Title: The Rightful King

Pairing: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

Warnings: Torture (though it's rather light), abuse, slash (this means boy on boy action people. Don't like, don't read) and idiocy (on the part of the Dursley's. People that stupid deserve a warning).

Disclaimer: The characters are not mine. Hogwarts is not mine (unfortunate, that). The poems are mine! If you wish to use them, please ask.

Summery: The Griffindor Kingdom is in ruins. Poverty plagues the land as the vile and greedy King Vernon sits on his golden thrown and watches. A marriage, long arranged, has finally come to pass. Draco Malfoy, Prince of Slytherin, has come to Griffindor in order to wed the prince and make peace between the feuding lands. When rumours of a Rightful King reach the Prince's ear he must decide just what lengths he's willing to go to in order to avoid marrying Prince Dudley. But who is the Rightful King? And what, exactly, does the beaten, starved, beautiful but fiery slave Harry got to do with any of it? A tale of mystery and sorrow, friendship and love and the never-changing fact that nothing is ever as it seems...

Authors Note: As should now be apparent, I'm ding this chapter by chapter so it may take some time. Patience is a virtue. I think (in my six weeks off) that I'll re-edit some of my other stories while I'm at it (Mind Over Matter, for example) but as I am going overseas this holidays (hurrah!) we'll have to see what happens. Read and review!

Lots of different people,
The secrets and the lies,
They all get so confusing,
And try to hypnotise.
Lots of different stories,
Of happiness and woe,
Here's a fierce conundrum:
Are they friend or foe?

Chapter Two: Meetings

Harry made his way quickly through the castle, barely having enough presence of mind to watch where he was actually going. His aunt (an he still wasn't used to calling her that) had told him to speak to Professor Dumbledore, insisting that if anyone could help Harry, then the professor could. Harry was already well acquainted with the kindly old man. It had been Dumbledore, after all, who had risked his life (quite literally) to teach him how to read and write. Looking back on the moment now, it occurred to Harry that the man had agreed without even hesitating; something he now realized was rather odd. His royal bloodline certainly would explain why the old professor had given in so quickly. If he ever did become king, he would see to it that everyone learned how to read and write, not just the wealthy.

Back to Dumbledore, though. If the professor couldn't help him, then Harry was pretty much on his own. His aunt, who'd been riddled with sickness for years now, would certainly be of little help and, quite frankly, Harry wasn't sure he could do this solo. Whatever his blood might contain, he still felt every bit a servant. Finally reaching Harry Dumbledore's room, Harry gathered his strength and knocked loudly.

"Come in."

Harry complied at once and, as Dumbledore looked up, he smiled brightly, his eyes twinkled as they had always done. For the first time, however, Harry was able to identify an emotion in those eyes which, until now, had always been a mystery:

Hope

"Did you know?" Harry demanded softly, the words escaping him before he could even think to check himself.

"I know many things, my child" the man replied mildly, though Harry had the burning suspicion he knew exactly what Harry was talking about "I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific than that"

"Oh, just the little detail that my parents were murdered, that they were King and Queen and that I'm the rightful heir to the throne" Harry drawled, as though speaking of the weather

"Yes." The professor said simply, sounding so matter-of-fact that Harry couldn't help but gape. "I never told you simply because I thought you were too young. Not only that, but I had the utmost faith that your aunt would tell you when the time was right."

Harry certainly couldn't think of anything to say to that.

"So, Harry Potter, what are you going to do?" Dumbledore inquired solemnly.

"Why, win back my kingdom from my evil uncle of course" Harry quipped lightly and Dumbledore smiled. Considering the circumstances, however, he sobered rather quickly. "Only problem is I have no idea how to do it."

"We would have to act before the inter-marriage." Dumbledore began at once. Clearly, he'd been planning ahead "If we do not, then Dudley will still be royal by marriage, if not by blood. Besides, for the inter-marriage plan to work you have to marry Prince Draco. You shall also need to rally the people. They are mostly on your side already but you must assure them that you will be a better King than Vernon. I will tell all who will listen not to give away that they know you, but be aware that your every move shall be carefully watched and measured. I recommend you begin taking regular trips to the town in order to talk to them."

"What of Prince Draco?" Harry asked curiously

"We can't be to sure of him yet." Dumbledore replied carefully "For all we know he might support Dudley as King. Befriend him but do not tell him who you are. Pretend you have been ordered to look after him. If nothing else, he'll serve as further incentive for the townsfolk to treat you as a stranger. We are Gryffindor's Harry. We will fight but we have to know were fighting for the right side."

Harry pondered that, musing that, with all he had to do, surely he didn't stand a bats chance in hell.

"Do you think I can do it?" Harry blurted at last, suddenly having to ask. Dumbledore, however, merely smiled at him kindly.

"Harry; there's not a doubt in my mind."

Harry thought of his parents. The King and Queen of the Gryffindor kingdom. After years of thinking they had died in an accident he finally knew the truth. It was hard to believe that a story he'd been hearing since childhood was actually about him…

When Harry had been a year old a man named Tom Marvillo Riddle (who had given himself the code name Voldemort) had somehow gotten into the palace. No one was entirely sure how it had happened, or even what had happened, but apparently Voldemort had killed first his father, who had died fighting to protect his family, and then his mother, who had died protecting Harry himself. Harry had always been told, at this point, that the child (himself, he now realized) had died. Dumbledore, however, had been sure to set the record straight. According to the professor, this point of the story is where it branched in many different dirctions, varying from tale to tale. The one told from Voldemort's own lips, however, was that he had pressed the tip of his knife to Harry's forehead, only to find himself unable to execute the killing blow.

If Voldemort was to be believed (and, lets face it, he wasn't the most refutable source), the very world had closed around him at that moment and the only thing that existed was the green of Harry's eyes. Eyes so deep they could see how very tarnished his soul was. The story went that Voldemort had been so startled that the knife had slipped, cutting Harry deeply and leaving him with a lightning bolt gash. Perhaps making such an insision would have snapped Voldemort out of whatever trance he'd fallen into but, thankfully, it hadn't come to that. The guards, having finally bought a clue, had chosen that moment to rush heroically in a save the day. Dumbledore had seemed rather lost in thought when he'd informed Harry that Voldemort hadn't struggled at all. Instead, he laughed wildly and furiously, ranting over and over and over how Harry was 'marked' now. How he'd forever been changed.

Having been caught red-handed, there wasn't a trial, there was simply and execution. Apparently, Harry had attended in the arms of his aunt who, as Lily's sister, was, of course, the next in line o inherit the throne. Dumbledore had admitted to being present himself and, he quipped, he still had trouble believing what had happened next. Voldemort had looked over the audience; his eyes glazed with madness, and had spoken in a tone long associated with the voice of prophecy:

"The one who is marked,
Will strengthen the tree
And in times of sorrow
Will set you all free
To bring peace and joy
And glory above
The one marked with hate
Must learn how to love."

He'd been killed the moment the prophecy had passed through his lips but the words had become something of a legend in the Gryffindor Kingdom. A spark of hope in the coming darkness. That the whole matter was shrouded in mystery only served to highten the intrigue. Why, for instance, had a man known for his ruthless evil, spared a child barely old enough to speak? Harry had hardly been the first child Voldemort had set his sights on, and yet none of the others had survived. It couldn't simply be a matter of innocence of beauty –all children, especially so young, were innocent and a sight to behold. Why spare the prince and not the parents? If his objective had been to hurt the Gryffindor Kingdom, or even to end the royal line, killing Harry would have caused the most damage. So why let him live? According to Dumbledore, the people had gifted Harry with everything from shockingly good luck to magical powers. There was one thing, however, on which they agreed on, and that was his title. The entire incident had earned him the name "The Boy Who Lived" and it was he, thanks in so small part to the prophecy, on which the population rested all their hopes.

Talk about pressure.

When Harry finally fell to sleep that night he dreamt of a woman crying and two, backless, glowing, soulless eyes that seemed to see right through him...

Draco awoke slowly. So slowly, in fact, that it actually took him several minutes to remember exactly where he was and why he was feeling so profoundly miserable. Of course, remembering only made him want to burrow under the covers and never emerge ever again. It was certainly a more pleasant way to spend his life. Then again, compared to sleeping with Dudley, eating poisonous spiders would probably be preferable. Actually, there was no 'probably' about it. Given an option, he'd defiantly choose the spiders.

Trying to get his mind off such manners, Draco observed his room more thoroughly, having been understandably distracted previously. He actually blanched when he realized how… red… everything was. At least he'd be able to talk some fashion sense into what would soon be his shudder husband. On the bright side, at least he had his own room. He still cringed when he remembered the servant who had shown him to his room coyly pointing out where Dudley's was located. In case he happened to get… lonely… in the night. Personally, Draco thought it would be less hazardous to bed an elephant. It was less likely to squash him.

Such thoughts would hardly help. Draco wasn't marrying an elephant. He was marrying one of its demented relatives. Still, there had to be a silver lining to this. Frantically, Draco tried to find it. Being a Slytherin, he probably didn't do an excellent job of it, but he was desperate enough to actually get a reasonable looking list:

1) At least his future 'husband' was male. As Draco was gay that was a very good thing.

2) By ruling the kingdom by Dudley's side, perhaps he could make it a better place to live as apposed to ridden with poverty.

3) He didn't have to sleep with Dudley, he knew for a fact that the current king and queen hadn't shared a room for many years.

4) He might actually get to like Dudley once he got to know him…

Okay so scratch that last one.

Dressing as slowly as was possible (procrastination was a wondrous thing) he sat on his bed and wondered if he could beg sick or fatigued that morning aptly enough to avoid dining with Dudley. He had just started to weigh the pros of getting the meal over and done with against dragging illness out for as long as possible when a knock came at the door. Perking up at the interruption (only to feel a strong sense of dread when he realized it could be Dudley) Draco opened the door rather hesitantly.

Only to be rendered speechless.

Standing on his doorstep holding a tray laden with food was the most beautiful man Draco had ever laid eyes on. The eyes were the first thing he noticed. Draco hadn't known such a vivid shade of green could even exist. They caught and hypnotised him effortlessly, so much so that it seemed they could look directly through him. Next was the hair. The shade of a night sky, it was wild and messed, making it appear as though the man had just had the most terrific sex of his young life. Though he was too thin for Draco's comfort, he was also lean and delicate looking. The stray bruise spoke harshly of mistreatment while his smile of carefree innocence. Draco would have thought such a contradiction impossible but, seeing it with his own two eyes, he found it only enchanting. Realizing his staring had not gone unnoticed, as the man was eyeing him rather curiously and politely clearing his throat, Draco quickly stepped aside, allowing the bronze-skinned Adonis entrance to his room while trying (rather hopelessly) to will his blush away.

When Harry had awoken that morning, he had dressed as quickly as possible in the nicest clothes he had. Of course, being a slave this really wasn't saying much but it made him feel better nonetheless. Eating a hasty and innutritious meal, he made his way through the palace to the kitchens where he fetched a much more appetizing meal for the Slytherin Prince. Then, moving hastily, he made his way to the room that, according the Dumbledore, the prince now occupied. Taking a moment to gather his courage and balance the tray, he knocked

The door was opened so carefully, Harry had to wonder whom Draco was expecting to show such reluctance to greet them. Then, of course, he caught sight of the Prince.

Time froze.

Harry had never seen anyone so beautiful. The Prince radiated with a grace that seemed to come naturally rather than by practice. His silver eyes glittered starkly, and Harry read not only a sense of mischief there but cunning and intelligence. He was impeccably dressed and stood so proudly that Harry felt almost intimidated by him. His hair, a stunning blonde, fell gracefully around his face making him look not only handsome but also dignified. His skin was almost white and it was so flawless that it seemed a single touch would shatter it beyond repair. He seemed at the same time fragile and indestructible. It was almost as if his beauty was as dangerous as it was enchanting and Harry was hypnotized.

Forcefully snapping himself out of his shock, Harry noticed the Prince was looking at him rather oddly. Suddenly very conscious of his dishevelled appearance and visible bruises, Harry flushed darkly and cleared his throat. The technique worked and the Prince immediately stepped to the side, allowing Harry entrance. Once inside, Harry couldn't help but look around in wonder. He was rarely allowed to so much as look upon such finery, even working in the Castle, and so took advantage of it while he had the opportunity. Even as beautiful as the room was (not to mention its occupant) he still had the presence of mind to place the tray he held on the nearest table, bowing lowly as he did so.

"I thought you might be hungry, my Prince." Harry managed, speaking the first words that came to him. Luckily, he'd been a slave so many years that it had long since become automatic.

"Who are you?" The Prince returned bluntly, ignoring the food and taking a seat upon his bed.

"I am a servant in the palace, my Prince." Harry replied politely "I have been ordered to serve you."

"I meant for you to give me your name." The Prince corrected

"Harry, my Prince." Harry said slowly, surprised at the question. No one he served had ever asked him his name.

"And your last name?" The prince inquired. Harry found himself more puzzled than ever. Perhaps, he reasoned, it was simply the tradition in the Slytherin Kingdom for every servant to introduce himself or herself formally and to be addressed by the name they gave?

"I have none," Harry lied easily. He could not, after all, reveal his real last name.

"What? None?" The Prince echoed, sounding more surprised than the reply really warranted "What about your parents?"

"My parents died when I was just a child, my Prince." Harry admitted effortlessly. Orphans, particularly in these hard times, were hardly uncommon. "I'm afraid they never got the chance to tell me."

"And you are to look after me?" The Prince clarified.

"Yes, my Prince" Harry replied, bowing his head in submission.

"You don't have to address me so formally," Draco told him lightly, looking a little uncomfortable at Harry's effortless obedience.

"My Prince?" Harry inquired hesitantly, feeling rather out of his depth. People he served thanked him coldly and dismissed him just as quickly. They didn't ask for his name or for him to dispense of their title.

"My name is Draco." The prince told him, looking just the slightest bit amused "You may use that."

"Very well Draco" Harry assented, the name flowing awkwardly from his tongue.

Draco nodded his approval and finally reached for the plate Harry had left on the table. He ate quickly and efficiently, but with expert manners. Giving his upbringing, Harry had expected nothing less. Left waiting as he was, Harry couldn't help but try to satisfy his curiosity.

"Is it common for servants to address you by your given name in the Slytherin Kingdom?"

"No" Draco admitted easily. Harry couldn't help it. He raised a brow.

"You will be introducing me to my new kingdom." The Prince –Draco –began. "You will be showing me around. I intend to spend a lot of time with you and having you worship me will only serve to annoy me."

"As you wish." Harry agreed, his respect for the man before him rising slightly. He had a feeling that the Prince would make for a rather decent ruler. Then again, it was hardly difficult to beat Vernon and Dudley.

"I already warned you about speaking so formally." Draco cautioned. "Drop the servant act. I want to be shown by a civilian not a pet."

Harry considered it. If his bid for the throne was successful, he would end up marrying Draco one day. Having him as a trusted friend would only make the transition easier. Not only that, but if he could get Draco to see how badly Dudley would rule the Kingdom, the young Prince might even be willing to help him. Since Dudley was practically infatuated with Draco, his help could prove to be invaluable. Being himself would only help him achieve all this. It was hard to respect someone who mindlessly agreed with everything you said, after all. Besides, it wasn't like it would put his secret in danger. Who could every suspect him of having royal blood? With this in mind, Harry let himself stand properly erect and dropped his 'I-have-no-emotions' mask, a façade he'd taken years to develop and perfect.

Draco stared at the transformation in shock. This man before him, this Harry, he was suddenly a completely different person. As though he'd dropped more than a mask; as though he'd dropped an entire self. Draco had no idea what he was doing telling a slave (no matter how beautiful) to address him so casually but there was just something about the man that made him want to trust him and to gain his trust in return. Never one to ignore his instincts, he had decided there could be no harm in getting to know the servant. If nothing else, perhaps Harry could shed some light on the people who inhabited the Gryffindor Kingdom.

"So what is there to do around here?" Draco asked finally, changing the subject abruptly. Harry smiled at the question and, despite himself, Draco felt his breath catch. Harry really was breathtaking when he smiled…

"Surprisingly little actually." Harry admitted easily, "I spend most my time doing work around the castle. I could show you around if you like; I know it better than anyone."

"There must be something you do for fun," Draco protested. "What do you do on your time off?"

"Nothing really." Harry replied honestly, "I rarely have time off and when I do I'm not permitted to leave the castle grounds."

"You must do something," Draco pressed "You can't save every payment you receive."

"Payment?" Harry echoed, actually snorting in disbelief.

"You mean your not paid?" Draco cried, obviously shocked. He couldn't believe it. All labour deserved a reward. Harry, however, simply shook his head, looking as though the very idea of money in his pocket was preposterous.

"Your not servants your slaves" Draco muttered darkly, trying to force his clenched fists to relax.

"Well we can't exactly ask the king to pay us." Harry reasoned, "We'd be dead before dawn."

"When I marry Dudley, I'll make sure that changes," Draco promised

"Do you want to marry Dudley?" Harry asked, wincing slightly. It was a horribly personal question and one he never would have asked under normal circumstances but, as was no doubt clear, these were not normal circumstances. Not only that, the answer to this single question was absolutely vital. Yes, and Draco was a possible enemy. No, and he was a possible ally. Draco didn't know it, but everything was riding on his answer.

"I don't have much of a choice," Draco pointed out steadily. "It was arranged before I was even born."

"That's a no, then?" Harry asked gently.

"Yes, that's a no." Draco admitted, sighing heavily "Still, like I said, I don't have a choice. I can't get out of it and if I did I'd be betraying my Kingdom. It's a lose-lose situation."

Secretly, Harry smiled.

Ally it is.

TBC...