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.

36. Chapter Thirty

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.

Fairest

Chapter Thirty

She sat before the mirror alone. She was alone and yet, she was not. Sometimes, if she watched, unfocused, she could see the shape of a girl. Narcissa knew this shape better than the back of her hand. It was seared into her memory, so deep that to remove the memories of Helena Ravenclaw, she was be tearing out herself. Helena. Helena. Helena. Narcissa never looked too closely. If she did, Helena would leave her.

"Lady Chancellor…" Dolohov began.

Narcissa hushed him. She glanced over her shoulder, looking him up and down. He was naked again, fresh scars on his body that hadn't been there before the War Wedding. She sneered. What an unsightly name. Only peasants could come up with something so stupid. Narcissa's gaze trailed down that broad chest, to his tapered waist, the heavy set of cock and balls between his leg. She licked her lips. She was still sore.

Narcissa would ride him again. But, only after she was done.

"Bring it to me," Narcissa commanded.

Dolohov took a step forward, hesitating, offering the blood splattered crystal platter. Narcissa reached forward, the long silver iron nails spearing the soft pulpy red mess. She brought it to her face, sniffing it delicately and she moaned. She smeared it across her lips, bringing fresh blood to her chin. Narcissa looked in the mirror again.

The lower half of her face was a mess of dried blood, strings of muscle hanging from her teeth. She opened her blood-soaked mouth around the raw snake heart and swallowed it whole, feeling it slide down her throat.

"What is this intended to do?" Dolohov asked, carefully. "I ask only out of concern."

"Be less concerned," Narcissa instructed, coolly. "I only do what I must. Where's the rest of the body?"

"You intend to eat that too?" Dolohov asked. "What is the purpose of this?"

"The heir of the family consumes a raw snake's heart," Narcissa barked. Her eyes narrowed and she lurched as once more her stomach rebelled, burbling deep inside of her. "But, I am the last, true Slytherin."

"This is Dark magic. Black magic," Dolohov murmured as he brought the rest of the snake's carcass to her side. It looked so much like Nagini and Narcissa's eyes narrowed, wondering what would happen if she found her brother's snake, still spying on her in the castle. She would rip Nagini apart and eat her while she still lived.

She would want him to feel it.

No. That couldn't be true. Narcissa very much remembered seeing Severus with the great beast running from the castle. Severus. And at her side had been Narcissa's husband. Lucius. The man she had once loved in her silly youth. The man that had left her.

They all leave, Helena's shadow seemed to mock her from the edges of the mirror. We all leave.

Narcissa bared her teeth. "I will swallow a snake whole if it makes me the Heir of Slytherin."

MIRROR

Harry found himself lost in the clouds. Freia's wings spread wide, cruising them through the air as the sun began to set. There was nothing but open ocean, and for once, Harry wasn't eager to find himself back at Westeron. He thought that if he could fly on Freia's back forever, he would be content. He nestled deeper to her burning hot scales, his eyes closed from the air rushing past them.

'Harry Potter'.

It was a name that he had never used for himself. It was a common man's name, and Harry had never wanted to be common again. Common people were abused. Common people were called whores and thrown away. Common people were abandoned.

Harry had never wanted to feel that.

And they had seen it. Tom and Tonks and the Lestranges. They had witnessed him sink to his knees before that woman and rage burned through his belly. They had witnessed his humiliation, and that would stain him forever. He was beautiful in their eyes, perfect. Perhaps, he had once been a means to an end, but now, they loved him, as long as he was perfect. As long as he didn't fuck up.

He had fucked up.

Freia let out a screeching sound. She was falling down through a break in the clouds, flying back towards the ship, circling it. Harry sighed. He knew what that meant. She thought it was time for him to eat. When they had left the City-States, he had done so on her back, and he had only been off her back twice—each time to eat a quick meal and then to sleep. Now, she wanted him off. She was worried.

"I'm fine, Freia," he warned her over the wind.

She screeched and came to float perpendicularly to the side of the boat. She turned her great, long neck to stare at him with a bright yellow eye. Harry huffed, rolling his eyes as he turned and watched as he threw one leather wing over the edge of the boat. He made a quick job of it, crawling down her wing and then standing steadily on the deck. As soon as Freia knew that it was safe, she took off, screeching, her teeth bared.

"Make sure you eat something, Freia! Birds! Or fish! Something!" he shouted after her.

Harry really wasn't sure if she heard him. He sighed and made to go to his room again.

Harry only took one step on the deck before a man stepped into his path. Harry looked up and winced, looking away from the warbright eyes. He took a step back, preparing to leap back onto Freia's back when an arm looped around his waist and a hand pressed his chin up, turning him so that he couldn't turn away.

"No more running," Tom said quietly.

"I don't want to talk about it," Harry hissed, closing his eyes. "Now, let me go."

"No."

Harry's eyes flashed open. "You say no to your king?" he demanded.

Tom's eyes flashed with amusement, and Harry's ire only grew as Tom looked at him with that dismissive smile. He struggled, pushing harder against Tom's chest. Tom stumbled forward instead, making Harry's back press against the edge of the ship.

"You push me and you fall into the ocean," Tom teased.

"What the fuck do you want?" Harry snarled.

Tom shook his head. "I raised you from urchin to prince to king. I'm most likely the only person to ever tell you no," Tom said and he lowered his face, pressing it against Harry's neck. Harry's breath hitched and he shivered. "No more running."

"That wasn't supposed to happen," Harry whispered, and he slowly lifted his hands, burying his fingers in the back of Tom's robes as he clung to the man. "It wasn't...that wasn't...that wasn't supposed to happen. The...the last time I was on my knees...I was nobody."

Tom hummed. "You are someone. You're the Wyrdfod. You are the King. You are Harry Wildfyre. You are Harry Potter."

"E-excuse me, your Grace?"

Tom jerked away as if he had been stung, and Harry felt anchorless for just a moment before he brought himself to reality. He looked around Tom, and blood rushed to his cheeks in embarrassment. The redhead Scamander brother—Newt—had averted his eyes, but his brother and two female companions watched, openly curious. Porpentina's lips were parted, a sharp breath of air exhaled.

"Yes," Harry whispered. He slid his hands up Tom's back, holding himself against the man. Tom wouldn't go far.

"I mean to talk to the Dark Lord. The Lestrange brothers and I have been discussing logistics concerning the fleet that will come after us. I hear that Afallon doesn't have a true port," Theseus said, still ogling them.

Harry nodded and pressed his hands harder into Tom's back, feeling the warmth of the man's body under his hands before he let his hands drop to his side. Tom spun around, his gaze carefully blank once more. He clasped his hands behind his back and strode forward, leading Theseus and Porpentina. Porpentina glanced over her shoulder, her worried gaze darting from her sister to Newt and then to Harry. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Harry smirked, wiggling his fingers at her. When she was gone, he turned back to Queenie and Newt. Queenie looked amused.

"Was there something else you needed?" Harry asked, curiously.

"What you did today took a lot of courage. I admire that," Queenie said softly.

Harry winced, cutting his gaze away. He looked up at the sky and watched the shadow Freia swathed through the sky, his eyes softening.

"You think of her as your child. She reacts to you as she might to a mother."

Harry looked back at Newt, his eyes wide. Newt cringed away from his attention.

"Does she?" Harry asked, taking a step forward. "How can you tell?"

"Her loyalty and the way she protects you. I...it's an interesting phenomenon. May I ask...were you there when she was born?" Newt asked, his curiosity overcoming his nerves.

Harry nodded. "She was...she was in my parent's tomb. And I was so...grief-stricken and I released my fire, and she was born in my hands. Born in my fire."

"So, you were probably the first thing she ever saw. How remarkable," Newt said with awe in his voice. He looked at Harry again, tilting his head. "You respect her. You treat her as if she is her own entity. Not like she's a weapon."

"She's not!" Harry retorted immediately. "She's...she's just baby."

"She really isn't," Queenie piped up. She grinned when Harry glared at her. "I'm not scared of you, you know."

"Oh, really? You were terrified just a few days ago," Harry sneered.

"And then you showed who you were. And I'm much more afraid of the Red Woman than I am of you," Queenie said, waving away Harry's irritation.

"Why are you afraid of Tonks?" Harry asked.

Queenie rocked back and forth. "I told you. Her mind is full of silence. Silence brought by Death. Silence is the most terrifying thing in the world," Queenie said firmly. She looked at Harry with a tiny grin. "But, your mind is full of noise. Chaotic and full of love. Love for your people, for your dragon, for your Dark Lord. I like it. It's soothing."

Harry took that as an odd compliment.

"She's really still a baby," Newt said as if he hadn't heard a single word of their conversation. "A sweet one. Protective of her mum."

Harry flushed. "I'm not her mum. Merlin. Don't say that in front of my council. They'll start calling me something silly. They like to give me stupid titles. 'Fairest of Them All'. Next, they'll be calling me something ridiculous like the 'Mother of Dragons'."

Queenie's nose wrinkled.

"Yes, that's not very good, is it?"

"No, it is not. Especially as I am, if you hadn't noticed, a man," Harry said firmly. He turned to Newt, a curious look in his eyes now. "You know a lot about dragons. They've been extinct for a long time."

"Not for me," Newt corrected. "Before the Great Sleep, I worked on a dragon preserve. I ran when...when Morgin of Afallon began to murder anyone that had access to her dragons."

Harry nearly shivered. He wasn't going to touch that one. He straightened, crossing his arms and striding forward. Newt took a stumbling step back, his cheeks turning pink.

"Well, then. Come join me for bread and mead. I want to know more about dragons. I think you're the expert on these things and you can teach me a thing or two. You're welcome too, Queenie."

MIRROR

Fleur watched from the shadows as Gabrielle's fist crunched against another man's cheekbone. The man stumbled from the heavy blow, crashing back into the inn's wall. Fleur moved forward almost silently, reaching one hand down and pulling the young woman up to her feet. The brown-faced, brunette woman was barely out of girlhood. She'd probably gotten her blood only a year ago and already she was being exposed to the cruelty of men.

"S-she's going to kill him," the girl whimpered.

Fleur's nostrils flared as she inhaled sharply. Gabrielle's wand was in her other hand now and she flicked it sharply. The man flew farther down the alley, rolling and tumbling. He lurched onto all fours and vomited, the sickening smell of bile mixing with the already revolting scent of shit and piss.

"Most probably," Fleur said. She looked at Gabrielle again. For the first time in days, she looked alive, blood spattering her cheeks.

Gabrielle was staring at something beyond the man. Was it another vision? Gabrielle was getting visions. Whenever she got into fights—in the pubs, outside of the inns, anywhere—she said that she would see Baba Yaga.

"T-that's illegal. S-she can't," the girl whispered.

Fleur stared down at the girl. "He tried to rape you. Rapists don't deserve life. And she knows how to get rid of a body," she said coolly. "Hurry along, girl. You don't want to see the end. And hurry up, Gabrielle."

The girl did as Fleur commanded, running from the alleyway, her eyes darting back and forth at the nearly empty street. Gabrielle jerked, looking behind Fleur, a blankness in her eyes. Gabrielle drew her sword and slammed it down, straight into the man's gut. The man jerked under her blade and Gabrielle drove it down farther and farther until the man stilled. Gabrielle waited for the twitch and the smell of shit before she pulled her blade free, wiping either side on the man's pants.

"He deserved it," Gabrielle snapped, roughly.

Fleur's eyes narrowed. "I didn't say anything."

"You were thinking it. And...And Baba Yaga said he did. That's he done it to others," Gabrielle said, her voice softer. She took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"We'll need to go to another inn. He was the bartender, Gabrielle," Fleur snarled.

Gabrielle didn't flinch. "I didn't know that. I wouldn't've…"

"Don't lie," Fleur warned.

Gabrielle looked away, her gaze cold and she stepped away from the body and walked out of the alleyway, uncaring that anyone could find the corpse. Fleur followed after her, silent. Once upon a time, Fleur might've protested, but now, she sensed that Gabrielle...needed this, for some reason. If she didn't go out and hunt, she would go stir-crazy in their rented rooms, speaking softly to the mirror, to her reflection. Whenever Fleur asked about it, Gabrielle would say that she was talking to Baba Yaga or the Red Woman. Fleur didn't know who the Red Woman was.

They walked past the old inn and ventured deeper into the city of Velothi. They had stayed in nearly every inn by the docks, but further in, the inns got nicer and, thus, more expensive. Fleur sighed. The could make it a week there before they'd either need to find work or resort to stealing, and Fleur wasn't sure if she was willing to steal.

They came to a stop and Fleur grabbed Gabrielle's hand, pulling her through the door.

The Toad and Shrew Inn was a large two-story timber-framed building with high vaulted ceilings. It was quite nice, much nicer than the inns that the sisters had been occupying before, adjacent to the brothels. Fleur made her way past the drunken guests and those that were less so until she was just in front of the barmaid. The barmaid was quite tall with generous curves, long blonde curls, and bright green eyes.

"Hello. We're looking for a room?" Fleur asked, softly.

The woman turned from her customers at the end of the bar, raising an eyebrow.

"Who's asking?" she barked.

"Fleur and Gabrielle Delacour," Fleur said.

"Nice to meet you. You sound like you're from the Republic, yeah?" the barmaid asked, sounding only vaguely interested as she ran a rag over the large tin cups that were stacked on a shelf behind her. "You look like Veela."

"Yes, we're from the Republic," Fleur said and she looked around the bar in wonder. There were so many people here. Witches and wizards sitting with a vampire and two goblins in the corner playing chess. "We're not used to seeing so many...creatures."

Fleur couldn't help whispering the word.

"Nah, it's alright. You've come a long way from a very different place, I imagine," the barmaid said, her Essetirean accent heavy as she stressed the end of every word. "I'm Rosmerta, the bartender and night manager of this humble establishment. Welcome to the Toad and Shrew Inn. I think I know what you two need: a nice room, a hot meal, and a bath."

Rosmerta's nose wrinkled and Fleur was shocked when a bubble of laughter exploded from Gabrielle's lips. Fleur looked at her, alarmed, but Gabrielle looked at ease. It almost seemed like...a mask.

"I think I'd have to agree," Gabrielle said. "I've read all about Albion, you know. All about it and its relationship with creatures, and well, I've never met a creature openly, besides my sister. Are they well-received here?"

"As long as you pay your taxes, you live here," Rosmerta said. She leaned forward, looking over at them curiously. "I've got some Fae blood, down the line, I think. What are you exactly? I don't like being misled, so you go on and tell the truth."

"We're Veela," Fleur said quietly.

"One of the Fae too, then. You've picked a dangerous time to come from the Republic," Rosmerta said.

"Dangerous?" Fleur asked.

"There's a war going on, lass," Rosmerta said, nodding. She moved towards a pair of dwarves that had settled themselves at the bar. "I was looking to go to Hogsmeade, you know, before this mess. Was going to buy me a pub and everything. But, that'll have to wait, now. Until the war is over."

"King Draco and Wildfyre," Gabrielle murmured to herself.

Rosmerta peered at them, uneasily. She rubbed her arms, looking away for a long moment before she turned back to look at the Delacour sisters.

"You shouldn't go around speaking the name too loud. Words have power, got that?" Rosmerta asked. Gabrielle fought the urge to smirk. She knew all too well of the power of names. "Look, if you're talking about who I think you're talking about, you'd best not go looking for trouble. You two seem like nice girls and you don't want to get involved. The Empire may be better than the Republic, for creatures, but there's a civil war happening here. Outside of Velothi—Essetir, really—you're on your own. Don't be saying that name too loud in my inn."

Fleur looked over at Gabrielle, but Gabrielle hadn't looked away from Rosmerta.

"What do you have to eat?" Gabrielle asked abruptly.

Rosmerta relaxed. "We had a good haul this week, so we've got a lot of seafood. Some crayfish and feck-crabs. Feck-crabs are good meat, but awfully expensive. If you're not looking to spend too much, I can get you a duck roast and date pie with a glass of ale for ten sickles each."

"And the room?" Fleur asked.

"That'll be two Galleons a night," Rosmerta said.

Gabrielle's mouth was still watering from the idea of food. She hadn't eaten well since...Fenrir. She winced as she thought about her dead lover. She had tried not to think about him since she had disembarked. She turned away, hiding her face from Fleur. Rosmerta wasn't watching him, still troubled by Gabrielle's mention of Wildfyre.

If only Rosmerta knew. If only she knew about Gabrielle's constant visions of Baba Yaga. If only she knew how Fleur's wheel commanded them to travel West.

"That sounds good. We haven't eaten real food in a long time," Fleur was saying. "Seafood, please?"

"Coming right up. We don't have much in the way of bread. Afallon is controlled by...him, and King Neville hasn't figured out a way to grow suitable crops this far East," Rosmerta said apologetically. "The climate isn't well suited."

"King Neville?" Fleur asked as Rosmerta pulled out a quill and began jotting their orders down on a slip of parchment.

"The King in the East. The King of Essetir," Rosmerta said distractedly.

The Delacour sisters exchanged glances.

"A lot has changed since we started sailing," Fleur muttered under her birth, dipping her head down and nodding.

"I suppose it has. The War of Three Kings, they're calling it," Rosmerta said. She snapped her fingers, setting down the quill, and Fleur reared back as the plates of food appeared before them. Rosmerta grinned. "House-elves in the kitchen."

"I've never seen a house elf," Gabrielle murmured.

The two sisters dug into their meals. Anything was appreciated that wasn't rock hard sea biscuits and salted meats. Gabrielle nearly groaned as the buttery crust of the date pie melted on her tongue and the duck roast fell apart under the direction of her knife and fork. Fleur ate far more primly, but she looked like she was having an orgasmic experience herself. Gabrielle's nose wrinkled. She had had sex, and here her older sister was, still a virgin.

It was terribly odd to think about. Better not think of it at all.

Someone cleared their throat. Gabrielle looked down the bar at the two dwarves that sat by side. The one closest to her had his hood pulled over a wild mass of brown hair, crusted black in some places. He had big, calloused hands, each finger bearing an ugly silver ring.

"You're looking for Harry Wyrdfod?" he asked roughly.

Fleur frowned. "Harry Wildfyre?"

"His name's Wyrdfod for people like us, innit it?" the dwarf asked. "What a couple of nice girls doing, looking for a war?"

Gabrielle bared her teeth, looking up at her pale, pale face. "Do I look like a nice girl to you?" she hissed.

The dwarf looked at her and then down at the sword of pure silver at her side.

"No. I suppose not. Alpha," the dwarf said mockingly.

Gabrielle stiffened. "What's it to you?"

"We're going to her. I go by the name of Grom. My brotherhood and I have no need for the boy-king and his kinslaying mother. We do not follow Ironborn either. We follow the Wyrdfod. Would you ride with us to the Westeron?" Grom asked.

Gabrielle reared back. She felt out of her depth, no longer surrounded by only werewolves that respected her just for breathing. In the Republic, after Fenrir had died and before they had escaped onto the ship, there had been whispers of her being the Alpha. The Widow.

"The Order? Of the Phoenix?" Fleur asked quietly. "Kinslaying?"

Grom snorted, derisive and dismissive. "You know nothing of this Empire. You come here, speaking of a man that you should not know the name of. You come here, speaking of this man as if his very name was not dangerous. You are children."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed.

"I'm not a child," she barked. "I have been married and widowed already."

"By your own hand," Grom said with a shrug. "The Order of the Phoenix is the rebel group, led by the Wyrdfod. It is said that the mother of the Boy-King will murder how kin to secure her son on the throne. Now, that is all. The walls have ears and they're always listening," Grom said. He glanced over his shoulder at his companion and the man shifted, holding his war hammer in his lap.

"My friend is in Westeron. I must go to her," Fleur said uncertainly.

Grom's face wrinkled unpleasantly as he downed the rest of whatever foul-smelling liquid had been in his tin cup. "Will you come? To get to Afallon is very dangerous. We must travel across Essetir, cut through the Forbidden Forest, dangerously close to Hogsmeade and Hogwarts Castle. We leave in the morn."

And Gabrielle's eyes narrowed. She didn't trust Grom, and his brotherhood, but she knew that she had to fight to stay alive, she could. And it would be more prudent for Fleur and her to travel in a group to avoid bandits and rapers and murderers. So, Gabrielle glanced at Fleur and then back at Grom, her lips curled into something like a smile, but not quite.

"We like danger."

ON

Hermione wasn't sure how this was her life.

Once more, she was sitting with Andromeda, enjoying her tea. But, now, she was in Westeron, on the side of the Order—the Resistance—with two leaders of the Resistance sitting on either side of her. Ron was lounging on the wide sofa, his long sprawling legs stretched out across, feet brushing against Andromeda's velvet skirts. Ginny sat straight, her tea and biscuits sitting in front of her, untouched. Hermione took another long sip of her tea.

"He still isn't back. The lioness is getting restless," Hermione noticed quietly.

Andromeda hummed, raising an eyebrow. "Hedwig, you mean," Andromeda said. She drained her teacup and then set it down. She waved her long pale wand, and the teapot floated, topping off all of their tea. "Are you afraid that he won't return?"

"Does he really need to?" Hermione asked stiffly.

Ginny looked at her sharply.

"What are you talking about, Hermione? Of course, he needs to come back," Ron said firmly. He glanced at the window and then looked back at Hermione. "All of these people out there...all the people that are still coming here. They're here for him. They'll only follow him."

"Only because they don't know it's okay not to have a King."

They all froze, looking at one another.

"I would hesitate in voicing these opinions," Ginny warned.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"I'm on the King's Council," Ginny retorted. "I'm obligated to tell him anything that may be treasonous."

"I'm not his subject," Hermione snapped.

"You live on his money," Ginny hissed. Hermione reared back, surprised. "You've no idea what Harry has sacrificed for this empire, for our people. You were the Usurper's wife. You're lucky you're here to begin with. If it were my decision, you wouldn't be here. Who knows what you could be hiding?"

Hermione's mouth clicked shut, offended.

"Ginny, relax. She was as much of a prisoner as anyone—" Ron warned.

"Quite right," Andromeda said. Her words silenced Ron and any more of Ginny's protest. All three young people looked to the Lady Warden. She looked faintly amused by them. "I understand your hesitance, Lady Granger. You have only suffered great cruelty at the hands of the monarchy. You have been beaten, tormented, humiliated, and abused."

Hermione refused to be ashamed.

"Yes."

"So has he," Andromeda returned. Her smile widened when Hermione reared back. "Do you know how he got my brother's perpetual loyalty?"

Hermione swallowed. "No. I thought you said he loved him."

Ginny and Ron lurched on either side of her. She could feel them exchanging glances behind her head, but she only had eyes for Andromeda.

"He traded his virginity. He whored himself out for this kingdom. For his rightful crown. He allowed my brother—his enemy, at the time—intimacy. An intimate part of himself. He bared his soul. I think the empire would do well with a king like that," Andromeda said and there was respect in her voice that Hermione had rarely heard from the woman.

Hermione mulled over the words and she glanced at the Weasley siblings. They looked uncomfortable. Ginny looked over at Andromeda, hesitating.

"You know he doesn't like that word. 'Whore'," Ginny said. She said it like it was a vile curse.

Andromeda sniffed. "Well, he isn't here right now, is he?"

"I think tea should be over now," Ginny said quite rudely. Hermione glanced at Andromeda, but Andromeda still looked quite amused. Ginny stood up stiffly and walked out without another word.

"Is she always like that?" Hermione asked once Ginny left.

"She's...she's complicated," Ron said, searching for a word. It didn't sound like the half of it, in Hermione's opinion.

"With good reason to be," Andromeda admitted. "Her emotions are so raw. If it weren't so painful, I would call them 'delicious' even. She feels strongly."

Hermione wondered about that, but there was a strain on Ron's face that made her think not to ask. Not until she was alone with Andromeda, and she wasn't sure if Andromeda would even know the answer. Andromeda pretended to know everything, but Hermione didn't think she did. Not even by half. She just thought that all Slytherins thought they knew everything. Even Salazar Slytherin thought he knew everything.

"Thank you for having us for tea," Hermione said calmly.

Andromeda nodded once. "You are quite welcome. I enjoy having our tea. Now, hurry along. I must go entertain Rowena and Salazar before they begin snooping some more. I imagine they've already caught glimpses of the number of Death Eaters in Afallon. They are old, suspicious people."

"With good reason to be," Hermione debated. "Your brother did murder their comrades."

"I never said they didn't have a reason," Andromeda retorted and for some reason, it made Hermione's cheeks hot.

Hermione rose and immediately went to curtsey. She stopped herself. Andromeda looked at her in delighted surprised and nodded. Ron stood immediately, nearly tripping over his long legs as they walked out of Andromeda's rooms.

"Where we have off to now?" Ron asked.

"We?" Hermione asked patiently.

Ron shrugged. "I've nothing to do. Percy and the twins are going to the village today to see if the harvest is going smoothly. We're preparing for a war, aren't we?"

"Yes, we are," Hermione sighed.

"Well, I've nothing to do until Harry is back. So, where are we off to?" he asked.

"The library," Hermione decided, turning a sharp left. It was probably by choice that Andromeda's rooms were positioned far from the library.

Ron groaned. "The library? Again?"

"I didn't ask you to come," Hermione retorted.

Ron nodded, conceding her point. "Why not go out and spar?" he asked.

"I'm not a soldier," Hermione said as she pushed open the doors to the library.

She'd been in the library so many times since she had arrived at Westeron, but it took her breath away each time, just as the library had at Hogwarts. This library was certainly not as big, but it was always grand to see more than a few books. Hermione had been limited to the three books that her stepmother had allowed her when she was still nothing but a servant.

From servant to Lady to a maybe-Queen to a free person. What a remarkable tale her history made. She smiled softly.

"You could be," Ron said. Hermione looked at him in surprise.

"You think so?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "Oh, yeah. Bloody hell, you're quite good, you know? The way you dueled with Zabini? It was...it was really good. Who taught you?"

"Books, I suppose. I learned everything I know from books. My father was a Muggle. So was my mother. When we found out I was magical, I got a wand and they brought me so many books," Hermione said softly. "I suppose they all belong to Lady Zabini."

"Imagine being smart enough to learn all that from books," Ron said and he sounded awed by her. Hermione's lips twitched. No one had ever been in awe of her.

It was flattering.

"Books and cleverness aren't a real replacement for talent and bravery. I'm...I'm a survivor. Not a warrior. It's different," Hermione said.

Ron frowned, letting that settle in the silence between them as they walked through the library. He rocked back and forth on his heels as they came to a stop by a bookcase and Hermione peered at the spines, searching for something to catch her interest. Nothing did, so they continued their walking.

"Fancy a game?" Ron asked curiously.

Hermione crossed her arms as they walked side by side through the library. She wanted to peel away, to rifle through all of the beautiful tomes. Hermione resisted. It would be rude, especially when Ron was one of her only friends. Luna was still gone, and Barty...well, she wasn't quite ready to see Barty just yet.

"What kind of game?" she asked.

"Wizarding chess. I found a set here, but no one will play with me anymore," Ron said.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why?"

Ron grinned. "I always win."

Hermione stopped at the challenge, and she turned towards him fully. She looked him up and down, curious.

"Where's the board?"

THE WALL

Neville peered down at his sister's miserable face, unable to help his grimace. He'd been grimacing for what felt like forever. Ever since she had baptized him in the ocean, he had only felt grim and tired. He hated being King, and couldn't imagine fighting what could be a years-long war for something he didn't even want. But, what he wanted didn't matter at the moment. Instead, he looked over at his grandmother.

"Let's finish this meeting, yes?" Daphne said firmly, looking at Neville and Augusta. She paused to cough, wrapping her blankets around her shoulders tighter and taking a sip of the lukewarm tea. "My sister says that they are returning, but ships do not follow. She isn't sure what that means just yet."

"Do you think the Fairest means to claim the East first?" Neville wondered aloud.

Augusta sneered. "The Gryffindor will see Narcissa as the bigger target. While they go at one another's throats, we will build our strength," she decided.

Daphne nodded agreement. She absently mopped at her sticky forehead with the edge of her quilt and sighed, brushing back her hair.

"It feels warm in her. And dry. Too dry," she rasped even as she downed the rest of her tea.

Augusta frowned, worried, but didn't say anything. Neville huffed, shaking his head. He was at the end of his rope. Daphne had been like this for weeks, and he was finished with pretending that there wasn't a problem.

"What can we do for her?" Neville demanded. "She's ill. She's never been ill before."

"I know," Augusta snapped. Neville knew that she was nervous and worried. He could see it in her face. She looked so much older with her right-hand bedridden.

"I'm...I'm still alive. Don't speak of me like…" Daphne began and was interrupted by a terrible cough. She trembled, her arms wrapped around him as she gagged. She turned to the bucket next to her and vomited out fresh water and what looked like raw fish mixed with bile.

Augusta's upper lip curled. "You haven't been cooking your fish?"

"No," Daphne snapped. "It's disgusting."

"You never minded before. You haven't minded since you were given your legs," Augusta retorted.

Daphne paused as if she hadn't realized that. She frowned, looking down at the exposed skin.

"I don't...I haven't any scales," she whispered. "I'm not reverting back."

"No. But...are you sure that that...Warlock didn't make any stipulations?" Neville whispered, eyes darting around the room, worriedly. Daphne raised an eyebrow, an unimpressed look on her face.

"Neville, I was a child. A child that got lucky because my father protected me. I've no idea what other stipulations that Warlock might've put in," Daphne retorted.

Augusta shook her head. "A child, perhaps, but never a stupid one. Raw fish and bile. What have you been up to, girl? Will you ask your sister?"

Daphne shook her head. "I've already been calling upon her too often. My father is dying, you know. Soon...soon she will be Queen. And she is worried. Marzenna is...Marzenna…" and then Daphne screamed, staring past Augusta.

Augusta and Neville spun to stare at whatever it was. But, the space by the window was empty. The only change was that the window was now open. Neville looked back to his sister. Foam bubble from her cracked lips. Her screaming had stopped and she was muttering in that gurgling Mermish language that he had never master. She was rocking back and forth like she was speaking to someone that wasn't there.

"Has she gone mad?" Augusta whispered. Neville looked to his grandmother and he glanced back at the pool she had in the center of her room. The pool of saltwater.

"She's dry," Neville realized softly.

Augusta's eyes widened. Neville didn't wait for her command. He stood up, tearing the quilts from Daphne's shoulders and scooped her up. She was tall, but always so thin and her bones were still thin like a fish. He walked quickly towards the pool and dropped her in, not even bothering to carefully settle her. Augusta made a sound of protest, but Neville ignored her. The water splashed along his trousers, but Neville only watched Daphne sink.

Daphne's closed eyes opened and there were no longer sea-glass. Neville's mouth dropped open as he stared into the yellow, yellow eyes that he remembered from childhood. She slowly opened her mouth and gulped the water down, her back arching. Her hand shot up, crashing through the water and she sat up in the water, rocking back and forth.

"What the fuck just happened?" Neville demanded.

Daphne looked healthier than she had in months. She slowly turned to look at her brother.

"Marzenna called me Ainu," she said softly. She looked troubled.

"Who is this 'Marzenna'?" Augusta barked.

Daphne looked dismayed. "I tried to tell you. You wouldn't listen," she whispered.

"I am listening now," Augusta snapped.

Daphne swallowed. "What do you know...of the one called 'Pandora'?"

"Nothing. Who is she?" Augusta asked.

"There are three Dtrwies and Death is like air. Pandora...starts wars and ends them. Pandora is coming. Because this war...this war is ordained," Daphne whispered, sounding terrified. "There is a reason that this Harry Wildfyre is so important. He was born to be special. He is special like her."

WHO

Tonks leaned back, searching Harry's face for something that she surely wouldn't find. He was fine with pretending that he didn't see the look of apprehension on her face.

"I'm sorry if that makes things any better," Tonks finally said. Harry hummed as if he hadn't heard her. "I shouldn't have...encouraged the fire and blood conquest. It was a bit much. Even for me."

"I should've been more humble. We live through our humiliations. We learn from them too," Harry said grudgingly, and Tonks took it for an acceptance of her apology. She beamed at him, sidling up to his side as she neatly looked away from his rumpled sheets and sat down on the one other chair in the room.

"What are you working on?" Tonks asked.

"I don't know," Harry muttered, staring at the blank page. "I just...feel restless on this fucking ship. I have nothing to do."

"You've been doing...a lot," Tonks said, lewdly. "It smells like a brothel."

Harry snorted, his cheeks slightly pink. "You know, the brothel you grew up in smelled quite nice," Harry teased.

"Rita's all about the atmosphere," Tonks said with a smirk. She leaned back in her chair and frowned. "I...I never thought I'd go back there."

"You didn't have to work," Harry repeated.

Tonks sighed. "I did. And it was fine. I...Remus knows what I do. I was doing it for a long time, Harry. I did it even when I was with the Order if there was a need for it. I'm not ashamed. There's no reason to be ashamed."

Harry hesitated for a long time as he processed that. Shame. What an utterly strange word. What a word that he hated. His humiliation had transformed into shame as they crossed back to Albion. The shame of being treated like a nobody, of bringing himself to his knees. The shame of having no one defend his honor. The shame of them seeing him like that. The shame of allowing Tom to treat him like...to treat him like…

"No, there is no shame in what you did," Harry said. It wasn't a lie. Tonks had no reason to be ashamed.

"The ambassadors wonder after you. They gossip. The blonde girl, Queenie, is getting along spectacularly with Luna. They whisper to one another, I don't know what about. Porpentina, Tina, she likes to be called, is serious but—" Tonks said and then she cut herself off after Harry gave her a look. Her lips twitched. "What?"

"They're a necessary evil. I don't intend to make friends with them, I think. Except for the zoologist. He appreciates me lovely Freia," Harry said with a little smile. Newt was a sweet man.

"I was just getting to him," Tonks huffed playfully. "Tina's a bit jealous of you. Apparently, Mr. Scamander speaks quite a lot about you. Theseus and she think he's a bit sweet on you."

Harry threw his head back and laughed. "He fancies my dragon. That man is in love with Porpentina and you know it," he said. His eyes grew brighter and he leaned forward. "Shall I go up there and flirt with him? Make him flustered?"

"Harry, don't start any trouble where there need be none," Tonks warned, but she was grinning.

"What? Mischief is in my blood, isn't it? That's what Remus and Sirius say. They were always pulling pranks!" Harry began, grinning as he turned fully away from his desk for the first time. Tonks laughed, shaking her head. "No. Come on. Show me how to flirt. Must I flutter my lashes?"

He did just that.

"Harry!"

"Oh, shall I lean in close and whisper into his ear? Oh, but that would make Tom quite angry, wouldn't it? Oh, I must do it now," Harry said, a bit of bite in his voice. He grinned, licking his lips lasciviously and Tonks burst into a fresh round of laughter that howled throughout the room.

"Tom should come in here and smack the nonsense out of you," Tonks said, her lips quirking into a little grin. "He's the only one that has the patience for you when you get like this."

Harry's lips curled, a quick retort on the end of his tongue before he hesitated. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and he felt almost dizzy with the thought.

"Maybe he should," Harry whispered like a terrible secret.

Tonks' eyes widened and she snorted. "Really, Harry?"

Harry stared at her with narrowed eyes. She didn't know what was going on in his head. Tonks liked to think that she always knew, but she didn't. Not really.

"Really. Maybe I'd like it," Harry hissed, his eyes bright with anger. "Maybe I want him to treat me like a—"

Tonks faltered. "Harry," she began. "Rough sex doesn't make you a whore."

Harry ignored her.

"What did I do in life to be given you?" he asked suddenly. Tonks looked surprised by his sudden words of affection. Harry's lips curled into a smile. "You were kind to me from the very beginning. You have always been on my side. You've never lied to me."

Tonks winced, her lips curling into a smile.

"I am your sword," she said gently. "I am always loyal to you. The Wyrdfod. The Deliverer. The Master."

"I am no Master," Harry said immediately. He shuddered. "I know what it is to be a slave. I would never be anyone's slave. You understand that, right?"

Tonks' gaze never wavered. "I am your Sword."

"Okay…" Harry said quietly. "You are my sword."

Tonks stood from her perch on the edge of the chair and moved towards Harry's desk. She sat on the edge of it and looked down at the blank piece of parchment. She nodded and crossed her arms.

"There's work to be done. Let's draft meeting agendas for when we return. I suspect a war council meeting is in order. At least, enough of one to apprise them of the current situation," Tonks said and Harry nodded in agreement.

"Yes. We'll need to establish who will be my Admiral, don't we? And I suppose, there's a conversation I must have. I've been avoiding it," Harry admitted.

Tonks looked down at him in surprise.

"A conversation? With whom?" she asked.

Harry sighed. "With the Lady Granger, of course."

IS

Sirius had learned how to be remarkably quiet during his time in Azkaban. Dementors were drawn to sound and emotion, and so, Sirius had learned how to make himself quite small. In both the emotional, mental, and physical sense. Now, he trotted down the halls, disguised as a great, shaggy dog. Sirius' tongue lolled out of his head as he went around the corner, barking happily as he ran past two servant girls.

They both shrieked, terribly surprised by his sudden appearance, and Sirius' barking laugh was the answer as he darted away.

"That mangy mutt!" one called, roughly pulling out her wand and sending a Stinging Hex. Sirius dodged it, laughing.

"He's only a dog," the other pleaded.

"No, it's not. It's Sirius Black!"

Sirius strained his neck as he turned down a corridor that he rarely found himself in. Sirius slept in Regulus' rooms, near the Lady Warden. Regulus was quick to put some of his many responsibilities on Sirius. Sirius was both happy and annoyed with his sudden role. Harry hadn't given him anything important to do, so Sirius was happy to be involved, but it was all about being the steward of a castle. Sirius had a war to fight in.

He had found some sense of interest in the twins. Fred and George provided a great distraction. They were talented pranksters and inventors, and Remus and the twins had shown them some of the inventions that Fred and George were working on at the behest of Harry. He liked to watch their weapons explode—things they called bombs or fireworks, but it sometimes put Sirius in a mood. Even the pranksters were given something to do.

"—must decide for the good of the empire—"

"He's blinded by his—"

"He's blinded by cock. Whoring himself out—"

"—the walls have ears—"

"Constant vigilance, McKinnon!" Alastor Moody shouted and Sirius nearly whined when he heard a bang. Slowly, he padded forward, keeping his head hanging low to the ground as he pressed himself against the door.

"Yes, yes, Moody," Marlene McKinnon drawled. Sirius had just met her when he had first been brought back from Azkaban. She was a wane, serious looking woman with a bad attitude, but she seemed quite capable on the battlefield. "But, he is not here. Of course, he is not here."

"He will return," Fendwick said in his gruff voice. "Hopefully, with ships."

"And if not?" McKinnon asked.

Moody let out a low grumble. "If he is not given ships, that means he has failed. And failure may turn this in our favor. He will look away from the Dark Lord and the Slytherin whore as his advisors. He will seek counsel elsewhere."

There was the sound of someone shifting. Sirius strained forward, even more, to hear their voices as they lowered to whispers.

"By 'elsewhere'...do you mean us?" McKinnon whispered.

"Two mistakes he'll have made by listening to Slytherins. Each greater than the last. McGonagall is dead because of Slytherins. If he is denied the ships, it will be due to the Slytherin monster that he keeps in his bed," Fendwick spat and then he calmed, letting out a noisy breath. Sirius' heart had stopped in his chest.

Sirius closed his wide grey eyes and couldn't help his whimper. He remembered Harry's sweet smile, always directed at the cold, impenetrable Dark Lord. The way moved around one another as if they couldn't ever bear to be torn apart. The way they locked themselves away for hours on end, and everyone looked the other way.

"He will stray from him and come to—"

Sirius trotted away, running as fast as he could. Mid-run, he Transfigured back, shifting into his robes. He panted just as madly as he had as a dog, panic and fury swelling within him as he ran up the winding stairs to Regulus' rooms. He threw the doors open with a bang and Remus and Regulus looked up from their conversation. They had been smiling.

"Teddy is down for his nap now, but I should get him up soon," Remus was saying, and Regulus was nodding, his eyes soft as they were whenever anyone mentioned Remus and Tonks' adopted child.

Regulus was sipping his tea and Sirius threw the door shut behind him. Both men looked up, wide-eyed.

"Sirius, where have you been?" Regulus asked. "There's work I need you to look—"

"D-Did y-you know?" Sirius snarled. He hated how when he got angry, his stutter returned full force. Both men looked at him, confused for a long time. Sirius grimaced. "I-I heard M-Moody and his lackeys t-talking."

"They're having secret meetings? Who else was there? Fendwick?" Remus asked, more alert and serious. He looked so much older than he had nearly twenty years ago. He had once been Sirius' best friend.

Sirius' best friend wouldn't hide something like this from him.

"D-did you know? A-a-about H-Harry a-and V-Voldemort. T-they're fucking!" Sirius roared. Regulus looked away and Sirius slammed his hand against the hard wooden door. He heard something crack, and, in both rage and pain, he shouted, "Fuck!"

"Sirius…" Remus began, uncertain where he would go with his explanation.

Sirius whipped around to sneer at his closest living friend.

"What?" he spat.

"He didn't want you to know. He asked me not to tell you. I wanted to," Regulus said and his gaze softened as he looked up at his older brother. "He loves him."

Regulus watched how Sirius turned so pale that he was the color of bone. Sirius shook his head in disbelief, his lips parted and he sucked in a deep breath of air through his teeth. And then he deflated, wrapping his arms around himself.

"He can't," Sirius whispered. "He killed James and Lily. Harry's parents."

"Harry knows that better than anyone," Remus said grimly. "And he loves him anyway."

FAIREST

They heard Freia first.

The great screech echoed across Westeron and the city surrounding it. Freia circled Westeron, a blaze of white fire escaping her mouth to announce their homecoming. Even on Freia's back, he could hear the cheers. Harry could imagine their cries as they caught sight of their Wyrdfod for the first time in weeks. Freia circled again, flying over the main road of the city, just behind the walking procession. Freia dipped low, flying towards the entrance of Westeron, on the strip of land between the castle entrance and the entrance.

She landed with a thud.

Harry stared at the party that waited for him. Andromeda stood at the forefront, his war council surrounding them. Cedric, Cho, and two of his Adored Ones were also there, draped in their finest. He spotted Lady Granger towards the back of the welcoming party, her gaze trained on a pair of old people standing just behind Andromeda. Harry slipped down from Freia's back just as Tom and Tonks joined him along with Luna, the Lestrange brothers, and the City-State ambassadors.

Harry straightened his blood battle robes, his sword bouncing against his side. He threw back his shoulders as he looked at Andromeda.

"Welcome home, your Grace," she greeted.

"It's good to be home, Lady Warden," he said with a small smile.

"Was you trip met with much success?" Moody growled, sounding impatient.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead, his smile grew into a grin. "Ah, yes. We have secured a third of the City-State's fleet. More than enough for our needs. I think this conversation would be more prudent in council, don't you—"

"Andromeda. What have you done?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder. Tom's nostrils were flared and he was staring at the two older people on either side of Andromeda. Tom's wand was out, pointed at them, his left hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

"Tom, what is it?" Harry whispered.

Andromeda swallowed. "Your Grace, we have welcomed two...unexpected guests. You will know them as my father, Salazar Slytherin, and...Rowena Ravenclaw."

Helena's mother.

The first one's mother.

The first heart.

Harry's smile melted away.

Harry stared silently at the two elders that stood before him. The man must have been handsome in his youth, like Tom, with silvery eyes. Harry wondered if Tom's eyes had ever been that color, once upon a time. Rowena was still a handsome woman, though with more silver in her hair than black. She had aged very well, according to the portraits in Harry's books. Unconsciously, he reached out, grabbing Tom's wrist and positioning himself in front of the man. It didn't matter that Tom towered over him; Harry's intent was clear. Harry didn't miss how Rowena's dark eyes flashed at the movement.

"Hello, King Wildfyre."

Harry nodded. He would not bow to them. He would not bow to anyone anymore.

"Lady Ravenclaw. Lord Slytherin," Harry greeted, his voice soft. He pretended not to notice the way the witnesses hissed and whispered at the titles he had granted them with. "I had been led to believe that you were deep in hiding."

"We have been. Hiding from the man that stands by your side," Rowena spat. She waited for Harry's shame.

She would not have it.

"The man by my side has been there from the very start of this war," Harry bit out.

"The man by your side started the war!" Rowena roared, her voice echoing through the Entrance Hall. Harry didn't flinch, his green eyes hardening.

Salazar looked from Harry to his son, his colorless eyes revealing no emotion. Harry studied him. He could see some of the resemblance between the once King and his firstborn. Their strong jaw was one and the same, but their eyes were different. Of course, they were. Salazar's eyes were neither silver nor blue. Tom's eyes were the color of war.

"The man by my side," Harry whispered, "Has kept me safe."

"I'm not sure if I believe that," Salazar finally said. Harry looked up at Tom, as his father finally spoke.

Tom's lips were curled into a terrible smile. "Of course you don't, Father. Always believe the worst of me, won't you?"

Salazar's eyes grew cold. "You've always shown the worst of you."

"Father. Brother. Do try not to air the family's dirty laundry out in front of polite company," Andromeda said, coolly. She bypassed the quiet showdown, marching up to Tonks. Tonks allowed her mother to press kisses to each cheek. "How are you, my dear?"

"I'm fine. Just fine," Tonks murmured.

Salazar turned sharply, looking at his daughter. "Your daughter?" Salazar asked, his voice quiet, looking at her and he winced when the pink melted from the girl's hair, and her hair grew to her shoulders, a mess of wild curls.

She looked like Andromeda and Bellatrix when young. Her eyes were sharp like Narcissa's. His blood ran strong.

"It doesn't matter," Rowena barked. She still hadn't looked away from Tom. Harry swallowed hard, his fingers clenching, white fire already gathering in his palms. "I promised you a death, boy."

"Try it," Tom barked. "I dare you."

"No. No one's fighting," Harry snarled. He took a step forward, staring at the two of them and he let out a deep breath. "You are both here. And you will remain as my guests. But, if you dare touch him...if you even think...I will burn the hearts of you."

OF

"Why are we in the dungeons? Doesn't this seem excessive, Mother?"

"Hush, Draco. The Lady Chancellor was a sense of privacy. This is the closest we get in a court full of spies and liars."

Narcissa resisted the urge to rub her temples. She felt an aching building in her forehead and at the base of her skull. Draco had moved past his sorrowful weeping and grief and had gone back to whining as if he were a toddler. In some ways, it reminded Narcissa of the boy he had been when Bellatrix had still been alive. It nearly made her smile. But, then, she remembered that when Bellatrix had been alive, her son would've never been given what he was owed.

She would've never been given what was owed.

At least, the Lady Pansy Parkinson kept him check, through her own annoying sort of whining. If Narcissa knew that elevating the Parkinson girl's status would mean a constant state of ass-kissing, she wouldn't have done so. But, it was too late, and the girl was proving rather useful. She could keep her life.

For now.

"We are meeting here," Narcissa finally said as she led them into the room she had carved out in the dungeons. It was a simple room, repurposed from a cell. A big stone table sat in the middle of it and already, two of the seats were filled.

As Narcissa, Draco, and Pansy entered, Crouch and Dolohov stood, immediately, bowing.

"Lady Chancellor," they said, stumbling over themselves. "Your Majesty."

"Sit down," Draco said, rolling his eyes as he walked forward. As Narcissa looked at him again in proper torchlight, her smooth expression crumpled into a slight frown.

His eyes were bloodshot and the circles under her eyes were so dark they looked like bruises. No, he still was not well. He was haunted in his dreams. Narcissa looked at Pansy. Underneath the heavy cosmetics, Pansy couldn't hide the black bruise around her neck. So, Draco had tried to strangle her once more. Pansy caught her looking and lifted her chin, a stern set to her mouth. Narcissa nodded in appreciation.

The girl continued to serve even at her near-death, every night.

Only something foolish called love could inspire such loyalty.

"Mother, it's past the time of retirement. What could be so important?" Draco demanded.

"A war, boy," Narcissa snarled.

Draco looked away, two pink circles blossoming in his cheeks. Narcissa sat down next to Dolohov, and Draco sat between her and Pansy. Crouch was sifting through his notes, muttering to himself before he looked up.

"Shall I begin?" Crouch asked.

Draco sighed, waving his hand. "Very well. What is this about?"

"Well...it's about Wildfyre," Crouch began. "It is time to acknowledge that we are at a severe disadvantage. He has the numbers, he has the Dark Lord, and he has a dragon."

"The numbers...we can match that with skill. They lost just as many as we did," Dolohov retorted for the fifteenth time. Narcissa pinched the bridge of her nose. She would've killed him by now if it weren't for how he dogged her footsteps, forever loyal to his new mistress, and his sizeable cock.

"The Dark Lord has no equal though," Pansy said timidly. She sounded nearly afraid.

Narcissa's eyes flashed open and she looked at Pansy, a cool smile spreading across her face.

"Oh, dear girl...my brother didn't kill the Founders alone," Narcissa hissed nastily. "I wear a warrior's braids. As long as I meet him, and I alone, you shall not fear."

"And your sister, Andromeda?" Pansy whispered.

Narcissa smirked. "She is no match either," Narcissa said. Truly, she wanted to hiss her horrible deeds—I have gone farther with black magic than anyone. I have slain the great Bellatrix. I have bathed myself blood and torn apart my body. I have cleaved darkness to my soul.

She did not say anything of these things.

"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean we don't have something to fear: Wildfyre and his dragon," Crouch reminded them, rubbing at his thin mustache. He looked rather excited, and Narcissa leaned forward, intrigued.

"You have an idea. An idea for a weapon?" Narcissa asked.

Crouch paused. "Not a weapon, exactly. Something to assist us...of sorts. Something to put us on equal grounds with a dragon," Crouch said, his eyes glowing black.

Draco was suspiciously silent before he leaned forward, his silver gaze like molten iron.

"I know," Draco whispered. "I understand."

"Do you?" Dolohov asked, confused.

Draco's lips curled into a grin—that terrible, incorrigible grin that Narcissa had missed.

"He's going to make us fly."

THEM

They were putting on a show.

Slowly, they circled one another. Harry smirked, his eyes never leaving the man. He drew his sword in one hand, his wand in the other. Tom mirrored him, his red eyes never leaving Harry's. Their audience waited with baited breath, wondering. Harry struck first, as he always did. He sent out a terrible Cutting Curse, and Tom batted it away with a flick of his wand. Harry roared, swinging his sword down, and Tom blocked it and parried.

"You're so predictable," Tom sneered.

Harry rolled his eyes and went to knee the man in the stomach. Tom caught it with his wrist and knocked Harry off balance. Harry stumbled back and he grit his teeth as he dodged a vicious purple curse. Knowing Tom, he'd send lethal curses Harry's way to inspire an urgency to survive. The man was a fucking prick.

"Oh, so we're getting serious, then?" Harry asked.

"We always were. You're so angry, Harry," Tom taunted.

Harry sneered. "So, are you."

And then they met again in a fury of steel and magic. Magic burbled in the air, curses catching and being blocked. Shield Charms and curses flew through the air. Harry slid through the dirt, dodging what looked like the Cruciatus Curse and came from Tom's legs. Tom spun out of the way and engaged in a battle of steel once more for close quarters. They came at each other, neither holding back in their endeavor to win their spar.

Harry's blood was pumping harder than it had in a long time. His lips curled back into a fearsome grin, full of rage and adrenaline, and Tom had that same look in his eyes. This was what it meant when one met their equal in battle. Harry fluttered his lashes as they met again, only steel blocking his sword from meeting Tom's throat.

"Gonna give me a kiss?" Harry purred.

Tom rolled his eyes and kneed Harry in the stomach. Harry stumbled back and gasped, trying to catch his breath. Tom didn't give him a chance to recover, swinging his hand and backhanding him. Harry stumbled again and he brought his hand to his lips.

"I'm fucking bleeding. If I lose my teeth again, I'm going to kill you," Harry snarled.

Tom sneered. "No one will give you that fucking courtesy in a battle between life and death."

Harry huffed and went forward again and he cursed when Tom caught him by his wrist and turned him so that his blade was against Harry's throat. Harry didn't yield, only slamming his head back into Tom's nose. He heard a satisfying crack and threw his pommel back into the man's stomach over and over again so that Tom's blade finally dropped from his throat.

"You yield?" Harry asked.

"Not even close. Avada Kedavra."

"ARE YOU SHITTING ME?" Harry roared, diving out of the way as it shot past him. He turned to look over his shoulder and he saw that all of their spectators had dove out of the way. "You can't do that! People are watching! You can't just shoot Unforgivable Curses at me."

"I didn't ask them to and I knew you could dodge it," Tom snarled, taking his nose and snapping it back into place. "It's how I was taught."

"By who?" Harry hissed.

"My father. Do we continue or do you yield?" Tom asked, not even bothering to stem the bleeding that sloshed down and covered his mouth and chin.

"No I yield," Harry snarled. He looked over his shoulder at everyone. Even Cedric looked thrown by the use of the curse. "Everyone, just...go back to training or something. Please!"

Everyone grumbled, looking over the shoulders as they did what their King commanded. Harry turned back, frowning up at Tom's ire.

"What?" Tom snapped.

Harry's gaze softened. "I'm sorry that he's here," he whispered.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said stiffly.

Harry sighed. "Okay," he muttered, leaning up and pressing a kiss to Tom's lips, ignoring the blood that soaked them. "Fix your nose. And don't do it yourself. You're rubbish at Healing charms."

"Who told you that lie?" Tom asked through clenched teeth.

Harry grinned. "No one. I just know you're rubbish at it," Harry murmured, pressing his forehead against the man's shoulder. "Please don't do it yourself."

"I'll have Andromeda fix it later," Tom sighed.

"Thank you, Tom. We'll train later. No more Unforgiveables," Harry said.

"I'm not a child," Tom snarled, annoyed.

Harry rolled his eyes. "I know. Stop being an arse. I have to wash. I have tea with the Lady Granger," Harry said, wiggling his eyebrows.

"She hates the idea of a king," Tom pointed out.

Harry hummed. "Gotta keep her close. I'll tell you about it when we go to bed tonight."

He danced away without another word, leaving Tom in the middle of his own carnage. He sighed, looking at the scorched earth, created by his own Killing Curse. Yes, if that had hit someone—or even, Harry—that would've been a problem. But, really, Tom had been trained that way. So had Bellatrix, and Andromeda, and Narcissa.

"You've no idea what you're doing, boy." Tom didn't look up from the scarred earth. He didn't move at all, as cold as marble as Rowena knew his heart to be. "You're doing this wrong. You treat him as if he were a soldier," Rowena spat, her eyes unforgiving as she looked at the man who had ruined her life. She watched in satisfaction as his gloved hands clenched into tight fists.

"He's not a child," Tom snarled. "Don't let his pretty little eyes deceive you. Don't let his innocent smile turn you into a fool. He wants you to think him a pretty whore. But, beauty is terror, Rowena Ravenclaw. You'd be sure to remember that."

Rowena looked stricken for a moment and Tom felt a cheap thrill rush down his spine. It was the thrill of a child besting his elder, and Tom couldn't hate Rowena more than in that moment. Here, she had come—both her and his father—to haunt him.

She blinked at him, watching Tom's eyes—always bright with cruel madness. There was an air of darkness around him, and he looked exhausted. But, there was passion there when he spoke of Harry Wildfyre. Rowena remembered a child with passion and dispassion. She remembered a child, soft with her blind little girl. That might be why it had hurt so much when she found Helena's broken body, the blind little bird dead at his hands.

"Then you see that you've created a monster," Rowena hissed. "You did the same with Narcissa, and you see what that has done to the empire. You see what you're doing to him. You've ruined him. You've broken him and—"

"He was already broken what I got him. You are in no place to tell me how to do what must be done. What I have been ordained to do by the gods," Tom said, his words like acid, meant to scar. Rowena was very still. "You are no longer part of this story."

Rowena did not react. Not yet.

"No. I am not. But, I was. My story didn't end well. I want his to. It's not too late," Rowena said calmly.

Tom's eyes narrowed with malice.

"There is no such thing as a 'happily ever after'. Pity the fool who thinks there is," Tom said.

"I don't have one because your selfishness took it away," Rowena whispered, and he could hear the agony in her voice, the grief that still weighed so heavily on her shoulders. Tom sneered at her. This weak woman still clutched to the idea of her revenge. It was the reason she breathed.

"Life is a story, Rowena. And we were all given our parts to play. You, the grieving mother," Tom said, his voice heavy. He hesitated, her name stricken his tongue. It always hurt to say her name. "Helena, the martyr. And Tom Marvolo...Voldemort of House Slytherin...the Dark Lord, the villain. We play our roles as the gods have given them."

For so many years, Rowena had wondered. She had wondered what had made him kill her. She had wondered what had caused him to crave immortality. She had always wondered, but she had always hated him too much and cared too little for his excuses. She wondered.

"Why did you kill her? Why did it have to be my girl? Why did you take her from me?" Rowena demanded and she felt her eyes sting with her tears.

Tom faltered as he stared at her.

"I don't have to answer you," he said calmly.

"What have you to lose? Don't be...for once, Tom, don't be cruel," she said, finally breaking to pieces in front of him, and a sob ribbed its way from her lungs. Rowena suddenly looked very much like the old woman she was.

Somehow, Tom felt like he was winning and losing all at once.

"I wouldn't have done it," he said softly. "She asked….What is it that you need of me, Tom? And I told her. And I wouldn't have done it, but she said 'then it is yours'. And I don't remember every death by my hand. But, I remember hers. Every detail."

Rowena's sobs crackled. Tom watched her cry with a morbid sort of curiosity. He could turn away, but he didn't. Her sobs felt like a baptism. He closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him. When she quieted, he opened his eyes again to look at her.

"Do you regret it? Was it worth it?" she spat like vitriol.

Tom tilted his head. "I am the Kingmaker. I make kings and I build empires. This empire was built on her blood. Of course, it was worth it. I am the Kingmaker. I would never regret my purpose."

ALL?

"Hello, Lady Granger."

Hermione's breath caught in her throat again. She had prepared herself for this meeting. Luna had warned her it was happening as soon as they spoke. They had curled up together in Hermione's bed, whispering to each other about everything that had happened since their separation. Luna had said that after a day or so of Harry Wildfyre settling after his trip, he would ask to have tea with her. Luna had tried to prepare her.

Luna had said that he would be both regal and informal. He would seem soft, but there would be an edge to him. His beauty would draw her in and repulse her. Hermione would be soothed and terrified. Luna had called him a mess of conundrums, but Hermione hadn't understood.

She understood now.

"Please, come sit. The tea is getting cold and I'm not very good at making it. I always heat it up too much and it'll nearly evaporate," Harry Wildfyre said with a grin.

Hermione swallowed as she joined him on his wide balcony. It was a beautiful day outside. The sun seemed to beat harder with Harry back in Afallon.

"I'm...I'm good at making tea. I used to make tea. A lot. For my stepmother," Hermione said, stumbling over her words. She flushed, ducking her head down, patting her hair awkwardly. She was surely frizzing it.

Luna had taken care to dress her as if Hermione was still a one-day Queen.

"I should be good at making tea. I made it a lot for my fake aunt. But, I'm still not very good at it. She used to yell at me a lot, because of it," Harry said. He sounded far away as he said these words and then he looked at her, his lips curled into a wry smile. "It's been brought to my attention that we have a lot in common."

Hermione couldn't help her snort. She raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really? How so?"

"We were both servants. We were both outsiders. You were once destined for the throne as I am," Harry said. He waved his wand and the tea began to serve itself. He took a sip of it, his lips curling. "Ugh, more sugar for me."

Hermione's lips curled into a tiny sneer.

"I never wanted any throne. I wanted to be left alone," Hermione spat.

"I never wanted the throne either," Harry said immediately. He ignored the look of surprise on Hermione's face. "Greatness was demanded of me from birth, and so, I deliver. But, you...greatness was thrust upon you. How did you come to be Draco's fiance?"

Hermione shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. She frowned. She had never told the story to anyone. She looked at him, her eyes narrowed.

"The Prince...the King...Draco," Hermione corrected. "Draco was on a diplomacy tour. He'd traveled through all of Albion, and his last stop was across the ocean, in the Republic. They held a great ball for him. My stepmother, Lady Zabini, and her son were going. Everyone important was going. And the invitation had been addressed to me."

"Why you?" Harry asked, politely.

"Because it was my father's estate, and yes, he was a Muggle, but that doesn't mean as much in the Republic. It shouldn't mean anything at all, but he was wealthy, too. So, I, as his Heiress, was meant to go. I was forbidden. My best friend...her name was Fleur...didn't think it fair. So, she made me a dress and gave me her invitation," Hermione said, and suddenly, she was back in the Republic.

She had tried so hard not to remember the cause of her misfortune, but now, as she started to finally tell the tale, she couldn't help but remember. The silk gowns and the velvet cloaks. The gold and crystal fountains. The fairies trapped in mason jars, providing light through the entire ballroom. Candle wax dripping from the chandeliers, burning hands. They had wanted real candle wax, because it seemed more luxurious than never-ending candles.

"She conjured me a masque. And Fleur gave me the most beautiful shoes. She had conjured them herself. A pair of shoes made of glass. She applied a Cushioning Charm to them, but they were to wear out at midnight, so I had to be home by then. But, he noticed me. He noticed me and he was charming. Before...before all of this, he was so very charming," Hermione said, her voice cracking.

Harry didn't look at her with pity.

"Yes. Slytherins are...quite charming," Harry whispered. "They fool you into thinking they're safe."

"Yes," Hermione blurted out. "And we spoke for hours. And we danced. I told him about my life, and he promised me...he promised me that he'd free me. And I believed him. Like a fool."

Harry hummed, closing his eyes as he took another sip of his very sweet tea.

"They are tricksters. They make fools of us. They make us love them until they show how terrible they are," Harry said quietly to himself. "Only fools love them more for it. Hermione, you are no fool. That is the difference between us."

Hermione stared at him, unsure.

"Your Grace—"

"Just, Harry," Harry prompted. "You think me unnecessary. I could see why when your only experience with kings and queens are the Slytherins."

"I think monarchy is the death of the realm," Hermione said sharply. She winced when she realized what she had said. "Your Grace...Harry…"

"You are bold. I like that," Harry decided. "A bossy, know-it-all, maybe, but bold. And brave. You're very, very brave. And you are strong and talented and intelligent. I would ask you to be one of my advisors, as your Luna is."

Hermione's eyes widened in surprise.

"Me? I...I don't support your claim to the Albion throne. I don't care about your war," Hermione blurted out. Harry looked amused. "All I want...all I want...is to go home."

"But, isn't this your home now?" Harry challenged.

Hermione's eyes widened. "What?"

"The people you love are here. Your friends. The person you've made your family. You said it yourself. All that is left for you in the Republic is servitude," Harry said firmly. "But, here, there is a place for you. You know the way of court. You know what Draco and his mother are like, better than anyone but for the Dark Lord and the Lady Warden. You are invaluable."

"I don't want to...I can't...I don't know," Hermione stammered.

Harry sighed, nodding. "I suppose it's a hard pill to swallow, isn't it? I'm asking you to support an institution that has caused you nothing but pain. While you think about it, I would ask you to join one of my general council meetings with all of my advisors. I think you will learn the type of leader I am."

"The type of leader you are?" Hermione asked. She hated how she was practically repeating everything like a parrot.

"Yes. I think you'll find I'm quite different from Draco or Narcissa," Harry said decisively. Then, he looked up sharply, staring at the position of the sky. He pulled his wand. "Tempus."

"What is it?" Hermione asked.

Harry grimaced. "Freia needs to eat or she'll try to eat a person," he said. Hermione balked as he stood and walked towards the balcony and promptly began to stand on top of the railing. She let out a shout, but he barely gave her a glance. "FREIA!"

There was an answering screech, and Hermione gasped when a big head swiveled down from the roof.

"Was she...was she always up there?" Hermione choked.

"Haven't you noticed?" Harry said, grinning over his shoulder. Freia swung down to fly adjacent to the balcony and Harry crawled onto her wing. "Goodbye, Hermione Granger. I shall see you soon. And hello to you, Tonks."

Hermione shook her head, shocked, and then frowned when the last words registered. She glanced over her shoulder and jumped when she saw the older woman standing in the middle of the King's sitting room.

"S-should you be here? A-are you allowed?" Hermione stammered.

She cursed at herself. What a stupid question.

"I am allowed everywhere," Tonks said, amused. "I don't think we've formally met. Nymphadora Tonks, at your service."

"You're the Lady of Whispers," Hermione said immediately. "You...you look like Bellatrix. Why?"

"I've been told," Tonks said, sounding dour. She wiggled her nose, and her bouncing brown curls shrunk into her head into little spikes and then turned a blinding pink. "Ah, much better."

"You're a Metamorphmagus! I've read all about them!" Hermione said excitedly.

Tonks laughed and then sobered again, quite quickly. "You've so much doubt, don't you, Hermione Granger?"

"I've seen what crown can do to a person. What power does to a person. What a throne can do to a person," Hermione said, and if there was one thing that she could remember most clearly of her time at Hogwarts, it was of that ghastly throne.

A mess of gold, silver, onyx, and bronze, ugly and terrible.

"The Gilded Throne. Taken from the fallen four Founders. Forged by the magic and blood of four Slytherin children and the heart of a blind girl in order to save the empire. The Dark Lord says good things come in 'threes'. I believe that it comes in fours," Hermione said, her voice cold.

Tonks watched the former princess. She was a cold woman, a broken woman that had made herself sharp as the glass that the King had forced on her feet. Tonks didn't trust her as far as she could throw her. Tonks knew that Harry intended to keep tabs on Hermione by offering her a place an advisor, but Tonks had heard about the incendiary comments made in Harry's absence, and the people in the city around Westeron loved her.

She was dangerous.

"It wasn't to save an empire," Tonks retorted.

"It's an ugly old thing. You want your King to sit upon it. All Kings are marked for evil," Hermione said as she stared down towards the fire pit.

Harry Wildfyre stood near the cliffside, his head pressed against the long neck of his Horntail. Freia looked evil, her scales black, her gaze a poisonous yellow. Harry whispered calm words to her as she fed on the copious amounts of fish and meat that they kept just for Freia. Freia screeched a terrible sound. But, Tonks knew that she was a gentle thing. Hermione did not.

"It has a certain appeal," Tonks said. She took a step towards Hermione, looking her up and down, wondering if she could murder the Lady Granger without Harry ever finding out. "You will not hurt my King because you do not believe in the crown, my Lady."

"Thwarting you is not my primary ambition. I would see King Draco dead," Hermione said.

Tonks hummed. "We call him the Usurper here."

"Aren't they all Usurpers?" Hermione challenged.

"No." Tonks took another step closer, as if daring Hermione to make a move against her. Hermione just watched. At least she was clever enough to know when she was outmatched. "You could've stopped this before it began."

"I did what I did to save my life and for the good of the realm. Without me, this would've been much worse," Hermione said. Tonks laughed. The Lady Granger was arrogant in her survival. Believed herself brave now that she had survived the Mad King. If she continued being arrogant, she wouldn't survive the war. Harry thought her brave.

Tonks knew better. Tonks knew a lot of things, and Harry liked to give second chances. That's why he needed her. She was his Sword.

"The Realm. Do you know what the Realm is, Lady Granger?" Tonks asked, her voice soft. "It's the four thrones that were forged on the heart of a blind girl that my aunt and uncle consumed. It's their triumph over the Founders of a dying era. It's a story we agree to tell each other over and over, until we forget that it's a lie."

Hermione reacted to the revelation of who Tonks was. Tonks pulled her crimson hood over her head, her eyes just as dark as her mother's. She flashed them red for her uncle and Hermione flinched. Tonks' lips pulled in a smile.

"But, when we abandon the lie, we have chaos. A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all."

Tonks laughed, long and hard.

"Chaos isn't a pit. Chaos is a ladder," Tonks began her education of the Lady Granger, just as she had educated Harry what felt like years ago. "Many who try to climb it fail and never get to try again. The fall breaks them. And some, are given a chance to climb. They refuse. They cling to the realm. Or the gods. Or love. Illusions."

Hermione flinched at the barbs directed at her and suddenly, her icy veneer cracked. Tonks watched as the mask that she had learned from Narcissa fell away, leaving only a sharp vulnerability. There she was.

"Only the ladder is real," Tonks hissed, looking over to King Harry. "The climb is all there is. But...what does one need of a ladder when one can fly?"

:::

A/N: Okay. Another chapter done. Cool. There's still so much story left to tell, my goodness. Trying wrap up these loose plot strings as we go along so it won't be quite as difficult at the end. Anyway, I couldn't help the 'Chaos is a ladder' speech delivered by Tonks. I love that speech. So much. And it had to go in somewhere. I've had that last scene-the meeting between Hermione and Harry and then the speech-written for literal MONTHS. I've been so excited. The only other thing that I have written past this, along with the outline is the BIG CLIMAX, which I can tell you literally nothing about, and the meeting between Neville and Harry, which I'm equally excited for.

Anyway, I think I'm gonna write one more chapter for this, and then take another break to focus on Diagnosis, which I love like my own child. I love this fic too. It's also my child, but it's a really dark, angsty child, isn't it? Until next time!