A/N: I really meant to update Blurring Reality, but then I was reading this article about how my country has, unexpectedly, one of the strongest attachments to circus (compared to other countries) and well... I would like to agree.

Thank you so much for all your reviews :)

Enjoy!

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Of secrets behind stories

Zabini never returned to the circus, but being surrounded by nobles became their new normal. While the circus members slowly got used to their new audience, their presence still continued to pose problems.

The biggest difficulty resulted from the fact that lowborns continued to show up as well. The circus had no way of keeping the two social classes separated from each other. And while they obviously clustered together in their seating, in the end they were still sitting in the same tent. Which was round. There was no up or down, no beginning or end, no barriers.

So far there had been no incidents, only the uneasy tension. But it was clear that their circus had become a melting pot of people that were not supposed to be melted together. Their unusual situation must have spread beyond the city, for they were starting to be sought out by travellers as well.

Another circus built up their camp on the other side of the lowborn quarters, hoping to benefit from the nobles' sudden interest in their art form.

A few weeks into this new life, their circus was approached by a theatre group. The group had been travelling and heard about their fame. Molly and Arthur decided to collaborate with them and let them build up their camp right next to the circus.

Circus and theatre groups had always gotten along. They were both travelling performers, both unfamiliar with a permanent home and both seen as less than lowborn in front of the law. Since ancient times, they had stuck together.

The only one not overflowing with joy at this new addition was Harry. He had nothing against theatre or actors mind you. He just knew that after trying out some new creations, they were always bound to fall back on the nation's favourite play.

A seemingly eternal crowd pleaser, especially amongst nobles, there was little Harry despised more.

"C'mon Harry, sit down and watch with us!" Ron said and patted the grass next to him, his attention already focused on the stage that now stood next to their tent.

Harry looked longingly in the direction of his trailer. "I, uh, I should really get ready for our show."

"We won't start for another two hours."

"I have this new trapeze routine that I want to try and-"

"You've got that stuff in your sleep!" Ron dismissed his argument. "Sit down! Relax!"

Hermione and the twins were plopping down next to Ron, the seats in front of the stage reserved for paying customers. They all looked curiously at Harry.

With a sigh, Harry sat down himself, resigned to his fate.

He tried to tune the play out. But the thing with these popular plays was that the audience tended to react boisterous and loudly, jerking him out from his safe place inside his own thoughts.

"And he was a good king!" the narrator exclaimed, gesturing to the actor who had just gotten crowned.

The audience snickered and giggled, everyone already knowing the story like an old friend.

"No, no, he was!" the narrator assured them. "It's just that he had this little problem you see…"

"What problem?" a woman shouted from the audience.

"Ah milady, I could not possible talk about such things in front of you civilised people."

"Do, do!" the audience chorused.

The narrator pretended to be torn. "Well, it is rather tragic. He could not love you see, only lust. So when he saw that beautiful woman walking down the streets…" His voice dropped to a whisper. "He took her."

The audience gasped.

The narrator straightened up. "Ah I hear you have pity! I hear you outraged! But you do not know the worst!"

Audience leaned forward expectantly.

"Do not waste your pity on the wretched thing. For she was lowborn."

Boos erupted from the audience, fully invested in the story now. They were louder near the front where the highborns sat, but it was clear that lowborns chimed in.

Despite his dislike for the play, Harry had always thought that part fascinating. The fact that, if done correctly, the audience was ready to boo at its own kind.

This was why the system survived. Because when it came down to it, even lowborns would rather betray each other than stick together. It was so much easier to condemn than to trust.

When the audience had calmed down enough, the narrator continued. "She claimed it was love! That he was the king of her nation as well as the king of her heart. And he, poor fool, interpreted his twisted lust as love."

The narrator paused dramatically before speaking his next lines. "But oh, it gets worse, so much worse!"

The audience shook their heads in mute horror.

"She was pregnant!"

Upon his exclamation, the actors once again came alive.

"I shall raise him as my rightful heir," the king declared.

"But he is lowborn," the scantily clad woman next to him replied.

"He is also royal."

The woman frowned. "But he cannot be one and the other."

"This one will. And no one will be any wiser."

"If you say so…" she said and they kissed amongst new boos from the audience.

"But the gods condemned the couple and devastation befall the kingdom," the narrator continued. "Black plague, fires, earthquakes! And still the foolish king did not see reason. He traded the wellbeing of his whole nation for the delusion that he could change the natural order."

There were some rather impressive artistic representations of the mentioned catastrophes as the play ran its scripted course.

The woman died before the child – at this point it had been confirmed that it would have been a demon anyways – was born. The king wallowed in self-pity and remorse, but it was so exaggerated that it only served to anger the audience, especially since he continued to neglect his nation.

In the end, the noble hero of the play stabbed the disgraced king and took the crown as his own, accompanied by cheers from the audience.

The natural order was restored. The gods were happy. The people's lives improved.

It was all very cathartic.

Harry wanted to throw up.

"There's really not much to the story if you think about it," Hermione said flippantly while the crowd applauded. "It's only popular because it's so scandalous racy."

"The noble court really must have had something against that king to encourage such a play," Ron agreed.

"What if it's true?" Hermione asked suddenly. "What if he actually wanted to bring down the system and blur the lines between high- and lowborn? The nobles would have ample reason to be scared of him and thus remove him."

"He was the king," Ron interjected. "The system only benefitted him. Why would he want to do that?"

"For love. Or maybe he was genuinely a good person."

Ron shrugged it off. "He was a traitor, making some backdoor deals with other nations while paying no attention to his own people. Everyone hates him, that's why it's okay to make up such silly stories about him."

"That's what they say. There's no evidence that people suffered more under his rule than under the previous or current king."

"What do you think Harry?" Ron asked him.

Harry stood up abruptly. "It's just a stupid fairy tale. What do we care who the rightful king is? Nothing ever changes for lowborns."

"It would change if a half-lowborn would have a right to the throne," Hermione pointed out.

Ron snorted. "Hermione. Low- and highborns can't get children. Everyone knows that."

"And how do we know that?" Hermione challenged. "This play is so popular amongst nobles because it portrays our society as the rightful order. We just never imagined anything else."

"Jesus Hermione, lower your voice," Ron whispered frantically. "Are you trying to get yourself killed again?"

Hermione huffed. "Don't you want more in life than this?"

"What's wrong with the circus?" Ron asked affronted.

Harry left them to their bickering before they could notice him walking away.

Everyone aims higher. Riddle's voice rang in his head.

Harry had seen 'higher'. 'Higher' had been comfort, shelter and happiness. What no one understood was that 'higher' could turn into bloodshed, screams and tears easily enough.

The real story… Well, who decided what reality was anyways? The masses believed in some 'wrath of the gods' fairy tale. The nobles didn't know much more.

Only that the Potter family had betrayed them and endangered their comfortable lives.

And that someone had to seize power before it stirred the ravel.

And that James Potter's son, the only one with a rightful claim to the throne, had been born with a mark shaped like a lightning bolt.

The truth? The truth was that the king had been foolish to think that love would magically protect his secret.

The truth was that James Potter's son, always smiling happily while running around the palace, was dead.

The truth was that many nobles knew very well that high- and lowborns could have children.

Knowledge is power.

The truth had stopped to matter when dutiful knights had killed his parents.

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Before Harry knew it, he found himself in a manor filled with nobility yet again.

The time had come for the Malfoy's ball and apparently Lucius had invited every last noble born citizen. And Harry.

It turned out that the date marked another anniversary for the Malfoy's marriage – not that anyone actually cared about the reasons behind the balls. These people had little else to do than attend and organize these events.

Lucius had told him that the biggest event he had ever attended had been held by the Parkinsons and the reason for that ball had been the purchase of a new dog.

It was slightly reassuring to know that even the nobles could see a certain ridiculousness in their ways. It was however disconcerting that Harry now knew about these types of things.

Many things had changed since Harry had showed up at Riddle's gala. For one, he was now wearing Riddle's colours and everyone knew exactly who and what he was.

He could no longer hide in anonymity or evade their vague questions by playing into their ignorance. Yet one thing hadn't changed – the poor things still could not make up their minds on how to treat him.

On one hand he was lowborn. On the other he was representing the most powerful lord and Blondie certainly wasn't hiding his favouritism either.

Zabini contented himself with throwing him hateful looks, obviously not confident enough for another confrontation. This also meant that his group of friends left him alone as well.

Another major plus point for this event was that Riddle remained absent. Lucius did not seem to be bothered by this and Harry assumed Riddle was known to stay cooped up with his books.

Annoyingly, it felt as if he was there anyways. Every second conversation Harry listened to featured him, his presence once again omnipresent.

Harry spent at least two hours patiently indulging the nobles, always carefully treading the line between socializing as equals and reassuring them in their superiority. The endless conversations, alternating between condescending and polite in tone, soon exhausted him.

As soon as Lucius wasn't looking, Harry politely excused himself and fled to the Malfoy's library – the only room apart from the parlour he knew, though Harry couldn't help but feel like Riddle's obsession with books was infecting him.

"What are you doing here?"

He turned around to see Draco sitting at one of the tables, fully dressed for the ball but apparently having little intention to partake.

Harry could think of several sharp answers to his accusing question, but he remembered Riddle's challenge and bit his tongue.

"Your father invited me, sir," he replied instead, even dipping his head respectfully.

Judging from Draco's sour look, it did little to appease him. "To sniff around in our library?"

"He did say I could use it for practice," Harry said. He wasn't lying per se, but he also knew Lucius would prefer him downstairs right now.

"Lowborns aren't supposed to be able to read," Draco grumbled.

Harry only nodded amiably. "You are probably right sir."

"Why the fuck are you so polite?"

One of us has to be, Harry thought drily.

"I am merely humbled to be in the presence of such a-"

"Oh my god." Draco rolled his eyes and focused back on the stack of papers in front of him.

Harry frowned lightly. He had been careful to infuse his tone with respect and honesty. No matter how ridiculous the statement, surely Draco had been brought up to believe exactly these things?

"I worry I might have given you a wrong impression in our last meeting."

Draco sighed harshly. "Look, just because you're crawling up my father's ass doesn't mean you have to do the same to mine okay?"

Sadly, this was exactly the task Harry had to achieve.

Time to step his game up. He knew nobles. Nothing pleased them more than a lowborn tripping over themselves to curry their favour. And being utterly inconsolable if they failed to do so.

"I- I just…I'm not used to be surrounded by such highborn people and you being of a similar age…having already achieved so much…it's truly inspirational."

"Yes I'm great," Draco said drily.

There was bitterness in his voice. What the hell? There was no way Draco could have seen through his act. And yet he reacted not just with cool dismissal but acrid self-deprecation.

Why was this not working? A brat like Draco should revel in his misguided adoration. Bask in his compliments.

Every other highborn would let the words feed straight into their already overblown ego. But they seemed to bounce right off of Draco. This was only supposed to happen if someone had…

Low self-esteem.

Heavens above, Lucius Malfoy's son had low self-esteem. How was that even possible?

"Of course you are!" Harry exclaimed enthusiastically.

"Really? At what?" Draco asked sharply.

Oh my. Poor little Draco. You aren't supposed to ever question your worth when born noble.

People around you would sing their praises from the moment you were born. You weren't supposed to possess the critical thinking necessary to stop and ask why. If you did that, you would suddenly realize that it is impossible for you to earn real praise, because everyone around you was obliged to give it anyways.

There was no fate worse than becoming aware of being stuck in a system that allowed only fake validation.

Harry had to suppress a grin. Checkmate.

"I like your taste in literature," he said.

Draco's head snapped up, clearly not having expected an answer. "What?"

"Tales of Beadle the Bard. I have only heard snippets before, but now I got to read the original. I loved it."

"…Okay."

"Are you writing your own book?"

Draco's features twisted unpleasantly. "What?!"

"I just… I couldn't help but notice." Harry gestured to the stacks of papers in front of Draco. "That is way too much for a letter."

Draco's expression smoothed out, even turning haughty. "I am not writing. I already finished. I am revising." He frowned darkly. "Not that anyone will ever read it. Don't tell father."

"Of course not," Harry assured him, accepting his odd change in direction unblinkingly. "Why would no one read it?"

"Because I won't publish it," Draco said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Why not? What's it about?" Harry made sure to sound enthusiastic. Draco had clearly never had the chance to talk about it. He would only open up if he thought him truly interested.

"It's fantasy," Draco confessed after a while. "It's…childish."

So Lucius didn't approve of his son's hobby. How dramatic.

Draco had probably sneaked up here when he knew Lucius would be occupied. He probably also never had shown it to his friends for fear of being judged.

"Can I read some?" Harry asked hesitantly.

Draco was instantly suspicious, "Why? So you can talk?"

"Well I… no one would believe me anyways, right?"

He could see Draco was thinking about it. It mattered little that Draco didn't like him. He had no one else to show it to.

Harry was a unique opportunity. A lowborn that could read. He did not have the right to judge the work of a highborn.

It was clear that Draco was apprehensive at showing his writing to anyone, but Harry – so far below him he could barely count as human – was safe.

Warily, Draco handed him a single page. His handwriting was flourished and clean. Riddle would like it. For all his fast progress, Harry's penmanship remained atrocious, much to Riddle's amusement.

The text was passable at least, probably even good considering Harry could only read one page of the story. But Harry would have acted like it was great even if it would have been terrible.

"This is really good."

Draco considered him for a moment. "You're just saying that because I could have you flogged."

"No, it honestly is."

Harry knew he had to be especially careful not to sound fake. Too much subservience seemed to turn Draco away, yet it was vital that he believed Harry to be firmly on his side.

"What would you know about writing? You can barely read. How could you possible form an opinion based on nothing?"

Harry shrugged innocently. "It makes me want to read more, makes me wonder where the story will go. Is this not the definition of a good book?"

A simple, unassuming question, to rouse Draco's need to correct and teach. There was nothing like the feeling to know more than someone else to boost one's ego.

"There's much more to it than that. It's a craft," Draco said pompously and Harry had to hide a smile at the expected reaction. "But I guess it's a start," Draco conceded.

"You should publish it," Harry insisted.

"I told you I can't."

"Lots of nobles have written books," he pointed out. "I can't imagine your father disapproving of it so firmly."

"It's not just that, it's…" Draco broke off, uncertain.

Draco might have been afraid of his peers judging his work, but there was another possibility why he was reluctant to publish.

If he was truly craving honest appreciation, then publishing under the Malfoy name would lead to the opposite. Everyone would have to buy the book. And they would shower the Malfoy heir with fake compliments in the same tone they remarked on the weather. Meaningless.

They wouldn't even be bothered to read it. But he was a Malfoy and people would send him nice little cards about what a great job he did regardless.

If he really wanted to know the value of his work then he would have to do what surely must seem unthinkable to him – cut all ties with his powerful family name and renounce all advantages that came with it.

"You could use a different name," he suggested carefully.

Draco frowned. As predicted, there was no way the Malfoy heir had even considered that option before. "What do you mean?"

Harry shrugged. "Just use any name. One that doesn't even exist. No one has to know it was written by you."

Draco stared at him. "That doesn't make any sense. How can I get recognition if people don't know it was me?"

"You would know," Harry pointed out. "And all comments directed to the fake name would be what people would say if they weren't scared of you."

Draco's frown deepened. "They should be sacred of me."

"But not when it comes to this. You want to know how well they truly like it, no?"

"If I publish as a nobody then no one will buy it," Draco argued.

"They will if it's good."

Draco looked pensive now and Harry knew he had him.

"Well I can't walk into a printing house and then introduce myself with a different name. They would recognize me instantly."

"You could use a disguise."

Draco shook his head. "A Malfoy is recognisable even in disguise."

"Send me then. I could go - as a servant for a master."

"No," Draco said, but he started to sound excited about this project. "If I'm doing this then I might as well go all the way. I don't want them to think I'm noble."

"Then I go…for a friend." Harry held his breath, observing how Draco's eyes widened and narrowed in turn.

Lowborns were most definitely not suitable friends for a Malfoy. But apparently Draco had realized that highborns weren't actually his friends either.

"I have more," Draco said eventually. Not really confirming Harry's outrageous offer, but not denying it either.

"How many more?"

"…A lot."

This time Harry didn't hide his smile. "Maybe start with just the one."

"Here." Draco suddenly shoved the whole stack into Harry's arms. "Read it."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Now?"

"It needs to be perfect," Draco announced and then glared at him. "And don't try to tell me it already is."

Harry glanced at the large stack of papers and suppressed a sigh. This certainly wasn't how he had thought he'd use his new ability.

But if it kept him away from the masses downstairs and endeared him to Draco? He'd read it twice.

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Draco kept inviting him to his home in the days following the ball, to complete his project. Lucius was extremely pleased, though he couldn't possibly know what Draco was inviting him for.

The young Malfoy turned out to be a fascinating case to study. He was snobbish and abrasive, but also full of insecurities. There was passion and excitement in him, but every time it threatened to burst free, a cool mask was slipped on.

Harry knew his own presence wasn't doing much to consolidate these two sides. Draco seemed constantly torn between warming up to him and treating him as inferior. Harry's poise that had already attracted Lucius, further confused poor Draco. Overall Harry thought the whole dynamic rather amusing, despite the recurring insults thrown at him.

After their discussion at the ball it was very easy to stay in Draco's good graces. All he had to do was sit there and endure his moods patiently. Having someone to listen to his rants and ideas was more than enough for Draco to get addicted and his invites only increased with time.

It was exhausting to be sure. In addition to spending so much time at Malfoy manor, his mornings were now almost exclusively reserved for lessons with Riddle. The lord had begun to give him specific books to read, mostly politics, history and philosophy, and demanded to analyse them in excruciating detail.

What the benefit of any of that was, remained Riddle's little secret. One of many, Harry was sure.

As Riddle was also a frequent guest at Malfoy manor, Harry soon found himself sitting at dinner with the family and Riddle.

Ever perceptive, Riddle needed but one glance between Draco and Harry to notice that they were now comfortable around each other.

"What did you do?" the lord asked intrigued, while the Malfoys were busy talking amongst themselves.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "You ordered to sway him, not that I have to reveal my trade secrets."

Riddle chuckled amused. "Is swaying people your trade, Mr. Evans?"

"I'm a circus artist," Harry replied curtly, not appreciating Riddle's insinuation. Charm was indispensable in his job.

"Ah yes, I forgot."

Harry scoffed, not believing the man for a second.

"He doesn't look at you with desire," Riddle mused, "He looks at you like a friend."

Harry's fist clenched around his fork. "Oh I'm sorry, did you think spreading my legs is the only thing I have going for me?"

Riddle smirked. "You hint at it often enough."

He took a sip from his goblet, unaffected by Harry's scowl. Harry silently turned back to his food, cutting it with a bit more force than necessary.

Riddle's fingers wrapped around his wrist, stopping his jerky movements as well as his breathing. His touch was light, but to Harry it felt unyielding, inescapable. He stubbornly kept his eyes on the food in front of him.

Riddle leaned a bit further in his direction, eyes shining with amusement when Harry's whole posture went rigid.

"I'm impressed."

Harry refused to acknowledge the small surge of pride at his words.

"I exist for your praise," he bit out drily.

Riddle's thumb pressed more firmly over his pulse point and Harry snapped his head around to glare at him. As this was exactly the reaction Riddle had wanted, his smirk only widened.

"I see I will need to find something more challenging."

"Are breaks not part of your teaching schedule, milord?" Harry asked nonchalantly.

"I am far too ambitious to allow such relaxation."

Harry blinked at Riddle's casual admission of character. It was unseemly for a highborn to be seen as ambitious. They all were of course, but you were urged to pretend otherwise.

"However," Riddle continued, suddenly intense. "I might be persuaded to hand out rewards."

The words sent Harry's thoughts reeling.

He could be wrong, as Riddle was generally hard to read. But right now he did little to hide his intentions and Harry could have sworn that they were…less than proper.

Riddle might just be teasing as usual, but Harry had yet to forget the look of unguarded want on the lord's face just a few weeks ago.

Why now?

It hardly made any sense. And it held no real gain for him. The more he thought on it, the more Harry was convinced that he was reading this situation wrong.

But whether it was real or harmless teasing, Riddle must have had a goal. Did Riddle hope to unsettle him? Spook him with such a straightforward proposal?

Tough luck bastard, two can play this game.

With a flick of his hand, Harry freed himself and snared Riddle's wrist instead, discreetly pinning it to the table.

"Are you sure the rewards are intended for me and not for yourself?" he asked sweetly.

Riddle's pupils dilated, which really shouldn't have had such an effect on his heartbeat.

"Can it not be for both?"

Riddle did not give him time to come up with a reply. Instead he stood up and put on his coat, ignoring his half-finished plate and the questioning looks from the Malfoys.

He looked back at Harry, lips twitching. "Well?"

Oh hell. Riddle was obviously prepared and curious enough to see how far Harry would take this. Except he also did it in front of the Malfoys, which basically left Harry no choice.

Faking calmness, he put down his cutlery and stood up as well. Harry passed the other, their shoulders brushing. Riddle was watching him like a hawk.

This could not end well.

He glanced back and raised his eyebrows, as if Riddle was the hesitant one. "Shall we?"

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A/N: I don't know guys, should they? I can still twist this in every possible direction. I feel like we're moving hella fast suddenly. On the other hand I don't want this to turn into another 200k slow-burn (I'm looking at you Rebuilt).

Cya!