Sunlight, golden and warm, slipped through the high windows and crawled across Harry's face. He groaned, instinctively turning his head to block the glare, before finally letting out a soft yawn. He blinked himself awake, the remnants of sleep reluctantly clearing from his eyes.
A heavy, pleasant weight pressed down on him from several directions. He looked around, inhaling the familiar, comforting scents of jasmine, lavender, and rich parchment that clung to his sheets, that he had grown fond of.
Tonks was curled tightly against his right side, her breathing soft and steady. Daphne lay against his left, all elegance even in sleep, and Anya had claimed his chest like a small, warm pillow, a stark contrast to her usual knightly stiffness. All three of his girls were still deeply asleep, looking lovely as ever.
He couldn't help the soft smile that curved his lips as he gazed at them. This was his life now. It was a life he would kill entire pantheons of gods to protect, just to enjoy the warmth of his lovers.
But for now, he needed to get up. With a silent thought, his body vanished from beneath them, the sudden absence instantly filled by a soft, perfectly positioned pillow that appeared beneath Anya. The transition was flawless, to ensure his girls never stirred, still, the girls seemed to shift for a moment, like they were displeased by the lack of warmth before settling back.
He headed to the bathroom. After a quick, hot shower, he met his own reflection and grinned.
"Still looking good," he told the mirror, catching the subtle, sharp gleam in his green eyes, sharper features than when he was younger.
The changes of the years were starkly visible in his eyes and bearing. It had been three years since he had become a Campione, and things had really changed, and not just for him. The Boy-Who-Lived was long gone, now, only the King of the Wizards, the Tyrant of Britain, remained.
And trust him, he had earned that name for a reason.
He dressed and headed down to the dining hall. A steaming plate of food seemingly appeared on the table the instant he sat, followed by a mug of coffee.
"Thank you, Missy," he said to the air, knowing the unseen house-elf would preen at the praise. He savored the quiet as he ate his breakfast in peace.
Looking at the world outside his windows, it was different from years ago, it had changed. The British wizarding world no longer answered to a Ministry or a Minister, of course, the ministry body still existed in a way, but the real power was him.
Britain's wizarding world answered only to him now.
At first, Harry had been content to let things run on their own, allowing Narcissa Malfoy to act as his voice when nudges were needed or he simply needed something.
He had thought that, allowing them their structures, even if they knew they really couldn't say no to him, they could have the illusion of control, and that would be enough to satisfy their need for self-governance and egos.
It wasn't.
He scoffed softly as he recalled the sheer, staggering arrogance of the fools. As Albert Einstein had once said, "Two things are infinite: the universe and human stupidity; and I'm not sure about the universe." Harry had discovered the quote was damn right. He took a sip of his coffee. Some people just seemed to be looking for death.
The Wizengamot had convinced themselves that, while he was a campione, he was nothing but a naive child, and attempted to pass emergency decrees to "register" Campiones as-what was it again, tools, no, that wasn't it, 'servants of the people' to attempt at controlling him.
Even now, whenever he thought of it, his eyes just twitched, like, are they that stupid.
They tried to impose financial blockades on the newly formed Black-Potter treasury and even attempted to co-opt his power by claiming historical titles and loyalties from his houses and shit like that.
The Daily Prophet printed thinly veiled smear campaigns, painting him as an unstable, volatile danger to their 'ancient traditions.' Him ignoring them was mistaken for cowardice, and his restraint was interpreted as weakness.
He looked out the tall window. In the distance, sunlight glinted off a massive slab of dark, hewn stone jutting toward the sky like a terrifying monument. That monolith stood exactly where the central atrium of the Ministry of Magic had been.
The tipping point wasn't just the assassins and the fools leading the country. No, it was the Unspeakables' dangerous confidence that their research into the fundamental nature of campione, thinking that they had learnt how to control the power of a campione.
They believed they could now control campiones, and with that, they could fight back and wouldn't allow a child to rule over them, showing a delusion that he didn't think people like these were capable of dreaming. They were arrogant, dangerous fools.
The final, catastrophic mistake came just a week after his sixteenth birthday. Narcissa had sent a letter saying that the ministry had called for a meeting with only some members and that she only found out because one of the members was someone working with her.
They had called a secret meeting and made a plan with the Unspeakables. They kidnapped Daphne and Astoria from their home, a move they believed would give them the ultimate leverage as they were seen as Harry's weakness.
It was that day Harry stopped playing human. It was that day Britain truly learned the fury of a tyrant King.
The news of the kidnapping hit him with a cold silence that terrified his inner circle more than any visible rage. His first action was not an attack, but finding everyone responsible, after he knew who, where, and why, down to the chain of command and the fools down at the lower chain.
The retribution was cataclysmic. He didn't just kill, he inflicted terror. He appeared in the ministry where they had been waiting for them and just started killing everyone involved. He didn't even think of negotiating, he butchered everyone that got in his way, making sure to not use large scale attacks and increase the fear factor.
Then, after he had made sure the terror was ingrained in their hearts, he ended the farce, using his Authorities to carve out the very land, making it bleed rivers of blood, before he wiped out the entire Ministry and literally buried it beneath the earth.
The Monolith, visible from nearly every angle of London, wasn't just a grave; it was a permanent Law imposed upon the land. Disrespect the King, and you'd be erased.
Since then, the remaining school years had been interesting. A lot of students had fled Hogwarts in fear of him. Even his closest friends had kept their distance after that bloodbath.
It had taken a long time before Hermione would even speak to him again, and Ron all but fled every time he saw him. They were on speaking terms again, awkwardly, but not as close as they used to be. The shared easy laughter and casual camaraderie had been replaced by a carefully managed respect.
Yet, he knew they cared. He could feel it.
Literally.
He had gained the Authority of Desire from Eros, the god of love, desire, and sex, and now he could sense and manipulate the true nature of their feelings, their worry, their love, and their yearning, a useful, if occasionally awkward, gift.
It allowed him to know that Hermione's awkward silence stemmed from a fear of his power, but also because she was afraid that she'd say or do something that would make him reject her.
He sensed Ron's distance wasn't hatred or fear, but a deep feeling of inadequacy, the inability to stand beside a friend who had become a force, a king who didn't need a sidekick, so to speak.
The knowledge was useful, but it meant privacy, even emotional privacy, no longer existed for those closest to him.
He had claimed five more divine authorities since the Morrígan, Eros, Anansi, Geb, Asclepius, and finally, Odin.
He still winced at the last mention. The All-Father had personally hunted him down, driven by the old prophecy linking Fenrir and Ragnarok. The fight had been brutal. Odin had really wanted him dead, he had come to erase Harry.
If past Harry could have seen the fight, he'd no doubt have preferred to fight 5 Morrigan's.
Harry had "died" three times, saved only by sacrificing one of his soul warriors, using Anansi's Authority, and Asclepius's powerful healing, each time he was sure he'd not had made it.
And it was thanks to his authorities, it was only by taking advantage of those rapid revivals that he caught Odin off guard and claimed victory, seizing the very essence of the Norse patriarch.
The God King was bullshit, and now, Thanks to the old god, Harry now possessed the A bullshit authority too.
Still, it was not a fight he liked to remember at all.
He clicked his tongue, pushing the memories aside, and looked up as soft footsteps echoed down the staircase.
Tonks appeared, her hair a soft, comforting lavender, her eyes still half-lidded. She spotted him and instantly crossed the room, moving with the eager, slightly clumsy grace before settling comfortably onto his lap. She seemed to have felt he'd left and decided to come find him, needing the physical reassurance.
"Morning," she murmured, her voice thick with sleep, pressing a warm kiss to his cheek.
"Morning," he answered, wrapping his arms securely around her waist.
She rested her head against his chest, sighing in deep contentment. He chuckled quietly. Daphne, for all her elegance, slept like an octopus, grabbing anything and anyone close to her, and was definitely not a morning person. Anya was like a log of wood until she was fully rested. Tonks, however, seemed to have too much restless energy to stay in bed, especially if he wasn't right beside her.
He brushed a strand of lavender hair from her face as it changed color, watching her eyes flutter closed again.
"I hate it when you do that, Harry," she murmured into his shirt, her voice muffled but laced with genuine, low-level distress. "One minute you're there, and the next it's just a ridiculously plush pillow. It's unfair."
Harry smiled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the light, clean scent of her hair. "I know, love." He tightened his arms around her, feeling the quick, familiar beat of her heart beneath his hand. He loved how she always sought him out, how her chaotic, vibrant energy immediately dampened when she was pressed close to him, finding a core of stillness in his embrace.
His Authority of Desire constantly showed him the truth of mortal feelings, the ambition, the fear, the casual lust, but with Tonks, it was simply overwhelming, pure love, a steady, blazing flame that had not diminished over the years, similar to Daphne and Anya.
Tonks tilted her head back to look at him, her lavender eyes wide and earnest. She reached up, framing his face with her hands, her thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
He leaned down to meet her in a long, soft kiss, a perfect moment of deep, quiet reassurance.
He leaned back, holding her gaze, the world outside suddenly seeming very distant.
"Now," he whispered, a gentle grin returning. "How about we let the other two sleep a little longer while we sneak some more of Missy's excellent becone and have some coffee?"
Tonks' lavender hair instantly flashed to a playful bubblegum pink, and the mischief was back in her eyes. "Only if you feed it to me," she demanded playfully, snuggling deeper into his warmth.
"Sure."
He sighed contentedly as he leaned back on the chair, allowing Tonks to place her head on his chest.
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