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The Consort: Hummingbird Circus	By : GoldSnitcher Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 28266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Agathe, the capital of the Edorean Empire, was everywhere cluttered with bright pennants and overrun with people as the city was prepared for the yearly celebration of Tribute.

In the dining hall of the palace, visiting dignitaries sipped wine and traded gossip with the members of the Empire's court, the constant hum of their voices blurring and filling the room with a bustling warmth. Seated at a table near to the head table, Fra Salto, an ambassador from Sivan, one of the Empire's more powerful allies, turned from where he had been watching the head table to comment to Blaise, “He is most beautiful.”

Blaise followed Fra Salto’s gaze up to where Emerald sat between Draco and Severus Snape. Since Nott had visited the sight of the dark-headed youth seated at the head table conversing with the royal family had become a common one, but Blaise was still fascinated by it. Emerald had more than proved that he was as skilled a socialite as he was a tactician.

As the watched, the prince whispered something to his companion that prompted a wide grin to creep onto Emerald's face before he tipped his head back and laughed, rich and honest, and clear. “He is,” Blaise agreed, his gaze lingering even as the ambassador was drawn away into discussion. The king whispered something to his wife, and then turned and spoke something to Emerald, the younger man's head tilting slightly to hear better as he responded, the prince nodding in accordance with the exchange. As one, the royal family rose to their feet causing the rest of the hall to hurriedly drop put aside their wine goblets and drop into respectful bow.

Blaise risked a further peak from his bow to see Draco reach a hand forward, succeessfully snagging the edge of Emerald's cloak and tugging just light enough to be noticed. Emerald turned from where he had been following Severus through the doors and fell into step beside the prince, following the king and queen through the back doors that led to the royal chambers. That as well was something Blaise had seen with increasingly frequency, to the point that he wondered whether Emerald had need of a room in the harem at all anymore. It was surely only a matter of time before the gold Consort’s circlet that Emerald wore for special occasions and ceremonies would be a permanent presence on the young man’s head.

………………………….

Sprawled across the rumpled sheets of his four-poster, the prince extended a lazy arm and beckoned, “Emerald, come here to me.” Emerald turned away from the maps he was studying, clutching a half-eaten apple in one hand, and smiled. He obeyed the request without comment, sitting casually by Draco's hip, not bothering to adjust his robe as the green silk fell open to reveal his chest. “You’ll be there tomorrow,” Draco said, not so much an order as a statement, one hand raising so he could tangle his fingers in soft, dark tousled hair.

“How could I not be?” Harry said, tilting his head back obligingly. “Our anniversary,” he teased.

“Hm. This time last year you were tied to a pole and half-starved. Probably with lice in your hair,” Draco shot back.

“I didn’t have lice in my hair.”

“It’s not our anniversary exactly,” Draco continued as if Harry hadn’t said a word. “It’s Tribute. We weren’t really together until at least two weeks later.”

Harry rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed trusting Draco to catch him, which he did, and Harry stretched out over the prince and relished the feeling of fingers in his hair as he stared up at the ceiling. “I was yours the moment you laid eyes on me. I saw it in your eyes the instant you decided it.”

“I did decide it that quickly,” Draco agreed. The prince's casual acceptance of the tease made Harry fall silent. He liked to tease the arrogant blond, but he was always conscious of the difference in their status, and of their history together. For his part, Draco never seemed tense or suspicious when they talked or joked, and he greatly encouraged Harry to be familiar and casual with him, but Harry could not allow himself to relax around the prince. No matter their intimacy or their banter, Harry always knew that it was a tenuous facade; they were not lovers or good friends, but were always still separated by a great chasm. Draco was the High Prince, and Harry was a catamite, a servant of pleasure. However much hr liked to believe they were in love, Harry knew better. Love was a weakness, and in this tenuous game he was playing, it could very well destroy him.

Only lately, it was becoming harder for him to maintain that distance. There was a stubborn part in him that wanted every moment he shared with the prince to be real, that refused to dismiss what he felt as a charade and knew with absolute certainty that he loved the other man, even if he hated to admit it.

“How can you possibly be thinking so hard already?” Draco asked as he lazily stroked Harry’s hair. “I’m exhausted. We’ve not made love like that in a good while, and today was a long day.”

“Made love,” Harry echoed quietly.

“You can’t want to do it again already?” Draco asked, then sighed in a put-upon, long-suffering sort of way. “Well, give me a moment.”

“Draco,” Harry said, and twisted himself so he was leaning on his propped elbow, his chest pressing closely to that of the prince.

“What is it?” Draco said, turning serious as he stroked a gentle finger down Harry’s cheek.

Harry had so many things he wanted to say in that moment. He wanted to tell the prince who he was, that he was a poor farmer named Harry who had led a rebellion that would have crippled the empire. A lost young orphan who missed his friends and hated the dark looks and whispered words he knew haunted his steps whenever he went about his daily routine in the harem. So much would have spilled from his lips if he only opened them, so Harry pressed them closely to Draco’s and spilled his words into the prince’s mouth; expressed everything in a kiss. Draco didn’t feel quite so exhausted after that, but Harry felt more alone than he ever had.

………………………….

“When I am king,” Draco said with that aristocratic air he always adopted when he spoke of such times to come. “I will do away with this infernal ceremony.”

“Sip your wine, Prince,” Harry whispered back as they watched yet another dance performed as the ambassador of whatever place was currently paying homage stepped forward to place his gifts at the feet of the royals. “We can re-enact our first night later.” That seemed to settle Draco just fine, and he turned back to the proceedings with a regal, albeit impatient expression.

Harry, quite opposite to the prince, found he absolutely loved Tribute. He was seated on a small throne on Draco’s right, the Consort’s crown on his head and everywhere around him were people laughing and enjoying themselves; the Grand Hall was filled with people come to pay their respects to the empire on which they were dependent for safety, for prosperity, for support.

Harry knew that just one year ago he would have had quite a different reaction to the lavish affair. His small country home was the source of the herbs that the empire’s healers, the best in the world, used to make poultices and remedies; they were the largest supply of grains and vegetables that kept the people of the empire fed. It was their pottery that was traded for supplies on which the empire was dependent. In exchange, the empire seemed all too eager to forget Brucandis even existed. Located as it was on the edge of the Empire, Brucandis had been raided twice in one year alone and the empire’s promised guards never came. They were given poor return for the considerable amount they handed over yearly and any protection the city had was cobbled together by the populous, without any financial or physical support from their king. It was disgraceful.

Now, Harry watched gold and silver, diamonds and precious stones, fine jewellery and expensive fabrics, bourn by the careful hands of humble allies of the empire, foreigners who received more in return than Brucandis could dream of, make their way through the ivory hall in which he was seated on a throne of gold. With a certain amount of satisfaction, he watched all those offerings exchange hands and join the steady procession of goods from the hall into a safe chamber. He watched it all confident in the knowledge that it had taken him a single night to convince the High Prince to distribute a fair portion of that wealth to those cities on the outskirts of the empire that had been so poorly neglected. It was not coincidence that Brucandis was set to receive the finest shipment of them all.

“Another concubine,” Draco huffed, recalling Harry from his thoughts as an elaborately clad girl left the safety of the guards who had escorted her to the dais and placed a kiss on Lucius Malfoy’s feet before she shuffled right and dropped another kiss on Draco’s; Harry ignored the lick of jealous anger that raced through him. He had been spoiled, Draco had taken no one but Harry to his bed for an entire year, and the prince had taken him quite frequently. “They ought to know better,” Draco was saying as the girl was waved away by an imperious looking Severus Snape, no doubt to be settled into the harem. “Everyone knows the harem has been quiet this year.”

Harry showed no reaction to the Prince’s words. Nor did he react when the prince slipped a possessive hand about him as the ceremony continued. Inside, however, Harry could not have been happier. He smiled softly at Draco when the prince stroked his palm, and they sat together watching slaves and finery pass by them, neither caring, both just counting the minutes until they could leave the hall and slip away to Draco’s chambers.

………………..

“Draco,” Narcissa Malfoy said softly as she followed Lucius out of the Grand Hall via the private entrance behind their thrones. “Your father and I wish to have a word.”

Draco nodded but did not relinquish his hold of Harry’s hand, so Harry was obliged to follow the prince to the small chamber that Lucius and Narcissa had disappeared to. “We won’t be a moment,” Narcissa said to Harry as he was led into the room.

“Of course,” he said, and bowed as he stepped back out of the room.

“They left you all to yourself?” Severus drawled. Harry turned to see the man looming spectre-like in the hallway. He had long-since learned to ignore the presence of the guards, they never spoke unless addressed directly and they kept secrets well, quite unlike the palace servants who gossiped more than Harry’s aunt had done at one of her social teas.

“Severus,” Harry greeted with a smile. “The belle of the ball, as usual. You lit up the room.”

Severus quirked an eyebrow and smoothed his robes meticulously. “Black is my colour,” he stated simply in response to the tease. “Impudent Whelp,” he added.

“Did you come to keep me company?”

“I came to make certain you did not get into mischief,” Severus drawled, which Harry knew meant the man had been worried and was thus acting as Harry’s personal bodyguard. It was a bit much, since Harry knew that Finch-Fletchley was haunting these halls, as well as two other trained men who were likewise charged with the task of keeping Harry in one piece.

“I’m not going to steal the Tribute, if that’s what you’re worrying about,” Harry joked. He had learned it was easier if he did not draw attention to his friend’s overprotective nature.

“Indeed I have heard a rumour that you do not need to steal at all,” Severus said.

“Not when you and the prince take care of me so very well,” Harry answered smoothly.

“I was referring to the rumour of the small fleet that are, as we speak, being loaded with goods, with orders to sail to the far corners of the empire bearing great gifts.”

“I know little of politics,” Harry dismissed with a wave. “But that sounds like the prince’s doing.” From the look Severus gave him Harry knew the man was not fooled, but he didn’t mind, Severus was nothing if not devoted.

……………………

“Father, mother,” Draco said. He did not take the seat his mother gestured to, preferring to stand by the door in the hope that his parents might realize he did not intend to linger.

“Draco,” Narcissa sighed and interlocked her fingers after smoothing down her skirt over her legs. “Draco, you have been spending a good deal of time with that catamite,” she began.

“If this is another tirade about taking a Consort, and a female one at that, then I’m going to leave right now at this very moment because I’ve heard it all before and it’s not going to change my mind to hear it once more,” Draco retorted.

“It’s not that, Sweetheart,” Narcissa said. “I don’t mean to upset you.”

“What is it, then?” Draco asked, still wary.

“This past year I have tried very hard to accept what seems to be your decision,” she said. “You’ve spent so much time with that boy.”

“His name is Emerald.”

“Yes,” Narcissa said, but did not correct herself. “You’ve been different, Draco. Someone else.”

“I thought it was an improvement,” Draco interjected. “I’ve been present at all of your infernal gatherings, and on my best behaviour. I’ve taken interest in the running of the palace and upheld my responsibilities.”

“You’ve been doing a wonderful job, Draco,” Lucius said.

“I’m not complaining about that,” Narcissa said. “I’m not complaining at all, in fact. You’ve done such a wonderful job, especially these last few weeks when your father’s been ill. I’ve realized where your heart is. I can see you want so very much to name that boy Consort.”

Draco pulled himself up straighter, prepared for a fight. He knew how his mother felt about this, knew where the conversation was undoubtedly going and he refused to be budged. “I know you understand how I feel,” Narcissa said. “A king needs to have heirs, Draco. He needs offspring in order to protect his kingdom; that is one of the most important duties of a good king. I don’t,” she said hastily, holding up a hand, “I don’t wish to argue this point. What I am saying is, I will keep silent and in fact, offer my full support of you and that boy, even if you do make him Consort.”

“What?” Draco asked, when she broke off. “What is it?”

“I will do all that,” Narcissa continued. “If you will do for me one small favour.”

“What is it?” he repeated reluctantly.

“Take someone else to your bed tonight, Draco,” Narcissa said. “Take a concubine to your chambers. Spend one night with a woman.”

“Why?” Draco asked. “What’s the point? I’ve made my decision, I won’t change it.”

“You don’t know that,” Narcissa interrupted, her tone revealed the desperation she was attempting to hold back. It made Draco’s heart break; he wanted so very much to please his parents. “It’s been a year. Maybe it’s worked out of your system, whatever this is,” she gestured to him in a general sort of way. “Maybe you’ll find you feel different. If you don’t,” she hastened to add. “If you don’t, then I will welcome that boy, Emerald, I will welcome Emerald happily. I will know it’s what you truly want and that he makes you happy, and that’s what I want, for you to be happy.”

“Why can’t you just accept it now?” Draco asked.

“I’m not ready to let go of the thought that you might be still be happy with a proper Consort,” Narcissa said. “With stability.”

“Father,” Draco said, appealing to the man who had stood by him without fail. When he met his father’s eyes, however, he saw only exhaustion in them. Lucius had put so much effort into soothing his wife’s fears, into running the empire, into raising Draco to be a fine prince and a better king. He was still weak from his illness and he looked tired.

“It’s your decision, Draco,” Lucius said.

“Please,” Narcissa said, “One night, to put my fears at ease.”

……………………

From his bedroom window Harry watched Luna Lovegood, a new addition to the harem, make her way down the balcony pathway that for one whole year had been Harry’s alone to walk. She wore white, with a sheer white veil covering her pale hair, like a bride meeting her husband in their wedding chambers.

Of course, Draco had explained Narcissa’s proposition, that open support from the queen for any decision that the prince may or may not be thinking of making would be beneficial; would go a long way in increasing the confidence of the people in their prince. Harry even understood what Draco hadn't been quite able to put into words: he longed to make his mother proud and could not bear the notion that any choice he might make could cause her grief and that it was his sense of duty as a son more than anything else that had influenced Draco to agree. Harry had nodded, had even managed a reasurring touch of the prince's arm and a light kiss pressed just at the very corner of Draco's lips that, perhaps, might still belong only to Harry. Severus had escorted him back to his chambers, and bowed just slightly when Harry had dismissed everyone from his rooms and then shut the door in their faces. The lights were off in his chambers, and he watched her walk.

Love was not something that Harry could afford; it cost too much and cut too deeply. He had fought so very hard against this one thing, this one flaw in his plan, but somehow his goal had shifted. He’d forgotten about the promise he had made to himself on that first day when Draco had ordered him cleaned and fed, and then added that the servants should lock his chains good and tight. Laying there in the depths of that rocking ship he promised himself that he would be free, and he would rescue his friends, no matter the cost. He could not think of when it was precisely that he had stopped wanting his freedom, wasn't even certain there was a precise moment, though perhaps there must have been. Regardless, he found himself thinking that he would endure any of the chains that Draco chose to place on him so long as the blond would hold him close.

Harry had lived one year in a fantasy. Catamites were a dime a dozen, and so easy to cast aside. Now he watched a pretty virgin walk through his garden, run her hand over his rail, and proceed down his path. She was on borrowed ground. How long before she owned that path?

This had been how Pansy Parkinson felt when the guards had come to her rooms and ordered her to pack her belongings. This was the exact tearing sensation that lanced through her gut as she watched a ruffled little boy make himself at home in her rooms, in her harem. It had taken Harry one night to win the prince’s favour, and one night to lose it again.

In his rooms, Harry ran his fingers over the ornate ivory dagger that Draco had gifted to him, a traditional gift between two nobles engaged to be wed, and he watched her walk.

………………………

The body of Luna Lovegood was found the following morning. Apparently, she had not even made it back to her own rooms before she was attacked; her pretty pale throat cut, her white robes stained, she floated like a sea nymph in the pool into which she had toppled. She had been dead before she had even hit the water.

On the walkway that linked the prince’s quarters to the harem there was found an ornate ivory dagger that the prince, pale and shaken, recognized immediately. He shared a panicked look with Severus Snape, both of them stunned and horrified both knowing the ramifications, but not certain how to put an end to it, the wheels had already been set in motion.

By noon the order was given despite the efforts of those within the palace who fought hard to prevent it. Five minutes later, there was a pounding at Emerald’s door, though the men who knocked did not pause for a reply. The wheels spun on.

…………………..

It was perhaps entirely improper to enter the High Prince's personal chambers, scroll clutched in a hand held high and waving above one's head, shouting loudly and enthusiastically, but Blaise had grown-up with Draco, had learned, even, to hoark spit-balls with the prince, and so he did not think it warranted the scathing glare the royal guards who stood sentry by Draco's rooms cast his way before he slammed the door in their faces.

“He's submitted a petition!” Blaise repeated, expecting his triumphal cry to be met with somewhat more enthusiasm than it was. He barely ducked the paperweight that sailed by him, crashing into the opposite wall and shattering into a glitter of tiny crystaline pieces. “Draco?”

“Much good it will do him,” Draco sneered, before running both hands through his already mussed hair. Blaise' began to feel his optimism fade. His friend stood before him, grey circles under his eyes, hair mussed and clothing askew. Several trays of food had been relegated to the far table and were balancing precariously on a table-top too small to hold them. Blaise wondered if Draco had even eaten any of it. “My father dismissed it.”

“But,” Blaise protested, more because he had been certain this would be the thing that would save Emerald from the horrible misunderstanding, “This petition is addressed to you.”

Draco shook his head and turned back to his desk, re-organizing the parchment there, Blaise suspected, merely so he would not have to meet his friend's gaze. “A murder in the Royal Harem? It's out of my authority, you know my father as king must have final word.”

“Final word, yes. That does not mean that you shouldn't say anything at all!”

“What makes you think I didn't try?” Draco shouted, his glare cold and biting and shocking to Blaise in its ferocity. “My mother,” Draco continued, his voice quiet but tinged with a bitter bite. “Suggested that perhaps my judgement was not entirely impartial, given my close relation to … to the accused.”

“Call him Emerald,” Blaise ordered. “And how could your mother do such a thing? Can't she see what Pansy has done?”

“Perhaps she does not want to. Blaise, she wants for me what she could never have herself. A wife could give the Empire lots of heirs, could offer stability and security.”

“The kingdom could have those things irregardless of who you married, or whether you married at all. It's only scary because it's change!”

“Change can be for the good or the bad. Regardless, my father dismissed my appeal.”

“Then I'll make the appeal on your behalf. An impartial mediator.”

Draco let out a short laugh and shook his head. “He dismissed everyone but his own select advisors from the room when it became clear that perhaps some were being unduly influenced by an external source.” Blaise patiently waited through Draco's sheepish glance and was rewarded with a slight elaboration. “I may have had Montague say a few things.”

Blaise rolled his eyes heavenward, “By which you mean you wrote a few things down and made the poor man memorize it all, don't you?”

“I speak better publicly than he does. I'm better at forming an argument. My father needs to be spoken to a certain way,” Draco immediately defended so swiftly that Blaise was reminded of the hot-heated, spoiled little boy who had been his friend, before court etiquette lessons with tutors and gruelling sessions about tactics and strategies had smoothed that impulsive, impetuous child into a respectable member of the royal family.

The light-heartedness drifted away as Blaise attempted to come to terms with what he was being told. “There must still be something else. Some way to help.”

“Blaise,” Draco said, his expression utterly serious. “My father told me that in this matter I was incapable of being impartial. He promised me that he would hear the matter as openly as he could, but that is the best that we can hope for.”

“So your father can be impartial, with your mother whispering in his ear and Pansy whispering in hers, but you cannot?”

“I hope so.”

…………………..

Harry rose from his spot on the bed when his cell door was opened, surprised when a veiled woman in green entered. He had been expecting Severus or Blaise, or perhaps even the prince making a grand entrance and dragging him out of the dull chambers in which he had been locked. He had not, however, expected Pansy Parkinson.

“Leave us,” Pansy ordered her eyes not wavering from where they kept Harry pinned. With an abrupt nod the guard stepped out of the chambers, closing the door behind him. “Don’t look so surprised, precious Emerald.”

“What are you doing here?” Harry hissed. “You’ve got what you wanted.

Pansy smiled a small pained smile. She crossed to stand before him and, expression almost fondly exasperated, raised a hand and caressed his cheek. “My poor little Emerald,” she said, in such a soft voice she almost sounded as if she were truly regretful. “You mustn’t take this personally.”

“Get out.”

“Every story needs a villain.”

“I’ve had more than my share of villains,” Harry snapped. “Ever since I came to the palace you have wanted me gone. Well, congratulations. Your cunning has finally won you your wish.”

“It was easy,” Pansy said, her tone becoming smooth and dark and giddy. She stepped away from him to survey the small chamber, fingertips running along the rough wood desk, the worn bedlinens. “Once I realized one simple little thing,” she glanced back at him, her blue eyes bright and laughing.

“What?” Harry found himself asking, found himself needing to know the answer, to understand why she had done what she had. Warfare he understood, and politics, but such subtle manipulation, such conniving plotting was beyond anything Harry had ever before encountered.

“You and I,” Pansy said. “We are the same.”

“We aren’t anything the same.”

“That night, I watched from my new rooms on the ground floor of the harem. Watched you walk across the bridge towards his chamber. I wanted nothing more than to crush you with my bare hands,” Pansy admitted. “You watched, and wanted to slit her throat. You should be thanking me.”

“You make me sick.”

Pansy smirked and shook her head. “I saw you that night. What else were you mooning over when you handled that dagger?”

“I was thinking about Draco!” Harry shouted. “I was thinking about what he promised me when he gave me that dagger. But you! You took something pure and you tainted it!”

“I showed you what the promises of a conceited prince mean! ” She stalked toward him, her expression sneering. “You have everyone fooled, little Emerald. You would have played the game, and you would have won. High Consort,” she hissed. “It would have been lovely. But you fucked up, little Catamite. You lost your head and so you were eaten alive. Like puppets on a string you made them dance for you. Don’t think I never noticed.”

“Get away from me,” Harry ordered quietly, because Pansy was pressing close to him again, and her closeness as much as her words made his stomach snarl.

“The prince, that whore Thomas, the prince’s own advisor. Even Severus. Even the king. All you had to do was flick your wrist and they performed for you. That is power, little Emerald; that, more so than plans and politics; you were more powerful than a king, because you controlled a king. You thought you had it all mastered.” She shook her head and ‘tsked’. “Know thine enemy,” Pansy said. “Plots like yours are masterful, but they break apart so very easily with just the smallest mistake. You love him,” she said, with a sort of amused triumph. “It’s so very … touching. He doesn’t love you, of course, but still, it was always so very moving to see you jump like a puppy to fulfil his every wish. All it took was a very subdued tea with the queen. You never quite had her in the palm of your hand … but I did.”

Fists clenched at his side, Harry found himself gritting out, “It wasn’t a game.”

“Wasn’t it?” Pansy asked. “But you played it so well.”

“Then you win,” Harry said. “You have it all. All the time in the world and not a single thing standing in your way. So woo the prince and take your kingdom; that’s what you wanted. A golden crown for you fat head.”

“But you see, little Emerald,” Pansy said, shaking her head sadly as she paced closer once more. “I don’t have it all. There is something standing in my way, even now.”

“What? What else could there possibly be?”

“You.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m locked away in prison! How could I affect your pathetic little quest?”

She leaned forward, her breath ghosting across Harry's ear. “As long as you live, Emerald,” Pansy whispered. “You will always be in my way.”

………………………..

“What do you propose I do about this?” Blaise hissed, his hands braced on his desk as he glared at the man pacing in his office. “I have the prince’s ear, you know that. This matter is not in the prince's control. This is the king!”

“This is the queen, and you know it,” Severus snarled.

“All the more reason,” Blaise said. “It is done, Severus.”

Severus turned in a whirl of dark robes. “It is not done!”

“Yes, it is,” Blaise said sadly and held out a parchment.

Severus stormed forward, snatching the page hastily and reading it over, his expression darkening. “There was no trial!” Severus shouted, tossing the page back onto Blaise' desk. “It has been a mere three days!”

“You know better than anyone that the only decision that matters is that of the king. There was no need of a trial. The situation was quite clear.”

“Your impartial arguments unnerve me,” Severus said as he rubbed his brow.

“Rather I be cool-headed so that I can be clear as well,” Blaise countered. “He submitted a petition.”

“Good boy.”

“It was ignored.”

“How could Draco do such a thing?”

“It is as much out of his hands as it is out of ours.”

With a dark sigh Severus turned toward the door, his expression full of disappointment and defeat. “He is not the man I had envisioned him to be.”

“He fought as hard as he could, Severus,” Blaise countered, as the other man reached the door.

“If he has already given-up then he did not fight with much force,” Severus said sombrely before closing the door with a quiet ‘click’. Inside the small office, Blaise shrieked in fettered rage and hurled the clutter off his desk.

…………………….

“Emerald of Brucandis, you have been judged and found guilty of the murder of concubine Luna Lovegood. This is the sentence of the court: your title is void; your belongings shall be distributed among the men and women of the harem. You will remain in this cell without food or drink until you die; but the king is merciful, he will allow you to take your own life by whatever means if you so choose.”

The man stood in the small chamber, his bulk blocking the natural light that leaked in from the hallway beyond. He read the words from an unrolled parchment and not once did he raise his eyes from the page. Harry had spent three days in his chamber in the prison; even if the room was furnished well, with a bed and even a small desk for writing, it was three days of desperate uncertainty, constantly wondering about his fate, desperate for any news.

Now, he stood in the center of his little room and could hardly understand what he had just been told. “But,” Harry managed when he found his voice. “I submitted a petition to the prince. Didn’t he receive it?” The man rolled the parchment and tucked it away before briskly waving a hand. Five other men, equally impressive in stature pushed into Harry’s chamber and began to remove the furnishings.

Harry swallowed thickly as he watched the missionary bed carted out, followed by the bedding and the rug that covered the floor. “Didn’t Draco read it?” he asked quietly.

The small desk, then the chair, followed by the lamp.

“No!” Harry cried, his voice cracking as he panicked, lunging desperately at the lamp in the man’s arms. “Not the lamp! I cannot endure the night without it! Please! I cannot die in darkness!” he begged, but he was shoved roughly to the floor.

Harry felt numb. Four days ago he had been sitting in an ivory room wearing the Consort’s crown and holding the hand of the High Prince. Four days.

He did not feel his nakedness as the linen was torn from his body. He stood still and quiet as the men took everything, as they cleared away the two meagre bowls, one of water, one of soup, then shut the heavy door and took the sunlight as well.

…………………….

Draco sat at the high table watching the men and women gathered around him dine and laugh, sipping wine and biting into fresh meat, plucking plump grapes out of the silver serving bowls. Draco sipped from his goblet, but even looking down at the plate that had been set in front of him made him queasy and so he did not eat.

“It’s just a dizzy spell,” Lucius said, dismissing his wife's concerns as he rose from the table. He dropped a warm hand to Draco's shoulders. “I’ll retire now, Draco,” he said and squeezed gently.

“Goodnight, father,” Draco answered. When the king and queen had exited the hall, Draco turned to Severus who, seated as he had been beside Narcissa, was now separated from Draco by two empty places. “Are you going to ignore me?”

“My Lord,” Severus responded, and bowed his head respectfully, not turning from where he was surveying the guests.

Draco looked down to where his hands were carefully placed on the table, resting on either side of his plate, and then sighed. “The evidence was there,” he said. “It was irrefutable, my mother even supported the account. No one was with him that night, I had no proof to offer in his defence save that I … that I …”

“Your father made a decision,” Severus said, not looking at Draco. The blond noted that the man had not touched his meal or his goblet. “You have made your decision as well.”

“I fought for him.”

Severus' dark black eyes met Draco's gaze with shattering intensity. “He is not dead yet,” he bit out, each word sharply clipped.

“Father was firm in this,” Draco admitted quietly. “I tried, Sev.” With effort, Draco held his tears because the banquet hall was not the place for them.

Severus dropped his head slightly, his dark hair obscuring his expression. “I am your father’s most loyal servant,” he said in a voice soft and quiet so no one could hear him over the din of the hall. “I have known you since you were a child, so permit me to address you plainly.”

“Of course.”

Severus turned to him then, his dark eyes filled with anguish and rage. “You are a spoiled little boy, Draco; a spoiled little boy who has no real convictions. If you were a general of an army your men would eat you alive. Your father raised you to be a king, and a fine one at that. This is your failing. You are the High Prince of this empire. God forbid you should be made king before you learn this lesson, because then you will be ruler of a ruin.” Draco couldn’t find his voice to deliver an appropriate retort, even if he there had been one to give, and before he could master his own reaction to the words, Severus bowed low and left quickly.

…………………….

It began, and now it would end with the pain of starvation, of dehydration.

No one would come. Not to bring water to wet his lips, not to bring a covering to keep the cold away; not even a face, however hostile, to ameliorate the loneliness of dying.

How long could a body live without water? Without food? Did you go mad first? Harry didn’t know. His feet and hands were swollen and the guards were deaf to his increasing frenzy. He wondered how much time had passed, three days? Four? A month? A century? There was nothing to pass the time save bouts of delirium, of desolation; nothing but the violent protests of a young and healthy body in the process of extermination.

His story was told.
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The Consort: Hummingbird Circus