All of the Emperor's Children

Prologue:

He strode through the gardens, not noticing their lush finery or the sunny day. Their beauty was wasted upon him. He walked past the House-Elfs, whose heads were bowed with fear. He turned corner after corner, walked path after path, continually flanked by his two nondescript bodyguards, Crabbe and Goyle. They stumbled along behind him, their hulking stature intimidating enough to scare away even the most experienced assassin. His cold gray eyes did not notice the fine marble statues or the sparkling water fountains. He did not notice the brilliantly colored birds serenading him with melodic birdsong, nor did he care. He continued walking on, eyes in front, not looking to the left nor to the right. Finally, he came to his destination: the infamous Pagoda Tower. With its rather gruesome history for being the resting-place of past kings who had gone mad or become evil, Emperor Pendragon had sealed it up 100 years ago, after having it carefully examined. When the professionals finally came to the conclusion that there was no curse haunting the place, just bad karma, Emperor Pendragon used his Jade Magic to seal it up once and for all, shutting his evil brother Aurelius in there permanently, left to rot for eternity. But several months ago, the current Exalted Emperor had seen fit to re-open the Pagoda Tower, clear out the remains of the late Aurelius, and reinhabit the place. And now, one of his numerous sons had come to visit him. The cold man with stony gray eyes paused to brush the dust off of his black robes lined with gold before beginning to climb the steps. He made it to the top before two sentries dressed in garish yellow stopped him. He stared coldly into their eyes. They stared back, unflinching.

"Tell my most Exalted Father that I request an audience with him." The words spoken out of Draco Malfoy's voice were colder than ice, hardened by contempt. He did not issue orders to be disobeyed. His orders were to be obeyed now. Not later. And yet, the trained ear could detect a small amount of fear sharpening his voice as well, lending urgency to his request, however rudely made.

The sentries bowed their head with respect as one of the sentries behind them ran off to take the message. Draco waited impatiently, his cold eyes radiating dissatisfaction. He was not to be bothered with trivialities. The sentries were unmoving and impassive. They were used to more temperamental and dangerous tempers from the Emperor himself and were not intimidated by the man before them. Moments later, some more sentries arrived. They gestured for him to follow them, and he did so.

They stepped into the tower and began walking down a long, dark hall. Draco did not glance from side to side, gawking like some commoner, but he was intensely curious. So this was the sanctuary not inhabited for 100 years. Until now. There were legends galore regarding the real reason Emperor Pendragon had sealed his brother in here, most of them involving infidelity or treachery, and even adultery. They finally turned a corner and arrived in front of a large, ornate door. The sentries stopped. They would go no further.

Draco went through the door. He barely winced from the pain, controlling his features so that they would not contort into a grimace. He would not let his father know how much the Purification Wards had hurt him. Raking through his mind and clawing through his body, Purification Wards were the bane of his life as they naturally hurt him, for his mother had been a part-veela. Veela were considered Pure creatures, but part-veela were affected by the Purification Spells.

"Why do you dare to come here?" the old voice asked. It was not feeble or frail. It was strong. It was also cold and distant.

"Father," Draco turned, his voice pleading with his father. "You must believe me. They are only trying to poison your mind against me. I did not do it. I am not evil. I am your son, after all. Please believe me-"

"Cease your prattle," the voice said coldly. "I wish to hear none of your lies. You killed tens of hundreds of people, and when confronted, you had nothing to say for yourself. You may leave."

"But father-" Draco protested, desperate. He had to get his father to see. He just had to! If his father continued believing his other brothers, then his influence would soon fade away. He would have no power! He just had to explain to his father, to persuade his father. He had to.

"Leave." The Emperor's tone was final. He would not forgive Draco today. Not today.

*****Nine Months Earlier*****

Harry ran a hand through his unruly black hair, staring in complete shock at his best friend, ally, and brother, Ron. "Where are we being sent?" he asked incredulously. His tone was disbelieving, his emerald green eyes astonished.

Ron sighed. His blue eyes were resigned as he tucked a lock of his fiery red hair behind his ear. "Southeast Gaea. The Elina River flooded again, and we are the ones chosen to deal with the destitute. We have to find a way to feed the homeless, and make sure they have a way to live or whatever." His tone expressed his extreme distaste for the job.

"But," Harry sputtered. "The Emperor is just about to select an heir." He had begun pacing, walking back and forth across the finely-woven Oriental carpet on the floor. It's red-and-gold designs marked his position as third favored son of the Emperor. For now, at least. The Emperor's favors changed often, and the way things were going, Harry might soon fall into the Emperor's disfavor.

"Yes," Ron said flatly. He glared out the window disgustedly. The delicate landscape with its small ponds of golden fish and manmade mountains of rock was lost upon him. He was too worried to pay attention to anything not relating to the approaching Choosing of the Heir, which would, in effect, determine the future of each of the Emperor's sons. "And while he is selecting his heir, we are being sent to an out-of-the-way village so we won't be in the running, much less in any way influence the Emperor in his choice. And the only person who would benefit from it is-"

"Draco," he and Harry chorused together.

"Actually, it could be any of our other brothers," Harry pointed out, always the logical one (at least, when they weren't breaking one of the Palace's Thousand Rules. When they were out on a forbidden venture, Ron always ended up the voice of reason). He rolled his eyes. "Admit it; your grudge against Draco is notorious. Your views are probably influenced. Then again," he reflected, "the feeling does seem to be mutual. He seems to hate you just as much as (if not more than) you hate him. Nobody likes Draco. At least, not for who he is. He does have plenty of power-hungry lackeys waiting to leech some power, though."

"All right," Ron sighed. "Let me amend that. The person would most benefit from it is Draco. And you can't contradict me, because you know I'm right. Don't forget, he is currently the Emperor's most favored son. Once we leave, the position as heir to the Throne of Gaea is practically wrapped up and presented to him on a golden platter."

"Not for long. Not if we can prove to the Emperor how many deaths he caused. He'll never be heir if we can prove that he killed those people," Harry stated. His tone was frustrated. "But of course, they're just a bunch of servants and peasants. Not interesting to anyone in particular unless for political reasons. So no one even bothers to investigate their deaths except us. And we're so close. We just need a little more time."

"Which we don't have. We probably won't be able to further the case while in Southeast Gaea," Ron was quick to point out. "And by the time we get back, he'll already be heir, and there won't be anything we can do about it."

Harry groaned. "So basically, we're stuck in the middle of nowhere, and Draco sucks up to the Emperor, and gets to be heir." He turned abruptly to hide his anger at being so helpless. "And once he becomes Heir, who knows what he will do? Probably order our executions first."

"Yes," Ron sighed. "That's how I see it." His look had become resigned, thinking of the hard days ahead they were bound to encounter.

The conversation and gloomy reflection of the days ahead were cut short by the droning voice of their sentries in perfect unison. "Jade Princess Hermione arrives."

Harry and Ron stared blankly at each other. Which one of their numerous sisters was she?

*****Several Hours Earlier*****

Hermione waited patiently as her House-Elf applied some more of the pale rice makeup onto her face. Finally, Winky finished the tedious, yet required task.

"Winky, could you please get out my good fan?" Hermione asked, her mind on other things.

"Yes, Mistr-" Winky cut herself off, remembering her new mistress's strange habits. "Winky means she's getting it, Miss Her-my-knee."

Hermione smiled fondly at the House-Elf. "You don't have to call me Miss Hermione," she reminded once again. "Just Hermione is fine." Unlike others who would she would not incriminate by naming, she did not believe in the suppression of House-Elves.

"But that be disrespectful," Winky said, shocked. "And if the Matron Elf is finding out then poor Winky is getting clothes."

"The Matron will not fire you if I have anything to say about it," Hermione said firmly, guiltily remembering how her last House-Elf had departed in tears before Hermione could prevent her from "getting clothes". "My fan?" Her tone became brisk as she thought about what she had to do.

"Here, Mi-. Her-my-knee lady," Winky handed her the intricate fan. It was a gift from the Emperor, one of many she had received when her late mother had still been in his favor. It was made of precious ivory, and on it was a carefully carved peacock. Hermione loved the fan, as it was one of the few things she had left of her outspoken and stubborn mother. She closed her eyes. Her mother had been holding this fan tightly in her hands that day she had been found strangled on the floor. She would never forget that day...yet with the bad memories, came the good ones, and Hermione would never part with this precious possession of hers.

Hermione stood up and gazed at herself in the mirror. Not bad for a nameless princess of foreign origin, she thought to herself. But I look too much like my mother to fit in. Never mind the fact that Isisa is just as important a city as Atlantis. Avalon as a country is too small, too insignificant, and too foreign to compare with the Great Almighty Gaea, she thought sarcastically.

She abruptly turned away. She had to do some visiting today if she wanted to put her plan into action, and she couldn't afford to spend her entire day in front of the mirror. Hermione strode out with the small, almost-mincing ladylike steps she had been taught, despite the fact that she abhorred the impossibly high heels* she had to wear as a princess of high rank. She could only thank her lucky stars that she was foreign and didn't need her feet bound.

She stopped in front of the jiao.** Again, she reflected upon the obstinate need of the rich to look ridiculously elegant. Riding a broom, Apparating, or Flooing would be so much more efficient. Instead, because she was a princess, she had to sit in the hot, stuffy, boxlike jiao, which the swaying goblins were carrying. She forced herself to remain composed, though she felt seasick.

When she stepped out, she took careful steps. It would do her no good if she fell flat on her face. She adjusted her tall hat*** and looked around her.

This was one of the sons' quarters. Much larger than even the most favored daughters' quarters, she noted disgustedly to herself. Of course, with the stupid backwater prejudice against females, that's expected. She paused in front of the door so that the red-haired sentries, who looked like twins, could announce her presence properly.

"Jade Princess Hermione arrives," they intoned together in exactly the same voice, almost startling her with their identical inflections.

Luckily, Hermione had a small measure of self-control, and fortunately did not jump or wince at the "Jade." It was only another sign of this palace's hold on her. "Jade." Daughter of the Gracious Jade Emperor, who never even bothered to notice her now that her mother was dead. She doubted he even knew her name. She was just another daughter, now arriving at a marriageable age, who could be used to form a political liaison with another country.

She walked in at a leisurely place, and came to a halt in front of the two men with the golden fringes at the edge of their black robes. The sign of royalty and high position. These were the ones she was seeking. If all went well ...

"Beloved brothers," she greeted formally, repeating the well-worn words of tradition. She curtsied gently, handkerchief over shoulder as she lowered her eyes respectfully. She was aware that both were suspicious and were not aware of her standing in the palace. Figured.

"Honored sister," they greeted simultaneously, eyeing her warily. Both bowed, but neither took their eyes off her. With good reason. Although the Emperor's daughters were never bothered with, there were assassins caught everyday while they tried to infiltrate the homes of the Emperor and his various sons.

She gestured for Winky to leave, and, taking the hint, the two men in front of her gestured for their House-Elves to leave as well. As soon as all ears were out of sight, she turned to face the two men. She closed her fan with an abrupt motion, momentarily enjoying the snapping sound it made as it clacked to a close. "You don't really know who I am, but I know who you two are, and you had better stay quiet, because I have a proposition you can't refuse."

*****Meanwhile*****

Draco Malfoy sat atop a somewhat comfortable, straightbacked chair carved out of ebony and carved with intricate serpents intertwining to form a large S on the back of the chair. His silver-blonde hair was braided back**** in the traditional style that was currently in fashion. His cold gray eyes were gazing at the cowering figure before him. "What did you say?" he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

"I said, M-Master," the figure whimpered with pain as Crabbe sent yet another kick his way, and an audible crack filled the room. He began again. "I-I-I s-said that the J-Jade P-Princess Hermione..." He trailed off with a moan as Goyle whacked his back with a large stick, and he fell to the floor.

"Cease the beating," Draco said boredly, "before he can't get another word out of his mouth." He paused to glare at Crabbe, who had been raising his boot for another kick. Crabbe dutifully complied and put his foot down. "Now, what did the foreign Mudblood do?" His distaste was obvious. Whatever had possessed his father to marry a foreigner? And a commoner at that, so her blood wasn't even true noble blood. Her blood was tainted with who-knew-what, and now she was causing trouble, just like her late mother had. Draco's lips curled into a smirk as he recalled how much he had enjoyed murdering that foreign harlot with his bare hands. No need for a wand with him, not when he could make their bones crack and their eyes glaze with pain with his own physical strength.

The cowering figure finally managed to choke out a few words. "Sh-sh-she w-went to J-Jade P-Prince H-Harry's." Goyle raised his hand to strike him again, but remembered Draco's orders and halted. It didn't stop the figure from scooting farther away from the light, into the darkness of the empty room.

"Was there anything peculiar that she did? Something in particular she wore, perhaps?" Draco asked in a silky voice.

"She w-w-wore her b-b-best robes, M-Master," the figure said, now terrified as Crabbe and Goyle stood up together, both wearing dangerous grins.

"That will be all, then," Draco finally said. He turned to leave, pausing just as he reached the door. "Oh, and Crabbe? Goyle? Try to make sure that he doesn't scream so much when you dispose of him. It disconcerts my dear mother."

"Yes, Master," Crabbe and Goyle grunted together, unrestrained glee on their faces.

Draco looked away, disgusted. But he had to allow his henchmen their fun, or they would never protect him as well as they did. He left the room, unheeding of the man's pitiful cries as Crabbe and Goyle drew their knives, preparing to carve him up.

"But you promised rewards, you did, Master!" were the last pitiful cries of the man as he shrunk from the maniacal Crabbe and Goyle. "You promised rewards," he gurgled one more time as Crabbe slit his throat professionally. And then his eyes glazed over with death, and he had no more to say.

To be continued ...