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-One
"We must move. Soon," Bill said, his voice cutting through the cacophony of voices in the overfull council room. All of Harry's Council sat in the proper seats, but Harry had assembled a rather large amount of advisors on the side.
Andromeda, Luna, and Remus had dragged in an assortment of chairs. The City-Staters stood and sat clumped together at one of the room. Cedric, Cho, and Susan Bones were in another corner. Andromeda and her cohort—the Black brothers—had their own little faction of sorts, and Luna was surrounded by the Dark Lord's Death Eaters, the only one seated.
"Lord Prewett is right," Cedric added. "We lie in wait while Narcissa plots. Our resources are dwindling."
"Afallon is self-sufficient. It is better to close ranks," Regulus retorted, shaking his head. He turned towards Harry, his sharp grey eyes widening into something softer and beseeching. "Your Grace, I urge you. We do not have the forces to strike just yet. We are waiting for the last of the Western Lords to come. They are accompanied by the Lady Warden's closet warriors. They will come."
"I've no doubt of that," Harry said. Andromeda had reassured him of Regulus' words, and he trusted Andromeda in that. "But, Bill's words still stand. We have been sitting idle. We are surrounded on both sides. By Narcissa, and unknown forces to the East."
Tom leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of Harry's ear. "We need another loan or we will need to collect a tax."
Harry frowned, looking over at him. Softly, he whispered, "What do you mean?"
"Ask the Weasley boy," Tom returned.
Harry turned back to Bill, eyes narrowed.
"Why do you think we must move soon, Bill?" Harry asked.
Bill sighed. "We've used three-quarters of our loan."
The entirety of the room startled. Rowena and Salazar exchanged glances from where they watched, sitting by the windows, nearly tucked behind Cedric's party.
"What do you mean? How will we sustain ourselves?" Cho demanded.
"We need another loan or we will need to collect a tax," Harry said, repeating Tom's words.
Another fresh wave of debate erupted through the room.
"You cannot ask that of the creatures," Luna said, immediately. "After what they have given, you cannot."
"I know," Harry said, sighing. His head was hurting behind his eyes.
Tom leaned in again. "Ask Andromeda about what's in her coffers."
"Andromeda, do you have anything?" Harry sighed. Andromeda opened her mouth to speak, but Harry raised a hand, gesturing towards Bill. "Bill knows the numbers far better than I do. We could propose a tax over the wealthier Western families, and the Southern families once we establish a presence there, but for now—"
Harry allowed Bill and Andromeda to present numbers to the council at large while Harry turned back to look at Tom, their heads bent together.
"We must consider what the East plans and how that may affect Narcissa's plans for us. Augusta is not someone to be trifled with," Tom was whispering into his ear. Tonks was still as she listened in on the words that her uncle whispered. Tom peered past Harry and nodded at his niece. "Nymphadora knows this as well as I. The East has attempted to annex themselves. They will go the same as the City-States. Perhaps you let them get away with becoming an independent people, but not Essetir. Essetir is too important, culturally and economically. You cannot let them announce independence—"
"Is what we're speaking on irrelevant to you, your Grace?"
Harry's words tapered out, and the entire room went silent. Slowly, Harry turned to look at Sirius. Sirius looked just as surprised by his own words as Harry was. And then, he gathered his resolve and glared at Tom, fiercely.
"I'm sorry?" Harry asked softly.
"It just seems that this conversation about the resources remaining in Afallon is relevant to you, and you are being...distracted by the Dark Lord," Sirius spat. He took a step forward. "You are perpetually distracted by him, I would say."
"Sirius—" Remus began.
"You're quite brave, aren't you, Black?" Tom hissed, malevolently. Everyone flinched. It wasn't often that Tom spoke out loud to anyone during council meetings, preferring to hiss into Harry's ear to prove that he always had it.
"I say this out of concern for his Grace," Sirius snapped. "After all, some conversation should be kept to private rooms, yes? I'm sure others would agree with me. I'm sure others do. Perhaps Alastor was right."
Harry could hear his implication. He turned bone white in fury.
Sirius perhaps didn't know but it was the implication that matter first.
"Get out," Harry said, his voice quiet.
Sirius startled as if surprised. "What?"
Slowly, Harry stood to his feet, his green eyes burning. "I am your sovereign. How dare you act out such pettiness because you want my attention or you don't like who I listen to in my council room? Get out. I will not tell you a third time."
A pin could be heard if it were dropped. Sirius took a step forward and quickly exited the room. Remus winced and went to follow after him.
"Remus—" Tonks began.
Remus winced again and looked at Harry. "May I follow after him, Ha—your Grace?"
"Yes." Harry waited for the door to close behind the two men, looking back to Andromeda and Bill who were pointedly not looking at him. "I do apologize for my inattention. We were discussing war matters and possible diplomacy with the East. You know as well as I that I don't have a head for maths. The Dursleys didn't see much in providing a solid education for me."
"I understand that," Bill said. Of course, he did. Harry said it many times before.
"As do I," Andromeda said. "We were just wrapping up."
Harry nodded and leaned back in his chair, waving his hand, and they continued.
The rest of the meeting was stilted and awkward. It was as if everyone were afraid to even breathe too hard. Harry watched them all carefully and didn't turn to look at Tom even once until he had dismissed everyone, and slowly, his councilmembers and advisors filtered out of the room. Tonks was once of the last to leave, pressing her head against Harry's shoulder.
"It's fine. We're fine," Harry said. He wasn't sure if he was trying to convince her or himself.
"You're always fine," Tonks muttered back. She stood up and glanced down at Tom. "Uncle."
"Nymphadora," Tom said as dismissal. Tonks' nose wrinkled.
Tonks looked towards the corner of the room at the two elderly people that Harry had missed in the fray of people leaving.
"Grandfather. Lady Ravenclaw," Tonks said and she made a short curtsey before she moved towards the door. She paused and turned towards Salazar. "Grandfather, I'd like to know about Grandmother, and I'd like to introduce you to my son. Please, join me for tea."
"Your son?" Salazar asked, sounding partly scandalized and partly intrigued. "I'd no idea that you were married, Nymphadora."
"Oh, I'm not, Grandfather—"
The door slammed closed behind the two Slytherins, leaving only Harry, Tom, and Rowena Ravenclaw.
"Your Grace, I'd like to speak with you," Rowena began.
Tom's eyes narrowed. "Why?"
Rowena pretended she hadn't heard him, watching Harry with narrowed, crow's eyes.
"Your Grace," Rowena repeated.
Harry hummed. "Tom, I'll see you in a moment," he said.
"You want me to leave you here with her alone?" Tom snarled in his ear, his eyes blazing. Slowly, Harry turned his head, and their faces were less than a few centimeters apart. "She'll kill you."
"I'm not the one that practices regicide."
Tom's head snapped around, his eyes dilating, and his nostrils flaring. At that moment, he looked more snakelike than Harry had ever seen him.
"Tom, please?" Harry asked, soft and sweet, looking at Tom with bright green eyes. Tom's eyes dilated further, and his lips curled into a sneer. He didn't move as Harry leaned forward, nuzzling his cheek against the stubble on Tom's jaw, leaving a soft kiss.
"Your attempts to manipulate me are clumsy."
"But, they're working, aren't they?" Harry murmured. "Now, I'm not in the mood for your shit. Please, Tom."
Tom scoffed and stood up, stalking from the room without another look backward. Harry collapsed back in his chair. Rowena was staring at him with those fucking eyes, and Harry's stomach turned. This woman was just another in the sea of people that wanted Tom dead—but this woman could do it. At least, it was a distinct possibility.
"You wanted to speak with me, Lady Ravenclaw?" Harry began.
"He makes you arrogant and somehow small all at once. He dwarfs you," Rowena said. She stared at him curiously. "Tom does."
"Excuse me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You would do well not to listen to him as often as you do. He's clever. Always been clever, even as a boy, but you will outlast us all, I think," Rowena said, her eyes sparking.
Harry flinched. He remembered another older woman that had spoken similar words to him.
Your love is a clever man, your Grace. I've known a great many clever men. I've outlived them all.
And yet, McGonagall was ash, bone, and flowers, now. Harry's heart ached.
"You have been invited into my council rooms as a courtesy, Lady Ravenclaw," Harry reminded her, regarding her with narrowed eyes. He thought that, maybe, he would've once begged her for stories of his parents when they were children. He would've asked about the war and after his grandparents, too. But, this was a cold broken woman that was the enemy of Tom, and Tom was his.
Are you a sheep?
"Very well," Rowena said, roughly. "Just from a former sovereign to another: you cling onto every one of his words, lend your ear to him when it should be lent to others, and you keep him in your bed so that he may have your attention even in sleep. He is always at your side, and this must be reassuring for you. He is an evil man, but even I am not blind enough to not see that he is good to you in a way that he wasn't to my dear Helena. So, you have him. But, consider this, Harry, what will you do when you do not have him?"
Even as she walked away, he heard McGonagall's words echo in his ear.
No. You're a lion. The alpha lion. Be a lion.
MIRROR, MIRROR
She was invisible and visible, all at once. She heard Admiral-Governor Graves shouting his orders as they loaded the ships that they were sending off to Albion. His wane bed whore that he called a husband clung to his side, his head drooping as he listened to Graves and Picquery talk around him. Even so, Bellatrix knew what it looked like when one wanted to listen in without being caught. She could taste the power rolling off of Credence Graves.
Bellatrix looked at all of these people—bewitched by the Fairest as her brother had been. They would go to their deaths. They would drown in the seas, be destroyed by powers far greater than theirs. A fleet of prowess they possessed, but none of the military intellect that needed to accompany that. No, strategy had always been a solely Slytherin trait in Bellatrix's experience. Strategy, ambition, and cunning.
How Narcissa lived up to their name.
The heinous cunt.
Bellatrix crept forward, walking past Credence Graves—invisible to the naked eye—and suddenly, she was staring the boy straight in the eye. He watched her with wide eyes, opening his mouth to speak out, and then Bellatrix was in his face, standing eye to eye with him.
She had always been a tall woman.
Speak not of us, creature. We are God-touched.
Credence Graves blinked, once, twice, and he was a pretty, pretty thing. A pretty shell wrapped around a pulsing dark power that Bellatrix would like to eat raw. If she had the time, she would tear his chest open and devour him.
We will devour you whole, she promised.
It was a threat for another day. Credence Graves turned his face into Graves' shoulder, shuddering and Bellatrix drifted away as the fool of a man asked his spouse what bothered him so. Bellatrix walked up the stairs of the closest ship.
Like her teacher before her, she was air.
ON
Daphne's eyes looked pink as she stared out from underneath the saltwater. Neville looked down into the sunken pool, tilting his head. She did the same, mirroring him. Her lips curled into a feral smile, sharp and pointy. It was the same grin that she had possessed as a child. Neville lowered one hand, brushing it against the still water. Daphne lifted her own hand, pressing the wet palm of her hand to his and their fingers entwined for just a moment.
The door swung open and slowly Neville pulled away from his sister.
"Why is she still in there? Is she still ill?" Augusta grumbled to herself. Neville knew that it was a rhetorical question. Augusta seemed lost without her right hand. Neville wasn't the grandchild that Augusta relied on.
He was the pawn.
"She'll be out for our meeting," Neville said. He sat down at the small table next to the pool and gestured for his grandmother to sit.
Augusta pursed her lips, probably annoyed that he had sat before her, but he was king now. She had no reason to complain about him acting like the king that she had told him he was.
"We know nothing of anyone's next move. We are lying in wait—like prey," Augusta hissed. She glanced back at the pool.
"What did you think we were? We've barely any resources, an army, and barely a king," Neville snapped. Augusta sneered at him but said nothing in particular. Both Longbottoms turned back to the pool and watched as the water began to stir.
A long green-hued arm emerged force. As it touched the air, it paled, becoming the color that Neville was used to seeing. Daphne rose, her hair sopping wet and the thin fabric of her dress clinging to every edge and curve of her body. She turned to face them, her eyes narrowed and yellowing now instead of pink. They shimmered and then, once more, her eyes were the color of the sea.
"Have you learned anything useful?" Augusta demanded.
Daphne barely paid their grandmother any mind as she emerged from the pool, walking towards them as if she weren't practically naked. Neville averted his eyes from his sister's hard nipples poking through the translucent fabric. She sat down in her chair, soaking the velvet with her body and she leaned back in her chair, plucking the raw squirming fish from the goblet that always sat by her seat now.
She swallowed the tiny fish whole.
Then, she looked at Augusta, her teeth bared.
"I've learned what's wrong with me."
Neville's eyes widened. "So...there is something wrong you?" he demanded. "What is it? Who told you?"
"My sister and I communed. And I remembered...my body must change to accommodate the parasite. It is not wholly human, you see, for I am not wholly human," Daphne said, sounding lighthearted.
Augusta's eyes narrowed.
Neville frowned, confused. "What are you saying?"
"She's with child," Augusta barked out. "You fucked Draco Malfoy."
"Why?" Neville squeaked, staring at Daphne in bewilderment.
"I did what I must," Daphne said coolly. "I know his every waking thought, his heart beating. I know him like my marrow. I have put myself in his lungs and he has put a babe in me."
"This...changes things," Augusta said sharply. "You will be rid of it?"
"Ah, no. The time to act is now," Daphne said plainly. She looked amused by the surprise on Neville and Augusta's faces. She leaned back in her chair, putting her goblet of swirling saltwater and fish to her mouth and she drank deeply, feeling the slimy little fish slither down her gullet. "I am not human. I am not meant to have a child like this. But, if I must, I will need to strengthen myself."
"How will do this?" Augusta asked.
Daphne grinned a terrible grin. "I shall suck him dry."
THE WALL
"You're going to need an heir."
Harry froze, looking away from the map on the small table. He was lying across the love seat, his head in Tom's lap as the two lazily waved their wands, moving the map piece in interesting, dynamic ways to figure out everyone's next move. Tom was staring down at him, unapologetically calm after the reality-cracking words that he'd delivered like he'd only announced what he intended to eat the next day for breakfast.
"Excuse me?" Harry asked. "Bellatrix didn't have an Heir."
"We intended to be an immortal. I assume that you don't want to eat your own heart out of your chest," Tom said dryly.
Harry blinked. "Would that work?"
"Gods, no, Harry," Tom sighed, irritated. He paused, taking a deep breath and calming himself. Harry grinned. The man was so easy to rile up. "You need an heir though. You will die one day."
"I'm a homosexual, Tom," Harry drawled.
"I'm well aware of it. And you wouldn't be the first homosexual king. But, those kings did their duty, as will you. You must have an heir. An heir of your blood," Tom said and he spoke of it so calmly. He was so clinical about it all, as if the thought of Harry having sex with a woman didn't bother him. Harry closed his eyes for a moment, pulling back his ire.
He could have this conversation civilly. He could.
"And who would have my bastard heir on a throne?" Harry asked. "Who would bear my bastard heir?"
"Nobody said anything about it being a bastard," Tom said firmly.
Harry stalled. What.
"How—"
They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Harry looked up, frowning at the door that led into the corridor.
"Tempus," Harry said, waving his wand. It was past midnight. No one disturbed him past midnight unless it was Tonks, and she never knocked. She waltzed in as if she owned the place, which Harry supposed she did, and had no sense of personal space, which she didn't have any sense of.
"Enter," Tom called.
Harry glanced at him, amusement tugging at the corners of his lips.
"I didn't know these were your rooms," he said, raising an eyebrow.
"I eat, sleep, and shit here. These are as much my rooms as they are yours no matter which rooms were 'assigned' to me," Tom said, his lips curling in distaste. Harry's nose wrinkled. The man could be so fucking vulgar sometimes.
Before Harry could respond, the door was pushed open. Sirius walked in, his head bent forward, and he flinched back when he saw Harry, practically in the Dark Lord's lap. His face was ashen, and his mouth was pinched, but he didn't say anything. Harry jerked away from Tom as if he had been burned, and then he frowned.
"Sirius," Harry murmured.
"Your Grace. I'm sorry. It's late, I know," Sirius rasped. He looked up, steeling himself, glaring daggers at Tom, but still, he said nothing.
"You're not stuttering anymore," Harry said stupidly. Tom made a sound in the back of his throat and Harry dug his knuckles into the man's side, never looking away from Sirius.
"Regulus has been helping me," Sirius said, stiff as ever.
There was a long moment of uncomfortable, unbearable silence
"Is there a reason you're here so late?" Tom finally asked, sounding annoyed.
"I should be asking you the same question," Sirius snapped back. "Oh wait, I already know the answer. You're in here because you defile my godson every night."
Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"You know," he sighed, collapsing back into the sofa.
"I wouldn't call it 'defilement'. After all, he begs for it every night," Tom snarled back.
Harry squawked. "Hey, you. Kindly shut the fuck up."
Sirius looked surprised and Tom only rolled his eyes, glowering at Harry's godfather. Harry sighed and gestured vaguely at the chair across from them.
"Would you like to sit down?" Harry asked.
"I'd prefer to stand," Sirius said firmly.
Harry gritted his teeth. So, Sirius was going to make this difficult for him? Fucking splendid. Harry could be fucking difficult too.
"What can I do for you after you so kindly undermined me in my own council meeting?" Harry asked. There wasn't a hint of sarcasm in his voice as he stared at Sirius. And then, he was surprised as Sirius looked down, almost as if he were ashamed of what he had done.
"That was...that was unprofessional. I apologize for that," Sirius said.
Harry swallowed. "Okay. Good. Just make sure it doesn't happen again."
"It shouldn't because you shouldn't allow him back in council meetings. He adds nothing but doubt and takes up space. You keep him out of sentiment. Sentiment is the death of ambition," Tom said coldly and Harry nearly shivered at that.
How cold.
"This is the man you choose to have at your side, Harry. A man that thinks sentiment and love are for the weak," Sirius said, his lips curling back into a sneer. "I spoke out of turn, yes, but Harry, he is cruel. He is evil. He killed your parents. He killed your grandparents. He's killed—"
"Hundreds," Harry finished for him. "I know."
"Do you, really?" Sirius asked, his voice cracking. "Do you really understand all of what he's done? Do you comprehend the tragedy that he has brought upon an entire empire?"
Harry glanced over at Tom. His handsome face was so still. He looked like he was made of marble, and he was as beautiful as any marble statue.
"Yes. And maybe that makes me a terrible person," Harry whispered. And then he looked back at Sirius again and tilted his head. "I would give my life for any of those men and women and creatures out there. I have dedicated my existence to this cause. I'd ask for one thing. Him. I'd like you to respect that, and that be the end of it. My sins are mine alone, and I already know what my parents would think, thank you. I dream about it all the time, so let's not talk about it anymore."
Sirius looked floored by his words and he swallowed hard. He didn't nod, but he looked like he had heard Harry's words, Harry's regret, and Harry's defiance.
"If there's anything else," Tom said, sounding bored and dismissive already.
Sirius sneered at the man, but he didn't leave just yet.
"There is something else," Sirius snapped.
Harry hummed. "What is it? I'd like to retire. We've been working since dinner."
"I overheard a plot."
Tom suddenly looked far more alert. "How? Nagini has heard nothing," he snapped.
"Your slimy snake is here?" Sirius asked. "Where?"
"She is my eyes on the ground. My ears in the walls. She is everywhere."
Harry snorted at the man's dramatics.
"What plot?" Harry asked, pushing away his amusement at Tom's antics.
"Moody and his supporters. They've been meeting quite a lot in your absence, and more so, within your return. I think...I think they're plotting to take control of you. To make you their puppet. The same way he did to his sister."
Harry froze. Moody again. It always led back to Moody, eschewing distrust and worry amongst the ranks. He glanced at Tom, and Tom was staring back at him, probably thinking the same thing.
Moody had to die.
WHO
"I, King Draco, call this council to order."
The great map of Albion flared with magic and slowly the mountains and forests and rivers rose from non-existence. Draco watched his kingdom form in miniature and up sprung pieces—a dragon piece that represented Wildfyre, a snake piece to represent his uncle and his Death Eaters, and several phoenixes surrounding them to represent the Order and their forces around Westeron. He made note that a city seemed to have sprung up around Andromeda's fortress. His eyes narrowed. He turned to look in the other direction—Longbottom and his forces were represented by iron pieces shaped as swords, crowded on the coasts of Essetir. It was a much smaller presence than Wildfyre's.
"We'll need to strike Afallon. Soon," Dolohov said without any prompting.
Draco's gaze snapped towards him. Narcissa looked unamused by the man speaking out of turn, but she waved her hand, willing him to continue.
Dolohov cleared his throat and nodded. "We've been training the replacement soldiers harder than ever before. Our training regiment is an altered regiment that your brother used for the Death Eaters. They may not have our natural-born skills, but their stamina is building."
"Their numbers continue to grow. It's nearly double what they were before," Nott pointed out, unhelpfully. Dolohov gnashed his teeth at him.
"Their numbers will always grow. But, it means nothing if we strike them where it hurts. They're all gathered in one place. We can take them out now," Dolohov snarled back.
"And what of the East?" Crouch pointed out. "Ironborn will grow stronger. Those that survive will go to him."
Draco twitched.
"Let them. Augusta is an old bitch. The Ironborn is a soft lump who prefers the dirt. And Daphne—" Pansy was snarling. Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned ashen as the blade cut against the soft flesh of her neck, blood beading, a soft red line coming into being. She turned her terror-filled eyes to her love, her King.
Draco was barely breathing. "Don't. Talk about her," he said, his voice stilted.
He hadn't even realized that he'd pulled his dagger.
"Draco, my love," Narcissa called, drawing his attention to her. She grabbed his wrist, slowly pushing the knife away from Pansy, against the table before them. "What say you? How do we approach the situation?"
He knew it for what it was—a placating move. Bait.
He took it.
"Look here," Draco said, pointing with his knife to the coasts. "Ships approach. He must have found himself a fleet. He will try to secure countries through ports. It's smart. He's a good fighter, but he's no war tactician. He has a full council, and he has one of us on his side."
"Tom," Narcissa breathed.
"It's what you would do," Draco said pointedly. "So, we will strike with our navy, not our men. Marching across towards Afallon can wait. We'll be out in the open and can't combat the dragon yet. But, Wildfyre's fleet hasn't reached our waters just yet. We go to secure the port cities, and we send some of our forces to the East to wrest control from this...Ironborn."
And Narcissa looked at him, her eyes wide with pride and her lips twitched into a small smile. She leaned forward, pressing a sweet kiss to Draco's cheekbone.
"My boy...you will surpass us yet," she cooed. Draco scoffed but said nothing. Narcissa pulled away, and hid behind sheets of ice, looking around at the council table. She glanced around. "MacNair is dead. Who will lead the navy?"
"I, my Lady Chancellor," Nott said. Dolohov sneered but Nott didn't look at him. "I have experience on ships. This is something I may accomplish."
Narcissa stared for a long moment. She really had no other choice.
"Very well," she said through gritted teeth. She hated doing things when there were no other choices. "We will send a raven with the message of your command so that they may begin to prepare at once. Ride towards The Alari in the North. Command the harbors."
"Very well, Lady Chancellor," Nott said, and he preened under his new command.
Narcissa turned her attention from him and looked to Dolohov. "I would not have you lead the clash between the Eastern traitors and our men. You are more valuable here and alive as our General."
"Very well, Lady Chancellor." Dolohov didn't sound pleased, but he wouldn't go against her word.
"And you, Lord Crouch, how goes the...experiment?" Draco barked.
Crouch straightened immediately. "It goes, your Majesty. We are perfecting spells. The prototype is nearly done."
"It must be perfect," Draco warned. "Or it is your head."
Crouch nodded. He perfectly understood that. Pansy was still dabbing at the blood on her neck. She had accidentally smeared it so there was a pink tinge to her skin.
"And...we are at war," she said softly as if she had only just realized. She looked at Narcissa and Draco with wide eyes. "Is this a war we will win? They have a dragon. Creatures of all kinds. The Death Eaters. Your sister. Your brother, Lady Chancellor.
Narcissa clenched her teeth, stopping herself from spitting the first curse that was on her tongue. She closed her eyes and remembered a little girl named Cissy who had sobbed under her eyes had felt swollen and her lungs had nearly collapsed from exhaustion. She remembered a little girl named Cissy who had a brother named Tom. And Tom had cradled Cissy in his lap and stroked her hair with the hand covered in Cissy's best friend's blood, and whispered the words that had haunted Cissy until she was a woman grown.
From porcelain to ivory to steel to diamond, my love.
Oh, how her brother had loved her. Her brother. The man that had raised her.
And Narcissa took a moment to mourn. She mourned Cissy and Helena. She mourned the man that had raised her just to abandon her. She mourned the woman that had taught her to braid a warrior's braid just to run away to live in mud. She mourned the woman that had taught her to wield a blade—the same blade that Narcissa had practically slammed between her shoulder blades. Narcissa mourned her blood.
And then, she put her mourning away and smiled coolly.
"We will kill them all. But, leave my blood to me."
IS
Hermione waited nervously at the edge of the fight. Barty was dueling with the Dark Lord, their swords clashing against one another. The more she watched, the more she could see how Barty's fighting style resembled his master's. Somehow, Hermione had forgotten how Barty had been practically raised by Voldemort. She felt the spar come to a climax as the Dark Lord mercilessly slammed the pommel of his sword into Barty's jaw with a loud crack, and Barty collapsed. Hermione's heart stopped.
"Barty!" she called, rushing forward, ignoring Voldemort's calm surprise. Barty groaned, clutching his jaw, and yet, he was grinning. "Barty, are you alright?"
Barty looked at her, surprised, eyes widening. He opened his mouth and winced.
"He can't talk until his jaw is Healed," Voldemort said coolly. He reached down, pressing his wand tip underneath Barty's chin. "I shouldn't Heal you. You always fall for that one. It'll get you killed."
Even as he spoke, Hermione watched as a soft white glow—too soft for a man like the Dark Lord—beamed from the long yew wand, and then Barty flexed his jaw, grinning.
"Then, who would you Crucio?" Barty asked. Hermione raised an eyebrow. He sounded teasing.
"Lucius," Voldemort deadpanned. He glanced over at Hermione again. "Lady Granger appears to want a word with you, Barty."
"I'm not a Lady," Hermione said immediately.
Voldemort pretended as if he hadn't heard her, walking away in clear dismissal. Hermione rolled her eyes and turned back to Barty. He was watching her like one would watch a skittish horse. He expected her to run, even as she had come to him. Hermione's heart clenched. She had treated her friend terribly in her own cowardice.
"Are you talking to me now?" Barty asked. He sounded cavalier, but Hermione cringed away from the pain in his eyes. She lifted her chin.
She reminded herself that she had the spine of iron.
And then, she broke down, and threw herself at him, tossing her arms around his neck. His arms wrapped around her in surprise and they clung to one another, both stopping the other from collapsing to the ground in grief.
"I missed you," Hermione confessed into Barty's neck. Barty said something, but it was muffled by her bushy hair. She pulled back, looking him in the eye. "What was that?"
"I missed you too, Hermione," Barty said and he looked like he wanted to kiss, and yet, he did not. Hermione was relieved and her shoulders dropped slightly. "You've been avoiding me."
Hermione sighed, looking away. "Yes. Can we...walk?" Hermione asked.
Barty nodded. He didn't offer his arm, only walking alongside her through the camp. Hermione no longer got strange looks. Some had looked at her in awe before. After all, she was the War Bride. Many had seen her duel next to Harry's. But, now, she was plain, old Hermione Granger, and Hermione found she much rather that.
"Is this about...what we were?" Barty asked as they walked in the general direction of Westeron.
Hermione swallowed. "Yes. It's...you know that I love you," Hermione said and that was true.
"I...I know that now. I love you too," Barty said nearly immediately.
"But...I don't want to...you comforted me. You were a great companion to me through a terrifying time. I was lonely. I was terrified. I didn't control what I ate or what I wore. I barely controlled the thoughts in my head. Being with you...made me feel like I could control something," Hermione said, rambling despite herself and Barty quirked an eyebrow at her, his lips curling into a dry smile.
"You see me as nothing more than a friend, is that it?" Barty asked
"Yes," Hermione confessed.
Barty mulled over this for a long time, and Hermione relaxed. He would tell her the same thing and then they could go back to being friends. The type of friends that exchanged book recommendations and gossiped, and he could join her for tea and she could ply him for information on the Dark Lord and Harry Wildfyre.
And then—
"I adore you," Barty said, looking at her. "I might have even fallen in love with you. There's a lot to love about you, Hermione Granger. But, even if you don't feel the same, we're still best friends. And we can remain that way, if you like."
Hermione's heart cracked for him, but it was overwhelmed by the sudden flash of joy. It was the first feeling of joy that she had felt in a long time.
She grinned. "I'd like that. I'd really like that."
FAIREST
"I'm glad that you've finally considered listening to our counsel, your Grace," Fendwick was saying. Harry kept his face impassive as he walked through the camps with Fendwick and Moody on either side of them. McKinnon was moodily following after them after Harry had barely acknowledged her presence.
"Though, we do wish that you had before. If you had not been so arrogant, you could have returned to Albion with an entire navy from the City-States. Instead, they see you as a beggar king, giving you a measly third," Moody said, as if he didn't realize quite how obnoxious and rude he was being. Harry gritted his teeth.
"Thought I don't understand why we had to meet in the cover of darkness—" Fendwick grumbled.
"We obviously didn't communicate clearly. This way, gentlemen. McKinnon," Harry said as he led them past the edges of the camp, preying on their idiotic arrogance.
McKinnon noticed first.
"Your Grace—" McKinnon began.
Harry helped up a hand as he led them towards the cliffs where they waited. Moody grumbled under his breath. Freia sat on the very edge, her wings spread and her head poised forward. Hedwig sat in her shadow, prowling back and forth in front the three Slytherins the waited—Andromeda, Tom, and Tonks. Tonks pulled her red hood further over her face, obscuring her expression. The Weasleys fanned out to the left, and the rest of Harry's Council and the Order to the right. The Alfheimeans and the City-Staters watched as spectators.
"What is this, Harry?" Moody growled, reaching a hand out to grab Harry's wrist.
Simultaneously, a screech and a low growl began to grow until Moody retracted his hand. Harry strode forward, ignoring the three that watched in confusion and dawning terror.
"It has been brought to my attention that you have, once more, plotted against me," Harry said, his voice cold as he turned to look at the traitors.
"Never to betray you. We meant to guide you and only for the good of Albion, your—" Fendwick began.
"I am Albion." Fendwick fell silent as Harry gazed at them impassively. He lifted his chin, looking down his nose at the group of them. "I have left you on long leashes, I will admit. I let you run free to do as you please though I knew that you continued to undermine me in private. I let you debase and demean me in public forum. But, we are at war. We are one. And I cannot have traitors in the midst of my army."
"We are the original founders of the Order!" Moody roared, spittle flying from his mouth. His scars twisted as he shouted at Harry. Harry didn't even flinch. "How dare you imply that we are traitors!"
"Yes. The original founders of the Order of the Phoenix. Created when my mother was still living. But, she is long gone. She is nothing but bones, and I am here. I am the last of her blood. I am the last of her legacy. And you think to manipulate that? To manipulate me? No more," Harry said firmly. He tilted his head, regarding them. "This...I will call it what it is—an act of war."
There was thrum of whispers that ran through the spectators, all whispering to one another before it was quelled under Andromeda's sharp eyes. Harry looked at each of the three perpetrators. Moody was practically spitting in his rage. Fendwick still looked down his nose at Harry, as if he were better than him, and McKinnon...McKinnon looked proper terrified.
"And who would ever dare to speak to this? What proof do you have?" Moody demanded.
Sirius stepped forward. "I have proof. I heard you plotting against him. Plotting to use him as a puppet. I would be happy to provide memories."
"Memories can be tampered with," Moody retorted immediately.
"Even the seeds of discord can corrupt and destroy my reign. And my reign has only just begun. And so, you have been brought before me, Alastor Moody, Benjy Fendwick, and Marlene McKinnon, for the rebellion and conspiracy against the Throne. This is against the law of your King, and thus, is his treason, punishable without trial and with immediate death," Harry said, his voice booming for all to hear.
McKinnon let out a hoarse cry. The only other sound that could be heard was the crackling of the massive bonfire that cast everyone's face in a ghostly orange light.
"Let it not be said that I am an unmerciful King. I insist that...only one of you must die as punishment for your crimes," Harry said.
He could hear them shifting behind him, suddenly uncertain of his actions. Harry heard the grass crunching under a pair of feet, and he caught sight of blood-red from the corner of his eyes. Tonks' hand rested on the pommel of her sword. Harry tilted his head and watched as Fendwick whirled around, pulling his wand.
Suddenly, all three wands were flying from the three former Order members. Harry glanced back. Ron, Ginny, and Kingsley held the wands as prizes, watching with coldness in their eyes. Harry turned back and raised an eyebrow when he saw Moody's large hand curled around McKinnon's shoulder. The man pushed her forward and she stumbled, her eyes wide with betrayal.
"Her. She should die."
"Yes, her!" Fendwick added.
McKinnon whirled on them, tears rolling down her cheeks as her body trembled with suppressed sobs.
"M-me? I-I-I was only doing what y-y-you said!" she sobbed.
Moody acted as if he hadn't heard her. "I can still be useful to you, your Grace," he said gruffly. "I fought in your grandfather's army. I was in the Order from the very beginning. I worked with your father."
"She's an outsider. A foolish young woman who went around spouting her ideas. She doesn't speak for us," Fendwick said.
Harry tilted his head. Slowly, he went to pull his sword but Tonks clapped him on the shoulder. Harry looked at her in surprise, but she was staring straight forward. McKinnon looked up at Tonks, a glowing look of surprise and pleading in her eyes. She reached a hand forward.
"Yes, Lady Tonks?" Harry asked formally.
"Your Grace, I am your Sword. Wield me."
Harry cleared his throat and nodded. McKinnon let out a terrible sob as she fell to her knees, bending her head forward as she prepared for her death.
"Grab her arms," Tonks commanded to Fendwick and Moody.
They did as she commanded, scrambling to obey the woman that they had once spat 'whore' at so derisively. They struggled to hold her steady as McKinnon's body trembled with her grief, the hacking sobbing sounds echoing for everyone to hear over the crackling fire. Tonks pulled the great dark sword that gleamed the color of blood and then she swung with all of her might over her head.
Two thuds followed.
There were gasps as Moody and Fendwick's headless bodies collapsed on either side of McKinnon. McKinnon's sobs caught in her throat in shocked awe.
"Remember this," Tonks began. "You live by the grace of His Grace, and you will let them know. The ones that you have manipulated and tricked into thinking like you. When they come forward with notions of retribution or ideas, remind them what Harry Wildfyre does to traitors. Go."
McKinnon leapt forward, sobbing, throwing herself into Emmeline Vance's arms, as the young woman held her. The two collapsed, sobbing into one another's shoulders. Harry turned back to look at the bodies.
"What are we to do with bodies? Who will prepare them?" Remus asked quietly.
"They died a traitor's death. Feed them to Freia," Harry spat, snarling. He spun to look at them all, lifting his chin. He looked at each and every one of them, devouring their terror and their respect and awe. Finally, his gaze fell on Kingsley. "Kingsley Shacklebolt, you are now the Head of the Order of the Phoenix."
OF
They came in droves. It was like a never-ending sea of people. His armies were ever-expanding and Harry felt both trepidation and enthusiasm. He huffed behind the black veil that kept him separate from the proceedings. No one would look up at the balcony that showed Harry both the inner Throne Room and the armies that settled outside.
"Patience, sweetling. You will have them bend the knee soon enough," Tom said sharply. Harry huffed in annoyance as he looked up at the man. He crowded against the Dark Lord, arching his head up, demanding a kiss without words.
Tom looked amused by him and leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to the seam of Harry's lips. He pulled back after a quick kiss.
"More," Harry snapped, pulling him down.
Tom laughed into his mouth. When he pulled back from their less chaste kiss, he looked endlessly amused. "You are needy."
"Shut up," Harry muttered. He let out a nickering sound and he watched as Hedwig lazily rose from the ground and walked forward, twining between their legs and purring deeply. Harry scratched the top of her head. "My love, I want to meet them."
If Tom was startled by what Harry had called him, he didn't show it.
"Wait. Their chosen champions must pledge to the Order," Tom said firmly. "Watch."
Harry sighed, impatient.
He peered through the curtains at the noble Western Houses. Each House—Smith, Cadwallader, Rickett—had come, Lord and Heir, and with them, their strongest to bind to the Order of the Phoenix. Only after their champions were bound by magic and oath, would they be able to bend the knee before Harry? It was a measure meant to keep Harry safe, but really, to Harry, it seemed like a lot.
The champions moved forward, falling to their knees before Harry's council, led by Kingsley Shacklebolt. He was saying something to them, and they were nodding. They had been made to memorize the Order's oath for this very moments.
"And now, the fire is lit," the three champions began. "It shall not end, as a phoenix does not die, until my death before. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword of fire in darkness."
Tom snorted. "How dramatic."
"Hush," Harry snapped, intrigued by the three champions that were pledging themselves to the Order of the Phoenix.
Amongst the champions, there was one woman. The two others were men—one exceptionally handsome man with golden hair and bright white teeth, and the other was tall and brooding and not particularly handsome at all. Harry grew more and more curious.
"I am the summer's defender and a lion of the pride. I am defender of the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the shield that guards the Protector of the Realm. I pledge my life and honor to the Order of the Phoenix, until the summer dies again."
As soon as their oaths were spoken, fire erupted from the ends of the wands, binding them to the mission of the Order of the Phoenix. Kingsley nodded in appreciation.
"On behalf of the Fairest, I accept your service. Rise, Gwenog Jones. We thank you, House Cadwallader, for your offering. Rise, Karl Broadmoor. We thank you, House Rickett, for your offering. Rise, Gilderoy Lockhart. We thank you, House Smith, for your offering," Kingsley said, sounding quite formal. The champions stood to their feet and there was a smattering of applause throughout the throne room.
The champions drifted back to their respective House Lords. The golden-haired man—Gilderoy Lockhart—stood between another two golden-haired men, though they were much less handsome than him. The younger one, the Heir, lifted his pointy nose and looked around, curiously.
"Where is he, the Fairest?" Heir Smith asked obnoxiously. "Shouldn't this pledge of fealty go to him?"
"Patience, young Smith. He is watching," Andromeda said.
Tom turned to Harry and offered his arm. "Our cue, sweetling," he said, nearly mockingly.
Harry pressed a hand to Tom's arm and let out another soft click of his tongue. Hedwig was at his other side immediately, and the three began to descend the steps that would open up behind the throne. As they had finally moved to reveal themselves, whispering and gossip had sprouted into the silence, all anxious to meet the one that they would be bending the knee to.
Tonks sensed them first. She stood straighter by the side of the onyx throne.
"You stand in the presence of Harry Wildfyre of Houses Gryffindor and Potter, the First of His Name, the Rightful Emperor of Albion, the King of the Four Directions, the Wyrdfod, Protector of the Realm, the Breaker of Chains, the Alpha of the Pride, and the Fairest-of-Them-All!" she announced.
In unison, his council turned towards him. Harry didn't turn his eyes away from the six people that could possibly permanently turn the tides of the war in his favor. They didn't seem able to look away either. Or rather, they didn't seem sure of where to look—whether at the albino lioness at his side or the Dark Lord on the other or at Harry himself.
"I am Harry Wildfyre, King-Emperor of Albion," he said quietly as the Dark Lord led him to the onyx throne and Harry sat down, a Slytherin on either side of him. Hedwig punctuated his sentence with a quiet growl, settling at his feet.
Heir Smith sputtered, unable to say anything.
"Your Grace," Lord Rickett began and then seemed to lose his train of thought.
Harry smiled. "Thank you for coming. I assume you're here to bend the knee to your one and only King?"
And with that question, they fell to their knees.
THEM
"The Order's grown at least threefold in the last week. It's grown more in the last week than it has in over a decade," Ron said calmly, looking around at the camps that had quadrupled in size since all of the Western Houses had gravitated towards Westeron like it was the center of the world.
Hermione nodded, taking that in. The entire castle was stuffed full. Everyone was on top of one another, and people had been moved around. All pretense has been dropped and the rooms that Andromeda had given to Voldemort had been given away to the Smiths. House Wenlock, House Sprout, and House Jones were stuffed all along the west wing with some of their households. The majority of the noble households were in tents surrounding the edges of the city.
Hermione now roomed with a few of the other girls from the first Order camp—Lavender Brown was one of them. She always had little Teddy Lupin on her hip if he wasn't with his mother or father. Ginny and all of her brothers shared a single apartment of rooms, bunking with one another, two to a bed. Ron complained that Ginny kicked. They were running out of space, the camps surrounding Westeron for a few miles, at least.
"We're going to run out of space, don't you think?" Hermione asked, softly.
Ron shrugged. "Maybe. Food stores have been replenished, though. The Muggle women have been planting in the greenhouses. Meat was scarce, but House Smith brought two dozen cows and forty pigs alone. If they're bred well, we should make it through winter."
Hermione froze, her eyes widened. "You think...you think the war will last through winter?" she asked. Even as she asked, she knew it would happen.
"I'm afraid so."
"That doesn't worry you?" Hermione asked.
Ron shrugged. "This war has been going on for as long as I've been alive. Another hard winter? Well…" Ron trailed off and look at Hermione, curiously. "What would you do about the lack of space?"
"Make room," Hermione said immediately. "We have a third of a navy coming to us with none of our men on it. It'd be easy to turn tail if it got hard. There must be some that are sailors and officers."
Ron beamed at her and Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't realized it was a test.
"See. That's why you should be in the room with us. No one's thought of that as a solution yet," Ron said, beaming at her. Hermione pursed her lips as they walked towards the training grounds. "You should be one of his advisors."
"You know how I feel about the monarchy system," Hermione reminded her.
She walked towards the archery area, littered with centaurs, and Ginny Weasley. Ginny was blindfolded as she shot arrow after arrow. There were three centaurs treading around her, and she moved with them, shooting into their shields.
"She's learning to fight blind," Ron said. "When we crashed your wedding, she was blinded by blood for a moment. Nearly cost her her life."
"I...she's so good," Hermione whispered. "She must have started young."
"We've been in battle since we were thirteen. In our family, it's much like a rite of passage," Ron said quietly. He looked at Hermione with wide eyes. "Our parents were in the Order."
"And now...they're dead," Hermione said.
"Now, they're dead."
"How can you still fight for their cause?" Hermione asked. "When it cost them their life."
"Well...it's multi-dimensional. I fight to carry on their legacy. I think...Ginny fights out of revenge. Harry's promised her a life, you see. It's her life to take," Ron said. He answered Hermione's unspoken question. "Antonin Dolohov. But, that's not my story to tell."
"Okay," Hermione accepted. They all bore the mark of other people's sins. She knew that better than most.
"Hermione, I think you should consider advising Harry. He could use your insight," Ron said.
"I could, you know."
Both Ron and Hermione jumped. Hermione spun to face the King and she cringed when saw the massive white albino lioness at his side—Hedwig, she was named. Hedwig was barely paying Hermione and Ron any mind, constantly brushing her massive head against Harry's hand. Harry absently stroked the top of her head, a low growl emerging from the lioness. Hermione assumed that the animal was purring in content.
"What can I offer you?" Hermione demanded.
Harry tilted his head as he looked at the young woman. "I'm not going to beg you, Hermione Granger. I'm not. I don't need you," he said firmly. "But, you are a stranger in a strange land, and you yearn for a home that has been taken away from you. I am offering you a place. A home here. You have been at Hogwarts Castle. You know Narcissa and Draco. You know court. So, I offer: one more time...a place at my table. Where you will be free to offer your opinion and advice to guide me to be a better monarch than any other that sat on that wretched throne."
Harry was watching her with those beautiful green eyes. He really was beautiful. Hermione had never seen anyone that had deserve the title Fairest more. He was more beautiful than the Slytherin siblings put together and they were a striking quartet, when they had been whole. Hermione glanced over at Ron and he was nodding.
"You'd...you'd really listen to what I have to say?" Hermione asked, and she felt so terribly small at that moment. "Even...even if you don't like what I've got to say?"
"I think I'd listen even the more for it. I've learned, quite recently, that the advice I hate to hear is the advice I need most," Harry said with a rueful smile. "Your Luna has taught me that."
And Hermione remembered Luna's story about the humbling of Harry Potter before the City-State and she knew that he wasn't lying.
Perhaps, he would be different.
So, Hermione stepped forward, offering her hand out to Harry. Harry beamed and took it, squeezing hard.
"Hello. I'm Hermione Granger," she said softly.
"Harry. Harry Potter," Harry said with a wide smile. "It's nice to meet you."
He glanced over at Ron, and for a moment, Harry felt something. He felt at peace in a way he had never felt before. Looking at his friend, Ron Weasley, and this girl, Hermione Granger, felt right in a way he had never expected. It felt destined and pre-ordained, as if the three of them would meet in every single universe that may exist beyond their own.
And as he looked at the pair of them, he knew they felt it too.
ALL?
"I did not think that I would ever be back here," Rowena murmured as they roamed the catacombs of Westeron, where the forgotten were buried. She looked over at her brother in arms. "Does your child remember this place?"
"If she does, she says nothing of it. No one has been down here since...our time," Salazar said quietly. This he knew to be true without even asking. He could feel how age and old magic had settled around the tombs like dust. He would be able to feel a disturbance if anyone had been down there.
But, he did not. Instead, he felt Helga's magic, still in the air, though she was long gone. Salazar walked along the corridor, passing the bodies of fallen soldiers. They were going towards the center, just under the throne room—where Helga's magic was strongest. Godric's sword bounced against Salazar's side as they walked.
"The boy is different than expected," Rowena said into the silence.
"He is," Salazar agreed. "Far more beautiful. Far more...stubborn."
"Ah, that, I expected. He is like his father and his mother and his blood before them. He is a Gryffindor and a Potter. But, I was speaking of...he has compassion and he is unashamed of his love," Rowena said. She sounded both admiring and spiteful. Only Rowena could sound like that. Salazar looked at her from the corner of his eyes. She patted a silvery strand back into the tight knot she had made at the nape of her neck.
"Unashamed of my son," Salazar said. "Tom is a manipulative sort."
"Harry is unashamed of him. And he stands up to him," Rowena said. She smiled dryly and without humor when Salazar gave her a look. "It's impressive."
"Not even Bella could stand up to her older brother," Salazar said softly.
"He kicked your boy out of the room when I wanted to speak to him," Rowena murmured.
They stopped talking until they reached the very center of the catacombs, just underneath the throne room. It was a circular room, large and yawning and dark. Rowena raised her wand, waving it once, and the torches along the wall lit up immediately, revealing the massive tomb in the center. Rowena shivered.
Helga Hufflepuff's bones rested in the depths of Hogwarts Castle.
But, Morgin of Afallon's final resting place was Westeron itself, amongst the rest of her army and court.
The skulls lined the walls, staring sightlessly at the two Founders that had put them there. There was something accusatory and terrifying about it all and Rowena had forgotten how many had fallen before the Founders. She had forgotten how many had been on the other side. Rowena had forgotten how terribly ugly war was. She tore her gaze away from the skulls pressed into the walls like heinous wallpaper and redirected her gaze towards the tomb in the center.
In the center was an enormous dragon skull—large and ugly. Ironbellies never ceased growing so Rowena and Helga had always speculated that the dragon Morgin had ridden had been centuries old. Rowena could remember riding side by side—Helga, Rowena, Salazar, and Godric—across the field, weaving in and out to avoid the flames from the enormous white-scaled beast.
There was a large hole in the side of its skull, blown out from the force of an enchanted spear—a spear that had been destroyed the moment the moment Helga had assumed the throne. And if one were to look through the yawning open mouth of the dragon skull, one could see the tomb of Morgin of Afallon, her bones nestled in a concrete box.
"An honor she didn't deserve," Rowena hissed pointedly.
Salazar looked at her. He looked sad. "Helga always said that everyone deserved dignity in death."
Rowena's heart ached, momentarily chastened. She hardened herself.
"Helga is dead. Did your children give her dignity in her death?" Rowena challenged.
Salazar looked away.
He didn't know.
They turned away and faced each other. Salazar pulled Godric's sword from his side. Rowena reached into her own small bag. It had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it, and she winced when all of her books and potions tumbled inside, echoing in the tomb. Salazar glared.
"We could have done this anywhere else," Salazar muttered.
"There are eyes everywhere else," Rowena said. She tilted her head. She could hear something, moving. She shook her head and pulled forth a hat.
Salazar made a soft, broken sound in the back of his throat.
It was an old hat, battered and torn. Filthy and patched with a wide brim and a tall pointed crown.
It was Godric's hat.
"Put the sword in the hat," Rowena commanded.
Salazar gave her a look of disbelief but did as she said, pulling forth the sword and slowly slid it into the hat. His eyes widened in shock as the Sword of Gryffindor disappeared into the depths of his Hat.
"What sorcery?" Salazar demanded.
Rowena's eyes glistened. "It is a spell I have tampered with. Like the Extension Charm on my satchel. But, this...the sword will only present itself to the worthy," Rowena said softly. "He must prove himself worthy and there...there could be no one else in the world that could potentially be worthy."
Salazar blinked slowly and nodded. "I...this is good, Rowena," he said and Rowena smirked.
"I know. Not even your wretched boy could touch it. Could you, Voldemort?" she called.
And she knew she was right—that someone had been there—when an enormous poisonous green snake emerged from the shadows. It was as thick as a grown man's thigh and twice as long as some of the tallest men. Rowena was not surprised to see that Nagini had grown to such monstrous proportions. Nagini hissed at Salazar, and Salazar gave a strangled hiss back.
"Father."
Rowena could not understand Parseltongue, but Salazar jerked as his son appeared before him, as if he had been air and then wasn't.
Rowena stepped back. Salazar looked at her.
"Rowena," he began.
"Address your own mistakes," Rowena snarled. It was clear that she thought of the Slytherin boy as a mistake. The Slytherin sneered at the former Queen of Essetir, glowering after her with war bright eyes until she disappeared back into the darkness.
Finally, Voldemort looked back at his father.
"A mistake. She calls us a mistake," Voldemort said with a grim smile. "How charming."
"Tom…"
Voldemort turned away from his father. "I would kill you both where you stand. I do not only out of respect for my King."
"And love, perhaps?" Salazar asked.
He regretted it immediately. Voldemort's blazing red eyes were on his face again. His hands were clenched into tight fists, one on the pommel of his sword, the other around his wand. His face was bone white. Still, he didn't strike.
"What do you know about love, Father? You did not love your wife. You did not love your children—" Voldemort said coldly.
"How dare—"
"'Kill them all'," Voldemort hissed through clenched teeth. Salazar paled at the words that had haunted his memories. 'Kill them all', Godric had commanded of a boy barely grown, and he had done as his sovereigns had bid. Tom Marvolo had killed them all. "I was your judge, jury, and executioner, so I dare. You didn't love us. You made a killer of me, and then, you were finished with us. I raised your children. Bella and I taught them how to read and write and fight. So, what do you know?"
Salazar looked away. Children had never been something he had wanted. He had...needed an Heir.
"Your mother loved you," Salazar said softly.
If Voldemort—no, Tom—was startled by the sudden use of English, he didn't show it. Instead, he glared at him, waiting for more words. Salazar grabbed at the necklace around his neck. It wasn't his locket—not the locket his mother had given him—but, the ring on the second chain. Salazar snapped the chain from around his neck, the ring clenched in his tight fist.
"This was your mother's. She loved you," Salazar said.
"She died," Tom whispered and he sounded lost.
He sounded lost as he had when Salazar had told him the first time. And Tom, not even a man yet, had seen his mother in a bed of roses and blood, Narcissa's pale body still resting against her cold breast. And Salazar couldn't touch her—couldn't look at her. So, Tom had picked Narcissa up and had cradled her and introduced her to their siblings, ignoring their mother's dead body as if he hadn't heard Salazar's terrible sobs.
"She loved you," Salazar said firmly and he pressed the ring into Tom's hand. "She loved you."
He disappeared without another word, and Tom swallowed hard as his fist closed around the small object his father had pressed into his hand.
Tom didn't think much about his mother. When he did, he felt that familiar ache of resentment course through his blood. His mother had been a talented witch and she had died. She had let herself die.
Everybody died.
Tom scoffed, shaking his head. He was too old for this. He no longer missed his mother—that happened over time, when the resentment had burned like wildfire before slowly becoming nothing but ashes, as she was. Instead, he opened his fist and looked down at his mother's ring. It had never been particularly beautiful though she had clung to it, never parting from it even when bathing. He did away his father's chain and settled the ring on his middle left finger and held it up in the firelight to admire it.
The ring was clumsy, big, and gold, and set in the middle was a black stone with a jagged crack running down the center.
:::
A/N: Hope you liked this chapter. It was a hard one to churn out. All of this feels like build-up for the main event, to be honest.
Also, please review. Even if it's just to say "Oh, I liked this chapter". It's really encouraging and helps me get chapters out faster. These chapters aren't coming out of the ether. They're coming from a person who really, really would like some encouragment, please and thank you.