Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 7
- 8
- 9
“My Lord?” Blaise asked when he looked up from the maps spread across the tables to find the king looking out the window. Blaise was not a fool, he knew what his offices overlooked.

Draco sighed and glanced back briefly to Blaise before turning back to the window. “He is looking much better, don’t you agree?”

Blaise stepped away from the table and joined his friend, looking down into the small courtyard where he could see Harry resting in the shade of a silken canopy. Cho and Gwynn, who Blaise rarely saw away from the young catamite’s side, as well as several others Blaise did not know by name but recognized as members of the Oraios, lounged alongside the young catamite, socializing.

Harry was looking much better, and each day he improved. His skin was no longer a sickly white and the circles beneath his eyes were not as dark, though Blaise had heard from Severus that the youth’s sleep was far from sound; Blaise wondered if Draco knew of Harry’s nightmares. It was hard to know what Draco was thinking of late. They had been such close friends but in the days following Harry’s imprisonment Blaise had watched as the other man withdrew steadily into himself. Now, after the deaths of the king and queen, Blaise was forced to admit that he barely knew the blond anymore.

“He’s changed,” Draco said, speaking aloud but softly. “So much. I hardly know what to make of him anymore.”

Blaise was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his patience with his king, and he had to remind himself that Draco had barely had the time to devote to Harry, faced with attempts to discredit him, plots to dethrone him, and political uprisings throughout the Empire and around its borders. Like many before him, Draco was being forced to fight for his claim to the throne. While Severus had the luxury, removed as he was from direct politics, to rail against the new king, Blaise knew secrets that Draco tried very hard to keep, one of which were the frequent night walks that had, during Harry’s convalescence, taken him by the outdoor balcony in front of Blaise’s quarters. Logically, Blaise understood that Draco was struggling to keep the empire intact while also doing what he thought best for his heart’s treasure, but the fact remained that the empire was still standing, and Harry was falling apart.

“What he endured,” Blaise said. “I can’t imagine. That leaves a mark, Draco. He is changed.”

“He pulls away from me. He’s never done that before, but now. …It’s not always, but when he does it’s almost as if he can’t take anymore. He tries to hide it, tries to pretend, but that’s all he’s doing: pretending.”

“What else did you expect?” Blaise asked honestly. “Draco, I went to gather him from that prison. They took everything. He was naked and alone in the dark, as your father ordered him to be. As your mother wished it. As you allowed him to be. Naked and alone, for five days of slow agony. I know you struggled, and I know it was difficult to finally realize that your parents are not infallible, that they make mistakes. I know the call for you to grow up was shocking after you had been left to your naïve illusions for so long; left to be the High Prince instead of exposed to the harsh realities. Still, the fact remains, my friend, that he trusted you and you in turn betrayed him.

“Now you tell me that he pulls away from you sometimes, and you are confused.” Blaise huffed and shook his head in astounded disbelief. “Naked. Alone. Curled in on himself, out of his mind with fever, dehydrated, starving, freezing to the touch … and the smell. I’m not surprised he pulls away. I am surprised he comes to you at all. Then again, he is your whore, Draco,” Blaise snapped, his anger twisting in him and spilling passed his lips. “It is his duty to let you fuck him in any place, in any way it should please you.”

“Stop it!” Draco hissed spinning around, his anger clear in his eyes. “Never speak of Emerald that way! Ever, do you understand? He is not a whore! He never was. I love him, Blaise! I love him!” There was turmoil in the king’s voice, as Blaise saw grey eyes glinting in the sun as if they watered. He knew he had pushed too far but it had to be done, someone had to stand for the beautiful used boy who was caught in a web of politics and emotion, in love with a man who knew nothing of love at all.

“You love him so much,” Blaise said, his tone even again. “That you would fuck him and then forget about him.”

“What would a eunuch know?” Draco snarled. They stood in tense silence; reminiscent of the fights they used to have as children. Those fights had always ended when their tutor had called them back to lessons, and they were united in their shared dislike of being indoors on warm days. They were not children any longer. “You’re in love with him,” Draco said calmly a moment later, realization dawning clear like the chime of a bell.

“What an absurd thing to say,” Blaise said. “My passion, like that of my fellows, is for books and learning.”

Silence again, and Draco turned back to the table where he idly shuffled through papers. “I’ve decided,” he said after a moment. “That it doesn’t do to have friends who are not appropriately in awe of me.” He said it in that wry tone that Blaise, after years of friendship, was well acquainted with. Smiling to himself, he stepped back to the table and smacked the king lightly upside the head.

……………………….

Harry's life had fallen into routine. Before, his days had been easy, and routine had been something he fell into more out of coincidence than any prearranged plan; now Harry was driven by his moods, and those were becoming embarrassingly predictable.

He existed in a strange state, remembered and yet forgotten. Kept hidden in the furthest part of the harem but summoned nightly to the king’s side. His mornings were passed alone in the baths where even Gwynn respected his need for solitude, and more often than not, made it all the way to brunch without having spoken a word. By brunch, however, Cho and Gwynn, and sometimes the older concubines from their forgotten corner of the world would descend upon him, convinced he had enough self-imposed isolation.

He swam rigorously and frequently. He rode Demon consistently, and dined with Severus often. He was always aware of the fact that Draco wished for more time with him but refused to ask for it, though Harry was not certain what it was that prevented the king from asking. Sometimes, when he was feeling particularly cynical, Harry wondered if it was because, however much the king enjoyed his body, he was also slightly disgusted with him as well. Other times, when his wistful love for the king overwhelmed him, he tortured himself with notions that Draco was respecting him and his wishes for solitude and privacy by not dragging Harry before the court and through the palace as frequently as he once had. Most times, Harry didn’t bother to think on it at all.

“And did you hear?” Oestel, Livinia’s servant, was whispering to the group as they sat for brunch. “Catamite Thomas and concubine Parkinson were severely disciplined by Master Snape last evening.” As if by some unspoken understanding, none of the inhabitants of their forgotten corner gossiped. They made a point of moving in quiet circles, observing but never quite being noticed by others; always above and around, but never stooping down to hear the chatter and observe the habits of their peers. This did not mean, however, that their servants didn’t, at times, bring back curious news for them to ponder.

“Dean Thomas?” Livinia asked for clarification, her low, soft voice cutting the noise more effectively than a shout would have.

“The same,” Oestel confirmed. “No one’s quite sure why, though there’s supposition amongst some of the others that it’s because of you, Emerald.” Oestel smiled a little, the enthusiasm of a duck in a pond simmering just beneath the surface of her charming face.

“Me?” Harry said, feigning an interest he did not quite feel.

“Well,” Oestel continued. “Pansy, that is, concubine Parkinson,” she corrected herself unnecessarily. “She’s been causing quite a fuss in the harem since you’ve returned, but Master Snape won’t tolerate any of it. Apparently catamite Thomas won’t, either.”

Livinia turned her attention to Harry, one eyebrow raised. “Were you not a member of the Oraios, Emerald?”

“For a time,” Harry said. The thought of the Oraios twisted him up. He had never discussed whether his absence from the group was permanent or not. When he was recovering, his health was such that thinking about dancing again was out of the question. It was possible, he supposed, to speak with Severus about it, but Harry wasn’t certain he could face Dean again, could dance like they once had. He was tired of it.

Harry felt old, of late. Jaded by experience, and often he caught himself lifting a condescending brow when he overheard others being sentimental or even affectionate. He wondered why people bothered with the lies when the truth spared so much more pain. Harry supposed that his situation was unique, or if not quite unique, then perhaps at least not so common: a servant in love with a king. How did one proceed from that point? There was no room to cultivate respect between them; there would always be the doubt, the fear of pity or condescension. They could never be equal. All the rational thought in the world, however, did not make Harry feel any differently. Would it always be like this? Would he live in the harem until he died, or Draco did, and his body was passed in ownership to the next king. There was a time when Harry felt the harem was preferred over the prison; now he wondered.

“H – Emerald,” Severus interrupted, appearing from the shadows beneath the sheltered pathway. A glimpse at the tall man had Harry rising from his seat and excusing himself hastily. “I did not mean to interrupt,” Severus murmured, smirking somewhat to emphasis his subtle teasing. “The king requests your presence.”

“So early?” Though Harry was already turning towards the steps that would lead him to Draco’s room.

“He is in the map room.” Severus re-oriented Harry with a gentle push-pull, until he was pointed in the direction of the path that would take him to the entrance to the palace.

Harry went without comment, but inside he could not help wondering. The map room was one of Harry’s favorite rooms in the palace. There was nothing in it but a very large and very dark wood table that was always cluttered with maps of the regions of the empire and her surrounding lands. The walls were likewise decorated, and there was even an approximate, though dated, design of the empire, the planet and the celestial bodies the floor. It was a strategy room, but Harry liked to go there because it put things in perspective. Agathe, even Wystenia, were such small places in comparison to the world. That didn’t help him understand why Draco would want to meet him there, however.

Walking, Harry kept close to the walls because he had noticed that this was how the servants walked and the courtiers who populated the palace always overlooked them, he wanted to be overlooked as well. Outside the map room there stood two guards, looking to all as if they stood by that particular door every day, but Harry knew better. He passed them with a nod, and one even smiled in return, though Harry wasn’t familiar with the man’s face.

“Emerald,” Draco said, rising from where he had been examining a map and gesturing Harry forward.

“Master Snape said you summoned me. I came as quickly as I could,” Harry said dutifully, though he remembered not to bow. The first time he had been summoned to Draco’s rooms after the blond had been made king, Harry had made a full and proper obeisance and Draco had been quite offended, pestering Harry for a good portion of the evening about his sudden adherence to formality.

Draco stood with his back to the table, leaning against it slightly. When Harry came forward the king drew him close to his chest, one hand resting at Harry’s waist; he ghosted the fingers of his other hand against Harry’s cheek, and Harry felt so at peace in the moment, his eyes drifting closed, soothed so completely. Somehow the simple touch cut-through the differences, the rationalities, the excuses and fears that kept them both separated. Harry wanted nothing more than to live in that moment, but then Draco was talking again, and it was as if the gentle embrace had never happened, except for the fading warmth he felt where Draco’s fingers had traced over his skin.

“In a few days the army is marching to Perwind. The northerlings are testing my strength and capacity to rule as a new king,” Draco said. “I’m riding today to see them off, rally the spirits.”

“You’re going to fight?”

Draco shook his head solemnly. “To leave the city for any great length of time would be tantamount to offering my throne to the highest and most ruthless bidder. I can afford to send them off, but not to ride out with them.” Harry moved to step away but Draco's hand clasping the back of his neck stopped him and instead, he found himself once again being drawn close to the king. “Come with me,” Draco whispered.

“My Lord,” Harry teased to mask the pleasure that coiled inside him at the offer. “Anyone would think you couldn’t stand to be parted from me for even a moment.”

“Not for a moment,” Draco echoed with a strange expression on his face. Harry could not tell if he were joking.

“Flattery,” Harry said, trying very hard not to let his mind, or his heart, play tricks with him. “You’ve found my weakness. I’ll have to go and pack.”

“No need.” Draco's tone had relaxed and his expression was clear once again. “I’ve taken the liberty.” His casual expression alerted Harry to prepare himself for some grand act, and as he followed the king out of the map room and out of the palace, it was to be faced with a spectacle indeed.

Elephants, Harry was too dazed to count the number, stood, shifting their feet in impatience, their tamers running about frantically to make sure the beasts did not move out of step; there were people, Harry could see, on the elephants’ backs as well. Over thirty horses, some hitched to wagons, carrying riders and supplies alternately. Separated by a space were a group of Draco’s elite guard, mounted on horseback of course, and at the head of the bizarre parade stood a stable hand, clutching the reins of Draco’s black destrier, and beside him stood Mardirand who was reluctantly and with some trouble, holding Demon’s reins.

“Oh,” Harry said softly.

“You don’t mind riding with me?” Draco teased.

“I can manage.” Harry was already walking forward. Demon’s bucking became more furious and he was forced to jog the last few paces before Mardirand was trampled into the road.

“I’ll never understand that beast,” Mardirand muttered bitterly as Harry mounted his quieted horse with casual ease. Harry tried to quell his amusement at the man’s bruised ego.

“It’s a question of good taste,” Draco said as Mardirand and the stablehand retreated back to the palace.

“I thought he was a gift to you as High Prince?” Harry questioned innocently.

“Hmph,” Draco said, sticking his nose in the air with an indignant huff. “I’ll never understand that beast.” He kicked his horse’s side and started forward, Harry guiding Demon into movement, and behind them the procession followed.

…………………..

It was a little over a half-day ride from Agathe to Throsis where the army was beginning their march, but Harry felt as if he were in another world. He’d only ever seen Brucandis growing up, and when he did leave, it was on a ship that took him directly to Agathe, where he had stayed. Harry had spent a good deal of his youth imagining the world but never quite expecting to see it. Yet, in a little over a half-day, he had ridden through caves and mountains, by beaches and a forest, seen temples and ruins and even a king's tomb. He’d thought the ride would be impersonal, more of a parade than anything because of the entourage that was riding with them; the elephants were slow and the supply train took an easier path, and though Draco’s guards did surround them as they rode, their distance was such that Harry barely noticed their presence.

By the time they rode into the camp Harry was in the best of spirits. He’d seen new things, and throughout the journey, Draco had recited to him the history and legends of the places they passed, peppered with his own personal anecdotes. They spoke and laughed and it was such an easy interaction that when a general greeted Draco as ‘my king’, Harry felt momentarily startled. They’d made their way through the camp to the generals' tent, stopping to acknowledge soldiers as they passed. Harry had fallen silent, then. Sitting at Draco's right, surrounded by generals eager to demonstrate their knowledge of strategy for their king as they made plans the defence of the empire.

Finally, they had made their way to the king’s tent, the largest tent in the camp, where Harry had sunk gratefully into the warm bath that had been prepared. His time in the harem had accustomed Harry to both cleanliness and luxury, and his time in prison had only compounded that.

“I’ll go out again to speak with the soldiers,” Draco said in answer to the question Harry had not given voice. He took out some clean clothes and began to dress, after only a brief soak.

Somewhat reluctantly, Harry stepped out of the tub, patting himself dry as he slung the awaiting robe about his shoulders. “Are most of them friends of yours?” he asked as he tossed the damp towel aside, slipping his arms through the sleeves of the robe and tying it loosely.

“They’re soldiers,” Draco said with a shrug, as if that were answer enough, and then rolled his eyes at Harry, noting the water that was slowly wetting the silk robe. Snatching-up his own towel, Draco intercepted Harry on his way to the bed. “Stop a moment, before you destroy the bedding, as well.” Toweling the dark hair, Draco continued, “I've trained with some of the men; but most I’ve never seen, except in parades.”

“So you don’t know very many of them?” Harry ducked away from the towel-assault, ignoring Draco's frown as he dropped himself happily onto the bed, deciding in that moment that he was far too relaxed to concern himself with putting on proper clothes.

Draco tossed the sodden towel aside. “What is this about?” Draco asked as he tied a sash to hold his cloak closed and settled at the edge of the bed by Harry’s feet, one hand naturally settling on Harry’s bent knee.

“Just something I wondered.”

“I don’t know how I could forget,” Draco said in a whisper, a strange combination of amusement and awe and respect on his features.

“What?”

“I forget that we are both tacticians and leaders.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

“Oh great rebel leader,” Draco teased. “What has you wondering about my troops? Some advice for me, oh great one?” Despite the exaggerated drawl, Harry could tell that Draco was serious in his request.

Harry shifted until he was lying on his stomach and Draco paused before he settled next to him, his head propped on his hand as he watched Harry form what he was about to say. “The people who were with me,” Harry said. “They were people from my village, but the way I was raised … I didn’t know so many of them. Since I was a child in comparison to those I was leading…” Harry stopped and licked his lips, he was playing with his fingers, focussing on them rather than the king he was instructing. “It was a concern, you see, that they might chafe under my orders.”

“I thought you were secretly leading them and the old man, Dumbledore, wasn't it? was your mouthpiece,” Draco confessed.

Harry shook his head. “It was me. Albus was with me from the beginning but he wasn’t a warrior, didn’t have much to offer them by way of leadership. His help was important to me, but he didn’t do much by way of leading anyone. I did that.”

“The rebellion was your brainchild?”

“We’re off point,” Harry said, his cheeks flushing. “What I did, part of what I did with the others, was to learn every single one of their names. I knew who they were, their family, important things to them, and I made certain that they were aware that I knew each one of them.”

“They followed you?” Draco asked. “Except the one rat among your flock who turned against you?”

“The point was that I was aware of exactly where my weaknesses were. I knew the rat, as you put it; he was useful for us as well. How many of your soldiers can you name?”

“Emerald,” Draco said. “The empire’s army is massive. I mean, that would be impossible.”

“Before you go to visit any place, you learn about it, isn’t that what you told me today? So you won’t be caught unprepared, or at a disadvantage. Are people so different from places? These men, they all know your face, they’re prepared to die for you,” Harry continued. “Your whims affect their lives completely and totally.”

“Defending the borders is not a whim.”

“I’m saying that decisions that are black-and-white, natural and sometimes even easy for you, barely warranting much concern, are the entire world to these people. I’m just saying…“ Harry stopped talking, bit down hard on his tongue and went red. He wasn’t comfortable talking about the rebellion at Brucandis with Draco; always wondered at what the other man would think of his reasons and his strategies, wondered how what he had done would affect what they were together. There was always the concern, more vivid now since he had been imprisoned and sentenced to death, that Draco would realize the extent of his treason and have him killed, as was his rightful punishment mandated in the laws of the empire.

“You have a point,” Draco said. Harry felt a gentle touch run along the side of his face but did not turn his head. “You amaze me,” Draco whispered, but since Harry’s head was turned away, he did not see the blonde’s sad smile as he rose. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

………………………..

Draco let the flap of the tent fall closed behind him but did not step away. There were times when Emerald showed a different part of himself, a part that Draco believed the other man all too often kept hidden, where Draco felt as if they were finally talking to each other openly and honestly, and it didn’t feel as if they were separated by a chasm of differences. Draco, from the very beginning of his relationship with the enigmatic youth, cherished those moments.

He was always brutally aware that Emerald was an illusion; a pretty and intriguing illusion, but one just the same. Behind the thin veneer of the alluring catamite, there was a youth who had grown up in a poor country, led a rebellion that was very nearly victorious, only to be robbed of his friends and brought to the palace. Whoever Emerald was before he had met Draco, he wasn’t that boy anymore, not that Draco ever saw, and he so dearly wished that he knew that boy. There were moments when Draco thought he could almost see him, when ‘Emerald’ ceased to be, but they were fleeting, and he was never quite certain of them.

Pacing in front of the tent, the king wondered what it was that held the youth back. It would be easy to think it was simply a matter of trust. After his imprisonment, Draco could understand that Emerald might be cautious, but this had been a pattern long before any of that. He wished he had the words to convey to Emerald exactly how he felt, but he had always been better at expressing himself through action, and he had even thought he’d made himself clear, thought that he had shown Emerald that he loved him; he’d certainly tried.

Yet even before Draco had failed Emerald and allowed him to be taken from the palace, the youth had kept himself distant. Draco didn’t even know the boy’s real name. True, he had looked on the name ‘Emerald’ with a sort of pride in the beginning, remembering the first time he had seen those striking eyes, remembering the boy as he stepped before Draco’s father and had the audacity to claim the name as if it were his birth name, to lie to a king! It had always seemed as if it were a symbol that Emerald was his. That changed rather quickly, however, and Draco began to realize it was a barrier keeping him from knowing his lover truly. It was further proof that everything that Severus had said, all that Blaise had warned him of, was true, and it was that, if nothing else, that made Draco confident he was making the right decision, however much it pained him.

……………………..

Harry awoke from a light doze but did not open his eyes, he was enjoying the trace of cool fingertips across his skin and the light, feathering kisses raining down softly on his neck. He had not bothered to dress after his bath with Draco, feeling too relaxed and lazy, and had instead opted to tuck himself under the silk sheets and fur blankets. Now he was rather pleased with his decision to remain undressed.

A tongue traced the column of his throat firmly and Harry shuddered and sighed, raised an arm in order to clutch Draco’s head closer to him. He felt the curve of a smile against his skin and then Draco shifted upward to kiss him.

Without thinking, Harry’s fingers were working to quickly rid the blond of his clothing. Already his breath was coming in soft gasps.

They didn’t speak, there wasn’t a need. It felt surprisingly uncomplicated to make love as they were, without make-up and costume, without teasing dialogue; without anything but the two of them, alone and in bed. Harry could forget and remember, could clutch Draco close to his body and press his hips upward and not be thinking about anything except that it was Draco touching him, and that it felt amazing and he wanted more. They knew each other so well when they were together. Draco knew that Harry’s fingers twisting in his hair meant ‘more’, and one leg brought up to pull Draco closer meant ‘now’ or sometimes ‘faster’.

It was breath: hot gasps, heady sighs, and panting. It was tongue and it was fingers and it was everywhere. Harry was spreading his legs wide long before Draco even ventured a touch below his waist, and Draco stayed close, oh so close, his face pressing into the crook of Harry’s neck as he finally – finally! – sank into Harry’s body. It was slow and it was hot and it was ecstasy. But they were soft and they were quiet, and drank down each other’s sounds, content that they were not coherent, that they were unintelligible and hushed.

Release was epiphany bordering on apocalyptic, but afterwards Draco held him close and Harry curled into the warm embrace. They did not speak, did not fall asleep, simply stayed together pressed close as their breathing steadied. Sometimes things were beautiful and simple, those were the moments when Harry couldn’t find fault with the world.

……………………..

“So, after a romantic ride, practically alone, no doubt acting like a pair of goggly, love-struck idiots, you camped in a decadent tent with silks and satins and fur, dined with an entire army, who were no doubt all tripping over themselves to fulfil your every whim, not to mention the hot, steamy man-sex you probably partook of during the night. After all of that, you return here to us, and all you have to say for yourself is, 'I had a pleasant time'!” Cho said in a gush.

Harry laughed at her outrage. “We didn’t act like a pair of goggly idiots,” he said. “The tent wasn’t so very large,” he continued to feign a snooty look of distaste, which earned him amused laughs, and one teasing swat across the arm. “The soldiers were a tad too eager to please, and I hardly slept at all,” Harry said, registering his complaints. When Cho shook her head at his antics he relented. “Steamy man-sex?” He was blushing, but he couldn’t help it, it was an ingrained reaction. Draco had surmised that it didn’t matter how debauched Harry ever was, he would never lose his penchant for blushing. Cho wiggled her eyebrows at him and grinned and Harry shook his head at her.

“Catamite Emerald?” a voice asked. Harry sat up a bit from where he had been reclining by the pool and was surprised to see one of the king’s messengers. “Your presence is requested by his majesty.” Which was odd, because Draco always sent Severus to summon him, never a palace messenger. Harry rose, feeling somehow wrong-footed, and followed.

Draco was seated behind his desk in his study, and as soon as Harry was delivered, the king dismissed the servant who had brought him. Harry was still adjusting to being back in the palace, and the constant reminds that Draco was king. Still, as he stood facing the blond he did not think his sudden nervous hesitancy was as a result of their time away. Draco was sitting, straight-backed and serious, and Harry had the distinct sense that this was what Draco's advisors might be used to when they conducted their business, but it was certainly not a side of Draco that Harry had ever faced before. Not directed toward him, at least.

“What is it?” Harry said, bracing himself at the same time that he tried to convince himself he was being overly sensitive.

“Emerald,” Draco said, then sighed. “I want to give you something,” he began, obviously picking his words with difficulty. “This isn’t exactly the procedure, you understand, but given our history I thought it best that I extend this as an option lest it be mistakenly construed as an order.”

“You’re not making sense.” Harry came foward, standing behind the chair he had been invited to sit in, his hands unconsciously gripping its back.

“Emerald,” Draco said as he walked around the desk, stopping a few steps away and seemingly unable to broach the distance. “I’m asking if you will become the high priest of the temple of Aneniel.”

Harry’s mind froze for a moment. It was the very last thing he had expected Draco to say to him. His head spun and when his thoughts formed any sort of order the only thing that he was really able to process was, “You’re sending me away?”

“You misunderstand me.”

“But you said …”

“I’m giving you freedom. I thought this would please you.”

“I don’t understand,” Harry said, at a complete loss and more than a little dismayed. “What have I done?” His world tilted a little and for fear that he would dramatically faint in the centre of the king’s office, Harry quickly settled onto the chair, his head in his hands.

“It is not anything you have done,” Draco said quite firmly. “I am offering this to you because it would be good for the empire, you would be good for the empire. If you don’t want to be high priest, then say no. If you would rather go home, I can grant that. If you would prefer to stay in the harem, I will keep you.”

“So this is about the empire?” Harry said, trying to follow Draco’s thoughts.

“You’re not happy here,” Draco continued and stopped Harry when he attempted to protest, dropping to kneel by Harry's chair. “This isn’t a place for you. You’ve been through enough this year. I’m granting you freedom but if it interests you, I would have you stay in Agathe as the high priest.”

“I’ve not, at any point in my life, been a member of the order.”

Draco smiled in amusement. “Neither did the current high priest. He was a friend of my father’s, someone who my father trusted.”

“So you’re kicking a friend of the family out of the temple?”

This time Draco did laugh. “As king, I am making changes to my advisors.” Draco gently placed a hand on Harry's knee. “There won’t be hard feelings. The order of Aneniel will accept you and you will be supported while you settle in.” Draco raised a hand, almost as if to touch Harry’s cheek, but he dropped it before he made contact and sighed. “I’m setting you free.”

……………………..

Harry watched as the last of his belongings left the harem via horse-drawn cart. “It’s going to be dreadfully boring here without you,” Cho said, trying to lighten their spirits.

“Once I figure out what the hell it is I’m doing, I’ll come and visit,” Harry said with a shrug.

Cho laughed harshly. “A high priest entering this den of debauchery?”

“Why not?” Harry asked. “I started out in this ‘den of debauchery’.”

“It will be a scandal,” Cho said seriously, then grinned. “I can’t wait.” She hugged him fiercely and he settled his head on her shoulder, not parting until the familiar sound of Severus clearing his throat broke them apart with amused smiles.

“Are you ready?” Severus asked.

Harry looked about him and then shrugged. “I have absolutely no idea.”

“You will manage, and I will see you again soon.” Harry, ignoring propriety, stepped forward and embraced the man. For once, Severus did not shy away but instead he placed a hand across Harry's back and whispered, “You are free.”

“I can’t even remember what that feels like,” Harry said. “Except right now it’s terrifying me.” Severus snorted in disbelief and Harry smiled. They broke apart as Blaise joined them.

“The rumours have started already, can you believe it?” Blaise asked by way of greeting. “My favourite so far is that you burst into flame when you were with the king, only the flame didn’t mark your skin and the king knew at once that you were the Divine Oracle and made arrangements to have you installed in your proper place.”

“I told you,” Cho said. “Wicked hot man-sex.”

“That’s the goddess Setset,” Harry corrected. “Lady of love and lust and dirty and debauched details.”

“To think that just a moment ago you were concerned you were not prepared for this,” Severus drawled.

“I don’t know how to worship Aneniel,” Harry countered.

Cho snorted. “Everyone knows how to worship Aneniel. He’s the High God!”

“I mean, on behalf of an entire empire. I’ll be leading ceremonies! I’ll be initiating people into an order I never belonged to!”

“Nothing to it,” Blaise teased. “In no time, you’ll be back at the palace as holy advisor, and I expect you to tell me all about what happens.” Blaise clapped Harry on the back and grinned.

“Try not to corrupt the initiates,” Cho said with a grin and a wink.

………………………

Harry had never really thought much about the Order and the gods they worshipped. He’d prayed just like anyone else, made offerings and celebrated in the festivals, but as far as he was concerned there were gods, and there were the people who prayed to them. As high priest he was more than just another person praying, he was Divine Oracle and the responsibility he had was extensive. It was like a small empire within an empire, managing the gods and the worship of them.

The first month he spent out of the harem Harry studied almost ceaselessly, after having been officially inducted into the Order. Naturally, his education was quite different from what he would have had if he had entered as a simple neophyte, he imagined that most of them at least had some time to themselves, and time to sleep.

At the end of a month of silence and near isolation with his company being restricted only to the wizened members of the Order who had accepted the task of training him, Harry was thankfully allowed to forgo the usual test of his favour with the high God since the Order as well as the general populous viewed his time in prison, starving and suffering and yet somehow not dying, given over five days without anything, as test enough.

The second month had been filled with the standard purification ceremonies, followed by a grand and also quite public rise to his new status. The old Divine Oracle, Timius Stabarus, had worked closely in educating Harry and had become a trusted friend, teaching him secrets and skills in handling the devout, the lost, the needful, as well as managing the temple and the other advisors of the king. Harry didn’t recall much of the grand ceremony except that it had been filled with sunlight, rightly so, as Aneniel was often represented as the sun. The entire procedure had been broken down into a series of movements, which Harry had only managed to remember by thinking of the choreography of the ritual as all part of an elaborate dance. Draco had been there, of course, but since he had little influence over Aneniel and the Order, the focus had been on Timius and Harry.

Three months out of the harem and Harry was Divine Oracle Emerald, he did not wish to relinquish the security of that name, and he was beginning to wonder just what he was going to do now.

………………………

“If you wish so devoutly for peace, it would be better to pick one and summon them,” Severus said with a sigh.

Draco sneered at the dark figure beside him. “You mean, give them something to gossip about? Give them a target?”

“They are restless because, for the first time in a long time, no one seems to hold your interests; which of course is not at all possible. That leaves one option, which is that someone has indeed caught your attention and is satisfying you most completely, and you are keeping him, or her, quite secret. Naturally, this means it must be quite serious.”

Draco scoffed and leaned over the rail, watching the misleading quiet of the harem. “Look at them,” he said, shaking his head. Severus glanced over the rail, but he had seen it all before: lavishly attired men and women whittling away the hours of a day with meaningless chatter and activity. Their boredom inducing them to plot and scheme, their restlessness turning them bitter. “My great grandfather called them my father’s hummingbirds. I was a child at the time and didn’t understand it. Now I think I know exactly what he meant.”

“Lord Marius Malfoy was quite an opinionated man,” Severus agreed. Marius had not been of royal blood himself, but he had been a lord in his own right, and had married a queen, and so royal consort is exactly what he had become.

“They’re beautiful to look at, and wonderful to watch,” Draco continued. “But they are thinking so very fast, plotting so very quickly that they almost seem to be completely still. It’s their very nature to mislead and connive and plot.”

“That is unfair, and even you know that,” Severus said.

“You mean because they have nothing else to do?” Draco inquired. “Emerald wasn’t like that.”

“Indeed, he was more tranquil than any soul I have ever before met; which to me, suggests his little wings were most certainly beating.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve heard that tone,” Draco said with a smile. Severus raised an eyebrow in query. “Fond amusement. I’d hear it all the time when I was little and did something particularly devious. You would always intercede with my father, convince him that I was becoming a good little politician.”

“Indeed,” Severus said, his lips twitching upward.

“Summon someone tonight, then,” Draco said with a sigh. “Let them puzzle the meaning of that.”

……………………

“Harry?” Hermione gasped as Harry stepped into her cell. He was pleased to see that it was nothing like his own prison had been. It was more a chamber than a cell, with furnishings that included a thick, if slightly worn, rug. “Or should I say, Divine Oracle Emerald?” she teased.

It had been a year and a half since he had seen her and Ron. As a catamite in the harem it had been impossible for him to justify visiting the prison, and even sending off letters had been something of a production, though that had never stopped him. Seeing her again after so long, someone so utterly familiar, was like all the stress of his responsibilities simply drifted away. “Don’t get me started,” Harry said, managing an honest grin and exasperated eye-roll.

“Will you accept if I offer you a seat on my bed, or is that improper?” she continued. This was much easier than Ron’s reaction. The first ten minutes of Harry's visit with his red-headed best-friend had been spent with Ron gaping at him and fidgeting, obviously not knowing how he should conduct himself.

“So much has happened,” Harry said, plunking down on her bed, heedless of his fine robes.

“Apparently.” Hermione's smile was bright as she settled beside him. They sat a moment, then he flopped over sideways into her lap and, just like when they had been young and safe and naïve, she wove her fingers into his hair and petted it gently. “Begin at the beginning,” she said.

So he did. He paraphrased and cut out the difficult bits, but he knew that she could figure most of it out. In the end, her only comment was, “He really made you Divine Oracle?”

“Yes. Sent me away, locked in a different prison. You know, it’s quite possible that the Order is even more lavish than the harem?”

“I’d believe that,” she said. “Does he know you’ve come here?”

“I didn’t bother to keep it secret. I thought that would look more suspicious than if I just came. Anyway, I'm High Priest, no one can really stop me from visiting this place.”

“That’s a lot, Harry. The trust …”

“It’s not trust,” he denied immediately. “We barely know each other.”

“You’ve been intimate for almost a year and a half. If letting the leader of a rebellion not only take a position of considerable power, but visit his old friends, who are likewise rebels in prison, isn't a show of trust, then I don’t know the meaning of the word.” That shut Harry up, he wasn’t sure what he had been thinking. It had become such a habit to dismiss anything personal between himself and the king, anything that hinted at a kind of understanding or connection to Draco; but Hermione was right, perhaps he had brushed off the trust implicit in his new position, too caught-up in the negatives.

“I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. I wanted to be free and to set you and Ron free, but I think I’m out of the running. I’m in the damn Order, what good is that?”

She smiled at him fondly. “Remember that day in the village? We’d just returned after the raid and your farm was burned along with half the village, and Albus kept having to tell everyone that he’d been in communication with the king but there was still no word about anything, that it looked very likely that we would not get the support we needed?”

“Aunt Petunia died, and I was really alone. I went to live with Ron and the Weaselys,” Harry said.

“What do you think happened? I mean, before the rebellion actually became the rebellion? When it was just an idea.”

Harry shrugged. “I don’t know. I was furious, and it wasn’t right, and I talked to Ron about it, and I talked to you about it, and you both agreed.”

“And then, you were talking to the village, and an idea became a united action. Who were you then?”

“No one,” Harry answered with a shrug.

“A sixteen year old farm boy without a farm,” she said fondly.

“Nearly seventeen,” Harry corrected firmly.

“My apologies.” She rolled her eyes at him in that exaggerated way she had. “The point is, power is irrelevant. Or maybe not irrelevant, but it’s not something that gets given to you. Sometimes it’s something that you take, and sometimes it's something that you just have. I’d still follow you anywhere; that was before you even saw that palace, or put on any silly Order robes.”

“I should go,” Harry said after a moment. He leaned up and kissed her forehead, and she smiled at him as he walked away.

…………………..

The throne room was precisely as Harry remembered it to be, except that many of the faces that lined his walk up to the throne were new. He didn’t mind it, Harry was a new face to them as well, or perhaps not so much a new face as it was simply different to see him walking up the green carpet just as they had done, rather than slipping-in through the entrance behind the ornate thrones and accepting a seat as royal escort.

“Divine Oracle,” Draco greeted with a slight twist to his lips that mirrored the amused smile on Harry’s own.

“My king,” Harry said, and in a move that took him back quite a time, he nodded his head slightly in obeisance. He had thought it might feel awkward to stand before the king; had worried even, that knowing Draco as he did might work against him in some way. Instead, it felt as if they were playing a game, performing an elaborate show for the men and women who stood around them.

“Your presence here honours us,” Draco said formally. “In future, Divine Oracle, know that you are always welcome in the palace, and that, as king, I take Lord Aneniel and worship of gods most seriously.”

This was Draco's way, Harry knew, of saying that he would have preferred a more private audience. Harry had chosen a public meeting, however, precisely because he had not been sure of himself, had wondered if he could manage being alone with the king and still honor his new position. “It pleases me to hear this,” Harry said, in his peripheral vision he could see Blaise clearly biting back a smile.

“You have come here with specific intention?”

“The month of the sun is nearing,” Harry began. The idea had come to him as he rode back from the prison, and it had taken root in his mind. Accepting the role of High Priest had felt to Harry as if he were being pushed-out of both palace and public life. His associations with the various gods and those who worshipped them had been restricted to the quiet temples in Brucandis, where priests and priestesses were often cloistered. The more time he spent at the Great Temple of Agathe, however, the more Harry realized that perhaps he had been suffering under severe misconceptions. “In a dream, my king,” Harry continued, “I was instructed by Aneniel to ride out to where the sun rises and greet the dawn.”

“You do not require permission to do this,” Draco said, though his puzzled frown revealed how much he wished to know Harry's intentions.

Theoretically, Harry knew that his position granted him impossible liberties, of which traveling unchecked, as any free person was permitted, was most certainly one. In practice, however, he could not understand how Draco could permit it, Harry was, after all, the leader of a rebellion. Here he was, boldly telling the king that he intended to journey back to his home, a place where he had once aroused the citizens to openly challenge Agathe. Anything could happen. Just because he said he dreamed it, did that mean it was safe? The king could not be such a fool! Draco knew that he was guilty of treason! Yet, here he stood. Why? “I wondered simply if there was a message, or perhaps something you wished to be brought east. It would be divinely protected,” Harry answered, to mask his inner turmoil.

Draco’s expression softened, and Harry felt warmed by the look. A moment later, Draco waved his hand, “I do have something I would appreciate being brought to Wystenia. It is too large to travel by land, however. I will have it sent by water, and it will be there for your arrival.”

The next morning, as Harry exited the temple with those who would travel with him, the temple stable hand was gripping tightly to a bucking and fighting Demon, who had apparently been sent over to the temple's stables on order of the king, and Harry left Agathe with a grin.

………………….

Harry never thought about the temples in the empire. Having never left Brucandis as a boy, he never devoted much thought to the stories of elaborate temples in grand cities, or of small temples along the rode for travellers. As he rode east, however, it was all he could think about.

The passed two years had been filled with such confusing, twisting and complex events that it was difficult to fit together; it all seemed almost unbelievable. Now he was returning home after a year and a half away, after being taken into custody by the king following a rebellion he had masterminded, and yet when he returned, it would be as Divine Oracle.

He wondered what the people of the village, old friends and familiar faces, would think of him, wondered what this new position as a member of the Order meant. What was he supposed to do now? As challenging as life in the harem had been, everything had been very clear, with success being easily measured and the goal plain to see. Now, Harry might have had his freedom, but it was different from what he had enjoyed on his farm.

He thought a good deal on Hermione’s words in the prison, and Ron’s reaction to him. Harry hadn’t been any different, had he? He’d been clad in the Order colours of red and gold, the sun’s colours; his robes had been rich and beautiful. He’d still been Harry, and ‘Divine Oracle’ was just a title, it didn’t mean anything except that he could suddenly be believed if he claimed to have met or spoken with any one do the pantheon of gods and goddesses to whom the people of the empire gave worship. Such a tricky thing. Yet the people in every temple he stopped at welcomed him as they would their king, perhaps even more lavishly. He was welcomed with such authentic joy and awe by these people, because of a title?

“Master Emerald,” neophyte Creevey said, riding up to Harry’s side. “We are arriving in Wystenia.”

“I know,” Harry said, it was impossible for him not to recognize the countryside. His thoughts turned to the Weasleys, Molly in particular, and the Grangers. Would they be angry with him? Would the people blame him?

He didn’t expect to be welcomed warmly back to his hometown, but he knew that he needed to return there, whether to put to rest that time in his life, simply to prove to himself that he could return, something he had dreamed of doing in those early months in the harem, or whether it really was a pilgrimage inspired by Anenial, even Harry wasn’t certain. It was something he felt had to be done, so he had done it. He didn’t expect to be welcomed, but he was. It seemed every single occupant of the village lined the streets. There were flowers everywhere, and petals covering the rode. There was cheering and people were smiling and waving. People bowed.

On the steps to the temple, when the horses, including Demon, had been led to the stables, Harry was welcomed by the old priest he remembered from his childhood, and beside him stood Albus Dumbledore alongside Molly Weasley and the twins.

“Divine Oracle,” Fred greeted.

“Fancy that, mum,” George said with an equally silly grin.

“You were sent into slavery,” Harry said in surprise.

“We were granted freedom,” Fred said.

“By the king himself,” George added.

“We have the papers and everything,” Fred boasted.

“It’s so good to see you,” Molly said, though she did not move to hug him it was clear she wanted to. She wrung her hands together and bobbed a sort of curtsy, and he rolled his eyes and hugged her closely. “We’ve missed you,” Molly said.

Harry let his eyes fall closed as he breathed in the familiar smell of the woman he regarded as a mother, and finally admitted to himself something he had been trying to ignore for so long, “I’ve missed home.”

“My boy,” Albus Dumbledore greeted warmly.

Harry embraced him as well, smiling as he greeted, “Albus.”

“A rather large vessel deposited a mysterious mass in our city centre. I don’t imagine you’d know what it is?”

“No,” Harry said surprised. “Well, the king said he had a gift for the city,” he amended.

“Ah,” Albus said. “I imagine you would like to plan an unveiling?”

“Yes,” Harry said, realizing that now more than ever, the people he was close to were looking to him for plans. He was Divine Oracle; he had the power, even if he didn’t quite understand it.

………………

Harry spent three days in Wystenia. It was wonderful and warm and welcoming, but more than anything, it underlined his new apparent power. Many of the village’s occupants considered him a god in his own right, so devout were they in their faith in the temple and their gods.

There was a celebration on the first day of the sun’s month, July, the day before Harry and his entourage planned to leave, and it was just before dusk that Harry ordered the covering pulled away from the ‘mysterious mass’ that had been sent from Agathe and been sitting at the heart of Harry's hometown since the day before his arrival. Not surprisingly, it was a statue, a marble sculpture of a winged lion, the symbol of Brucandis, looking strong and majestic mid-roar. The lion was rearing up as if to strike an enemy, and on its back was the phoenix of the empire.

The message was clear, and the villagers were ecstatic, their place in the empire and the fruits of their toil having finally been acknowledged and appreciated. Harry didn’t see it as a debt they owed to him, but the villagers did, and they showed their appreciation with a festival, with laughter and dance and a feast worthy of the palace itself.

………………

Power existed in many forms. Harry's entire life had been a struggle for it, growing up in his aunt’s home where he had absolutely no power, which should have made him angry and bitter. Instead it made him fiercely protective of what he did have, Brucandis, who, like him, had no power, was mistreated, was overlooked and undervalued. Harry had begun a revolt, had wrested power forcefully out of the grasp of the men who had suppressed him and others. Any power Harry had ever tasted had been fought for, had been bled for and had been earned. Every stage of his life had tempered him, had given him new knowledge, new understanding of the facets of power. Every step had brought him forward until he was standing at the bow of a boat, shackled and likely on his way to a swift execution. He remembered how his mind had spun, how he had felt so very helpless, there had been nothing he could do but hope that Albus would insist he had led the revolt, and was able to convince the king, and even that hope had hurt him to cling to, had made him feel guilty for wishing that someone else would step forward for something he himself had done.

Even then, standing in chains on a swift boat to death, Harry had still had something, that very thing that had brought Draco back to him again and again and again. That was power too, though Harry wished he had never been forced to resort to it. To be a leader, you first needed someone to follow you. Harry had entered this new world with nothing but a tunic and sandals and a determination to somehow set the wrongs aright. He had thought that his opportunity had been lost. Over a year later and Hermione and Ron were still in prison, he was still a whore, though now he was a whore in love with a king, if anything, Harry thought he was further behind than when he stood as a prisoner on Draco's boat. He was wrong.

He was a leader, only he hadn’t noticed. Alone and with nothing, sentenced on the authority of the king to death, and there were those who had risked all to fight for him. He was nothing but a catamite, and there were those that bowed to him, even without the king standing by his side. So what was power? Was one form better than another? More thorough? More corruptible? More easily wielded? It was a strange realization, and stranger still that it brought him such absolute peace to realize.

“Colin,” Harry called before they returned to Agathe. “We must stop a moment.”

“Master Emerald?” Colin asked.

Harry glanced to the bustling heart of the empire, a city that no doubt expected the return of their Oracle. Harry had laid the groundwork on the return journey, but to really work, Agathe needed proof. “Bring my trunks and set up a tent. Summon Witchett here, I have something I want her to do.”

………………………….

Draco stood on the steps of the temple, ready along with members of the Order as well as members from his own court, including Severus and Blaise, to welcome the Divine Oracle back to Agathe. The streets were crowded, and soldiers stood at intervals to stop the masses from pressing inward and clogging the path of the returning Order members.

The first thing they heard was the music; it was an enticing drumbeat and energetic, pulsing rhythm. Draco wondered at this, but waited as he watched the beginning of the Order’s procession round the corner onto the main street.

The procession had taken a formation, moving in unison with movements that Draco’s own soldiers would envy. At the heart of the procession rode a figure on a fiery red horse that Draco almost recognized, but not quite, as they came even closer, Draco was able to better appreciate this new mask that Emerald wore.

So often the youth had come to him in one role or another, this one was more than Draco had ever imagined. His skin had been chalked with white powder so he was almost translucent, seemed to glow in the warm midday sun. His robes were dark red, his eyes were kohled, his lips painted gold, and there was a gold mark on the cheekbone beneath his left eye. He was ethereal.

Draco was silent, forgetting his plans, simply watching in awe that made him equal to everyone who lined the streets. Emerald dismounted and climbed the steps to the temple and Draco noticed a gold band on the high priest's left hand that made his throat constrict. He had burned the papers that had made Emerald his property, but that ring pained him. When they were finally standing face-to-face, Draco managed to find his voice only because the look in those green eyes was so familiar.

“I welcome your return,” he whispered. “Divine Oracle Emerald,” he added, trying to compose himself.

“I am no longer Divine Oracle,” Emerald said to him. “I am Consort,” Emerald declared. “I am chosen of the god himself.”

“Divine Consort Emerald!” one of the neophytes in Emerald’s entourage cried. The cry echoed in the streets and was picked-up by the other occupants of the city. Around them, the people fell to their knees and, after a moment, Draco himself bowed.
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The Consort: Hummingbird Circus