The Consort: Hummingbird Circus

It was hypnotic. Draco watched, entranced, as the cobra reared up, its tongue flickering as it stared into bright green eyes. Draco’s lover did not move, simply returned the gaze appearing as intrigued by the snake as the snake seemed by him.

“He’s a regular snake charmer, that one,” Remus Lupin, keeper of the snakes and beasts in the palace zoo, said as he smiled at the sight. Emerald knelt in the stone room surrounded by what Draco approximated was at least a dozen snakes of differing colours. He knew that at least three of the snakes twining around his lover were lethal and yet none seemed to display any interest in harming the youth who knelt among them.

“You have no idea,” Draco muttered as he kept an eye on his lover. “He comes here often?”

“Quite often. I look out for him naturally, but they never move to strike him. His presence calms them, I think.” They each held their breath as an asp twined its way up the catamite's body, but the dark-haired youth appeared not the least bit disturbed, he tilted his head to one side so the asp could peak over his shoulder and join the staring contest with the cobra. “Incredible,” Remus breathed.

“Incredible,” Draco breathed. “How long does he usually stay? I’d call him, but you understand that I have no wish to startle him, or his friends.” Draco looked away from the fascinating scene long enough to cast an amused smirk at the other man.

“So long as you make no move to enter I don’t think they would mind, but if you will wait here, I can go round to the other entrance and let him know you are waiting.” As Remus cast a sketched a stiff bow and headed off to relay the message, Draco continued to observe the green eyed young man from the window, unable to fathom the strange relationship his lover had with the serpents. Over three months and yet Draco still found himself surprised by the enigmatic young man.

It had been some time since Draco had been entertained by only one individual; over three months of monogamy to a particularly intriguing catamite. He had not the slightest clue how to refer to his trysts with Emerald. The term ‘lover’ came to him often, and indeed seemed the most applicable, strange as it was to think of the youth as his lover; to Draco, the term implied something personal, something deeper than his other relations had been. Draco wasn’t sure what he thought of that.

A month after Emerald had first come to his room, Draco had been so pleased by the young man that he had given him permission to wander the grounds, so long as he was accompanied by the servant Draco had appointed to him, Gwynn he thought her name was, and also Justin Finch-Fletchely. Justin was a eunuch from the House of Salazar, trained in the art of espionage and well-versed in combat, and Draco had thus appointed the man to keep track of his dark-headed prize at all times. Not that Draco did not trust Emerald, but he was well aware that no place, not even the palace, was ever completely safe.

“My lord,” a soft voice broke his reverie, and Draco turned from where he had been staring blankly through the glass and greeted Emerald with a welcoming quirk to his lips.

“It is a strange thing,” Draco said, almost to himself, as he looked into the deep green eyes that had inspired the young-man’s name. Emerald frowned slightly but did not voice his question, simply allowed Draco to pull him into a very deep kiss, and then lead him away from the so called Serpent Temple, and back toward the palace.

……………………………………………

Harry sat, shaded by the veil that had been draped to make a sheer barrier against the sunlight. Gwynn was kneeling just behind him and Cho was settled beside him. It was warm and bright and Harry was certain he had never felt more relaxed in his entire life. Granted, he was not alone. There were other tents like his surrounding the large court situated in the centre of the complex that was the harem. Still, with the sun shining so brightly and the smell of jasmine permeating the air he could forget about the harsh, jealous glances and the cold sneers and the whispers that were directed toward him.

At the centre of the court the woman, elegantly clad in deep purple and vibrant gold, sang a long slow song, almost a chant, in a language that Harry did not understand. She sang with no accompaniment, and besides her elegant attire, she had no props. Still, Harry was hypnotized. With a sigh, he let his eyes drift closed. It seemed like such a sad song to him, like a lament for a lost love.

It was odd to be surrounded by such luxury, but perhaps even stranger to Harry was how he was becoming so accustomed to it. Much to the chagrin of the other occupants of the harem, male and female alike, and to the delight of both Cho and Gwynn who had spent a good deal of time brainstorming new scenarios for Harry to use when he met with the prince at night, Harry had managed to fulfil the impossible: three months and fourteen days of being the prince’s main and only interest. At night, Harry would walk the terrace bridge to Draco’s rooms and knock quietly on the door and every time, once Harry stepped inside the now familiar bedroom, the prince would greet him and they would have sex, sometimes more than once, before falling asleep. Every morning, Draco would ask Harry to return again in the evening, and Harry always did.

On nights when Draco was busy, he wouldd have Snape pass along his explanation to Harry, and the prince always sent the stoic man with an orchid blossom for Harry on those nights, and though at first Snape had sneered as he passed over the flower, lately, he had taken to simply handing the blossom over into Harry's waiting hands. Harry would always close his eyes and breathe the scent of the orchid blossom deeply, which was his favorite flower, and then thank Snape and close his door.

On other nights Draco was simply tired. The first time Harry had entered and Draco had told him he merely wished to sleep Harry had returned to his rooms, unsure of what exactly he felt about that. The second time, though, Draco had offered Harry a place beside him, and now Harry spent every night, save those when Draco was engaged in royal business, in Draco’s bed, in Draco’s arms, whether they were making love or not.

Regardless of the whispered comments and scowls that many of the other occupants of the harem had to offer him, Harry had grown accustomed to what was quickly becoming another part of his daily regimen; like his long swims in the morning, and his walks through the garden with Cho after lunch, going to Draco’s rooms had ceased to become a nerve-racking experience. Though he suspected he would never be capable of taking it all for granted as many other seemed to, Harry had grown accustomed to the the luxury of his surroundings in much the same way he had adjusted to his new schedule.

The soft whisper of sand-shod feet approaching recalled him from his thoughts, and Harry opened his eyes and watched with a curious gaze as a very tall and strongly built man approached him. Much to Harry’s surprise the man, who on closer inspection could not have been much older than Harry himself, knelt down on the edge of the silks that were cast about the floor beneath Harry’s awning. When the stranger neither moved nor spoke Harry, still frowning, leaned forward slightly. “Yes?” he asked, not wanting to speak too loudly lest he disrupt the performance.

“I have seen you about, here,” the man said.

“This is my home.” Harry spoke the half-lie with practiced confidence, he did not at all view the harem as his home but he was aware that, as the prince’s catamite, he should be considering it to be so, he should have already forgotten all about Wystenia and his real home.

The man raised his eyes and looked at Harry, brown eyes piercing and keen in a way that made Harry think that whoever the stranger was, he knew exactly what Harry truly thought of the harem. “I have watched you,” the man said. A frisson of anxiety and exhileration burned through Harry at the comment. The only other person who had spoken thusly to him had been the prince. “You move well,” the man continued.

Harry felt suddenly disconcerted, surrounded by fine silks, clad in rich clothes and jewels, with a man kneeling at his feet as if he were a king or a god. Embarassed by the attention and half-pleased by it as well, Harry glanced around and then back at the man. “Why are you kneeling?”

“It is customary,” the man said. “You are Emerald, are you not?” Harry nodded hesitantly. “The prince’s favourite. To kneel to you here is to show respect, both to you and the prince, since together you are as one.” Harry didn’t feel like he was one with the prince, and no one, not even Cho or Gwynn had knelt at his feet as the stranger did. Beside him Cho shifted and Harry looked at her, noted how she seemed to be biting her tongue, eyes darting about with nervous exitement. He followed her rabbiting gaze out and noticed that the other catamites and concubines who had come to see the performance were watching him closely, the singer forgotten even as her voice began to crescendo.

If her reaction was anything to go by, then Harry was confident that Cho could explain exactly what the encounter meant, since the man's reponse had been entirely inadequate. “What’s your name?” Harry asked.

“My name is Dean Thomas.”

Harry glanced up to see that the performer had finished her song and was bowing, he clapped appreciatively and, taking a moment to notice that some of the others were leaving in favour of taking shelter inside, attempted to order his thoughts before he turned back to the strange man. “Dean,” Harry repeated to himself. “I haven’t seen you about,” he blurted before he could stop himself.

“I imagine you haven’t, I spend little time with the others.” By ‘others’, Harry assumed the man meant the other occupants of the harem. “The prince rarely requests my attentions, but he has made me a part of his dancers.” Well, Harry thought, that explains why he was watching the way I move. “You dance?” Dean asked.

“No,” Harry replied honestly. He had never been taught to dance, and though he enjoyed music and movement, he had never attempted to choreograph one with the other.

“Would you like to?” Harry found that it was suddenly difficult to breathe. The man was looking at him with darkly intense eyes. When he found his voice had failed him, Harry nodded, swallowing hard, trying to tamp down on the wild thing that was trying to claw out of him, urging him to go against the single most important rule of the harem. The urge only increased when Dean smiled warmly at him and then, rising to his feet but bending low, kissed Harry once on the cheek.

……………………………………………

“It wasn’t just kneeling, Emerald,” Cho exclaimed as they returned to Harry’s rooms. “He was pledging his allegiance to you.”

“His allegiance?”

“And you accepted!”

“I did?” Harry blinked, surprised. “Wait, wait. I don’t understand. Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” Cho said.

“Pledging allegiance isn’t uncommon,” Gwynn offerred. “Within the harem, as you’re well aware, there is a struggle to become the consort. Pansy’s started up the old traditions, it’s sort of an underhanded battle within the harem to gain the prince’s attentions.”

“It’s not working out very well for her,” Cho said with a smirk. Harry wondered why he had never noticed anything before. Well, there had been an increased amount of dark looks cast his way but other than that, Harry was hardly aware of any sort of war.

“Dean basically said that he would stand by you and help you, come whatever,” Gwynn said.

“That’s ridiculous. He doesn’t know me!”

“Well, he has been watching you,” Cho said with a grin. “And you move so well,” she teased, Cho's laughter blending with Gwynn's. Harry rolled his eyes.

“It doesn’t mean what you’re thinking, Emerald,” Gwynn said with a fond smile. “He’s not courting you. He can’t. You’re both catamites and therefore both the prince’s property and strictly hands-off to everyone, including other catamites and concubines.” Harry got the impression that she was reminding him and he jerked his chin up in defence of himself. He couldn’t help the feelings that had flooded him. He had forgotten what it was like to have some kind of control of himself and his life, and having Dean there at his feet, interested, for whatever reason had compelled him to come to Harry’s tent – well, Harry assumed that it had just gone to his head. It reminded him of freedom for a moment.

“He’s likely doing it to piss Pansy off. Everyone knows that the Oraios all feel very strongly about her. And they’re not warm and fuzzy feelings, either,” Cho said.

“The what?” Harry asked, feeling very lost.

“The Oraios, they are the prince’s dancers,” Gwynn said. “They’re concubines and catamites alike, but they’re considered above the other occupants of the harem. They’re a close-knit group, and the prince really does favour them, even if they never visit his rooms anymore, they attend all his parties, and after they dance, they are allowed to mingle.”

“How many people in this harem can say that?” Cho asked. Not many, Harry thought to himself.

“They still have to follow the same rules as any other occupant of the harem, but –“

“They have more freedom,” Harry surmised.

“Precisely,” Cho said. “And if Dean is pledging allegiance to you, then I think it’s fair to say that he’s contemplating inviting you to join the group.”

“To dance?” Harry asked. He wasn’t quite sure how he felt about that. On the one hand, it would be nice to have a bit of freedom, and it would also be another way to keep Draco’s attentions firmly focussed on him. But then, Harry was still timid and dancing for an audience when he didn’t know how to dance at all was a daunting prospect.

“This is perfect.” Cho clapped her hands together twice and then jostled him in the side with her elbow.

“I don’t see how,” Harry moaned, rubbing his side and generally feeling far too overwhelmed by the social politics.

“If you become a part of the Oraios then that is just one more opportunity for you to seduce the prince. You’ve got him wrapped around you little finger already, Love,” Cho said with a grin.

“Don’t talk about it like that,” Harry said, feeling uncomfortable with this statement, though he did not know why. It made what he had accomplished seem cheap, like he was just like Pansy. The difficulty was that, he was exactly like Pansy, they did, after all, have the same goal in mind. “You’ll jinx it,” Harry explained when Cho flashed that curious look that showed she was trying to puzzle him out. As much as Harry had become close to Cho and Gwynn, and even the prince and Severus, he did not want any of them to ever completely figure him out. He couldn't allow for his life in the harem and the palace to become permanent, he could not allow for it to become home.

……………………………………………

Harry sighed and settled more comfortably in the prince’s arms. He smiled faintly as he felt fingers brushing the hair from his eyes, and soft lips pressed against his temple. “I received an intriguing request today,” Draco murmured in that hushed voice he always used after they had partaken in a bout of particularly exuberant sex.

“Hm?” Harry asked, not opening his eyes, simply enjoying the feel of lying naked and sated, wrapped in cool, soft sheets and strong arms, with fingers brushing through his hair. In these moments, he could almost convince himself that this was a real relationship, formed and maintained by love and romance.

“I’m not sure if you know of the Oraios, they are my dancers.” Harry ‘hmed’ again in acknowledgement, though he was not quite listening to the prince. “They requested my permission for you to join them.” Harry’s eyes blinked open in surprise. Damn, Dean Thomas moved fast! It had been just that afternoon that the dark-skinned man had been kneeling before him, and already Harry was being manoeuvred into the group. “I have to admit that the idea is quite an intriguing one for me. What is your opinion, Emerald?”

Harry was silent a moment, wondering what he should answer. Tonight, he had played the innocent virgin, something which had taken Draco by surprise, which was the point. If the reactions Harry had garnered from the blond over the course of their boisterous fucking were anything to go by, then Draco seemed to appreciate ‘Emerald The Virgin’ as much, if not more than he enjoyed ‘Emerald The Tempter’. He wondered if he should answer this question within role, or if he should answer as himself. Harry did not always play a part with the prince, but he did enjoy keeping the blond on his toes, always wondering what might happen next.

Decision made, Harry forced himself to move, grabbing the prince’s wrists and rolling on top of him, straddling the blonde’s waist. He kissed the long, slender neck, and licked a pathway from collarbone to earlobe before finally whispering, “If it would make you happy.” From Draco’s long moan, Harry guessed that he had used the right tactic.

“It would,” the prince answered, as Harry continued to kiss and nip his way down the body beneath him.

“You wish for me to dance for you?” Harry dipped his tongue into the prince’s navel, in and out in a slow pantomime of what he hoped they were building to.

“Uhn, yes!” the prince confirmed. Harry thought that, if only he could dance, he would do so now, a private performance for the prince, tempting him with future possibilities, but Harry had neither the skills nor the confidence to do such a thing, and so he settled for pleasuring his master – which was, after all, something that he did have some skill and confidence with.

……………………………………………

The beat was tapped out softly as a background to the steady rhythm of the mandolin, by a sandal shod foot. Harry closed his eyes and focused not on the steps, not on the technicalities, but on the feeling of the music, which was free and alive and brilliant.

He kept his eyes closed, vaguely aware of the sound of the wind in the trees and the very faint sounds of distant laughter – the children of the harem at play. He could feel the sunlight on his skin, a soft sensation that compounded the ethereal sense of the moment. Harry imagined that the rays of light were a physical touch, caressing him as he moved. The silks brushed against his skin as he danced and he could feel Cho, weaving close to him then shifting away, taking the silk with her.

The silk scarves she had wrapped round her wrists fluttered across his skin once more as she brushed passed him. He thought, perhaps, that this might be even more intimate than the actual physical act of sex, but then, he reasoned, that was probably just because of the strange way he had been introduced to sex.

“Emerald! Are you even focussing?” Cho demanded, and Harry’s steps faltered and he stopped dancing and looked at her sheepishly. “Agh! Again!” she demanded and motioned for the music to recommence. “How are you ever going to progress to mastering moves and choreography when you can’t even concentrate on simply moving to a beat?”

Harry flushed and looked down at his feet sheepishly. Dean had begun teaching Harry how to dance. Thus far, they had worked simply the two of them, with Cho there to help him feel more comfortable. Dean had said that the rest of the group were practicing for one of the prince’s parties, but afterwards Harry would be invited to join each of their practices and would be expected to perform.

“Do not be so rough,” Dean chided, in those soft tones that Harry had decided were incredibly erotic. “You are doing quite well, Emerald.” Dean stepped close to Harry and then, much to Harry’s shock, Dean moved behind him, pressing their bodies close. He took Harry’s right arm and draped it so that it rested on the back of Dean’s neck. “You must work on giving yourself over to the music,” Dean said, and at that point Harry would have done whatever the man had asked of him, even if it was to dance naked in the middle of a blazing fire, which is what it felt like he was doing anyway.

Harry felt his body go loose in Dean’s arms as the man began to dance. It wasn’t overtly sexual though it was intense, and to Harry it was the most sensuous dance he had ever done, even though his experience with dancing was meagre.

Again, that strange sense that he felt more intimate with Dean dancing so close to him, and moving with him so gently, than he felt with Draco when the prince was sheathed within Harry’s own body came to him. The revelation was bizarre and Harry, afraid of what it might mean, locked the knowledge away and simply concentrated on movement. Reminding himself that he had agreed to join the Oraios in order to maintain Draco’s interest, and for no other reason.

……………………………………………

Harry stood holding open the door, and blinked in surprise. Another awkward moment of silence passed before he regained himself, stepping aside and motioning the woman in.

“Thank-you,” she said, though she did not sound sincere. “Some tea,” she added when she saw Gwynn, and Harry shared a brief glance with his friend before she turned back around to prepare some tea.

“I have to admit some surprise at seeing you. What brings you here?” Harry asked after the regal looking blond-haired woman simply eyed him sceptically. Harry felt oddly relieved that he had worked up the courage to ask Severus to have his room redecorated, and even more indebted to the man who had so promptly agreed. This confrontation, which had been inevitable ever since Harry had taken these very rooms from this very woman, would have been so much more difficult if the room had seemed temporary, easier for her to make her point and intimidate. As it was, Harry felt surprisingly confident.

“Let’s be honest, you and I,” she said, her voice a pretty saccharine whinge. “We both know how Draco is.” She used the prince’s name as if they were the greatest of friends. Harry wondered if that were at all accurate, because it did not seem at all likely. “You are a nice bit of fun for him,” she continued. “But we both know that in the end, it will be me that he chooses.”

Harry paused in accepting the tea that Gwynn brought and eyed the woman critically. After a sip of the hot brew he took a breath and decided that if she were going to be blunt, he might deal with her on her own level. “I appreciate your candor, Miss Parkinson, but I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Well, perhaps he did not have to be so direct. He despised arrogant people, after all, and Pansy Parkinson was as arrogant as anyone Harry had thus far had the misfortune of encountering.

“Oh, I think you do,” Pansy said with a false smile. “Draco’s needs are quite clear to everyone. Except you, it seems.”

Harry gestured lazily. “Enlighten me then, I pray you.”

She sneered at him before she sipped her tea, smoothed her dress and began, “Draco needs a woman who is familiar with the court. I am that. He needs someone who can offer him children to carry-on the family line; I can provide that. Whatever his dallyings with you are, they are certainly not permanent.”

Harry managed to keep a straight face. “I am at a loss, Miss Parkinson, as to what you can be asking of me?”

She sneered and leaned forward. “Watch yourself, little Emerald,” she spat. “I have let you alone ‘till now. You have no idea what you are dealing with.”

“You have made your position quite clear,” Harry said off-handedly. He suddenly liked his nickname quite a lot as it made him sound precious, and he knew that this made Pansy very angry. “But I am still at a loss as to how I can put your mind at rest. If it is so clear that I am not what the prince requires, I do not see why you seek to threaten me. If it is so obvious that I am unsuited, I do not see how you can have anything to fear?”

Pansy sat forward. “Don’t play the innocent with me. We both know what we’re after, but I can assure you, I will be the one to succeed. I will be the High Consort. Don’t test me on this, little Emerald. You are in over your head. That crown will be mine.”

“I think,” Harry said, voice still even, and he even managed a small cheery smile. “That the selection of a High Consort falls to the prince to decide, don’t you?” He blinked innocently at her over the edge of his tea cup before he took a sip.

A look of calm slid over Pansy’s face and she sat back, eyeing him darkly but expressionlessly. “I would have rewarded you, you know,” she said. “If you had backed-down and helped me. I would have rewarded you greatly when I am Consort. But now, my dear little Emerald,” she crooned, and Harry felt like snarling. “Now we are at war.”

“I have no issue with you.”

“Oh, but I do have issue with you,” she said, her voice a whispered purr. “Now we play.” She did not say anything further, simply set her cup back in its saucer, rose from her chair and left the room. She didn’t even slam the door on her way out, and Harry thought it was more threatening than her anger had ever been.

……………………………………………

The night air still held the memory of the day's heat, and Harry twisted beneath the sheets before kicking them off completely. Light from the full moon cast shadows and shimmers throughout the room and he lay still, one arm thrown above his head as he gazed at the ceiling, then turned his gaze to the orchid bloom that sprung-up from the little blue vase, a silvery silent reminder of what he was, once again, missing.

Harry slid out of bed and padded across the room, stopping first by the bloom, and then continuing passed to gaze out the window. A foreign dignitary was traveling to the city in the hopes of working out a peace treaty with the Empire. Though his visit was still some time away, King Lucius was completely caught-up in the preparations, and had enlisted his son's aid. In part, Harry thought that Lucius was likely attempting to teach his disinterested heir about the presentation and pageantry that went into running the Empire, but whereas the king loved the elaborate rituals and exotic displays of wealth and power that aided in keeping the Empire's alliances strong, Draco much preferred the cold practicalities. In Harry's opinion, a good ruler should find a balance between the two, yet father and son disputed their distinct perspectives, bickering constantly and rarely able to arrive at a compromise between the two. Much to the Empire's detriment, Harry thought.

Still, it wasn't his place to lecture either man on how to rule. With a sigh, Harry turned from the windows and paced the width of his room, restless. His aimless pacing soon took-on purpose, and though he was unsure of the reason, he found himself creeping out of his rooms, relieved when he did not awake Gwynn, until he was out in the gardens, under the full glint of the moon.

All the occupants of the harem were fast asleep, and though there were guards patrolling the balliums, the lush growth of trees offered a sense of solitude. The guards ceased to matter. The rules that had been impressed upon him dropped away. Caught-up in the moon's magic, Harry stopped caring about the tenuous position he held within the court and the harem, about his purpose there, none of it mattered. He cast off the blood silk of his night shirt until he stood only in the loose pants that he slept in, and simply felt the the warm night air and the cool caress of moonlight on his exposed skin.

And it was easy to fall into rhythm, arms upraised above his head. Easy to surrender his body to the night; he danced a strange, worshipful dance in honour of the darkness and the stars and that bright moon, and he didn’t think. Not about the harem, or Pansy’s threats, or the prince’s passion or the heat from Dean’s body that he could feel through their clothes when they danced, more intimate than sex. He didn’t think of home, or his friends who were tucked away in prison, or Albus who was likely locked away in his own house. He didn’t think about what he had been forced to become or of the confused tangle of emotions that were constantly threatening to pull him apart.

Harry simply danced, and that in its own way, was another form of rebellion.

……………………………………………

Severus paced the stone walkway that encircled the harem, a night walk that had become a tradition. He varied the hour of his walk so as not to be predictable, and he wasn’t the only one responsible for guarding the harem, but it was an aspect of his responsibilities and he took it seriously.

Severus knew the habits of every one of the harem’s occupant, which was why he was surprised to see a pale form in the garden at such a late hour. Scantily clad as the form was, Severus was prepared to bear down on the rogue catamite and deliver the proper form of punishment for one that broke the rules of the harem, and then promptly deliver the boy over to the king for the rest of his sentencing. There was never any leniency for a concubine or catamite who broke one of the most important laws of the harem to engage in intimacy with someone other than the king or prince.

It took a moment for him to realize that, though the catamite was clad only in a pair of sheer silk pants, he was alone in the garden, and the erotic twining of his body in the night was an innocent celebration in homage of the moon that hung, full and bright, in the sky. Severus was captivated. Even more so when he realized the catamite was Emerald, the enigmatic young man who still held the prince’s interest, even after all these months.

Severus had been loathe to admit it, but the boy, so unlike the harem's other occupants, had grown on him steadily. Not preening, nor arrogant nor tiresome, and though he often accompanied Severus on his patrols through the grounds, he had never once comported himself in such a way that would have inclined Severus to chase him off. Severus supposed that Emerald was anxious for intelligent conversation, which was something the Harem severely lacked, and despite the fact that Emerald had seemingly made friends with several of the other occupants one often needed time away from such close friends, not to mention variety of company and opinion.

Severus had approved of the prince’s idea to permit Emerald more extensive access to the grounds, acting as a reference for Emerald’s good behaviour when not under the prince’s eye to further sway the young blonde’s ideas. He also fully supported the idea of further protection on the young man. Severus was having quite the time keeping petty quarrels underhand as it was, ensuring Emerald’s safety had become a bigger problem than anyone had initially anticipated. Though the efforts to assassinate the young man were not well planned and often poorly executed, the intent was still present. The age-old, tedious squabbling quest to ascend to the position of High Consort was eternally vexing to Severus, especially as, in the end, he knew that Draco would select whomever he damned well pleased, wether they were from the harem or from beyond it, irregardless even of his own mother's machinations.

Curious and alarmingly aroused, Severus strode quietly down the balcony to a better vantage point, allowing his mind to clear of the politics and simply watching Emerald as he moved. For all the time that Severus had spent at the palace as a young general and then, following his injury, as Keeper of the Harem, his eye had never once strayed to something that could, by law, never be his. Occupants of the harem were the property of the royal family, and as such, were not able to share themselves with anyone else without express permission, not even with each other. Still, there was something about Emerald, something innocent and yet cunning; he was beautiful and young and as enigmatic as any person could possibly be, and for the first time in all his long years, Severus watched a young catamite enjoy the night, standing in the shadow of a thick pillar, aroused and wanting for something that could never be.

……………………………………………

Harry was in the bath using the large sea-sponge Gwynn had given him, and the jasmine-scented soap he favoured as Gwynn bustled about getting the towels ready for him. It was his favorite part of his day, where he could laze about in the water with the sweet smell of the flowers about him, talking with Gwynn and laughing, pretending that everything about his new life was normal.

“You’re going to turn into sponge yourself if you don’t get out of there!” Gwynn said, and Harry rolled his eyes and stood as she stepped forward, the large, soft towel stretching out as she moved to wrap it around him only to stop and gape at something behind him. Harry flashed a puzzled look at the girl, then turned to see what had called a halt to her movement, only to be confronted with the sight of Draco standing in the arched entrance to the bath.

“Er,” Harry said. He recognized the look in the prince’s eye, and he knew the slow predatory stalk very well, he noted, as the Prince walked towards him. Harry had a moment to wonder why on earth Draco had come to the Harem (something that had, he’d been told, never happened), before the prince had grabbed hold of his shoulders and planted a sound and thorough kiss on his lips.

Harry’s eyes dropped abruptly closed and his body went slack, allowing the prince to push him until he was soundly pressed against the wall. He hoped that Gwynn had the sense to run and hopefully set-up a watch outside the bath so no one came in, but the thought was distant, drowned-out by the heat of the other man's body against his. He didn't care, Draco’s fingers were in his damp hair, gripping him tightly, and he was being devoured by Draco’s hungry mouth, the feel of the prince’s erection pressing firmly against his stomach and Harry groaned in appreciation, his own fingers working at the prince’s robes. “We shouldn’t do this here,” Harry said, more a vague thought that flitted through his head that somehow found voice as he worked diligently at disrobing the blond.

“I’m the prince, I can fuck you wherever I please,” Draco murmured, nipping at Harry's ear and then licking. Harry’s eyes rolled into the back of his head. His damn ears were incredibly sensitive.

It was a good thing that the bathhouse had the massage table set-up because that meant Draco was easily presented with several options for lubricant, not the prince spent much time on preparation before he pressed into Harry's body. Harry didn't mind, his back was pressed against the cool marble wall of the bathhouse, arms wrapped securely around the prince’s neck and his legs gripping around Draco’s waist, his body burning with pleasure-pain of the breach and he thought that maybe the position should have felt awkward or uncomfortable, but it was none of those things.

It was intense, and Harry’s neck was bent back, mouth open and gasping as Draco continued to pound that spot inside him that drove him mad, as the blonde’s mouth nipped and suckled along the underside of his neck and on that erogenous zone behind his ear, unless that furious tongue was doing battle with Harry’s own tongue.

The bathhouse was filled with grunts and moans and hiccupping breaths as they forgot and then relearned the art of breathing. Finally, when release crashed onto them, Harry found himself going wonderfully limp and ‘hmmed’ in sated contentment as the prince, still holding him tightly, placed a chaste kiss at the juncture between his neck and shoulders.

Draco kept him propped against the wall, his head bowed, forehead rested on his sternum as their breathing calmed. Finally, Harry managed to swallow, drop his head to rest by Draco's shoulder and ask, “So, what brings you out into the harem today?”

He could feel the prince’s grin since the prince’s lips were resting against his sweat-slick skin. “I came down to see if you wanted to go to the stables and go riding?” Draco said. “But I was distracted.”

“Clearly,” Harry intoned in a purr. “Well, I’m for a good ride,” he said with a devilish smirk and the prince laughed. They collected their clothes and, amidst a series of unnecessarily prolonged touches and a few kisses and licks, they helped each other dress, completely unaware that they were being closely observed by Pansy Parkinson who stood by the entrance, masked by the tall vegetation that had helped shield them from the keen eyes of the rest of the harem.