Author's Note: This fic is for the lovely Bex, for the Gift-Giving Extravaganza! I didn't have any prompts to go off, but I feel like I know a little about what you'd like, and I know you like Harry/Kingsley, and now I know you like Hades, so that's grand! I hope you enjoy this at least a tiny bit! I'm also sorry that it's so late!
Warnings: There are a lot of mentions of death because it's an Underworld!AU but honestly, everyone's so alive here that I don't really think it counts. No other warnings!
Rumours ran deep and dark in this part of the underworld. The seedy underbelly of life was seething with gossip, with secrets and untold tales. That was the currency, almost, of such a place. Being dead didn't give you much to barter with, but even ghosts could spin a tale across the floor.
As Harry's footsteps echoed across high halls, he was acutely aware of the many hundreds of eyes that followed him. Some were empty sockets and some were milk-white; some were not eyes at all, but they watched him anyway. It didn't make him uncomfortable anymore. He'd been ruling the underworld for as long as he could remember - and what a pretty lie that was, he thought to himself as he walked a little faster, thinking bitterly and wistfully of castles and summer skies.
The walls inside the palace were tall, so tall and black that they melded with the plummy skies above. There was no roof. The floor turned gold underneath the toes of his ratty trainers, and melted away again, turning back to black. Colour tried its best to linger here, but it was rarely successful.
The doors to the throne room loomed ahead, steadfast and ominous, but Harry ignored them. He'd had enough meetings and complaints to last a lifetime. There was a smaller door hidden behind a heavy velvet curtain, just one corridor away. He stepped around a crowd of whispering spirits; they dispersed at his presence, and came together again once he was far enough away, wisps of what they once were but no less hungry for companionship. Harry pried a candle loose from its place on the wall, taking the bracket with it, and lit it with a breath. Then he slid the door open.
The first breath of cold air on his face was like a kiss. He sighed, locking the door shut behind him. Silence filled the garden. It was only a small garden; he had several larger gardens out front, on the way to the dead-lands, but those were technically public property. Ghosts were always clogging up the lawn, muttering about bad mowing, and he could hardly relax there.
This garden was softer, the harsh shadows muted. False stars glittered in the sky, not quite overblown by thick fumes from the faraway fields. There were no pits of hell or fiery depths here, but darkness persisted, and some places were a little hotter than others. The smoke didn't come into the garden, where the black grass was knee-high and felt like silk, and the wishing well at the far end sometimes echoed with old music, soft chanting and sweet, forgotten melodies.
Harry strolled across the garden until he came to a stone bench. It was the only place to sit, and he was always surprised not to find a permanent groove there, considering how often he escaped here. Not as often as he liked, but often enough to beg suspicion; it wasn't as if there was much here to entertain him. There was a fountain in the middle of the grass, gleaming with copper coins. The water was still, and the spouts no longer spouted anything but dust, but the stonework was intricate and he liked the way moss crept up the sides, slowly but with purpose.
"I have been telling you to get that fixed for a while now."
The voice came from the shadows. It was Kingsley's job to blend into the shadows. Harry always said that he wasn't very good at his job, considering how he was constantly the only thing Harry could focus on when they were in the same room, but he did jump when Kingsley's voice echoed across the garden. Clearly he was doing something right.
"I like it the way it is," Harry said, not bothering to raise his voice. Kingsley would hear him. Kingsley always heard him, no matter where he was, no matter the distance between them.
"As you wish."
Harry paused, lifting the candle higher. He'd forgotten, briefly, that he was holding it in the first place. It cast a warm glow over Kingsley's already-warm face, illuminating the light that already lived in his rich, hazel eyes.
Except there was no light. Panic and dread sized Harry in a chokehold, stoppering his throat. Even on the day when Harry had saved his life, the day when he was briefly dead, Kingsley's eyes hadn't looked that grey.
"What's wrong with you?" Harry asked. "You don't sound right."
Kingsley drifted a little closer. There was something wrong with the way he walked, something strange about his face. It was almost… flatter than usual, as though something had been stripped away. Harry narrowed his eyes, watching the stilted movements as Kingsley came closer, carefully avoiding the patch of stubborn flowers growing alongside the single narrow path. Nothing grew down here, but some things lasted a little longer than others.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, sire."
Harry sucked in a breath and stilled. His gaze went to the outskirts of the garden, tension coiling in his gut. The candle guttered with his next unnecessary breath. He reigned it in, power swirling in the forefront of his mind.
"Who else is there?" Harry called, his voice careful and controlled.
Kingsley stopped immediately, standing still in the middle of the path. His face spasmed, as though he meant to move it a certain way but got caught up in the middle. Rage simmered in Harry's chest. He tried his best to push it down, but there was only so much he could take before he snapped, and it had been a really long day.
"That's enough," Harry said.
When he stood, the candlelight went out completely, and he dropped it on the ground. The wax melted immediately; the bronze bracket turned to liquid, molten and bubbling. The air crackled. Deathly green light slid off his body like dislodged icicles, cleaving a path towards the ground. He was dripping with power, and the air dripped with it too. The single patch of flowers shrivelled and curled up, shedding their petals until all that was left were weak, limp stems.
Kingsley shivered. It was a quiet motion, as though he was doing his best to keep it from Harry's view, but it didn't work. There was nothing in this realm that he didn't see. He did his best to give Kingsley privacy, to respect his boundaries, and Kingsley did his best to reassure him that he didn't mind where or when Harry looked. Right now, Harry was looking. And he saw the exact moment when a thin sheen of light peeled itself off Kingsley like a film of cellophane, and made a frantic bid for freedom.
Harry darted forward and pinched the ragged edge of grey light. It felt greasy between his fingers, doing its best to slip away like oil. Harry held firm. Power poured off him, increasing in menacing increments, and he only stopped when he heard Kingsley inhale sharply, like he'd just woken from a dream.
"Harry?"
"Kingsley," he said back coolly. "You had a Shade attached to you. Do you remember what happened?"
Harry didn't tear his eyes from the Shade. It was writhing desperately now, trying to wriggle out of his grip. Soft, almost silent wails peeled out of its non-existent mouth. They were pitiful, but Harry wasn't feeling particularly pitying tonight.
"I remember."
"Well?"
Kingsley's footsteps were quick and steady, and his hand cupped Harry's face with downright reverence, catching him off guard. There was something soothing about it, but more than that, Harry felt euphoric. The power coming off him should have scared anyone to death, but Kingsley didn't even flinch. Only shuffled closer and soothed him with a few hushed noises.
The Shade wept loudly.
"I was waiting for you in the garden," Kingsley said, low and careful. "I had a check-list of things for you to deal with, since you like to avoid any official meetings. I heard the door open, and I thought it was you, but a ghost came through instead."
"Ghosts can't enter this garden," Harry said sharply, not taking his eyes away from the Shade. "I built it that way."
"I know," Kingsley said. "I realized it wasn't a ghost fairly swiftly. I think it was an assassin, some sort of re-animated skeleton. I don't know whether it came from here or above, but it doesn't matter now. I dealt with it."
Harry's heart didn't thud, not anymore, but it gave a fairly good effort. He probably shouldn't have found Kingsley's self-assuredness or competence as attractive as he did. Still, he was fairly sure that it did matter where the assassin came from, and it definitely mattered that Kingsley had been in the thing's path.
"The Shade must have been born tonight then," Harry said, finally relaxing some of his power, though his grip was as firm as ever. "Evil deeds and all that. I think this one was born from fear." He shot Kingsley a glance for the first time since his eyes had gone grey, and almost went weak in the knees when he met those warm, hazel eyes. "You must have really done a number on that assassin to create something this terrified."
Kingsley didn't look too bothered by it, but he did turn pitying eyes to the Shade. It was beginning to lose its shape, turning to watery ephemera in the air. Harry kept pinching it tightly, forming a sort of tail at the end.
"What will you do with it?" Kingsley asked.
Harry sighed. "I can't let it go. But I don't want to keep it trapped. It doesn't have the same amount of power as it did before. Shades are only really powerful in the beginning, when they're new and fresh. Strong emotions will keep them going, but this one is losing energy."
"Set it free."
Harry turned incredulous eyes up to meet Kingsley's knowing, slightly sad smile.
"It hurt you," he said, trying to impress the urgency onto him without snapping. "You had no control over yourself. I saw it… and your eyes. They were so grey, so lifeless. There was nothing there, Kingsley!"
Kingsley just kept on looking at him, so Harry turned back to the Shade, gritting his teeth in frustration.
"Stop," he said.
"Can it hurt anyone else the way it did tonight? You said that it's not powerful anymore. Is there any way it could take over someone?"
Harry hesitated. The Shade felt weak and hopeless in his hands, and when he prodded the edge of its form with his mind, it flapped like a wet sheet, exhausted and limp. Even with years to grow and recover, it would never be able to turn someone into a puppet. The most it could do was give someone a brief burst of fear, like a static shock.
Reluctantly, Harry shook his head.
"Then set it free."
"I can't just do nothing. I can't just let it go!"
"You can."
Kingsley used the hand on his jaw to turn Harry's face properly, and leaned down to kiss him soundly. It was one of those kisses, the soft, barely-there ones that felt feathery against his mouth. One of those kisses that made him lean in hungrily, lean up and in and in until Kingsley swept him up like he wanted him too.
"You can," Kingsley murmured against his mouth. "It's just a tiny thing. I felt how afraid it was. I know you care about that, even if you have to pretend not to in front of others. But there are no others here, Harry. It's just you and I in this garden. You and I and something that is so afraid, something you can save in this small way."
Harry knew he was right. There was a time when he wouldn't have hesitated.
But rumours ran deep and dark in this part of the world. The seedy underbelly of life was seething with gossip, with secrets and untold tales. That was the currency, almost, of such a place. Being dead didn't give you much to barter with, but even ghosts could spin a tale across the floor.
A tale like this? A tale like the Master of Death forgiving a shade, letting go of something that had hurt someone he loved, freeing the pitiful leftovers of an assassin, of all things? There was no telling what a tale like that could buy.
"There are eyes everywhere," Harry said hoarsely, though he only had eyes for Kingsley and his gentle smile right now. His grip was not quite as tight as it had been. "You know I can't… it's bad enough that I saved you that day. Most of them think I keep you here against your will, and that's the only reason you haven't been attacked more often."
Kingsley wasn't built like the rest of the underworld folk. His heart beat precisely as it should, and his lungs worked efficiently, and his eyes were warm and bright. He was gloriously, painfully alive. Every unliving thing here knew it; they followed him at a distance, traced his progress with hungry eyes, craving what he has. Harry had bled stories into the walls of the palace, feeding the rumours until the mill ran dry. Stories of seeds and seasons. Secrets of stolen sons and spring. But even that didn't help much in the end.
It was partly why Harry instated the rule; if Kingsley was going to stay here, if he refused to go, then he had to learn how to blend into the shadows.
And Kingsley refused to go. Even though Harry was only a shred of what he used to be when he was alive, even though he was no longer as kind as he once was. Even though he felt dark and dismal most days, Kingsley refused to go. And even though Kingsley was really bad at his job, Harry never made him leave.
"I can't," Harry said again, helpless under Kingsley's warm stare. But his grip was already slipping, and the Shade was wriggling with renewed vigour, like it could sense his hesitance. "They're always watching me."
"I know," Kingsley said gently. "If you really can't, then I won't ask you to. But it's just you and I in this garden. No eyes can follow you here."
"You're really going to say that to me tonight, of all nights?" Harry scoffed, though it was a weak thing, his voice, trembling a little.
"I dealt with it tonight. I would deal with it again for you. Over and over." Kingsley kissed him once more, achingly tender. "Don't be what they made you. Be what you've always been, in spite of that."
Harry didn't need to breathe, but he gasped anyway; the Shade fell from his fingers with a tremulous cry and soared up into the sky, vanishing amongst the false stars. Kingsley pulled him close and held him tightly, letting him hear the thundering pulse in his throat, the steady beat of his heart behind that fragile rib-cage. Kingsley wasn't fragile, but sometimes Harry's fear made him see glass where there was iron.
He swallowed back frustrated, relieved tears and thunked his head against Kingsley's collarbone, content to stay in his embrace until the night turned to morning, which it never would. Not down here. That only made him more determined to try. Kingsley pressed kisses to the crown of his head, burying them in messy hair, and endured his frantic touches and skating hands until the urgency faded.
"That was horrible," Harry said eventually.
Kingsley laughed lightly, though not dismissively. "It was. But horrible things have a way of seeming sweet with you. Thank you, Harry."
That wasn't how it should be. Harry should be the one thanking him for staying, for not giving up on him even in his unkindest moments. He dreaded the day when even Kingsley's words wouldn't be enough, when he would succumb to the grip of this dark place. But for now, it was more than enough. And Kingsley feathered kisses across his brow to prove it.
"I don't want to go back in yet," Harry said, taking Kingsley's hand. "Sit with me for a while? I want to hear about your day."
"My day mostly included dealing with a rogue Tentacular and compiling the list that you still have to deal with," Kingsley said, gently but firmly. "I'll always sit with you, but you're going to have to listen to the complaints anyway."
Harry gave a good-natured groan and brought Kingsley's hand up to his mouth, kissing his knuckles. He liked the way Kingsley went briefly quiet, his cheeks darkening. It was rare to catch him off guard like that, but it always sweetened Harry's day.
They stepped over the melted candle together and made their way back to the bench, unable to really stop looking at each other. Kingsley withdrew a list from his pocket with a flourish and scanned it, still holding Harry's hand. The wishing well struck up a tune, something light and only a little haunting. He found himself wishing he could stay here forever; it was the same wish he'd had ever since he first found Kingsley, ever since he brought him back to life.
It couldn't last forever. He would have to go back into the palace and deal with meetings and complaints eventually. He would have to shoo the ghosts off the lawn. He would have to sit on the throne and find Kingsley in the crowd instead of letting him sit at his side, hand-in-hand, and he would have to track down the assassin, follow the threads of what-could-have-been until he found the culprit.
"Fang tore up the carpet in the dining hall again," Kingsley said, reading from the list with a dry, slightly mischievous expression. "I suggested getting him a new chew-toy to keep him occupied, but there aren't any politicians available at the moment."
Harry found himself laughing helplessly, and leaned in to kiss the second item off the list, swallowing Kingsley's words and reaching up to touch his cheek. Kingsley kissed him back under the false stars, and suddenly it didn't matter how long it lasted; all that mattered was that they had each other, if only for a moment, if only in a quiet garden.
[Word Count: 3,061]