his pocket. Gabrielle pulled her own and they stared at one another for a long moment.

And Gabrielle had never cast the spell. She had never thought to, never had a reason to. She had never hated so much in her life, and she had never loved. But, when the words came off her tongue, there had never been an easier spell.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

Fenrir leaped out of the way and the Killing Curse connected with a stray wolf who fell dead as soon as the light touched him. Fenrir launched himself forward, whipping his wand. Gabrielle spun out of the way, dodging just as the purple jet sliced against her cheek. Gabrielle fully faced Fenrir just as he Conjured a sword and brought it down over her head. Gabrielle raised her sword, blocking the blow and she kicked out, catching him in the belly with all her strength.

Fenrir staggered back, eyes wide with surprise.

Gabrielle took a step back, steadying herself. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

The fight began. It was a battle between two predators, neither one willing to give up their claim to blood. A punch was evaded just as quickly as a spell. The room lit up with the ghostly cast of curses. A white-blue curse from Gabrielle, meant to maim. A purple jet of magic from Fenrir meant to obliterate. Steel clashed against silver, drawing sparks. Neither one landed a physical hit on the other. Not until Gabrielle whipped her wand sharply and Disarmed Fenrir with a well-placed Expelliarmus.

Fenrir's suddenly free hand snapped out, catching Gabrielle across the face.

Gabrielle didn't flinch from the hit though Fenrir looked surprised. He stared at his hand as if it had betrayed him but, Gabrielle thought no such thing. Instead, she stared at her husband with a terribly triumphant look, smiling a mouth of blood. In the dim lighting, she looked stark white, the bloody ruin of her mouth the only flash of color.

"I am Gabrielle Delacour-Greyback, wife of Fenrir Greyback, daughter of Apolline and Louis Delacour, and I say not today," Gabrielle roared in his face and she swung her sword over her heard, screaming with a terror that she did know belonged to her.

Fenrir reached out, grabbing and he gasped when he remembered that it was silver. He jerked his hand to his chest and Gabrielle pushed the pain as she smelled his burning flesh. Instead, she whipped her wand over and over again, thinking of the spell that her mother had whispered once when they were children, the same spell that Fleur whispered when she made that silver thread.

"Stříbrná mince," Gabrielle snarled, and she watched as the silver thread shot from her wand, wrapping around Fenrir's neck like a leash.

"I loved you. More than anyone," Fenrir whispered, his voice cracking.

Gabrielle lifted her chin. "And yet, you betrayed me," she decided as she rapped the silver sword across the ground. The werewolves were all still, their eyes trained on the sword that meant death. "When Deyanira began training me, she told me there was no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. You told me that I must lose everything to gain something. I have lost."

"Gabrielle," Fenrir pleaded.

"Thank you for all your many lessons, Fenrir Greyback. I will never forget them," Gabrielle rasped. "Last words?"

"The Stranger, Death was right. I should not have loved you," Fenrir whispered. "I should have looked her in her eyes and said 'not today'."

Gabrielle did not pretend to know what that meant. Instead, she said, "Today has come."

She took a step forward, rapping the silver sword against the marble floors again. Her husband was on his knees before her, and she remembered, suddenly, the first time they had met. He had called her 'miss' and he had looked at her with the same intrigue that she had looked at him with. Gabrielle took a step forward and cupped his jaw with one hand. He looked up at her, pleading.

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his. She didn't close her eyes. Neither did he.

He lunged.

She brought her sword down.

He coughed blood onto her lips.

Gabrielle pulled back, licking her lips, tasting his blood on her tongue, remembering the way he tasted. Her silver sword burned his flesh and he roared as she ripped it out of his back and then stabbed down again. And again. She wrenched it out, staggering back and watched as the wounds on his back festered and his face turned wane. His lips curled into a ferocious snarl, and for the time, Gabrielle saw the wolf.

Fenrir lunged at her again, roaring through the pain, and Gabrielle swung her sword so hard, it sliced across his throat, through his vocal chords, nearly through his neck. Fenrir fell to his knees, clutching at the wound. Gabrielle stared at him, impassively.

"Ga—"

"I loved you. But, I promised...I would never forgive you," Gabrielle said and then she sheathed her sword, looking up at the wolves that all stared down at her, teeth bared and prepared to lunge. She stepped over her husband's broken body. "Who dares? Who would dare fight me? The Widow who slew the great Wolf of Laug!"

Spittle flew from her mouth, her words echoing in the Entrance Hall.

"You think you can kill me? Me who has no name? You can't kill me!" she snarled. Gabrielle's nostrils flared and she looked directly at Deyanira Argentum.

Deyanira did not cower. Instead, she broke away from the pack. Gabrielle grabbed her sword, ready to slay them all.

And then, Deyanira sunk to her knees and offered her neck.

"A girl is Alpha," Deyanira whispered.

Just like that, the other wolves all sunk to their knees where they stood, bending back their heads to show their necks. Gabrielle took a step back, her eyes wide as they began to chant the title, first in whispers, then in shouts.

"Alpha. Alpha. Alpha. ALPHA!"

Deyanira stared. "Alpha, Fenrir Greyback called the Republic. They are almost here. I can hear them. Alpha must run. Run, Alpha, and find the Wyrdfod. Find the Wyrdfod."

Gabrielle shook her head.

"There are no gods. And there is no Wyrdfod," she snarled.

"You are wrong. The Wyrdfod is here, and the gods are even more so. You are marked," Deyanira whispered.

Gabrielle jumped when she felt a hand wrap around her wrist. She looked up at Fleur's face, expecting to see terror. Instead, Fleur looked at her with a hard expression, set grim in her pretty face. She tugged on her arm.

"We must go. There is the Wyrdfod. I have seen him. But, it doesn't matter. Right now, we must run. We have to run," Fleur whispered.

Gabrielle turned back to look at her pack.

"Run, Alpha. We will come to you when you call but, for now, run."

So, Gabrielle and Fleur ran.

OF

"You look lovely, Narcissa."

Narcissa looked up, sharply from his mirror. Daphne Greengrass lurked in the doorway. Narcissa's lips curled into a smile as she observed the girl.

All of her masks were gone. There was no gentile smile or quiet grace. No charming smirks or girlish laughter. There was only a cold woman with sea storms for eyes and salt on her tongue. Daphne danced into the room and Narcissa ran her eyes over her, taking in the exposed skin and the way her hair fell down her back. It appeared wet, so shiny and slick with gels and pomades. Daphne didn't stand, only watching.

"'Lady Narcissa' will do...little fish," Narcissa murmured.

Daphne's eyes narrowed. "You remember."

"Of course, I remember. You've heeded my advice?" Narcissa asked.

"'Do not cry, little fish. Tears are blood, ill-spilled'," Daphne repeated. She tilted her head, observing Narcissa carefully. "I have not cried in a long, long time."

"Good. Only the weak cry," Narcissa decided.

"I made your son cry today. On his wedding day," Daphne said as if she were speaking on the weather. She began to pace, a finger pressed to her lips. Narcissa never looked away. "He cried for all the things he could never have, all the things he could never be. Do you cry about those things?"

"I do not cry. I have not cried in decades," Narcissa said, coldly.

Daphne paused, slowly turning to look at Narcissa. "The last time I cried, you murdered my family in front of me. I would make you cry, Narcissa Slytherin. I would make you do many things if I could."

"If you could," Narcissa allowed. "But, you can't."

"Not yet," Daphne retorted nearly immediately. She paused, reigning herself in as she looked over at her opponent. She began to pace again. "I have come to you with words of warning."

"Warning?" Narcissa said, her lips pulling into a chilly smile.

Daphne slowly approached Narcissa and then lowered her face until she was level with Narcissa. They were barely inches apart, never looking away from another. Narcissa stared into those sea eyes and saw the fury of the oceans and the type of hatred that took years to breed and foster. Narcissa felt pride.

She had put that there.

"If you...ever hurt Hermione Granger…" Daphne trailed off, shaking her head, her lips tilted into a strange little smile. "No. Your fate will always remain the same."

Narcissa's eyes brightened. "How so?"

And Daphne's gaze sharpened and she took a step closer, looking deep into Narcissa's pinprick blue eyes. "I will drown you."

THEM

It was time.

Harry looked around, searching for the man that he needed to find. He darted between centaurs and Veelas and banshees and witches and wizards and Muggles alike, searching for the Dark Lord. He sighed, nodding to everyone that murmured 'Wyrdfod' or 'your Grace' at him, though he paid them little mind.

"Your Grace! Your Portkey is leaving at—" Percy called.

"Not now, Percy!" Harry shouted, ducking around the man and then he was caught and spun, nearly tripping. Harry gasped as he looked up at the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord grabbed him by his wrists and dragged him close to the cliff, where there were few but for Harry's Council's horses and Hagrid, attempting to wrangle Freia and prepare her for transport. "Tom…"

"We have to talk. You wanted to talk and I have to leave. Soon. And you need to talk to your troops and make sure that Freia can get to Rowena's haven," Tom murmured, running his hands over Harry's jaw as if checking to make sure he was okay though they hadn't even yet engaged in battle. "I enchanted Freia's Portkey myself but, I'm not...well, I wouldn't admit this if it weren't important, but I'm not sure about the limits of the Charm. If we had more time—"

"No, no, that's not what I want to talk about," Harry murmured.

Tom frowned. "Then, what?"

Harry swallowed all of his fear and trepidation and looked at Tom with wide eyes, taking a deep breath. Tom frowned down at him, his red eyes narrowed in confusion and irritation.

"Okay, here it is," Harry whispered, pressing his hands to Tom's chest. "It's time to make your choice."

Tom snorted. "I made my choice long ago."

"No, no," Harry insisted as he reached up, cradling Tom's jaw. He drew him closer until they were breathing the same air, so entwined that if anyone happened upon them, they would hardly be able to tell where Harry ended and Tom began. "You could've gotten out of this Vow. You're a cunning snake, Tom Marvolo. Now...your choice. It's simple. Them or me."

Tom stopped breathing. "Harry."

"I know…I know that they're your blood but, Tom, I love you," Harry begged, his voice cracking. He looked up into Tom's warbright eyes and swallowed. "Don't leave me. Please don't leave me. I want you to love me."

Tom took a deep breath and closed his eyes as if centering himself. He opened his eyes again and Harry felt his heart break.

"Self-sacrifice makes for a good ruler. I do not know this in practice but…" Tom drawled. He cleared his throat and he took a step back. He looked anywhere but into Harry's eyes. "This is happening. You have your armies. A dragon. Respect. A crown. Everything you've ever wanted. Are you afraid?"

Harry hesitated. "No," he whispered.

"You should be. You're in the great game now and the great game's terrifying," Tom warned.

Harry swallowed hard.

"Do you know what frightens me?"

"No."

"The fact that I love you and it means nothing to you," Harry whispered, harshly, and he took a step back. He wiped furiously at his eyes with the back of his hands and when he looked up again, and he was like steel. Fire and grace.

A king, through and through.

"What I feel for you will pale in comparison to what the world will. You will go today and they will all see you for what you are," Tom swore.

Harry turned away and went to mount his horse. Tom took a deep breath. The sun was high. It was time and he would need to gather concentration to complete such a long distance Apparation. He looked at Harry one more time.

Bold and brash and so completely lovely. Reckless and mouthy and terribly kind. The world would see him for what he was.

You don't deserve him.

Andromeda's words echoed in his ear. His lips curled into a terrible smile.

How right she was.

Tom took a step back and Disapparated on the spot. Barty followed after him, turning on the spot.

Harry pretended not to watch him leave. He did away with his sorrow, his rage. There would be a time for it later on. This was not the time. It was a time for war, now.

Harry held up his wand and shot red sparks into the air. Freia let out a fearsome screech, and the army's loud roars fell into a soft kind of quiet, still speaking but, not quite as loud.

"What shall we fight for?" Harry shouted. "You will listen to me. Listen!"

The troops fell into a dim silence that echoed for miles. Harry looked at all of them, his eyes wide as his horse paced back and forth and Freia hovered in the air behind him. Harry paused, looking at each and every one of them.

"Answer me! What do we fight for?" Harry called. None of them had an answer. "We fight for those that cannot fight! Seventeen years...for seventeen years, Albion has been brought to its knees! I say, no more! For thousands of years, our bloodlines lived upon this mighty Isle. And through the prosperity of Merlin, to the terror ages of the Tabooed, we survived. We endured! And we shall endure again! And again! We shall not bow to Death. No."

And Harry wasn't sure where he conjured the words from. He had never been good at speeches. He had never good at speaking. But, today was different. Today felt different. Today, he would know what it was to love and lose. Today, he would meet Death on the battlefield and refuse to leave with her.

"WHAT DO WE SAY TO THE STRANGER, DEATH?" Harry roared, ignoring the stricken look on Tonks' face.

And his army roared back to him. "NOT TODAY!"

"NOT EVER!" Harry roared back. "We do not forgive! And we do not die! I am the Wyrdfod! Today, the Usurpers, will learn what it means to be Fateborn. Their time is done. No more being beaten into submission! No more starving! No more sorrow! That is for yesterday! Today, we bring fire and fury. If they wish to see us burn, they shall burn with us! Yesterday, we hid in fear! Today, we wage war!"

ALL?

Hermione had never looked more beautiful.

And she had never wanted to die more.

The Throne Hall in Rowen's haven was bright as Hogwarts' Great Hall. The windows were tall, from ceiling to floor and flowers and silver candelabras floated through the air. The runner was pure white unlike the blood-stained one of Hogwarts, and there was no Gilded Throne. Still, Hermione would be crowned Queen today. Today, she would become a Slytherin.

The train of her robes dragged behind her like a weight. Silver chains were weaved through her braids and the green scarf wrapped around her neck felt like a noose.

All of their eyes were on her as she walked to her gallows. All of their terribly happy eyes and cruel, humorless smiles. Pansy Parkinson sneered at her as she walked past. That made Hermione fell better. At least one person watched her with the contempt that they all held for her. Hermione looked for Daphne but, she was lost in the sea of the Lords and Ladies from Essetir that Hermione didn't know. Hermione looked to the front and saw them all.

Hermione stared at the cruel King. She looked around, helplessly, meeting bright grins and apathetic eyes. Barty stood behind his father, his face torn in terror and anticipation. Luna stared, utterly calm. Hermione's stomach turned and she swallowed her bile. Narcissa stood between Lord Dolohov and her brother, her carved diamond and her eyes such a stormy blue that it looked like flinty stone.

Hermione turned towards the eldest.

Crimson eyes pierced her soul and he looked calm despite the fact that he had sworn to her that he would save her. No one could save her. Hermione was dead. There was nothing left to be saved.

"My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of Merlin, the gods, and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever," the wizarding officiant rasped and he pulled forth the leather cords that would bind them as Draco untied the sash around his neck that he would wrap around her throat like a noose.

Hermione swallowed as she went to kneel with Draco.

And then there were gasps.

Hermione and Draco spun around.

The interloper walked into the main aisle, cutting through the group of people. He was alone, though his head was held high.

"What?" Draco breathed and Hermione looked back at Narcissa. Narcissa's eyes widened in horror and confusion.

Hermione glanced at the Dark Lord but his lips curled into a tiny smirk. Hermione's mouth fell open and she nearly forgot how to breathe at the sight of the beautiful green-eyed young man. His lips, red as blood, were curled into a smile, and ebony hair was wild around his head. The coronet on his head jutted out around the back of his like wooden branches painted silver. His battle robes were the color of old blood, chainmail and dragon scales.

In all of Hermione's life, she had never seen someone as fearsome as the man that stood in the aisle. There was something about the way he held himself. Despite his obvious and unbelievable beauty, there was a brutality in his eyes, in the way he held himself. If there were ever such a thing as a god of war, this would be him; heartbreaking and terrifying and beautiful.

"Who?" Narcissa whispered.

"I am Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, Rightful Emperor of Albion, King of the Four Directions, Protector of the Realm, Alpha of the Pride, the Wyrdfod, and the Fairest of Them All," the Fairest said, walking forward. "And I think my invitation got lost in the mail."

Hermione shivered. Wyrdfod.

"The Pretender," Draco murmured. "You come to die."

The Fairest pulled his sword and took another step forward, raising his wand.

"I come to fight," the Fairest snarled. "Draco Malfoy of House Slytherin...Usurper of the Gilded Throne, I declare war!"

And the world exploded into chaos.

:::

A/N: Well, y'all. Here was are on the precipice of the grand finale of ARC TWO. I told you I wanted this finished by Thanksgiving. I wasn't joking. Look out for the next chapter on Wednesday night/Thursday morning, and then, Thursday afternoon for the interlude. I think there are two interludes for this one, though. The second interlude acts more like a prologue for ARC THREE rather than wrapping up ARC TWO like the first interlude does. I'll let you know when I start posting the next arc after I figure out the next chapter.