CHAPTER FOUR

The King's Breakfast

{1}

Draco was rudely roused from dreaming about large gardens and street bazaars by a weight pinning his chest. He groaned, trying to breathe, and reached out to the thing that interrupted first his sleep, and now his air supply.

There was a small yelp when his fingers closed around small, slender arms. When Draco opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of a small boy, dressed in dark blue and gold pajamas, struggling against his grip.

"Let me... L-let me go! You're not Hawwy..." The small boy was saying. As soon as Draco let him go, he jumped off of him and off the bed, pulling Draco's loose duvet over himself. He apparently thought he would make himself invisible that way.

"Of course, I'm not Hawwy. My name is Dra– Aster," Draco said soothingly, sitting up to look down at wide and wary gray eyes peeking from dark green cotton sheets. "What's your name?"

The boy let out a small gasp and covered himself once more. "T-Teddy," was his muffled reply.

Draco chuckled, which made Teddy resurface from his "blanket armor" to glare at him. "You know, Teddy, sitting on people's chests while they're sleeping or hiding from them behind blankets isn't the best way to make friends."

Teddy finally removed the blanket he tossed over himself, his brown hair being more ruffled than before. "I'm sorry. It's just Hawwy told me he would visit me today and I saw you in his bed and thought you were Hawwy a-and..." The small boy took an endearing gasp of breath and exhaled, "butyouhadyellowhairandIshouldaknownsorry!"

Draco bit off another laugh about his hair being yellow. "I accept your apology, Teddy. And I'm sorry that you were disappointed that I'm not your Hawwy."

"Mm-hmm. Hawwy is nice and he is my favorite person. He tells me that I am cute and brave and strong and I!" he started jumping up and down the bed in front Draco. "Wanna! Be! Like! Him! When! I! Grow! Up!"

He jumped a bit more for good measure, giggling. "Hawwy promised he'd take me around the Festival today," he said, panting a little, cheeks a little flushed. "Would you like to come with us, Aster?"

Draco looked at the young boy's eager and enthusiastic face and considered the invitation. Teddy was all smiles at the prospect of going around the festival with his Hawwy. Draco knew how the small boy must feel; he felt the excitement too. He just wanted to throw away all his worries and roam the streets of Hogwarts, spirit floating in his long-awaited freedom. He looked forward to meeting the various people that lived in this beautiful city; sometimes he felt like his feet were itching to dance along the music and performances in the streets. He couldn't wait to taste Hogwarts food, to visit the grand Gryffindor's Gardens, to see with his own eyes the many beautiful things that used to only be descriptions in books.

There was so much to see, but they would have to wait. Draco had offered to help in the Weasleys' and Healer Figgs' business today. Mr. Weasley had been given a good spot to set up his trade in during the festival.

Draco gently pinched Teddy's chubby cheek and smiled. "I really appreciate the offer, Teddy, but I have work today."

"For the festival?"

"Yes, but I promise that if you drop by our store, I would give you special treats for free. And I will prepare for you whatever you want for breakfast."

The word treats seemed to further energize Teddy. He leaped from the bed with a whoop of joy and ran out of Draco's room, shouting, "C'mon Aster! You promised me yummy treats and yummy breakfast and I wanna eat fruits and pancakes! Hurry!"

Draco sighed in amusement. If the whole household wasn't up yet after Teddy's excited squeals, he would walk with his hands. Shaking his head fondly, he began preparing to go down the kitchen.

{2}

In Gryffindor's Castle, Hawwy was also having a very early morning.

As far as Harry knew, Severus and Remus had cleared this whole day for him. All appointments, meetings, and appearances were cancelled so he could make time for his godson, Teddy. Despite all this, here was Peter Pettigrew, an unpopular member of his court, calling his name feebly while he was asleep.

For all the man's timidity, he had no reservations with breaking rules of propriety with the King.

"Earl Pettigrew," Harry bit out after sitting up. "I was certain that I've been clear about not wanting to be disturbed today."

The short, pudgy man whimpered and laid prostrated himself on Harry's thick, red, carpeted floor. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the man. Help me deal with this with grace, love, he sent the thought to Draco, wherever he was.

"Speak. For what business did you interrupt my sleep, Earl Pettigrew?" he asked.

"Y-y-your Majesty, t-the Umbridges, they are a r-r-rich and i-influential f-family from Hogsmeade, and t-they h-h-humbly r-request your presence for breakfast," Pettigrew stuttered, furiously wiping his perspiring face while bowed so low on the floor.

This time, Harry couldn't hold back a heavy sigh. He knew that the man was bluffing; the Umbridges were not as influential as they believed they are when it comes to Hogsmeade trade. They were rich, yes, but the family with the greatest contribution to the small town's markets were the Weasleys. He knew this because of the lengthy reports that Severus made him study at every end of a quarter-year.

"Stand up, Earl Pettigrew," he said firmly. The man obeyed, but not without another fearful whimper. "Look at me." Harry waited until the man's small, round, black eyes met his. "This is the first and last time you will enter my quarters without my explicit invitation. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes, Y-your M-majesty," the man answered shakily.

"You will not also meddle with my daily businesses without consulting Duke Snape."

"U-u-understood, Your Highness!" There was a pause, where Pettigrew seemed to gather up his courage and mumble, "B-b-but the L-l-lady Umbridges..."

"Will wait for me in the gardens. Now leave so I can prepare," Harry said, getting down his bed and turning his back on the stuttering man. Pettigrew was dismissed.

When Harry had heard the man's scamper and the subsequent sound of shutting doors, he sighed heavily. He really never understood how Pettigrew became a member of the court. He also didn't want to entertain the Umbridges' request, no matter who they thought they were. Since they were women, however, it would have been impolite to turn their directly delivered invitation down.

Making a mental note to talk to Severus about what Pettigrew did, and maybe thank him for handling and guarding his daily schedule, Harry started preparing mint tea. He was going to need it to soothe the beginnings of a headache he was feeling.

{3}

Romilda looked around the grand gardens of Gryffindor's Castle. She had grown up hearing stories about how the late Queens poured their attention and care over the lands surrounding the palace. She'd heard about and dreamed of spring at Hogwarts: the colors of thousands of blooming flowers, the sweet scents permeating the air, and the people celebrating the Festival of Blooms. It's quite obvious now that the stories paled in comparison to the real thing.

It was clear that even after the Queen Lily had passed away, or even in the midst of war, King Harrison hadn't overlooked to tending of the garden. From where Romilda sat, she could see multi-colored butterflies flittering over the lilies and marigolds blooming near their gazebo. The blossoms where large, and bursting with their vibrancy; they stood out in their bushes, as if the flowers were aware of their loveliness and were even more eager to flaunt it.

For Romilda, it was, all in all, charming.

There were hundreds of other flowers and plants being tended to in other parts of the garden. The thought that, as future Queen, Romilda would continue the work of generations of Potters on this garden took her breath away. And she would do it well. She would begin, of course, by erasing away any marks or reminders of a certain Draco Malfoy, whom she knew had spent so much time with the King in this very place.

It will be all hers. Like Harrison.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Romilda saw the King approach. She watched in pleasure as the King stopped to talk to one of the gardeners pruning some rosebushes. He looked regal even in his simple evergreen tunic and robes, black breeches, and boots. His hair was still charmingly messy, and Romilda's fingers itched to touch the fine, dark strands and pull the King's face towards hers to taste-

Such indecent thoughts have no room in her mind this early morning- this early in her plans.

Familiar butterflies filled her stomach when Harrison's gorgeous green eyes flickered in their-her- direction.

"By the heavens, Ma! He is so, so gorgeous!" exclaimed Mariette from across the table.. Romilda glared at her younger sister's lack of tact, but their mother told them off.

"Girls! Act proper. Our King is approaching," their mother sighed, throwing Romilda a meaning stare. Her oldest daughter got the message, and she stood up from her seat and stepped out of the gazebo to meet the King. She noted smugly how his eyebrow's raised before she curtsied before him.

"I hope it was a pleasant morning for you, Your Highness," Romilda murmured, meeting the King's eyes as she straightened up. "We apologize in behalf of Earl Pettigrew for disturbing your rest. If we had only known, we wouldn't have insisted so much for your audience."

Romilda bowed again, thinking, 'Humble and modest does it.'

"There's no need to apologize so profusely, Young Lady Umbridge," the King replied kindly. "It was fortunate that I indeed had nothing planned this morning."

She turned around to lead Harrison to gazebo. To her intense pleasure, the King pulled the chair for her to sit on, before taking his.

"Thank you, My King," she said, smiling at the man softly and unable to keep the flush from her cheeks. She cleared her throat and gestured to her mother and sister. "Let me introduce to you my mother, Lady Dolores Umbridge, and my younger sister, Marietta."

"I'd been looking forward for so long to meet you, Your Highness," Dolores said saccharinely, offering her chubby, bejeweled hand to Harrison, who graciously kissed it. She let out a girlish giggle before throwing her flustered daughter a sharp look. "I would apologize for my daughter. In her excitement to meet and apologize to you, she forget to introduce herself. Romilda always had the tendency to forget her basic propriety lessons when she's excited."

The king let out a small chuckle. "Don't be embarrassed, Lady Romilda. None of us can't quite meet the demands of etiquette and tradition so completely." Romilda looked up in time to see him turn to her mother. "You have raised your daughters well, Lady Umbridge."

Dolores was smug. "I make sure that my daughters always get the best, Your Majesty."

"Mommy- I meant, Mother- always gives us what we want, King Harrison," Marietta piped up, smiling sweetly. She was hiding her sugar-coated fingers behind her teacup, to Romilda's annoyance. She had to grit her teeth to be patient when she realized that the King had noticed too.

The morning had started so well. She had hoped that the she could make a pleasant impression on the young King, but Marietta couldn't even wait for the King to start eating before she did. She couldn't even follow the simple script given to her. It didn't matter right now, though. She was going to get another opportunity to meet with Harrison, no matter what.

{4}

Harry had to admit that the Umbridges weren't a bad company for breakfast. They acted like any other noble family he had shared a meal with. He was impressed by Romilda's manners and apparent intelligence; Marietta, on the other hand, was hilarious.

They talked about Hogsmeade's current trades, and the Umbridges expressed their excitement about the Festival. He indulged them with conversations about the preparations for the Festival, while Romilda kept on offering to refill his cup of tea.

"I think another cup of this chamomile tea will give you more energy for today's tasks, My King," she said, holding the teapot delicately, smiling shyly at Harry. It was going to be his third cup, but let Romilda pour the tea anyway.

He wasn't oblivious, though. Harry had sat through various meals like this before. Royal and noble families would introduce to him their sons and daughters in the guise of trips and dinner parties. Even during the war, they harbored the hope that Harry would make marriage his choice in strengthening the kingdom.

Romilda was a beautiful girl. However, as far as Harry was concerned, her blue eyes were no different to countless of other pairs that had looked at him with shyness and quiet hope before.

"Your Highness, you said that you have this morning free. Perhaps, you can spare some time to walk with us around the garden?" she asked with a small smile. "Earl Pettigrew told us we are free to roam around, but I think it will be more enjoyable with your stories and company."

What Harry would do next, he'd done so many times before.

"I'm sorry, but I would have to refuse. I promised to meet with someone today, and I don't want to disappoint them by being late," he said as apologetically as he could. "You have all been a pleasant company this morning, and I urge you to enjoy your tours in the garden."

He stood up and smiled at them. "I will take my leave now."

{5}

Romilda watched the King's retreating form. When he was out of sight, she sighed and pulled out the vial hanging in a golden chain around her neck. She smirked at it, and then at her mother.

"Three drops a day does it, my flower," Dolores simpered, spooning cake into her small mouth. She chewed thoughtfully, then said, "The King will be feeding from the palm of your hand by the end of this festival."

Thoughts focused on a wedding, and plans for power and influence, Romilda nodded, her fingers stroking the crystal vial lovingly. Its blood-red liquid seemed to stare back at her, taunting at her inability to win the man she loved alone. She had been saving these precious drops of nectar for more than five years now, bidding her time, just for this opportunity.

"The tears of Adonis' true flowers are a weeping Aphrodite's blessing," she murmured under her breath. "They will fulfill the desires of the most desperate lover."

This vial surely would.

{6}

Harry was standing in front of his parents' graves, looking at the portraits hanging above the space where their ashes were kept. Here in the space where their remains are left to rest, hidden in the woods behind the castle, Harry pretends that the previous King and Queen's smiles were actually filled with life. As if they weren't really gone.

"Mum... Dad..." Harry said, not knowing where to start. It's been eight years since he'd heard their voices, had their last conversation, and he missed it everyday. He was thankful that Severus, Remus, and the other people who stood as his family were there; despite this, it was ironic how he could never confide with the living the way he wanted to with those who were dead.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and reached up to touch where the sunlight kissed his mother's face. The oil and canvas were rough against his fingers, and he realized that he could not remember the softness of his mother's cheeks.

He tried speaking again. "I'm sorry that it took me so long to visit again. Well, the war's over now, though. The North surrendered and agreed to sign a treaty with us. They're no longer allowed to step inside the kingdom."

He smiled a little shakily when he remembered how it felt to prepare for a war, thinking he was all alone. He had woken up to many mornings looking forward to asking his parents for advice, or looking to Draco for comfort, only to realize that he was very much left alone to deal with the problems beyond his years.

It still hurt.

"We're holding a Heroes' Festival, too- for everyone who fought for peace. Almost the whole kingdom has gathered in Hogwarts. I wish you could see it- there are so many shops, performances, and street parties set up. Everyone is celebrating." As Harry paused to think about what to say next, his eyes lingered to the small family portrait resting below his mother and father's. The Malfoys' smiles were happy. A twelve-year-old Draco stood between his parents, holding both of their arms tight.

"I think all of you will enjoy the Festival."

Carefully, Harry sat on the bench in front of the grave. He doesn't know what to say anymore, except that he was felt so alone, and all he wanted to feel was... all he wanted was...

"I'm so sorry," he said shakily, wiping at the traitorous tears escaping to his cheeks. "I know I'm supposed to be brave and strong. I'm supposed to listen to Severus and finally, finally move on, but I can't. I'm so sorry that I became a King who shows weakness like this. I can't help it if I always need you, Mum, Dad." Harry allowed himself to wish for his father's firm embrace and his mother soothing touches. He imagined pale, slender arms wrapping themselves around him securely, a soft voice hushing him gently, and quicksilver eyes looking at him with understanding.

For everything he had lost, Harry let go and allowed himself to just yearn.