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The Consort: Hummingbird Circus	By : GoldSnitcher Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 28278 -:- 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
- 6
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- 8
The shaking, shivering gasp was painful to hear and almost certainly more painful to experience. Draco fought hard to keep the tears from his eyes as he clutched the thin pale hand in his own, clasping it tightly. “I am so very sorry, Draco,” the soft voice said. Another breath, Draco brought the hand to his lips and kissed it, closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain he was experiencing. “If it could all be undone.”

“Don’t,” Draco pleaded, unable to think of it all at once. In such a short time his father had gone from the proud king to this: an ailing, fragile man. His father, Lucius Malfoy, was so close to death that Draco could almost feel the great god Aneniel waiting patiently to welcome the new addition to the Hall of the Kings. “Please,” Draco pleaded, his voice hoarse and his tears falling freely.

“When you are king, you will not make such a mistake. You will always think before you act, so that the innocent do not suffer. You will not make the mistakes that I have made.”

“I promise, father,” Draco said. “Please,” he begged, but was unsure what it was he wanted, there were so many wishes he would make that he hardly knew which one to speak first.

“Trust your instincts always,” Lucius said. “They have never led you astray. I am sorry for failing you, for taking from you what you most desired. You have been like a wraith these passed days.”

“Father, be well.” He wanted nothing more than to crumple down onto the bed and weep and beg and cling to his father like a small and frightened child because Draco had rarely felt so wrecked and afraid in his life. As much as he wanted to appeal to his father's guidance, Draco was also keenly aware of the black-robed healers standing in a solemn line by the far wall, quiet and observing; necessary witnesses to their ailing king.

Lucius squeezed his son’s hand weakly and took another long shuddering breath. “Draco, I give to you the great armies of this empire,” Lucius spoke, his voice softer.

“I don’t want them.”

“I give to you her allies and her enemies.”

“No,” Draco sobbed heedless of the healers, uncaring of anything except what the words would mean. He could not stand to endure another loss.

“I give her people, the rich and the poor, the pious and the deviant.”

“Take them back, father. Please just stay,” Draco said, rejecting the ceremony his father had begun.

“I raised you to be a king. Conduct yourself accordingly,” Lucius rasped. “I give to you her riches, her wealth, in all her glory and all her imperfection.”

“I will rule justly, in the spirit of the great god, root out this empire’s imperfections until she has only strengths,” Draco answered flatly, and gripped his father’s hand in a tighter grasp.

“I give to you her palaces and her prisons, her schools, her buildings of history. Her monuments and her ruins.”

“I will rule justly,” Draco promised. “In the spirit of the great god. Root out this empire’s imperfections, until she has only strengths.”

“You make me so proud,” Lucius said. Draco looked up, surprised by the comment, but when his eyes met those of his father he realized that the man he had idealized since he was a child, the man he had loved and respected, who had cared for him and taught him, his father was dead.

………………..

Narcissa Malfoy stood in her chambers and listened as the bells rang out in the great city. Her husband was dead. Killed as a result of a violent and tenacious illness that even the best of healers could not stop. She knew that her son would be in the Great Hall where the advisors and the priests would have gathered to place a crown on his head. She was no longer a queen. She was no longer a mother. Her son had not spoken with her since she had stood beside her husband and informed him that the catamite Draco had been favoring was to be sentenced to death for the murder of a concubine.

Three days and she had been left alone to cope with her husband’s death. She had not left her chambers since she had been notified. She had spent every moment by her husband’s bedside, praying every night for Aneniel to give them more time, for the seven goddesses of healing to grant them a miracle. She had been with him every moment; every moment save his last. Lucius had called for Draco and Draco had made it clear he would not come if she were there.

Narcissa Malfoy had been destined to be the queen of the empire; had been raised to be such from her first indrawn breath. She had not anticipated the fierce love she had felt for her king; she had not anticipated the complications of life. From the very first day, she had hated the vast harem that had passed into her husband’s hands along with the empire: an entire host of bored whores just waiting for her to expose her inadequacy as queen so that they could replace her; an entire breeding ground for women stronger and more fertile than herself who would bear her husband heirs if he so let them.

She had done her queenly duty, had provided a child, though it had nearly killed her to do so. One child was better than no child, but for an empire as far-reaching as Edorea, it was a risk to have only a single heir. She had always been waiting for Lucius to turn his back on her, to find a replacement better suited than she. For all his promises and assurances, she had never quite believed that he truly loved only she. How could he, when there were nights he summoned another woman to his bed?

Lucius was her life, however. She had devoted everything she had to him. Now she had nothing. Not a son, Draco had expressed as much to her; not an empire, for what was a consort without her king?

As the bells rang out, Narcissa smoothed the wrinkles out of her finest gown and walked to her jewelry chest. She removed the dagger that Lucius had given her when they had become engaged and carried it with her out of her rooms. Through the familiar halls of the palace, she thought of the other times she had come this way, happy times when she had raced with her husband to his chambers, laughing as they stumbled through the doors.

She was not laughing as she entered the chambers, empty, because everyone was no doubt in the Great Hall for Draco’s crowning. Looking at the still, pale form of her husband lying peacefully on his bed as though he were only sleeping, Narcissa took a steadying breath and shut the door.

………………..

Draco turned slowly on the dais, his father’s crown on his head and garbed in his finest attire. He stepped slowly down the steps, watching as the people in the room parted for him. This was not his coronation, in keeping with tradition, a larger ceremony would be held after his father had been properly entombed for the people of the city and of the empire to see him. This was simply the passing of the torch so that the empire’s closest advisors and the priests of Aneniel would see that the empire was in his care.

On the bottom step, Draco looked at each of the occupants of the hall, the upturned, expectant faces belonging to the finest and most important members of the palace. Draco was king; from this moment onward everything would be different.

“As King of the Edorean Empire,” Draco said, his voice low and steady, “I hereby lift the sentence on the catamite Emerald. He is exonerated and I order his immediate release from the palace prison.”

There was a silence in the hall as everyone attempted to process this, the king’s first order of business. “My lord,” one of his advisors stepped forward, his movements halting and reluctant. “My lord, we’ve not heard a sound from his cell since last dawn.”

“I will go,” Blaise came forward, bowing low as he did so. When the king nodded at him, Blaise turned quickly and exited the hall.

………………..

Harry lay on the floor of his cell and began to imagine that he could hear Blaise’s voice. “He is far gone. I do not know that this will be enough.” Oh Blaise, Harry thought. It is enough. It is enough. Is it not enough?

A hand moved beneath his head, he felt the press of a ghostly cup at his lips. Suddenly the waters of paradise rushed passed cracked lips. Harry’s stomach heaved and he retched.

When he woke again it was to Blaise’s soft voice in his ear. He was still on the cold stone floor and did not think he had the strength to move. “Emerald,” Blaise was whispering. “Hush now, Emerald.” A thick blanket was draped over Harry’s shivering form and he felt the wonderful sensation of being held close to a warm body. Harry felt loved and cared for. “Emerald,” Blaise whispered.

“Blaise,” Harry said, his voice a hoarse whisper; it hurt to speak. “Call me Harry,” he said, and fell into unconsciousness once more.

………………..

Severus stood at the entrance to the chambers, unable to bring himself to wait inside the room. Every now and again he would catch himself wringing his hands and he would lock them behind his back and think of the marble sentinels carved in the archways of the palace: still and constant and composed.

Whatever feigned equanimity he had was lost at the sight of Blaise Zabini carrying a very thin and very pale body wrapped in a blanket down the hallway. For a moment, Severus thought they might have been too late.

“Have the healers come yet?” Blaise was asking when he and his precious cargo neared. Severus held the door open and gazed in shock as the body was carried passed him. It was so difficult to link the wreck of a form that reeked from days spent in the throws of a slow and brutal extermination, locked away in a cell, with the elegant, lithe, figure of the young catamite who had seemingly always been smiling.

“They are on their way. How is he?”

“He should be washed.”

“Gwynn has prepared a bath,” Severus said, gesturing towards the bathroom. “I can wash him.

“I can…” Blaise stopped and looked closely at Severus for a moment. “Perhaps we should both.”

Blaise carried the unconscious youth to the bath, and while he worked at unwrapping the blanket he had used to hastily cover the gaunt form, Severus brought over a fresh set of soft clothes and towels. He fussed with the soaps and lotions and bathing products mostly because seeing the filthy, pale body that had once glowed with vitality filled him with a rage that he could barely control.

“Help me settle him in,” Blaise said as he began to maneuver Emerald into the tub. The youth was very light, and even awkwardly perched on the side of the tub as they were, Blaise had no trouble hefting the body, but he knew how Severus was feeling, it was an almost desperate need to touch the green-eyed young man, to make certain he was there and breathing.

They worked together to shift Emerald into the water and bathe him, falling into an easy silence as they concentrated on their task, both aware that they were listening keenly to Emerald’s every intake of air.

While Severus repeatedly washed the dark hair, Blaise set to work on Emerald’s body. It took three refills of the tub before Blaise was satisfied that all traces of the dirt and reek of the prison was washed from Emerald's body, replaced with the fresh scent of apricots and jasmine, which was how the young man had always smelled.

By the time they had dried Emerald and dressed him the healer was already waiting, and Severus and Blaise were directed to settle Emerald onto the bed, before the healer chased them from the room, instructing them to wait and have patience while he did his work.

………………..

Severus stood very still in his office and looked out the large window by his desk. Blaise, who had settled onto the settee, watched his friend closely, wondering if Severus thought Blaise didn’t know that he had chosen that particular spot by that particular window because it offered a direct view of the main pathway, which was incidentally the very direction a servant would have to travel in order to bring them news.

“He told me his name,” Blaise confided softly, mostly in an attempt to process the past few days, the past few hours in particular.

“Do not tell me,” Severus instructed without turning.

“He was out of his mind with fever and dehydration. I don’t think he knew what he was saying. I think he thought I was a hallucination. I can’t imagine how he’ll cope.”

“We have yet to receive word from the healer,” Severus reminded. “We are not certain he will even have reason to cope.”

“It’s no use trying to avoid getting your hopes up,” Blaise said. “I tried that as well. All the while I traveled from the palace to the prison. And then even as I walked towards his cell, I kept telling myself: ‘They haven’t heard a sound since yesterday morning.’ It didn’t work, though. As soon as the guard opened the door for me and I smelled that smell and saw him lying there…” Blaise stopped talking, lost in the memory.

Severus clenched his fists and his jaw flexed but he said nothing. His rage towards the queen had not been quelled with her suicide. His anger with his king had not died with the man himself. His disappointment in Draco lingered no matter what the young man's first decision as king had been. It was all too little too late. Words meant nothing if not backed by appropriate action, and Draco had yet to prove he had learned his lesson.

A flurry of movement along the path and Severus drew himself up and opened the door, taking note that Blaise followed suit. The healer himself entered Severus’ office and nodded at them both. “He will live, Aneniel willing,” the man said and proceeded to set vials on the desk. “You must give him three drops of each of these after every meal.” He held up a blue bottle and shook it slightly as he said, “This one must be taken before each meal to make sure whatever he eats stays down. He mustn’t begin by eating quantities; that will upset his system. Here is a list of foods he can begin with, make sure he eats slowly and stops if he begins to feel unwell.”

………………..

Harry was not aware of the passing of the days. He was confined to the rooms where Blaise had brought him, which Harry had learned were located in the northeast portion of the palace, exactly opposite the harem and separated by a good number of sumptuous rooms and offices and suites. The particular suites to which his room belonged were set aside for Blaise, which meant that everything from the furnishings to the view were of the topmost quality; Blaise was, after all, the best-friend and advisor to Draco.

Harry had no interest in much of anything. At first, he could barely keep his eyes open; he felt weak and aching and any attempt to move from the bed ended with him in an ungainly sprawl on the floor. Harry soon learned to not leave his bed without either Severus or Blaise there to offer assistance, but one or the other, if not both, were always there. It never occurred to him to wonder who was maintaining the harem when Severus was with him, or who was dealing with the prince when Blaise sat by the bed and read to him. He learned to accept their presence and not question, mostly because either way, Harry simply couldn't be bothered.

The healer assured him that his health was improving, which Harry could corroborate with his ability to endure longer stretches of time between naps; meals became less of an ordeal, and trips to the bath or the washroom resulted in fewer gasps for breath and near-falls, but he never did feel completely better. Several times Blaise made an attempt to explain to him what had gone on in the palace after they had discovered Luna Lovegood with her throat slit and floating in the harem pool, but Harry always waved him off.

In truth, as he grew steadily stronger Harry’s reason for his lack of interest altered. At first it was because he was so very weak that he was never awake long enough to think about much of anything. He was falling asleep in the middle of sentences and sometimes it was all he could do to limply throw his arms around Severus’ neck as the man hauled him from bed to bath and back again. After a good deal of fussing and copious potions poured down him, and broths and beverages forced on him even if the thought of food both repulsed and excited him, Harry just did not want to hear about any of it. Life would be so much simpler if he never had to leave the room.

News of the palace naturally revolved around Draco, and hearing such news would turn Harry's thoughts in the new king's direction. He woulc catch himself wondering why the blond had never once come to see him, which led to Harry feeling a dizzying whirl of contradictory emotions. Mostly, he just couldn’t stop the aching yearning he felt for the man whom, despite Severus’ bitter words, Harry couldn’t bring himself to hate. News of the harem reminded Harry of the harpy that lay in wait for him. He was alive, which meant the fight was not done between he and Pansy, even if he had no desire to play those games with her.

Since she had no permission to leave the harem, Cho sent him notes, which he kept in the nightstand by the bed without opening. Gwynn was not so easily avoided as she insisted on being responsible for both bringing and subsequently clearing away his meals, as well as taking care of any and all of his other needs. Harry's sentence had stripped him of all his titles and belongings, and with those, he had lost Gwynn who had been working in the palace kitchens, which was not at all the sort of work she was accustomed to. With the sentence lifted and his innocence proclaimed, Harry had learned from Severus that all that had been taken from him had been, or would be, returned, and Gwynn would be reinstated as his servant just as soon as he returned to the harem.

“Hm, that’s a particularly dark look,” Gwynn commented as she came in with a laden tray. “Which I suppose is a step-up from the blank one you’ve been sporting.”

Harry glared at her, but it took too much energy and he became distracted when Severus re-emerged from the side room carrying a book. “I’ve read that one,” Harry pointed out, which prompted Severus to pause, huff in frustration and return to the other room.

“You’ve been here too long if you’ve read all those books. That’s Blaise’s personal library in there,” Gwynn commented.

“I’m convalescing.”

Gwynn nodded at him knowingly. It only infuriated Harry more; that she knew him so well that she could dismiss his mood knowing it had nothing to do with her, and more to do with a bitter anger that had grown in him as he writhed on the cold stone floor of a jail cell, abandoned, alone, betrayed. She kissed his head and smiled before she slipped out of his rooms.

A moment later Blaise entered. “Where is Severus?”

“Your library is too small,” Severus said, emerging from the side room with a small stack of books in his hands that he dropped onto Harry’s bed. Harry looked through them curiously, picking each one up carefully and inspecting them closely before separating the majority onto the nightstand and holding up three. Severus huffed darkly but accepted the books.

“That’s one of the largest personal libraries in the whole of the city; possibly the whole of the empire,” Blaise quipped. He settled onto Harry’s bed, automatically reaching forward to test Harry’s temperature and then brushing his hair out of his face. “What’s his problem?” he asked Harry. Severus looked at Blaise disdainfully as he opened the book, settling in the chair that had been pulled close to the bedside.

“He had difficulty in finding a new book,” Harry said with a shrug.

“They’re sorted by author,” Blaise provided helpfully. “But pretty much all you have to do is pick a direction and walk that way, you’ll bump into a whole shelf of books eventually.” Harry snorted.

“I believe what Emerald was attempting to say,” Severus drawled, “Is that he has read through the majority of your library.”

“It’s not like I have much else to do during the day.”

“You’re getting stronger,” Blaise said in an effort to cheer him. “Maybe it’s time you broadened your daily walks to venturing outside of this suite. Maybe even walk down to the stables. I hear that Demon has been an absolute … well, demon.”

“Is he okay?” Harry asked, concern evident in his voice, which was more than either Blaise or Severus had managed to get out of him since he’d been brought in.

“He’s fine. Well, he’s not getting enough exercise because there aren’t many who will willingly face the beast.”

“No one is bringing him his apples, though,” Harry said to himself.

“Then tomorrow you should make a point of getting back into the blasted beast’s good graces,” Severus commented. Harry had, when he had begun feeling better, convinced the Harem’s keeper to bring an apple down to his horse. Severus had not been overly descriptive of his interactions with Demon, but he was quite emphatic in his assertion that he would not be making a second trip near the psychotic creature, regardless of how Harry might plead with him to.

The idea of going down to the stables and visiting Demon, even if he wasn’t quite strong enough to be trusted for the duration of a ride, set Harry at ease for the first time since he had awoken. If he were honest, Harry would admit that he had been occupying a sort of suspended reality, revelling in the safety that Blaise’s apartment offered him. Yet still, he had been on eggshells, wondering when he would awake to the cold of the dungeon; wondering when the soldiers would return to strip him down to his skin and toss him back into the darkness. A hint of fear still lingered at the thought of leaving the safety of the apartments. Leaving them increased the risk of his coming to the attention of the guards, something that Harry did not like thinking about. Still, he hated being confined, and the added incentive of seeing his equine friend matched with the idea of racing his horse to freedom, or the fantasy of freedom.

………………..

The sun beat warmly on his skin and he pressed his fingers into the cool marble as he looked down at the grounds below. From where he stood he could clearly see a fiery horse and dark-headed rider running in ‘s’ patterns back-and-forth across the width of the grounds.

“He’s looking well,” Draco commented, not taking his eyes from the sight of the young catamite and his horse.

“His health is improving,” Severus confirmed.

“I’ve seen him out here almost every day now. It’s good that he is returning to his old habits,” Draco thought aloud.

“I am surprised you are taking the time to watch him ride.”

Draco spared a look at the man that stood beside him, but Severus simply watched Emerald as he rode. “Is that a snide comment on the fact that I have been busy ruling the empire?” Severus sneered but turned his head further away from the young king. “We’ve parted ways at some point, Severus,” Draco continued. “We once were in total agreement all the time.” He smiled a wistful smile. “We are not so much, any longer.”

“I fully support you, your Majesty,” Severus drawled.

“I never doubt your loyalty, Severus. I’m not an idiot.” Draco turned his gaze back to the field. “I think it has to do with Emerald.” Severus drew himself up and Draco smiled to himself. “I thought as much.”

“Your catamites do not interest me, your Majesty, except insofar as it is my duty to keep them.”

Draco looked back at the dark-haired man and their gazes met. For a moment they simply stared at one another before Draco turned away once more. “You disapprove that I have not been to see him.” Severus made no comment but Draco had grown-up idolizing the man and knew the statement to be true. “I know him too well, Severus. He would not have liked me to see him in the state he was in.”

“How insightful,” Severus murmured. “And convenient, that this insight excuses you from openly confronting what you have done.”

“It’s your boldness, Severus, that kept you in my father’s good graces, and your honesty that keeps you in mine,” Draco replied. “Is he well enough to come to my chambers?”

Severus snorted, but noticing that Draco was serious, he replied, “No. He is not.”

It was the slight biting in his friend and mentor’s tone that caused Draco to explain himself. “He will be worried that I have forgotten him. He will think I have moved on in his absence. It has been quite some time.”

“Almost enough time for a victim of a cruel and unjust death sentence to recover,” Severus answered. “But not quite.”

“I find your anger concerning Emerald very disconcerting,” Draco said, turning to face the man fully.

“Your father requested of me, at the start of his reign, that I always speak openly and with truth. Those are vows you yourself requested I reaffirm to you, and I did. My responsibility is to guard your harem and keep it. This I have done, and continue to do. Unlike my predecessors I have not once broken any of the oaths I have sworn when I accepted the position of Keeper of the Harem. As your harem’s keeper, you ask me if a catamite is ready to satisfy your need, and I say he is not. I will send any other occupant to your bed, if it should please you, my Lord,” Severus said, with perhaps a bit of defiance in his tone, but he was an old and trusted friend, and such things went overlooked. “If you ask for my approval of your actions, however, I cannot in honesty give it.”

“You still think me weak? I am king.”

“A fine crown you wear, too, my lord,” Severus retorted. “But it is not the crown that makes the king.”

“I will always be a failure to you,” Draco wondered aloud. “You were never so easily pleased as my father was.”

“You are my king, and it is my duty to honour you. You are a friend, and it is only right that I am honest with you. But you are not my son, and so it is not required that I love you. I am your subject, and like any of your other subjects, until you earn my respect, you will not have it.”

………………..

Harry waited until nightfall, when he knew everyone would be in their rooms, to make the trip to the harem, traveling through the backways and seldom used corridors of the palace until he reached the familiar sheltered walk that connected the palace to the harem where Severus stood waiting. They walked silently, Harry listening to the chirrup of the birds and the rustle of leaves as the cool night wind blew through them; it would have been so simple to believe that the harem was a quiet, peaceful place, but Harry knew better. When they came to his old suite of rooms Severus withdrew the keys from his pocket, not commenting as Harry paused by the door.

“Draco kept it locked. No one has moved into it since you left it,” Severus said, his voice a low murmur; the night called for such quiet.

Harry reached a hand forward and touched the doorknob, and then his gaze slipped to his left, to the balcony path that led to Draco's rooms. “I do not wish to return to these rooms,” Harry said. He kept his eyes averted as Severus watched him keenly.

“I thought that might be a possibility,” Severus said, and then, in a stronger voice, as if they had never stopped by those old rooms at all he said, “I have taken the liberty of having Gwynn prepare your room.” Harry turned surprised eyes to his friend, but followed when the man continued on.

The room was on the main level but tucked away at the very edge of the harem, located in a shadow of architecture and ivy that kept it quite separate and private from the other rooms. It was a fair distance from the nurseries where any accidental children were raised, and secluded enough from the main portion of the harem that it felt almost like a different place altogether, and while there were a few other doors beside the one leading to Harry's suites, there was no indication of who might be living there, and Harry wondered who his neighbours might be and if he'd met them before.

“Miss Cho is on your right, and some of the older concubines occupy the other rooms,” Severus answered. He withdrew a set of keys from his robe pocket and unlocked the door. Harry waited until a lamp was lit before following into the space.

The suite was smaller, and not as elaborately decorated as his old rooms had been, but the bedding looked fresh and the mattress soft, and it seemed like a dream to Harry. “Is it to your liking?”

Harry would have dearly liked to embrace the man who had taken care of him so very well as he recovered, who had taken care of him, in fact, from the very first day he had set foot within the harem. He knew, however, that such a thing was frowned upon and so settled for a smile and meeting his friend’s eyes with his own slightly damp ones.

“This will do nicely,” Harry said, trying to make his tone appear snobbish, which caused his Keeper’s lips to twitch in amusement.

“Regrettably, your things have been lost,” Severus commented. They both knew that all of Harry’s belongings had been thrown into the centre of the harem courtyard where eager concubines and catamites had carried each item of clothing, each treasured possession, off like a trophy. “I will have an order sent out to replace them. Goodnight, Emerald,” Severus said softly, and bowed slightly as he stepped towards the door.

“Severus?” Harry called, and turned around to look at the man where he had paused in the doorway. Harry felt a bit foolish, with that dark gaze on him patiently waiting, and himself having forgotten what he seemed so desperate to say a moment before. But it came clear again, as he stood there, and he stepped forward, placing a his hand on the Keeper's forearm as he said, “My name is Harry.” Severus' dark eyes watched him for a moment and then the man placed his hand atop Harry's own and dipped his head forward, his expression sombre, and bowed.

………………..

“Hush-a-bye,” a soft voice crooned in his ear. “Hush-a-bye, my lovely.” Harry whimpered and shifted closer to the source of warmth. “That’s right, easy now.”

As he struggled toward full wakefulness Harry recognized Cho’s voice and smiled to himself, allowing his body to relax in her arms as she rocked him gently and crooned softly. “Better now?” she asked after a moment.

“We’re going to get caught, you know,” Harry said instead of answering.

“Severus knows all about it, and if you continue to have nightmares that I can hear all the way over in my room, then I’m going to continue to come in here and make sure you don’t lose yourself in their grasp.”

“If you can hear me, Livinia must as well. She could offer an explanation.”

“Livinia is practically deaf, Harry,” Cho said in amusement. “It’s probably from raising each of those screaming brats all on her own. She should have just given them over to the wet nurse like everyone else with good sense.”

“I like Livinia,” Harry countered. He found he rather enjoyed the older and more eccentric concubines that occupied his and Cho’s end of the harem. Each of them was well over fifty, though Livinia’s precise age was difficult to tell. Some days she looked younger than even forty and her eyes would be bright with mischief, some days she acted very young indeed, but she was friendly and she didn’t gossip, which was a relief for Harry.

“Besides,” Cho continued as if Harry had not spoken. “You hardly need worry about my reputation. I don't think anyone in the palace could stand to see any further punishment dealt to you, and happily, that extends to your closest friends for fear that hurting us would further hurt you. I'm afraid, my dear, that you have been and are even moreso now, the gem of the whole empire. They all love you.”

Harry had been increasingly suspicious about that. Sheltered as he had been, tucked away in Blaise's rooms, and then again in his new rooms in the harem, he had been quite removed from the daily palace life. He had been to the banquets, or even been out wandering through the halls, but when he had done, everyone he had met had always seemed delighted to see him, whether he spoke to them or not. He began to wonder at the gossip circulating about him, curious for the first time at how the nobles and ambassadors had interpreted first his imprisonment, and then his release, and if Draco had a hand in spinning a story that resulted in those he had seen, even the silent palace guards, looking on him with such fond joy, as if he were some kind of heroic figure for enduring.

“Don't think on it,” Cho advised. “The only thing that matters is you're safe now, and with the exception of a certain delicate flower, no one is nursing any grudges about it. What did you dream tonight?”

“Back in the cell,” Harry muttered reluctantly as he rubbed at his eyes. “Even leaving the lamp on doesn’t help anymore.”

“It’ll pass with time,” Cho assured him. “It will all get better with time.”

………………..

Two months later and a thinner, paler and quieter Harry Potter made the walk from his rooms to those of the prince. Unlike before when he walked along a balcony path of marble and stone and flowers, he found himself instead climbing a set of stone steps nearly overrun with rogue ivy.

He kept to the shadows as he traversed this longer path. Nor did he trace a hand idly along the banister as he imagined his meeting with the prince, no, Draco was king now, Harry sometimes had trouble remembering such things. He had been so removed from palace politics that he could not imagine the king and queen gone, with Draco at the helm of the whole empire. Tonight he would satisfy a king.

Harry stopped as a wave of nausea raced through him, he did not want to go to Draco’s rooms. It seemed clearer than it ever had what his relationship with the blond was. Memories that he had clutched to in the darkness, of lover’s kisses and walks through the palace zoo, and making fanciful plots against disliked nobles were an illusion, something a bored royal did to pass the time, and Harry had allowed himself to get caught up in it. Now there was no turning back; he loved a man who could not love him in return, and nothing he could do could possibly change the king’s heart. They were separated by an ever-increasing chasm.

Wasn’t it better, then, to take what he could in the king? Wasn’t it better to have even that small piece of the man he loved than to have nothing at all? Still, Harry found himself wishing that he had died along with that piece of himself in the prison, because life afterward hurt more than that slow-death ever had.
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