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Bella's Harem	By : Mamacita Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 28885 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
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
- 19
- 20
- 21
20: At the End of His Rope

Lucius stared at Theo, aghast—not only because he’d been spying on the harem, but because of what he intended to do with the information he’d gathered. Lucius was practically choking with rage. Theo finally seemed to realize this and edged away from him.

But for every step he took back, Lucius took one toward him, until Theo’s back was quite literally up against a wall.

“So.” Lucius flung his hand out and caught Theo by the neck when it looked as if he might try to bolt. “You would deliberately send my son—your friend, as I seem to recall—and another man to their deaths for violating some stupid, pointless rule that madwoman on the throne made up for Merlin only knows what reason, in an attempt to bring to life some pathetic, hopeless dream you have of marrying Bella and becoming King to her Queen? Do I have that right?”

Theo nodded, as well as he could with Lucius’ hand wrapped around his throat. His own hand came up and scrabbled feebly at those iron fingers as they closed more tightly around his throat.

“Do you have any idea what you’re dealing with here, boy?” Lucius spat, giving Theo a bone-rattling shake for emphasis every few words. “Any idea at all?”

Theo did not answer, just stared at the throbbing vein on Lucius’ forehead with terrified eyes. He was beginning to rethink the whole spying idea—rather late in the game, unfortunately, and it appeared it was not necessarily a case of “better late than never”.

“Well, let me set you straight,” Lucius said. “One—” he shook Theo, knocking his head against the wall— “Bellatrix Lestrange is a madwoman. She is quite, quite mad. Witness this whole harem idea; does that strike you as the act of a sane person?” He did not wait for Theo to answer—which, indeed, he couldn’t have done under the present circumstances—but continued, knocking Theo’s head against the wall with each point he made.

“Two—the only difference between you and the boys in the harem is that Bella does not currently—currently,” he stressed, “wish to punish you. I’m not sure she even realizes you exist, except in a rather vague sort of way.” Theo looked indignant at this, but Lucius ignored him.

“Three—if I have anything to say about it—and, Theo, I have everything to say about it—Bella will not be on the throne for long.” Theo started, and then his eyes grew round. “Oh yes,” Lucius continued, “I know, that’s treason. Well, so be it. Some of us think of more than just satisfying our own petty dreams of romance and conquest. The welfare of the world—certainly wizarding Britain, and the world if Bella were to have her say—is at stake here, boy.” Theo’s eyes narrowed at the insulting tone in which Lucius said “boy”.

“Four—” Here Lucius stopped. He seemed to realize rather belatedly that he was slowly choking Theo and let go of him. Theo burst into noisy gasps and a series of hacking coughs as he recovered his breath. Lucius waited patiently. When Theo had quit making so much noise and Lucius’ voice could be heard again, he continued.

“Oh, Theo...I’m afraid number four concerns you. It’s all about you, actually.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Theo asked nervously. He was all for being the center of attention, when it was his idea or something good would come of it. Somehow he didn’t think there was anything good about Point Number Four on Lucius’ List of Bad Things being all about him.

“Well, think about it,” Lucius said. “What am I to do with you?”

Theo frowned slightly, and tiny alarms began going off in the remoter reaches of his brain. “Do with me?” he repeated.

“Yes—what am I to do with you? Knowing what you know, seeing what you’ve seen...well, I can’t just let you go back to your quarters, can I? How could I trust that you wouldn’t go running to Bella with this ridiculous story about Draco and maybe actually get him killed? After all, Theo, you know that if that happened your own life wouldn’t be worth a Knut, don’t you?”

Theo swallowed convulsively.

“Now, I may be a Death Eater, and I might have done some cold-blooded things in my time,” Lucius mused. “Murder, even. Murder in cold blood. Yes, I’ve done that.”

All of Theo’s muscles seemed to tense as he waited for the other shoe to drop. His stomach seemed to have turned into a ball of ice.

“But you’re just a boy,” Lucius said. “A stupid, selfish, misinformed, deluded boy, it’s true—but a boy nonetheless. I really don’t want to kill you; I don’t need a pointless death on my conscience.”

Theo began to breath again.

“However, I must do something with you. You must realize you can’t be allowed to wander about freely any longer. As a matter of fact, in your present state you can’t even be allowed to leave this room. And I can’t be bothered with an Imperius; too great a chance of someone accidentally ending it, and then where would we be?”

This cat-and-mouse game was emotionally exhausting. Theo wished Lucius would decide once and for all whether or not he was going to kill him, and if he was, that he would just get on with it.

Lucius thought for a moment, twirling Theo’s wand in his hand. He looked down at it suddenly. “I know the first thing I’m going to do,” he said, and before Theo could quite grasp what was going to happen, and then that it really was happening—had happened—Lucius snapped his wand in two.

Theo gaped at him. “My—my wand!” he whispered. “You destroyed my wand.”

“Yes,” Lucius said. “I don’t trust you with it. You can’t be allowed to do magic.”

Theo’s head came up defiantly. “I might know wandless magic,” he said.

“You might, but I very much doubt it.” Lucius walked toward the door. “If you do, you might occupy yourself with piling up some of this furniture and making a fire. It’s rather chilly in here.”

“Wait! Where are you going? You can’t just leave me here to die!” Theo cried in panic.

Lucius turned. “Die? What are you talking about? You’re not going to die. You’re going to be punished, but I need to go fetch something so I can do it properly.” He opened the door. “Now, don’t go anywhere,” he said, and he chuckled at his own humor as the heavy door slammed on the sight of the still panicked but now also outraged Theo. Lucius performed a quick series of incantations; now nothing less than a wall of the room being knocked out would allow anyone in or out—or the special locking charm he had used, of course.

He hastened to the dungeons—by a far more direct route than he had led Theo to believe possible—to find Snape. Bella had allowed the erstwhile Potions master to keep his workshop, office, and personal quarters. He preferred them to living on the upper levels, since no one bothered him down here. And Lucius could see perfectly well why that was; even on this relatively warm day the dungeon level was decidedly chilly and had a feeling of damp about it.

He knocked on the door of Snape’s office and it swung open. Snape looked up from his desk, where he was studying what appeared to be a potions text. “Yes, Lucius—what can I do for you?” he asked, closing a worn-out quill in the book to mark his place.

“Severus, I need a potion.” Lucius leaned on the front of Snape’s desk.

“I see. Perhaps you could be a tad bit more specific?” Snape suggested. Lucius gave him a Look, and Snape smirked.

“Oblivion,” Lucius said quietly, and Snape started.

“Obliv—for who?” he asked. “I can’t just go handing out potions like that, Lucius. I’ll need more information.”

They stared at each other in taut silence for a moment; then Snape waved his wand at an overstuffed chair in one corner, levitating the pile of books and parchments out of it in an unspoken invitation to Lucius, who sighed and sat down.

“Very well,” he said. “I’ll tell you. But, Severus—I will have that potion, one way or another.”

Snape’s eyebrows rose a little at that, but he motioned for Lucius to continue. Numerous expressions flitted across his face as Lucius told him about Theo’s spying and Marshall and Draco breaking the most deadly of the harem rules. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking at any given moment.

When Lucius wound to a close, Snape said, “And the potion?”

“I intend to Obliviate him,” Lucius said. “And the potion is required in conjunction with the charm if it’s to be complete, and permanent.”

“I see. Of course I do see the necessity for it. But what do you intend to do with the boy then? He can’t stay here—he’s no wand, and soon he won’t even remember who he is. He has no skills that I know of; he wasn’t a particularly apt student in school, certainly, more interested in screwing anything in a skirt than he ever was in his classes,” Snape mused.

“Well, as to that...I know of someone, a Muggle—a friend of a friend, if you will—who has a small freeholding in the Scottish Highlands. He has trouble keeping workers because the younger people want excitement and nightlife and such, and they don’t stay there very long before they’re drawn away to the cities. I think Theo could do very well there; he won’t know he’s missing anything, so he should be perfectly content there. They’ll work him hard, but it will be good for him. He might actually make something of himself. I thought of sending him there.”

“Ah. And what of his inheritance?” Snape asked. “Now that Caroline and Ted are dead, Theo inherits everything—the estate and the fortune. Have you thought of that?”

Lucius nodded. “I have, but until our ‘little problem’ is taken care of there’s no way to deal with it. The formalities that would have been in place through the Ministry of Magic no longer exist. If it occurred to Bella, she’d simply seize it all, with no thought for Theo. Leaving it lie is no worse than that. Perhaps later, after our society is settled in good hands once again, we can arrange to have Theo’s fortune given to him—invent a rich old uncle who’s died, or something. But he really can’t come back here. It would be best if he went away and stayed gone. Forever.”

“I agree,” Snape said. He rose and came around the desk. “Come. I’ll get the potion for you.”

Lucius was relieved to hear that he wouldn’t have to wait for a batch to be made, and said as much.

“Er—Bella seemed to think she would have occasion to use quite a bit of it,” Snape said quietly. “She ordered me to make a rather large quantity.” They walked into his storeroom and he bent to a shelf about a foot from the floor. “Here we are.” He picked up one of several vials of bright blue potion and handed it to Lucius. “Forgetfulness in a bottle.”

Lucius took the vial and slipped it into his pocket. “Thank you. I suppose I’d better get back up there and...take care of things. Wish it wasn’t so blasted far to walk to somewhere we could Apparate from.”

“Nice night for it, though.”

“Mm.” Lucius patted his pocket. “Thank you.” Snape nodded, and they went their separate ways.

When Lucius returned to the room where he’d left Theo, he wasn’t sure what shape the boy would be in. He opened the door cautiously; the torches on the wall were still lit, illuminating the sullen lump of humanity that was curled up on the floor directly under the brightest one of them. Lucius let the door fall closed, and Theo sat bolt upright, then sagged with relief when he saw Lucius.

“Oh,” he said unenthusiastically. “It’s you.”

“Indeed,” Lucius said lightly.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Lucius, one finger tapping his chin, regarded Theo thoughtfully. “Well,” he said, “I could tell you. But what does it matter, really? You won’t remember anything, so it seems a waste of time to explain it all to you.”

“What do you mean, I won’t remember?” Theo stood up, feeling marginally more confident that way than sitting on the floor.

“Just what I said.” Lucius drew the little vial from his pocket. “Do you know what this is, Theo?” Theo shook his head dumbly. Lucius removed the stopper and dropped it into his pocket. “It’s a very powerful potion called Oblivion. When combined with a spoken memory charm, it erases your memory—completely and permanently. When the Ministry of Magic still existed, this potion was a highly controlled substance, as you might imagine. Reversal of its effect is impossible; the one who takes the potion forgets his name, his family, loved ones, even enemies. Names, faces, places, formal learning—all gone, completely wiped out. A clean slate, you might say. Only the basics needed to survive remain—how to speak, walk, dress himself, and so on. For everything else he would need to be instructed from the most elementary level in order to build new memories, new skills. A new life. That’s what I’m going to give you, Theo: a brand-new life.”

Theo shook his head, edging away from Lucius along the wall. “I’m not taking that stuff,” he said firmly. “And you can’t make me.”

“Oh, now, Theo, don’t you know you should never issue a challenge to a man carrying a wand? Come, now. Don’t make me Petrify you so I can pour this down your throat. You’re liable to choke while it’s going down. We wouldn’t want that.”

Theo stopped moving and stood there, quivering with fear and outrage. He couldn’t seem to take his eyes off the vial. Lucius moved toward him, and Theo backed away. “Stand still, boy!” Lucius barked. He levitated the vial and with lightning swiftness pinned Theo’s slighter body against the wall with his own so nothing could move except Theo’s head, which thrashed back and forth as he tried to avoid contact with the hovering vial. Finally, impatient with the delay, Lucius grabbed Theo’s chin and firmly held his head still.

“Be a good boy, Theo,” he warned. Theo mutinously clenched his jaw and refused to open his mouth for the hovering vial. Lucius shifted and moved one hand down to grab Theo’s cock—not hard enough to be painful, just hard enough to guarantee his attention. “Open up,” he growled. Theo shook his head, then bucked and tried to throw him off. Lucius squeezed harder now, and Theo’s face crumpled in agony. He opened his mouth and gasped, and Lucius wedged his knuckles in so Theo couldn’t close his mouth as the potion poured in from the vial. Then Lucius quickly pressed his hand to Theo’s mouth so he couldn’t spit the potion out. In just moments, he knew, Theo would stop fighting. He would no longer remember that he needed to.

Sure enough, in less than a minute Theo’s body went limp and his eyes seemed to unfocus. Lucius quickly let him go and backed away. He raised his wand and said firmly, “Obliviate!” For a few seconds Theo stood there swaying, a vacant expression on his face. Then his eyes focused again and he looked at Lucius.

“Hello,” Lucius said warmly.

“H-hello,” Theo said weakly. “Who are you?”

“A friend. And—do you know who you are?” A variety of expressions crossed Theo’s face as he tried to think, to riffle through memories that no longer existed. Finally he shook his head.

“Your name is Ronnie Potts,” Lucius said. He had decided it would be unwise to keep Theo’s real name in case anyone ever went looking for him or even just happened across him someday. It wasn’t possible that his memory would return, but someone from his old life trying desperately to make him remember would be extremely distressing, and could even possibly damage his mind. Ronnie Potts, a mix of Harry and Ron’s names, was something he came up with on the spot. Rather clever, he thought smugly.

“Where are we?” Theo/Ronnie asked, looking around the large stone room.

“Oh, nowhere in particular,” Lucius said dismissively. “Would you like me to take you home, Ronnie?”

Ronnie nodded. “B-but where is home?” he asked plaintively.

“Scotland,” Lucius said decisively. “A small farm in Scotland. Are you ready to go?”

Ronnie nodded hesitantly. “I think so.”

“Good. Let’s go.” Lucius walked him quickly out the door and down the same way he’d gone to the dungeons earlier. They traversed little-used corridors and ended up at an obscure side door leading out of the castle. “Not far now,” Lucius murmured. They strode rapidly toward the nearest Apparation point at the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Once there he glanced cautiously around but the forest was quiet and no one was about.

Lucius said, “Hold on to my arm—tightly, now. Don’t let go!” It would be necessary to Obliviate the boy again after they Apparated, but there was no help for it. He put an arm around Ronnie’s shoulders, turned on the spot, and Disapparated into the night.
It only lacked an hour or so until sunrise when he returned and made his way up to the castle. He unlocked his and Narcissa’s quarters and entered as quietly as he could, but even so Narcissa suddenly appeared in the bedroom doorway, her hair tousled.

“Lucius?” she said sleepily. He walked over to her and she raised her face for a kiss. He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the scent of roses and spice that was uniquely her own.

Narcissa yawned. “Will you come to bed now?” she asked. “I was having a dream about you. I’m glad you’re home.” Her voice was sleepy, but her eyes beckoned seductively. Lucius’ hand tightened on hers.

“Dreaming of me, were you?” He swept her up into his arms. “Was it very naughty?” She laughed as he bore her into the bedroom and tenderly laid her on the bed.

She watched him as he swiftly removed his boots, traveling cloak, robes, trousers, shirt. As he removed the last piece of clothing and straightened, she was pierced by a pang of pure lust. It never failed to amaze her that this man, this blond god, belonged to her and her alone. His cock rose invitingly from his groin and Narcissa felt the jolt of sexual excitement she always did when she saw him thus.

Lucius climbed up onto the bed and crouched above her. He took her mouth in a burning kiss and ran both hands up the outsides of her thighs, pushing her slinky nightgown up as he went. One hand slid into the vee of her legs and dipped lightly into the thatch of fine blonde curls, and he lifted his face to look at her.

“Oh, my,” he breathed. “That must have been a very naughty dream indeed.” He continued to brush her curls lightly with one finger, barely touching the pouting lips that hid her secret flesh. Narcissa moaned and writhed a little, trying to get the elusive finger to touch her harder.

“Ah...more?” Lucius asked. Narcissa, her eyes riveted on his, nodded breathlessly, and he slowly slid the finger just inside her lips, coating it with her fluids and circling her clit once, all the contact so light that it was exquisite torture.

Narcissa moaned again and Lucius, barely holding on to the edge of sanity at the thought of the warm wetness that awaited him inside of her, shifted so he knelt between her legs, his cock resting at her entrance. He touched her again, harder this time, and said, “Narcissa, my dearest love—come for me!”

The look on his face was so tender, the feel of his finger so tantalizing, that she hovered for an instant at the edge of release, then fell over the edge, shaking violently with the pleasure of it. Lucius slid home with a single downward thrust from above, making sure the entire length of him rubbed against her clit as he entered her, and she screamed and wrapped her legs around his waist, squeezing him mercilessly as her orgasm ripped his own from him. He submitted with a roar.

When he could think again he opened his eyes to find the two of them tangled in a heap of arms and legs amid the bedding. He cocked his head to the side to look at Narcissa; she was looking back at him rather smugly.

“Did you plan that?” he asked suspiciously.

“Well...not exactly,” she said with a mischievous smile. “A bit, perhaps. It was so nicely timed, you coming home just as my dream ended. I needed you so badly.”

“Always happy to oblige,” he murmured. He dropped a light kiss on her lips and turned over on his side. Narcissa moved closer and slipped her arm beneath his. Lucius took her hand and pressed a kiss to it, then tucked it up next to his heart and was asleep within moments. Narcissa lay awake a while longer, her cheek pressed against his back, but finally she too drifted off to sleep.
She woke a few hours later to the sight of Lucius covering all that delicious flesh back up again as he dressed for his meeting with Bella. Narcissa stretched and he glanced over at her as he tucked his shirt in.

“Good morning,” he said with a smile. He nodded toward the wooden chest at the end of the bed, upon which stood a breakfast tray with tea and toast, which was all either of them ate in the morning. The half-empty toast rack bore mute witness to the fact that Lucius had already eaten. “Tobble brought up a tray a few minutes ago. Would you like tea?”

“That sounds heavenly,” Narcissa said, and Lucius watched appreciatively as she did a full stretch, head to toe, and then sneaked a look in his direction.

He shook his head. “Cissy, Cissy, what am I going to do with you?” he sighed in mock dismay as he poured a cup of steaming orange pekoe. He carried it around and handed it to her carefully, bending to place a chaste kiss on her forehead.

“Oh, I can think of a few things,” his naughty wife said with a raised eyebrow and a glance at the trousers he’d chosen today. They were fairly tight even when they weren’t trying to contain his body’s enthusiastic response to the sight of Narcissa’s naked breasts jiggling about as she energetically plumped her pillows behind her with one hand while managing to keep her tea upright and unspilled with the other.

“I’m sure you can, but—” his voice was muffled as he bent to look for his shoe under the coverlet, which was spilling off the bed— “I have to meet with your damned sister in ten minutes, so there isn’t time.” He emerged, flushed and triumphant, with shoe in hand. “As much as I wish there were.”

He came over to the bed and bent to kiss her goodbye. “A pleasant day, my darling.” He swooped lower and fastened his lips over her nipple suddenly, sucking hard and running his tongue round and round the little nub. Narcissa lay there in shock, still holding her teacup, her eyes fastened to his as he rolled his tongue around her nipple, which was now stiff and peaked and begging for more.

Lucius lifted his head. “Just a little something until tonight, dearest.” He chuckled at the mingled frustration, lust, and disappointment on her face.

“Why, you—” she gasped. “Lucius! Lucius, come back here. Oh, blast the man!”

He chuckled all the way to the door of their suite. There he stopped and carefully composed his features into an expression of Frustrated Yet Hopeful Husband and headed toward the Great Hall.

As he walked, he mentally went over what he was going to tell her about the envoys to the other magical species. He had chosen the teams very carefully and had spoken to them yesterday so they would be prepared. The Death Eaters were accustomed to receiving orders to act on very little notice, so no one questioned the fact that they were to leave the very next day after they’d found out about their assignments. They also did not question the lie Lucius had told when he said Bella had chosen them herself. Most of them saw it as a great honor to be chosen to represent the wizarding Queen and would do nothing to endanger the perceived prestige of their positions.

This morning there was no guard outside the Great Hall, as Lucius had selected both Harridge and Lyttelton, who normally alternated the duty between them, to lead teams of envoys. The heavy doors stood open, and when he entered everyone turned to face him. He muttered good mornings and moved quickly to the front of the hall and climbed the stairs to Bella’s throne.

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” he said politely, with a dip of his head. Bella looked at him, seeming puzzled. She beckoned him to come closer.

“Lucius,” she whispered nervously, “why are all these people here? What do they want?”

“What do they want?” Lucius looked out over the group of faces she should have known as well as he did. “These are the envoys, Your Majesty. You remember—you’re ordering them to meet with others of the magical species in Britain to persuade them to support your reign and pledge their loyalty.”

A tiny frown appeared between Bella’s eyebrows. “Oh. If you say so. What are they doing here?” She sounded fretful, and Lucius was curious as to what exactly was going on in her mind. However, there was no time to think of that now. He must act normal at all costs, address the envoys, and get them off on their errands—their doomed errands, he could only hope.

“I’m just about to send them off, Your Majesty. May I...?” Lucius indicated the crowd, and Bella waved him forward impatiently.

“Please do. All this noise is making my head ache.” She sighed.

Lucius held up his hands and the talking died away as everyone turned to look at him. “My friends,” he said, “thank you for accepting this most urgent task Her Majesty has pressed upon you. You are all clear as to your orders, are you not?” There was much nodding of heads.

“It is to be hoped,” he continued, “that your missions will be successful and you will have only good news for Her Majesty upon your return. I expect that each of you has made a decision as to which group you would be most useful in.” There were, as he’d known there would be, a few startled looks among those who hadn’t realized he intended to make all of them participate.

“As you all know, your presence among the various magical species is liable to be viewed as suspect at best, and an outrage at worst. Your mission is a dangerous one, and Her Majesty and I are fully cognizant of this and most appreciative of your willingness to undertake this risk. It will be worth it in the end, when—” he forced himself to say the words, false though they were— “all of Britain is united under our Queen Bella. And after Britain—the world!”

The company nodded and echoed strongly, “The world!” as if they were making a toast.

Lucius went on. “I will read off the names of the group leaders. When I say your name, please gather with your group by the exit. As soon as you have determined that all of your group are present, please proceed to the nearest Apparation point and proceed as planned.

“Gilbert Haviland—Goblins!” It appeared as if Haviland had hand-picked his group from among the Death Eaters with the most money, pure and simple. He must be planning to approach the Goblins via Gringotts, Lucius mused. He supposed it would have been a good idea...had not Bella already alienated them with her Royal Treasury ideas, and Neville’s gran, Augusta Longbottom, further fanned the flames by threatening to take her considerable wealth elsewhere should one penny of it be taxed to support Bella’s reign.

As they moved out of the Great Hall, Lucius called the next name. “Anthony Pebbleston—Elves!” He watched with an inward smirk as Pebbleston pompously gathered his rather large group together. Lucius wondered if more people had joined the group who would be visiting the Elves because they had the idea Elves were less dangerous than the other magical beings who were to be sent envoys. He snorted softly. They couldn’t be more wrong.

The race of Elves—not house-elves, which had over time evolved almost into a separate creature—but the noble race of Man-like Elves, were contemptuous of Men to begin with. Certainly Hermione’s carefully concocted story of a fictitious plan by Bella to destroy the ancient forests still remaining in Britain and Europe in order to build homes and cities and railways and roads had not made them view Men with any greater liking. The least war-like of the magical species of Britain was rapidly coming to the conclusion that they needed to take decisive action—with force, if necessary—to ensure that such a travesty did not occur. Lucius amused himself by imagining the King of the Elves being confronted with Pebbleston with his finger up his nose. It was all he could do to not laugh out loud as the group wandered out into the corridor en route to the Apparation point.

“Edward Harridge—Giants!” If Lucius was reluctant about sending any of the Death Eaters to their fairly certain deaths, it was Harridge and Lyttelton. They were not so much evil as blindly following where first Voldemort, now Bella, led. But he reasoned that since this very blindness kept them from seeing (or at least admitting) what a very bad leader she was, he probably could not count on them helping him overthrow her when the time came. No; as mixed as his feelings might be on the subject, he knew they had to go. Pity Charlie Weasley had spent some time before returning to Romania in convincing the Giants that the wizards planned to enslave the remnants of their race, once and for all. It would hardly be surprising if Harridge’s envoy met with a hostile reception.

“Steven Dabney—Vampires!” It appeared that Dabney’s wife, Violet, intended to be a part of the group. All the better, Lucius thought. As much as Narcissa was enjoying playing her role of injured wife, he knew it must be wearing to keep up the charade under the scrutiny of the nosy Violet, who most often sought out Narcissa’s company. He didn’t think Narcissa would miss her much; she certainly wouldn’t miss the constant barrage of questions and interference Violet offered “as a friend”. Narcissa had spent several evenings convulsed in laughter as she related to Lucius the more creative of Violet’s suggestions for making him pay for his supposed mistreatment of his wife. Lucius eyed Violet’s long, white neck with a certain amount of vengeful delight. The vampires would have a field day with her.

“Ned Lyttelton—Werewolves!” This group encompassed all but one of the remaining Death Eaters. The more reluctant among them had grudgingly joined what they perceived as the groups who would be facing the least danger. The Werewolf group was quite small, only a handful of people. They would be dealing with Fenrir Greyback, who had disappeared after the battle and was rumored to be living somewhere on the moors of Yorkshire with a roving band of treacherous, murdering Werewolf followers. Lucius had to admit to a grudging respect for Lyttelton. The man had to know he would never be allowed to leave if he did find Greyback. Bella had completely ignored the Werewolves’ contribution to the battle and had reneged on all of the promises she had made to Greyback in order to secure their aid.

Lucius had little doubt that all of this small group of men and women were on their way to a sure and certain end. It was possible that they might take out some Werewolves with them, but that was the most that could be hoped for. There would still be Werewolves, and members of the other magical species, left to deal with when the issue of wizarding Britain’s government had been settled. But that was—had to be—a problem for another day.

Only one person remained after Lyttelton’s group departed. Charles Carnarvon approached the dais. He was pale but dignified; to see him standing there, no one would ever suspect his predilection for wanking in front of his mirror while dressed in ladies’ clothing.

“And I am to deal with the Centaurs,” he said quietly. “My group and I.” He looked about, shrugged, and his lips quirked humorously. He bowed to Bella. “I shall do my best, Your Majesty.” He turned and walked steadily out of the Great Hall. There had been no need for the Order to resort to manipulation in order to sour the Centaurs on wizardkind; the scorn was ingrained in them from the moment of their birth. Lucius knew Carnarvon would be very lucky indeed to return in one piece, especially if Bane got hold of him.

They watched him go, and Bella looked around the now-empty Great Hall. “Good heavens,” she murmured. “All of them gone, every one!” She looked at Lucius rather doubtfully. “It’s going to be awfully quiet until they come back,” she said. “I’ll only have you to talk to!”

Gods forbid, Lucius thought. Aloud he said, “Oh, there are a few others about the castle, you know. And I daresay one or two are off in Hogsmeade for the day.” He thought for a moment. What would be a safe topic for discussion? Ah! “Did you pass a pleasant evening last night, Your Majesty?”

“Last night?” Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. “Oh! Oh, yes, it was lovely. Oh, Lucius, I just adore Harry. It’s so restful being with him. He really is the sweetest boy. So caring...and strong.” She almost purred; Lucius halfway expected to see a feather or two protruding from her mouth. “He always knows just what I like. Last night was simply lovely.”

Lucius managed to avoid rolling his eyes—but only just—and sighed faintly. He should have known better than to bring up—

Wait.

She wasn’t with Harry last night.

“Er...I seem to recall that Your Majesty’s summons last night was for Ron Weasley and Draco,” he said cautiously.

“Draco? My own nephew? Lucius, have you lost your mind?” She stared at him, aghast. “Why on earth would you say such a thing?” If she was acting, she was doing a superb job of it. Her indignation seemed sincere.

Lucius felt as if he’d taken a step underwater, only to have the bottom fall away beneath his feet. He could almost feel the water closing over his head as he floundered for a safe response. “Ah....”

“Do you know,” she said suddenly, abruptly changing the subject, “I believe I’ll have Harry again tonight. Lucius, I should like you to give some thought to elevating his rank.”

“His...rank?”

“Yes. I’m seriously considering making Harry my King Consort. Oh, but don’t tell him yet. We don’t want to spoil the surprise. I need to give it some more thought.”

You certainly do, he thought. Harry Potter will become King Consort over my dead body.

“In the mean time,” Bella said, “I think I’ll go take a little nap. I’m simply exhausted from all the goings-on this morning. I want to be all rested and ready for my Harry tonight.”

With great effort Lucius managed not to gape at her as she rose and regally descended the dais. His mind was whirling. Rested and ready, indeed. It’s barely ten in the morning. And ‘her’ Harry Potter—indeed! King Consort? Good gad! There were so many things to be furious about, he hardly knew where to start.

“But—Your Majesty—”

Bella turned. “Yes, Lucius, what is it?”

“Did you want to perhaps discuss your taxation plan? Now would be a perfect time; it’s quiet and we can concentrate quite easily. Or—or your plan for rebuilding your army when the Death Eaters return with commitments from the other species—would you like to work on that? I’m at your disposal.”

Bella sniffed. “Certainly not. I’m going to lie down, I told you.” She waved at him vaguely as she began walking again. “Besides, isn’t all that the reason I have you, Lucius?” She walked out the door, turned left, and was gone.

Lucius watched her go. Oh, a fine Queen she was! It was a good thing for the wizarding world that he had its best interests at heart. It would be so easy for him to steal Bella’s throne for himself, were he so inclined. Fortunately, he was not; but things couldn’t on like this for much longer. If the people were left too long without a valid government, there would eventually be some other fool who would decide to step in and overthrow Bella, and Merlin only knew where that would leave them.

He suddenly had a craving for conversation with someone who was not quite obviously insane. He needed Cissy. Just thinking about her made him feel better.

First, however, he would stop by the harem and let Harry know his one-night respite was over and he’d been summoned for tonight.
Harry went for his solitary nap that afternoon, but he couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop thinking about what Bella had told him of her life and her marriage, such as it was. It was obvious that her grip on reality was becoming more and more tenuous; Ron and Draco had told them about their “dancing lessons” the night before, and demonstrated with a parody of a tango to the delight of the other boys. Harry had seen the significant looks that passed between the eunuchs; he suspected it wouldn’t be long before some sort of definite action was taken against her.

He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. True, wizarding Britain was in need of solid leadership, and Bella would never be able to provide that. Even if she wasn’t mentally unstable, she’d alienated too many people for her reign to ever be a successful one. He suspected that most of the Death Eaters were only hanging about as long as it suited them, that eventually they would either appoint another leader from amongst their ranks or else separate and go their own ways. Neither would benefit the rest of the wizarding population.

No; whatever else happened, Harry knew Bella couldn’t be allowed to remain on her throne. But he wondered what would happen to her when she was...removed. Would she be killed by the Death Eaters...by the Order? By whatever new government took power? He doubted anyone would think she could be allowed to go free. Would it be Azkaban, then?

Death...or imprisonment? They circled around and around in his head, and suddenly Arthur was there to tell him it was almost dinner time and he’d best get up.

“And—er—Harry...what I told you before, about encouraging her to use the magical manacles on herself?” Harry nodded, and Arthur said, “If it should happen that she does that tonight, I think—I think you’d best come back here as quickly as possible, yes? We can have a house-elf summon Lucius, and...he’ll take care of her.”

He moved closer and spoke very softly. “The Death Eaters are gone, Harry.” At Harry’s startled look, Arthur elucidated. “Lucius has sent them as envoys to groups of other magical species to entreat them to support her rule. There—there is very little chance that many of them will return. So if there should be an opportunity tonight, Harry...well, I don’t like to put you in this position, but if it happens that there is any way you can let us know...do you understand?”

Harry looked at him—this good, kind man who had always been like a father to him—and could see that Arthur was struggling somewhat with the reality of what he might soon have to do. Harry himself was having difficulty contemplating the thought that if Bella was killed he might have had a hand in it. He knew what she was—none better—but she had trusted him with some knowledge of how she had come to be what she was. And he didn’t know what to do, or say.

Should he say yes, he understood—and thereby imply that he would help to bring about her...what? Her downfall, her death—her murder? Should he say no, he wouldn’t help them, and brand himself a traitor to the Order? Wouldn’t they wonder whether he, too, was a danger to them if he didn’t do what they wanted?

His dilemma must have shown on his face, for Arthur’s expression softened, and he patted Harry on the shoulder. “You have done so much already, Harry,” he said. “Only do this if you feel you can. I won’t think any the worse of you if you can’t. It’s a lot to ask of you, I know.” He walked away and Harry absently folded up his blanket and tidied his pallet before going out to join the others for dinner.

Arthur had Edwin do Harry’s enema and bath that evening. Harry was glad; he didn’t think Arthur would push things any further, but he was more comfortable avoiding him right now, even so.

When Harry went to the wardrobe after his bath, Arthur was shaking his head and looking through the racks of clothing with a look of amazement on his face.

“Ah, Harry!” he exclaimed. “Just look at this, will you? I’m afraid to think what it means!”

Harry looked more closely at the rack of silky fabrics and realized with a start that the trend toward more green had apparently taken over; now there was nothing but outfits in different shades of green hanging in the wardrobe.

“Er...what do you think it means?” he asked hesitantly.

Alfred gave him a look. “Well, that she’s only summoning you from now on, I would imagine,” he said, as if it should be obvious. They stood there and stared at the dozens of outfits in every shade of green imaginable. Finally Alfred shook himself. “Well, I suppose we have only to put a hand in and pick something—what do you say, Harry, green do you for tonight?”

Harry grinned. “I was sort of hoping we could try green for a change, but if you think it should be green instead, you’re the wardrobe master.”

“Wise man.” Alfred waved at the racks. “What would you like to wear tonight?”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. Anything. Doesn’t really matter.” He picked a hanger at random and took it out. It held one of the sheer mesh tops in a vivid emerald green, with very abbreviated shorts in the same fabric. Harry looked closely at the shorts and sighed. “Thought so.” He stuck his hand in the waist and wiggled his fingers through the hole in the front.

“Ah, well, what did you expect, lad?” Alfred asked. “Let’s get these on you. Make sure you’re completely dry first—this stuff’s pretty sheer, might tear easily.” Carefully they worked together to get Harry sleeked into the outfit without tearing the delicate mesh.

Alfred snorted as he stood back and looked at the final result. “Gods, lad, I just can’t help laughing. It’s ridiculous, really; even without the hole in front, you might as well not even be wearing those shorts. They’re completely transparent—I can see every pimple on your butt.”

Harry looked over his shoulder. “Really? I have pimples on my butt?”

Alfred roared with laughter. “Ah, Harry,” he sighed, wiping his eyes. “You’ll be the death of me, boy. No. You most definitely do not have pimples on your butt. All right, all right,” he said when Harry, apparently still a bit unsure, continued to look over his shoulder, “quit ogling yourself and get out there. Lucius will be here any time.”

Alfred picked up the wet towel and followed Harry out to the reception room, where Lucius was indeed waiting. His eyes lit up when he saw Harry, and his gaze traveled over the surface of his body as tangibly as if it had been his fingers. Harry, more than usually preoccupied with thoughts of Bella and what might be in store for him that evening, was oblivious.

Alfred, however, was not.

“HaRUM!” He cleared his throat noisily, and Lucius jumped.

“Oh! Yes, er, well, we’d best be going,” he said. “The Queen has been resting up today in order to be ready for you,” he told Harry. “Most of the day, actually. I hope you’re...up for it.” His eyes flicked down to Harry’s cock, which was still erect from the earlier struggle to get Harry into the shorts, and his cock through the front opening, without destroying the garment.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry said absently.

As they walked out of the harem Lucius gave Alfred a faint shrug and half-smile as if to say, Can you blame me?

Alfred snorted and shook his head, and went back into the main room. Although he did not as a rule share Lucius’ attraction to the opposite sex, when faced with the lust-inspiring picture Harry and the other boys invariably made in their outfits, which after all were designed for that purpose, even Alfred was now and then visited by the urge to run his hand over a rounded, silk-clad ass, or to linger over the straightening of a cock harness a little longer than was really necessary. He made it a point not to act on these urges, and they were not so strong as to cause him pain, as they did Marshall who most definitely was inclined toward his own sex; but he did have them. He wondered how often Lucius gave in to his own urges after he was out of sight of the harem, but as it wasn’t anything he could control he tried not to worry about it too much.

Alfred probably would have been rather surprised to know that, other than with Harry, Lucius kept a tight rein on his attraction to the impressive male anatomies he accompanied to and from Bella’s suite every night. And even with Harry he resisted the urge to do more than touch him, so seldom and then so fleetingly that even Harry did not realize quite how irresistible Lucius found him.

They reached the Great Hall without seeing a single other person, and there was no guard outside the doors, which stood open—the first time Harry had seen them thus since the beginning of Bella’s residence. The enchanted ceiling still reflected the night sky, which was not quite dark yet, but the floating candles were unlit and the room was quite dim except for a few candles in wall sconces. No one was in the room. Harry found this rather unsettling, even ominous.

“Where is everyone?” he asked.

Lucius stopped walking just before they got to the elevator and looked at him assessingly. It never failed to surprise him, somehow, that he no longer had to look down to look Harry in the eye.

“Envoys have been sent on the Queen’s behalf to certain of the other magical species in Britain,” Lucius said slowly. “Teams, chosen from among the Death Eaters.” He hesitated, not sure how much knowledge he should trust Harry with. “She wishes to enlist their aid in continuing to battle—the Light side, the Muggles, other countries’ governments—until she is the undisputed leader of the world.”

Harry stared at him, his mouth forming a round O.

Lucius smiled, and it was not a pleasant sight. “But,” he said, “I have good reason to fear that most of them will never return from their task. A scattered few—well, perhaps. But nowhere near enough of them to be of any use to her. As for the other species joining her, well...let us just say they have already been persuaded to have as little to do with wizardkind as possible.”

“So—so she’s all alone, then?” Harry asked.

“Virtually alone, yes,” Lucius said. “Of course, Narcissa and I are still here. But the Queen no longer has her hordes of loyal supporters around her. The better to—er—take whatever action is deemed necessary over the course of the next few days.”

Harry looked at him sharply. “You mean—”

“I mean removing her, Harry, yes.”

“But how—”

“Ah. As to that, it is not solely my decision. I don’t really know for sure what will become of her. But her removal will be permanent, make no mistake about it.”

“Her removal from the throne, you mean...right?” Harry clarified.

“We shall see,” Lucius murmured. “There are rather a lot of factors involved, Harry.” He looked at Harry steadily. “Can I trust you not to go running to her with this information?”

Harry looked just as steadily back. “You can trust me,” he said finally. “But between you and me, we both know I’m no slave. I want—no, I demand to be involved in the decision.”

Lucius regarded him with a glimmer of sympathy. “Not falling in love with her, are you, Harry, hmm? I should hope you’re not harboring any thoughts of saving her from the big bad Order and running off together, or something ridiculous like that.” The words were humorous, but the tone carried a distinct warning.

Harry shook his head. “Nothing like that. And no, I’m not falling in love with her. But—but I do think she deserves to have someone involved who has her best interests at heart. And I don’t see that being anyone from the Order.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Lucius assured him. “In the mean time, perhaps we’d better get up to the Queen’s suite. I’m sure she’s waiting for you.”

He indicated that Harry should precede him into the elevator, and they rose at breakneck speed up to Bella’s suite. When they stepped out into the anteroom Lucius didn’t even have to ring the gong. Bella was waiting for them at the top of the round stairs. When Harry saw her, his steps faltered. What on earth—?

She stood there in virginal white, head to toe. She wore an elaborate affair that could only be intended as a wedding gown, complete with lacy veil. Tiny seed pearls and satiny embroidery studded the dress and it had an immense train that wound around her to fall down the stairs. The only thing missing was the bouquet.

And she only had eyes for Harry.

“My darling,” she murmured. “I thought you’d never get here. Come, Harry. It’s nearly time.”

“T-time?” Harry stuttered. He climbed the stairs at Bella’s gesture but flung a glance back over his shoulder at Lucius, who still stood in the anteroom, frozen in shock. “Time for what?”

“The wedding, silly,” Bella said, laughing gaily. “Heavens, Harry, you’d forget your head if it wasn’t attached to your shoulders.” She hugged his arm and looked up at him adoringly.

“Wedding,” Harry repeated in a stunned tone. “What wedding?”

Bella tugged at his arm. “Now, Harry, enough is enough. Come along, or you won’t be dressed before the minister gets here.”

“Minister?”

She clucked impatiently as she pushed him ahead of her up the stairs. “The Minister of Magic, of course. Who else did you think was going to marry us?”

“B-but there is no Minister any more,” Harry said dazedly.

Bella paid no attention to him but bustled around, chivvying him into a set of dress robes and a top hat. “There!” she said brightly, with a final pat to his lapel. “Don’t you look nice!” She seemed oblivious to the fact that his bare legs and feet stuck out beneath the robes and that he was all but naked under them.

Harry was just beginning to really panic when Lucius appeared at the top of the metal stairs. “Er—Your Majesty?” he asked.

“Ah, Minister!” Bella flew over to him and took his hand. “Do join us, please. You’re just in time. The sooner we get this taken care of, the sooner we can address the details about Harry becoming King Consort.” She arranged her train attractively and held out her hand to Harry. “Come along, love. It’s time.”

Harry’s feet moved numbly until he was standing beside his glowing bride-to-be. In desperation he made a face at Lucius, but then the strangest thing happened.

Go along with it, Harry. He heard Lucius voice as clearly as if he had spoken—but his lips hadn’t moved. Harry looked at him, his brow wrinkling in a perplexed frown.

Good gods, boy. Did nothing Snape taught you about Legilimency sink in?

Harry’s head came up at that. Of course! Snape had mentioned that Lucius was an accomplished Legilimens.

Ah, got it, I see. Good. Now just follow along and act as if everything is normal. Don’t worry—you won’t end up married to Bellatrix!

Aloud, Lucius said, “Harry James Potter, will you watch over this woman, caring for her as you would for yourself, providing comfort and support, and staying your hand against her save it be offered in peace, to the end of her days?”

Harry, seeing the little nod Lucius gave him, said, “I will.” He thought about what Lucius had asked of him; it was similar to, but not quite the same as the traditional wording of a wizarding marriage ceremony. He realized that there was nothing in the words to bind him personally to Bella for the rest of his life as long as he made that what he’d agreed to was carried out.

Lucius turned to Bella. “Bellatrix Black Lestrange, will you honor this man, keeping yourself for him only, providing comfort and support, and staying your hand against him save it be offered in peace, to the end of your days?”

Bella’s face positively glowed as she looked at Harry and said, “I will—oh, I will!” Harry felt a strange pang at the thought that yet again, she was getting so much less than she hoped for in her “husband”. He was glad she didn’t seem to realize it, but he wondered how long she would remember all this.

At the moment, however, Bella appeared to have a definite plan in mind. She removed Harry’s top hat and set it on a little table. With a wave of her wand she Transfigured it into a thin golden circlet that widened at the front to accommodate a sizeable emerald. She carried it back and placed it almost reverently on Harry’s head.

“My King,” she breathed, and she curtseyed. Over her head Harry sent Lucius a flummoxed look, and Lucius rolled his eyes.

Just go along with it. It’s only for a little while longer. Keep her happy for tonight—you can do that much, can’t you? he thought at Harry.

Lucius bowed low—the first time Harry had ever seen him do so. “My felicitations on your marriage, Your Majesty,” Lucius said, taking the hand Bella offered and kissing it. “I will attend you in the morning. Good night.” With a warning look at Harry he turned and walked steadily down the stairs to the elevator and departed.

“Come here, Harry,” Bella said softly. She pulled him to her and brought his face down for a kiss, then laid her head on his chest and sighed. “Ah, Harry. It will be so nice to have a partner, someone I can depend on. Oh, Lucius tries. But he’s so demanding, you have no idea!” She pulled Harry over to sit down on the sofa and sat down beside him, still dressed in the wedding gown. She put her feet up beside her and snuggled into his lap, and Harry, not certain what to do, put his hand on her shoulder and stroked up and down her arm.

“I’m so very tired,” Bella said. “You wouldn’t believe how much work there is to do, Harry. So much work.... It was supposed to be a lark, being the Queen, but everyone expects so much of me!” She sighed again. “But now you’re my King Consort and you can help me. Maybe now things will be fun again—wouldn’t that be wonderful, Harry?”

The hand rubbing her arm stopped abruptly. “A—a lark?” Harry said hoarsely. Was she serious? An unexpected, ugly feeling of rage swept up inside of him. A lark, was it? He thought of everything she had taken from him—from all of them—and even knowing what had been done to her didn’t stop his rage. That didn’t excuse her actions; moreover, he felt it should have meant she would go to great lengths not to visit the same humiliation and misery on anyone else. It was what he would have done.

But then, Bellatrix Black Lestrange was not Harry Potter.

She seemed not to perceive that anything was wrong, but Harry’s hand tightened just the slightest bit on her shoulder. “You’ve imprisoned all of us—you’ve forced us to have sex with you and with each other, you’ve forced brothers to have sex with each other, for Merlin’s sake—as a lark?” His voice was rising dangerously, and Bella twisted her head to look up at him, startled at this unprecedented show of disapproval.

Harry glared down at her. “Of course everyone expects a lot of you—what did you think, that it would all be fun and sitting on a throne and making everyone run around doing your bidding? You declare yourself Queen, you destroy the Ministry of Magic and wizarding Britain’s entire government, you do nothing about governing yourself, and then you cry that you’re not having any fun?” Bella opened her mouth to say something, but Harry stood up abruptly, dumping her unceremoniously onto the couch.

“Not to mention you’ve done away with Britain’s only wizarding school so you could steal the castle for yourself, and you’ve sent all the teachers away. Do you realize you won’t have a magical world to rule over for much longer? How’s the next generation supposed to learn how to use their magic? No one’s allowed to use it except for the most basic tasks so they can survive—and that’s your doing. New witches and wizards who come along will still have magic, there’ll be all kinds of uncontrolled magic by little kids, but they’ll never learn how to harness it. Can you imagine all that uncontrolled magic running loose? We won’t be hidden from the Muggle world for long once that starts happening. I don’t pretend to know much about it, but I wouldn’t be surprised if someday magic were to simply die out from lack of use! And it’s all because of you. What were you thinking?”

He paused for breath, trembling with righteous outrage. Bella stared at him, her mouth open in disbelief. There was no hauteur in her expression, just shock. Her lips began to tremble.

“Harry, I—” she began, rising from the sofa, but he cut across her once again.

“When you killed Voldemort,” he said, his words sharp enough to slice, “I thought maybe something good was finally about to happen. But then you gave your little speech, and everyone realized they’d just exchanged one Dark upstart for another. Why? Why did you do all this?” His gesture encompassed the castle, her quarters, himself. He ripped off the dress robes and indicated his slave outfit. “Take a look at what you’ve done. Does this make you proud? Making us serve you like whores, dressing us in costumes for everyone to gawk at as if we were no more than toys for their amusement?”

Bella had tears in her eyes now, but Harry wasn’t done.

“And the eunuchs!” he exploded. “Those men have families—families who miss them, who need them. And what are they doing? Sitting around in a harem all day with nothing constructive to do, inventing classes to teach us so we don’t all die of boredom! You had Snape make that potion to turn them into eunuchs—but then you force them to have their hands on us all the time, with the enemas and the baths every night. Do you have any idea how awful that is for them? Or are you deliberately torturing them too, because it’s fun for you?”

He rattled to a stop, his eyes flashing, his chest heaving with indignation.

“So...you think that badly of me?” Bella whispered.

“Can you blame me? Do you deny any of it?” he demanded.

She shook her head, tears making shining tracks down her flawless cheeks. “You—you’ve always been so kind to me, Harry. I—I really thought you...cared for me,” she murmured, her voice dissolving into sobs.

Harry stared at her. Was she acting? He was damned if he’d let her make a fool of him. But....

“I did. I—I do,” he said reluctantly. “Or at least I care about you. I care what happens to you. But what you’re doing is wrong. If it’s going to keep on, I just—I won’t care any longer. I won’t be able to. Why would I care about a person who cares for nothing but her own pleasure?”

“But, Harry,” she said, her voice trembling, “I’ve made you my King Consort, darling. Doesn’t that show that I care about you? I love you, Harry.” She rose and stepped up close to him. “I love you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

Harry stepped back, a distasteful expression on his face. “I don’t think you know what love is. Not really. I’m not saying that’s your fault, but don’t stand there and tell me you love me. You don’t.”

“But we’re married, darling! The Minister just married us,” Bella said frantically, as if surely this must convince him.

“The Minister? That wasn’t the Minister,” Harry said. “The Minister of Magic died in the battle, remember? That was Lucius Malfoy, your brother-in-law.”

Bella backed away from him, shaking her head. “No, no!” she said shakily. “We’re married. We are! We are!”

Harry shook his head. “No, we’re not. That weird little charade we just went through was a fake. Look, I’m sorry, but this—I’ve had enough. This has to stop. If you’re going to kill me for saying it, then kill me. I just can’t do this any longer.”

“Kill you? What—why on earth would I do that? Harry, you mean everything to me. You understand me. We’re soul mates, Harry. Meant for each other! You—” Bella went white as a sheet. “You wouldn’t leave me, would you, Harry?” Her hands clung to one another, wringing in a way that Harry thought must surely have caused her pain.

Harry’s stomach was roiling with a mixture of outrage and terror at what he’d said to Bella. If she considered herself Queen, she would surely consider what he’d said to be treason. And everyone knew what fate awaited traitors.

Still, he couldn’t have not said it. And he wouldn’t take it back, any of it. Bella was tired? Harry suddenly felt like he was about to fall on his face with exhaustion. He was sickened by Bella’s tragic face and pleading voice. He just wanted this to be over, and then to sleep for about a week.

“Leave you?” he sneered. “How can I, when you have the harem and the castle warded to keep us here? Penned in like animals, we are.” He laughed without mirth. “If I could, I’d leave in a minute. We all would, every last one of us.”

He reached up and removed the circlet. He walked over to the table and dropped it carelessly on the surface. Looking from the golden crown to Bella, he said, “Promising me stuff to get me to do what you want, just like Voldemort did.” He looked at her with eyes full of disillusionment and disappointed hopes, and his voice was full of bitterness when he spoke.

“You’re no better than Voldemort.”

He turned, determined to return to the harem no matter what she tried to do to him, but he caught a slight motion out of the corner of his eye and looked back to see her fall silently to the floor and lie there in a crumpled heap. The desire to leave, to get away from all this, warred with his natural inclination to help someone in need—but inclination won, and Harry was at Bella’s side in two quick strides.

He knelt beside her and felt for her hand; it was icy cold. He looked at her intently: she was breathing, but very shallowly. He put his ear to her chest and could hear her heartbeat, but it seemed sluggish and faint.

Clearly here was a quandary. He had a feeling that if he just left her there, by morning she could either be worse off than she was now or possibly even dead—after all, he didn’t know what was ailing her. And he knew Lucius wouldn’t blame him, nor would any of the eunuchs. In fact, Harry suspected Arthur would view this as a heaven-sent opportunity to be rid of Bella without anyone having to actually murder her. He imagined going back to the harem and telling Arthur about this; he didn’t think there would be any great rush to save Bella.

He looked at her critically. He thought he could just about lift her, if he had to—although from the floor as dead weight it would have been easier if there was someone who could help him (or who, for that matter, was allowed to wield a wand, which would make things so much easier)—and thought that perhaps he should just put her on the bed, make it look as if she’d just decided to take a little rest. And then slip quietly away. Who was to know she’d collapsed before he left and not after? He should probably undress her to make it more believable....

Or—and he made himself consider the alternative, even though leaving her there seemed so easy, so inviting—he could summon help, get Lucius back here, or Snape, and find out what was wrong with her, see what could be done for her. What then—she would recover and continue to think she was married to Harry, her King Consort? He didn’t think he could handle that. He grimaced to think of having to do any more play-acting. Or being summoned as a harem slave ever again, for that matter. He was tired of living in fear for his life, first because of Voldemort and now because some madwoman who called herself Queen might suspect he had committed treason. He was tired of being played with.

Harry shook his head. There was only one thing he could do.

“Dobby!” he called.

There was a soft pop! and Dobby appeared at his side. “Yes, Master Harry, sir?”

“I need your help.”
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Bella's Harem