Intimacy

4th August 2002- Sunday

Luna’s vision unfolded before her like a scene from a horror movie.

Screams and shouts filled the air as fire and smoke descended upon the Court, destroying the serene, secure atmosphere in a matter of mere moments. Countless maids and Eunuchs had run with their tails between their legs as soon as the attack had begun, shoving past Luna, grabbing any valuables as they went, the odd concubine tucked safely in their midst. It was chaos, the noise of the bangs and whizzes of spells deafening as the hoard of attackers began their destructive assault.

The roof of a Palace to her side was on fire, the walls crumbling and shaking with the brunt force of a hundred spells. People with masks in the shape of phoenix’s had burst through the weakened wards of the Court and descended upon it with force. They had set upon the surroundings with prejudice, whooping and yelling with joy as they fired off brutal spells aimed to maim and ruin. It was only testament to the Emperor’s power that all the buildings remained standing despite the ferocity of the attacks against them, standing against the power of two dozen wixen. And that wasn’t the entirety of the force, only a regiment that had been sent to this small corner of the Court.

Luna had hidden behind a reinforced wall as soon as the shaking had begun, thrown violently into broken vision after broken vision, nearly convulsing where she stood. Her mind still span with possibilities and outcomes, and she was petrified as she watched the masked wixen before her batter her sanctuary.

The woman clung to the hope of the future, of Harry in purple robes and the yet-to-be-born heir to the throne.

But the whirlwind of madness that erupted before her eyes had her shiver in revulsion and uncertainty, feeling the very air of the court rebel against its intruders.

Harry, she thought desperately, thinking of her dearest friend, currently trapped in the epicentre of the attack. Be well.

Thomas snarled as he eviscerated yet another insolent member of the blasted Order, twirling his wand with a flair as he sent a barrage to another group. All who faced him, bravely, idiotically, died quick, painful deaths as he placed his hatred into each curse.

The shaking had ended minutes ago, but now, the force of hundreds of spells rocked the Court, displacing the air around him and filling it with the screams of dying wixen. He waded through the battleground, fury ignited in his veins, a sneer on his face displaying his displeasure to the world. So much blood, so much death, so many wixen wasted…

It had Dumbledore’s slimy name written all over it. He could feel the man’s magic in his air, clogging his throat with its vile smell. It coated the very air of the Court with its stench, having washed over the surroundings the moment his wards broke.

Thomas had been tracking the man’s moves for a while now, his agents closing in, infiltrating the man’s ranks. They had reported that the man was preparing for something, amassing troops, canon fodder to throw his way. But Thomas had not believed the man to be so idiotic to begin a war yet again whilst his forces were still so thin and untrained.

The man’s judgement had been impaired over the years, obviously. Not enough not to have figured out how to break his wards, however. Thomas would be having very strong words with the many Knights he had testing those wards and reporting on them weekly, because they had obviously missed something for them to be so easily destroyed.

Blasting his way through yet another group of overconfident, brazen idiots, Thomas stopped, feeling his throat close up as he spotted a pillar of smoke in the distance. He had been so engulfed in destroying those before him, the ones who had headed straight for the heart of the Court, that he had not taken much notice of the horizon.

Thomas’ heart thudded as his thoughts finally caught up to what his whole body had been screaming since the beginning of the attack now. The attack’s epicentre had begun in the west. And the west…

His children. Harry.

Harry felt Thomas arrive before he saw him. The Emperor apparated behind him with a loud crack that thundered through the air, silencing the sounds of battle around them. Harry did not even have to lift his hand to deflect the next curse from his competitor, as the woman fell to the ground, dead, pink foam bubbling out of her mouth. A hand slid around his waist, tugging him backwards into a heaving chest. Harry felt Thomas’ breath, hot and heavy ghosting across the back of his neck, as the man revelled in the moment.

“You are unharmed?” His husband whispered, menace filling his voice, softened only by the brush of his chin on Harry’s hair. He nodded, casting a shield around them to aid the one Thomas had already raised. “The children?”

“My maids have them, they are as protected as they can be in this situation.”

Thomas’ head lifted minutely, and Harry knew he was staring in the direction of where their children huddled, cocooned between his personal maids who were using their bodies as shields. He felt the man shift, maneuvering Harry to his side, attempting to shield him with his body as the maids were doing with the children. Harry stood firm, stubborn.

“No,” He declared, glaring at the man, his judgement impaired in the heat of the battle. He would not be protected like a damsel in distress, damn it. He was a prospective Master Dueller, if anything it should be Harry protecting the Emperor. “I will fight. Let go.”

Thomas’ eyes flashed dangerously, and the arm around his waist tightened. “No?” He hissed, almost falling into parseltongue. Harry had rarely faced the man’s glare head-on, rarely directed as it was towards him, but he bore it with determination.

“We're wasting time, let me fight, Thomas!” He attempted to twist his way out of the strong hold, hissing as his breath was almost cut off by the harsh squeeze his husband gave his waist.

“Go to the children, then. Protect them.” Thomas tried a different approach, arguing to Harry’s love for his children.

Harry hesitated for a few moments in the face of their mention. He glanced to the huddle of maids again, watching as they gathered around his children, a group of at least ten Knights simultaneously battling away with other attackers nearby, and steeled himself. His head and heart warred a deadly battle, and Harry gulped.

“They are protected.” He replied, saying it out loud more to convince himself. They had twenty or so defenders, it was the truth. “Of course, I will protect our children, but I will not huddle with them as I know you are suggesting. I will not cower away, I am strong, Thomas. You know this. Do you doubt my strength?”

The Emperor searched Harry’s eyes, the grip on his waist faltering ever so slightly. “No, I-” Thomas' eyes narrowed, and then he spun on his heels, shooting a spell at lightning speed into the air. Another met it, the two colliding over the battle with a loud bang and a bright explosion, brightening an already sunny day and pausing every other fight as they turned to the floating figure in the sky.

The Order of the Phoenix gave out a loud cheer as their leader, in a dramatic entrance, floated down from the sky, his robes twinkling and floating around him like a cloak made of stars. Harry scowled, staring up at that grandfatherly smile, so smug and confident, hatred filling him. This was the man who had orchestrated this attack that could possibly harm his children. And this man didn’t have an ounce of humiliation at ruining lives and traumatising innocent children. Despicable. Harry disliked him immediately, before he had even opened his mouth.

“Tom,” The old man tutted condescendingly as he finally landed, folding his hands in front of him, playing at being unconcerned by the wands pointed towards him. He soon flinched and erected a ward when Thomas hit him with a barrage of spells, Harry supporting by bolstering each spell, unsure about interrupting when his husband appeared so unhinged. Still, his arm was wrapped around Harry’s waist, gentle now, soothing both of them. “Now, now, let us talk first.”

Thomas snorted, grinding his teeth hatefully as he glared at the man. Harry steeled his gaze as he observed the scene, gritting his teeth at the condescending tone. That Dumbledore still referred to Harry’s husband as the name he had long discarded made Harry sick. He had always known the man’s true name, it had been whispered to him as a child, when his parents had been far more rebellious, less content to bend to the whims of their overlord. Tom. Such a common name, he had heard many chuckle as a boy, delighting in jabbing and laughing at the Emperor under the safety of ancient wards. Harry thought it was beautiful. It suited the man, simplicity for such a complex being. But, Harry was nothing if not a man in love, and one who was accepting of much, at that. Thomas had chosen his new name, had remade himself anew from the boy he had once been. And Harry loved him all the same. He did not care for the way Dumbledore used a boyhood name, cast away in shame due to the society that had melded him, as an insult.

“Talk?” Thomas smiled wickedly, baring his teeth. “You have attacked my Court. My home. The home of my spouses, Harry, my children.”

The light in Dunbledore’s eyes dimmed, and he hummed as if in thought. He glanced around at the Order members, who were standing still, also in awe at his presence. A stupid move. Dumbledore opened his mouth, but spells bombarded each member who was too slow to react as swarms of Knights descended upon the field, back-up to the already present guard. Dumbledore’s stance became wearier as his forces present dramatically halved in number. Already, Harry could hear the sounds of the many battles around the Court dimming, coming to a close as each was won by one side or another.

“Tut-tut.” Thomas mocked, mimicking the man’s previous scorn. “It seems your untrained little chess pieces aren’t prepared to face my Knights. You attacked at the wrong time, Dumbledore. A few more years, and you may have stood a chance. But, you weren’t the only one with insider knowledge. You may think you know the size of my forces, a thousand Knights across the city, yes? I know exactly who you little mole is now. You should know that I would never trust her with anything of importance.”

Dumbledore’s expression darkened as he raised his wand. “Luckily, I did not take her words at face value. Of course I also would not entrust to anyone the true capacity of my Order.”

Thomas scoffed, continuing their battle of words. “You think me idiotic enough to not surmise that as well? That I would trust anybody? We may have both kept details to ourselves, but unlike you, I have had far longer to prepare, and I have not had to do so in secret. You will die here today Dumbledore, because you should not have faced me directly. You did not win fifty years ago. You will not win today.”

A red curse fired from Thomas’ wand, meeting a pink spell, crashing together in the air in a ball of light and sparks. They traded several others in the blink of an eye, and Harry was hard-pressed to keep up. He watched them with awe, grudgingly on Dumbledore’s part, taking in the battle from his place at Thomas’ side. The raw power his husband was exuding was inspiring, and Harry stared at his face more than he did at the exchanging of spells after a while, enchanted by him, feeling as if he was falling in love again. It seemed that perhaps power was in fact something he sought in a mate, and he flushed at the realisation that, rather than fear, he was aroused at the violent scene unfolding before him.

Thomas was wholly focused on the fight at hand, his face grim, his spells growing more ferocious and deadly as the minutes passed. Harry glanced at him worriedly then, noticing how uncomfortable he seemed, his grip tight around the wand in his hand as if he wasn’t wholly used to it. Harry took a closer look, and blinked in wonder as he laid eyes on the Elder Wand. It was an ugly thing, from what he could see, all lumps and bumps, made of an unidentifiable dark wood. But, it called to him, and Harry looked away quickly, wary of being ensnared. So, that is why the wand had claimed so many of its owners lives. It was enticing and enthralling to simply look at, so no wonder many had gone mad in its presence. He gulped, sudden worry blooming in his chest at the thought of his husband being infected by it, or others targeting him for its ownership.

Dumbledore being one of them. He was the previous owner, after all, and it must have felt like losing a limb to have such a powerful object removed from his grasp. Perhaps that was why he still continued to fight, sent so many to their deaths for seemingly no gain. The world had grown far too used to Thomas’ reign. They were comfortable, most content. If Thomas was to fall, another ruler would need to take his place, because as history had told many times before, revolutions to overthrow always ended with another in power, if under another title.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry spotted a familiar head of blonde hair, and he peeled away from Thomas’ side with stealthy steps, stalking the woman with deathly fury rushing through his veins as she approached the huddle where his children were kept.

Alixan.

The woman raised her wand, a curse on her lips as she aimed for them, and Harry shot forward.

“Bombarda!” He yelled, sending the spell not for the floor, but for her head, aiming to kill. The woman gasped, throwing herself to the side at the last moment, the spell soaring at speed into the grass behind, blasting a crater into the earth. The field shook with the force of it, but Harry was undeterred, firing another spell towards the woman, who danced away, a grim expression on her face.

“Harry Potter,” The woman intoned, facing him with a steely countenance. “Step aside, this doesn’t need to be violent.”

Harry let out a slightly crazed laugh as he planted himself more firmly in between Alixan and his children, staring at her incredulously. “Violent? You just tried to attack my children!”

The woman shrugged brazenly. “I wasn’t going to harm them. But you do need to step aside. There will be no peace otherwise.”

He threw a cutting curse at her neck, followed by another bombarda, a stinging hex, and another cutting curse. The final spell hit true, slicing her thigh deeply, and the woman hissed. 

“Harry Potter, listen to me!” She screamed, healing her thigh with a wave of her wand, the flesh marred by a painfully red raised scar. “The only way to defeat that bastard is through his children! Help us, and I assure you, no one you care for will be harmed!”

Harry drew in a deep breath, steeling himself, and Alixan perked up.

“He’s a monster, Harry Potter, your husband or not. He may have given you power, but it is the wrong sort. But if you help us now, pledge to the Order, return your family to the light as they always should have remained, Dumbledore will-” Alixan choked, making a wet, wheezing sound as she fell to her knees, hands scrabbling at her throat. It was surprising how much blood the human body could contain, he thought, as he watched it drain from her spilling across the grass. He felt surprisingly cold as he surveyed the scene, as if the warmth of the summer's day had drained away, leaving only the frigidity of winter behind. Harry’s hand shook where it held his wand, still pointed in her direction.

He must have stood there for a while, simply staring at her quickly cooling body, before a warm hand clasped over his wrist, firmly pushing it down to his side. Harry glanced up, his eyes surprisingly dry, to meet Thomas’ comforting expression.

“My darling,” The man gently spoke, wrapping his arms around Harry once again, drawing him into the comforting embrace of his strong body. “You did well, you protected our children.”

“Dumbledore-” He choked out, panic filling him as his eyes widened, glancing around the field. He saw the man nowhere, not even among the piles of bodies which the Knights were creating.

“Gone. He fled like the coward he is.” Thomas cupped Harry’s cheek, forcing him to meet his eyes despite the rapid way they were still flitting about, unable to settle on anything in his adrenalised state. “Shhh,” The man hushed, bringing his head to settle on Thomas’ shoulder. “The children are safe, I had your maids return to the Children’s Palace as soon as it was safe. I trust them to be safe there, the wards did not fall no matter the force used.”

“They were, they were-”

“Targeting the children, yes, I know.” Thomas’ grip around Harry tightened, and for the first time since killing that woman, Harry snapped into reality, worried for his husband.

“You are unharmed?” He cupped the man’s cheek, scanning him for any scrapes or bruises. Thomas kissed his palm, breathing in deeply.

“I am. The old coot could not even land a single spell.”

Harry let out a shaky breath, gulping down the sudden lump in his throat. “They were targeting the children, Thomas.” He whispered, feeling defeated and worn out as he crumpled into the man.

The Emperor held him close, whispering no comforting words this time. Instead, the rasping, deadly hiss that escaped him promised only destruction. “I will hunt them down and kill them all for even having such a thought. He has been left alive for far too long, and it seems that has made some overconfident in keeping their heads.”

8th August, 2002- Thursday

The days following the attack on the Court by Dumbledore and the newest version of the Order of the Phoenix were tense and filled with pain. The Court had resumed functioning, but the scars of the battle were clear for all to see. Some buildings and pathways were still in moderate disrepair, not seen as important as the Palaces to repair right away. The flowerbeds and trees also appeared less lively, trampled and blasted to pieces as they were. And the very air of the Court had changed drastically following the invasion of their home. It no longer felt as safe as it had before. Whereas before, there had been the belief that nothing could breach the Emperor’s wards, they had fallen at their most needed time, allowing the entry of the attackers who had destroyed a large portion of the Court. Belief in the omnipotence of Thomas’ power to protect the Court from attack had plummeted, and Harry fretted. At least the wards surrounding the Childrens’ Palaces had held. It had been attacked by an especially large, trained group, all bombarding the wards with the strongest spells. There was not even a scratch upon its wall, which Harry was thankful for. It had been a traumatic experience for all involved, however, even the children within their safe haven. Knowing that there were many adult wizards attempting to gain entry to harm them must have affected the childrens’ psyche’s to an extent.

Harry own children were his priority, however. It had been hard to explain the attack to his oldest three, who were terrified and still jumpy even a few days later. Linus and Laius, thankfully, were young enough that they seemed to have brushed off the incident after a day of crying. He wasn’t so lucky with Julius and Lilaia, who had cried themselves to sleep the past few nights, cuddling in each other's arms. Alsephina, however, was the most affected by a wide margin, as the only one who would likely remember this event, and who could understand what had occurred to some extent. Despite the bodily shield his maids had protected around them, the children had still been able to see flashes of the events, and heard the cries and shouts of the battle around them. The first night after the attack, Alsephina had spent shaking in Harry’ arms, unwilling to unwrap her arms from his neck as she sucked on her thumb, an act of self-soothing she hadn’t practised since she was eighteen months old.

But now that the dust had finally settled, today marked the first funerals of those lost in the attacks. Forty-two Knights had perished, twenty-seven maids and nineteen Eunuchs. Closest of all, Cassius Warrington had died as he had run out of his shaking Palace. Perhaps the concubines had not been the targets of this attack, but stray spells could hit anybody. His funeral was to be held in a few days, as was proper for a concubine.

But the sad atmosphere that had descended upon the Court wasn’t why Harry would remember the eighth of August forevermore. Another memory would eclipse it, the starting point of their forever.

“Take this.” Thomas demanded with no room for discussion in his tone, shoving the wand into Harry’s chest.

He spluttered, fumbling with the wand, gazing down at it, laying innocently in his hands, with a mixture of awe, bafflement and what the fuck, what the-. “What- no! No, this is your wand, Thomas, you need it to battle-”

“I will not allow it to fall into that old bastards’ hands!” His husband scoffed, shoving Harry’s hands away when he attempted to return the Elder Wand. “I will not! The battle between us will be fought with our true wands, the ones that chose us, not a wand that waits for its true wielder and never truly heeds the placeholder that wields it until then. No, I am entrusting this with you, my darling, because you are the only person I trust with it.”

Firmly rejected, Harry uncertainly observed the wand in his grasp. The Elder wand in his hands wasn’t pretty, nor did it scream ‘all-powerful’ like the legends hailed it to be. It buzzed faintly in his hands, however, as if it was constantly channelling magic. To be honest, Harry weirdly enough could interpret those buzzes to mean that the wand was happy, if an inanimate object, no matter how ‘blessed by Death’ it was.

He huffed as he accepted the wand, setting in stone the path he had always been prophesied to walk.