Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters. (Nor do I profit from this story) Everything Harry Potter belongs to J..

Summary: Inspired by the tale of Gawain and the Green Knight and Cinderella. DMHP and BZHP. A tale of Fae and Mortals, of Kings and Commoners, of Love and Sacrifice. And proof that when everything is stripped to the core, there is little difference between them.

Warnings: M/M, Alternate Universe/Reality, Implied non-con, Mpreg.

Don't let the summary and warnings put you off; trust me, I'm a decent writer.

S o n o f A v a l o n

-a n . o v e r t u r e-

Autumn; dappled with reddish hues, the young earth began its time for slumber, shushing the world and lulling its children—the willowy trees to shed its foliage, the animals to slow its pace, nature to pull away her colour.

Young, verdant eyes—the lush tint of evergreen—danced excitably despite his previous guilt. The clothes that they had stolen out of the wardrobe belonging to the baron’s only son spilled out in a dazzling array of rich textures of every design. Giggles, contagious and light, filled the sparse woods as the three boys slipped out of their worn tunics and breeches. Quickly, they tugged the finery onto their bodies, laughing at each other as their teeth chattered when a gust of cold northern wind blew.

The tallest boy, a roguish grin quirking his dark lips, whipped around brandishing a branch, his left hand held behind his back and his body in a stance mocking the soldiers he had once seen. “On guard,” he cried, blue eyes lighting up with mischievous intent. The boy lunged forward, his branch poking another boy, second in height by a hair’s breath, with sharply hacked autumn coloured hair and sun-flecked freckles dusting the bridge of his nose. “Come, Sir Ronald!” the boy’s voice was a lilting melody, an uncommon accent accentuating his outlandish-ness, the faintly pointed tips of his ears a second testament. “Defend your fair maiden’s honour and fight for her!”

A shower of dry leaves was thrown at the blue eyed boy as a smaller body tackled him down with an impish roar. “Who are you calling a maiden?” the smaller thing shouted, rolling on top of the boy he had pinned down. He was diminutive compared to his companions, narrow shoulders and bony limbs, with such raven feathered hair and eyes so verdant and unending.

The blue-eyed boy huffed the leaves off of his face and smiled cheekily at the flushed thing sitting on his stomach. “Why, you, of course, Harry!” His golden tanned fingers reached out to gallantly brush a lock of raven feathered hair out of Harry’s eye. “There can be no other maiden that I speak of, my wingless butterfly.” To which Harry replied with a good box at the boy’s faintly pointed ears.

His action merely brought out a raucous roar of laughter from his friends; ‘Sir Ronald’ clutching his middle, his face a healthy reddish shade and the blue-eyed boy grinning madly as he ducked out of Harry’s swipes. “Stand still so I can thrash that head of yours, Blaise! You promised you’d leave off the maiden jokes!” He struggled to hold back his giggle, “And stop giving me weird names.”

They were running now, flitting pass barren trees and hiding in piles of autumn leaves. “Ah! But I cannot help it, Harry; you always look so adorable and small. Ron is with me on this one, are you not, Ron?” Blaise jumped out of Harry’s reach just as they tripped over each other; despite that, they giggled and were off again, tagging one another and racing like runaway prince-lings. “And the names I give you are most definitely not weird.”

“Sorry mate, but I’ve always thought you were a little girly.” Ron leapt off of the rock he had been standing on just as he caught the mock glare Harry shot him. “Aw, come on, Harry mate, s’not that bad… At least we think you’re a very pretty girly.”

“Here, here!” Blaise heartily agreed. Just as Harry was about to round on them again, Blaise crept up from behind and clasped his hands over the boy’s eyes. “Harry,” he sang out,“Let’s play hide and seek. You’ll be it, wingless. Now count till one hundred and no peeking and no cheating either!”

“Hide and seek?” Harry asked, his face scrunched up as he pried away Blaise’s fingers. “But I thought we were going to play warring princes and elves! I wouldn’t have bothered to steal these from Dudley otherwise!”

Ron shrugged then rushed off to hide.

“Harry please,” the taller boy pleaded, “How far and in between are my visits, Harry, tell me that, hmm?”

Harry looked down contritely, murmuring his answer. “…very far and in between…”

“Exactly,” he replied, and tipped up his friend’s face. “Let us be children and play, my wingless Harry.” With a quick peck on the nose, the blue-eyed boy brought Harry’s hands up to cover his eyes then whizzed away, his laughter growing fainter and fainter until Harry was left to count alone.

Harry had never been known for his patience and perhaps that was his friend’s reason for giving him such a large scale to count over. By two thirds of the way, he’d lost count and given up, choosing instead to begin his search. He took a cursory glance of his surroundings—making certain to remember his bearings for when they had to go home—then marched in a northeast direction for no better reason than that it struck his fancy.

The woods were denser in this direction, sunlight barely streaming through the thick branches overhead but Harry was not afraid. In the woods—in nature’s arms and sheltering embrace—he was home; as peculiar as that sounds. Keeping in mind that he was supposed to look for his friends (without them knowing he was close!) Harry lightened his steps and kept his gaze alert, his ears listening for the slightest rustle.

There! Over by a copse in the middle of that thicket! It sounded like hushed whisperings and could very well be both Blaise and Ron hiding out together. Overjoyed that he had found and won so soon, Harry barrelled through the dense branches, shouting, “Hah!” and emerged under the full glare of the midday sun, momentarily blinded by the light.

A startled shriek answered him and Harry was stunned to see a boy roughly Blaise’s age and build but so very different. Where Blaise was dark and rogue like, this boy was light and ethereal. Silver-blonde hair fell in soft wisps, the streak of blue blood so boldly underlined by his patrician features. The other boy wore clothes very much like Harry and his friends were wearing, if not more elegant and elaborate. But what caught Harry’s attention the most were the storm-grey eyes red-rimmed and glistening with unshed tears.

The alluring boy in front of him sat on his knees, his body curled forward and in his hands, as he showed to Harry’s curious eyes, was a little red robin—one wing bent so awkwardly behind it. “It’s dying,” the ethereal boy whimpered, hiccoughing despite his valiantly unshed tears. “I only just met it. It can’t die now…” The bird gave a failing thrill, its eyes darting back and forth and everyway. Somehow, that broke the reserves the boy had and he began crying in earnest, his body trembling in his sorrow.

Instantly, Harry moved towards the boy, the tears and cries pulling him out of his stupor and right into his irrepressible urge to console. “There, there,” Harry hushed and wrapped his thin arms around the boy, hugging the grief-stricken body and rubbing down the shuddering back to calm him. The boy looked at Harry with wide eyes, surprised to be treated in such a way. When Harry pulled away and sat back on his bum, he opened his palms wider for the smaller boy to look at the weak robin. Harry smiled then, his fingers delicately touching the bent wing and petting it. “It’s not dying, silly.” And just as he said those words, the bird stretched its wings and flew away, joyous tendrils leaping into the air in its birdsong. “See?”

And it was at that point that the storm-grey eyes truly saw Harry; his verdant eyes, those slight features and that brilliant, sun-kissed smile.

A smile that abruptly morphed into fear as a harrowing voice boomed across the woods. “Cinderella! Cinderella, where in blazes are you!” the voice was a mangled and gargled roar of severity and it jostled the raven haired boy’s nerves. He shot up hurriedly, bumping head first into the other boy’s nose as he stood up, but Harry did not dare stop. Hastily apologising and dusting the other boy’s garments nervously, the voice boomed once more and Harry rushed off without a backwards glance.

The storm-grey eyes stared after the diminutive figure wanting to catch up with him but a glint on the ground caught his eye and when he picked it up, a silver-chained filigree meshwork lied in his fingers; the design an imitation of delicate wings.

‘’ ‘’ ‘’

Harry raced back to the spot where they had first changed their clothes, hoping that his friends were already there, and sure enough they were. The relief in their eyes were short-lived as a harsh voice boomed and echoed “Cinderella!” across the woods. Faster than they had ever, they stripped out of the fine garments and started searching out their separate under-things then fastened on whichever breeches fit close enough. It was at that point where Harry reached over Blaise to grasp a tunic when his blue-eyed friend gasped loudly.

Ron swivelled around and stared at Blaise, his eyes drifting down to Harry’s chest where the silver meshwork had always hung; the only thing that the boy owned worth any value at all. “My necklace,” Harry cried mournfully. “It’s gone!”

“…you truly are wingless now, my butterfly…” Blaise whispered, but set to work to dress himself and the smaller boy. Harry winced, his hand twitching emptily over his chest.

“Stop saying things like that, Blaise,” Ron objected, pulling his friends as he did so. “You’re only making things worse. S’alright, Harry mate. Spilt milk and all that. We ought to get you back to the kitchens double sharp. We’ll come look for it some other time.”

“W-wait.” Harry bent down and gathered the fine garments in his arms, his eyes wild with fear and worry. “What about-”

“Give it here, butter.” With ease, Blaise took the clothes out of Harry’s arms and as he touched the finery, the material whirled in a soft whoosh of air, turning into reddish hued leaves. “No evidence to prove us guilty. Now run, Harry. May Mother and her Maiden shelter you until we meet again.”

With one last glance behind him as he ran alongside Ron, Harry saw his friend disappear, wisps trembling in the wind’s wake.

“Blimey, he always did call you such weird names, mate,” Ron huffed beside him, struggling to keep up with Harry. “Even coming from a Fae.”

Harry grimaced. “At least it’s better than being called-”

“Cinderella!”

‘’ ‘’ ‘’

Harry raced past the freshly raked grounds, not pausing to give Ron a fleeting goodbye as his friend dashed into the stables. Huffing and straining to catch his breath, Harry entered the kitchens through the back door and was greeted by a plump woman, her ginger hair piled on top of her head and her apron powdered with flour.

“Hurry up, Harry,” she clucked, wiping her hands on her apron and coming over to run her mothering hand over the slight boy. “Lord Dursley’s blithely taken out his shotgun looking for you.” She cast a worried glance at the boy, pulling out a wooden bowl and ladle.

“M’sorry, Mummy Weasley. Only, Ron and I were-”

“Tch, don’t bother with making up excuses for me. It’s the young master you’ll want explaining to. I swear, the Lord blessed and cursed me with so many boys to mind.” She smiled at the chastised Harry to show she meant it teasingly. Taking his hands, she gave him a bowl of porridge and sat him down on the table. “Now you eat all that up. That’s a good lad. And the milk, Harry. Double sharp now.” Once finished, she swooped down and pressed a kiss on the boy’s forehead, swatting his bum as he cheekily scrubbed the spot with his sleeve. Echoes of laughter drifted away as Harry ran out of the kitchen, up the servants’ steps and into the antechamber.

Carefully, he spied out of the little doorway and took heart that no one was there to notice him. Rushing out, Harry raced through the open hallways, up the grand stairs to the second floor and straight to Dudley’s room. He hated having to attend to the baron’s son—it was the only time he had to be seen in the heavily gilded manor—and he hated the baron’s son even more.

Thanking the Mother and her Maiden—very much in the fashion that Blaise regularly does (which always brought a grin to the blue-eyed boy’s lips)—Harry took his position by the footstool placed in front of a full length mirror and waited.

He didn’t have to wait long as in a matter of minutes, a rotund boy, by far nowhere near as tall as Ron even but bulkier nevertheless, stormed in. The boy had mousy brown hair crowning his round face and a pair of pale blue eyes; the beauty a waste on such a violent demeanour. When he realised Harry’s presence in his room, the boy grinned maliciously and sauntered closer, eyeing his servant from head to toe.

“Well, where’ve you been to, Cinderella?”

Harry’s verdant eyes flashed defiantly, his face snapping up to glare at that beady leer. “Don’t call me that!” Harry’s own lips quirked into a smirk. “Dudley.”

The pale blue leer flared, his nostrils widening and Dudley smacked the raven-haired head with the back of his ringed hand. Harry recoiled, his hand clasped on his forehead where a trickling stream of blood coated his fingers. “I told you! I told you!” Dudley’s meaty fist struck again, meeting Harry’s chest so that he crumbled backwards and fell into the mirror, shattering it as he fell flat on his back. “I am heir to this manor and Lord Dylan to you”

Dudley’s chest heaved in his anger and as he looked down on the quivering boy, those welling green orbs trickling with the first signs of fear, and the knowledge that he was the one to cast the first stone at Harry made him feel empowered. “Where’ve you been, Cinderella” Dudley asked again with false sweetness.

“I’ve- I’ve been here-” Harry stuttered.

“Liar!” Another fist fell followed by a booted heel. Harry cried in pain and curled inwards, the movement causing the shards of glass pricking his back to sink deeper. Dudley grasped a fist full of the boy’s hair and pulled until their faces were within an inch apart. “You belong to me, Harry,” Dudley leered, rolling the boy’s name on his tongue. “You’d best remember that,” he spat, “No one wanted you, Harry. They left you to die and it’s only because my mother had a momentary lapse of sappiness that you’re still alive at all.” Those verdant eyes—oh how, he despised its brilliance—those evergreen eyes glazed over and in a breath of submissiveness, Harry lowered his lashes, eyes drawn away.

“Forgive me Lord Dylan.” Harry murmured, “I forgot my place.”

Perhaps it was those very words that drove the young heir’s actions. Or perhaps the way Harry’s lips appeared so much like rose petals set on winter’s first snow, the way his eyes swept downwards in submission…

Forcefully, Dudley lunged forward and pressed his lips over Harry’s, their teeth clashing and his disgustingly over-sized tongue swiping the warm cavern of Harry’s mouth. Harry struggled under Dudley’s weight, a momentary spark fighting against his oppressor, but with a harsh tug of his hair that made him see black spots behind his eyelids, Harry’s strength fled him. He laid there, lifeless limbs depending on Dudley and the shards of glass to support them, waiting for Dudley to finish taking his fill of perverse pleasure.

With a sickening smacking sound, Dudley pulled back, his eyes never wider than right at that moment. His flushed features appeared flustered and for once, he was uncertain of himself. “If anyone—anyone—finds out about this, I’ll- I’ll kill you, understand?”

Confusion shifted under his eyelids—what reason did he have to fear the exposure of Harry’s treatment, was it not normal?—but Harry replied nevertheless, “Yes Lord Dylan.”

“Good.” Dudley let go of his breath, not realising that he had been holding it. Impulsively he grabbed Harry’s head again and pressed his mouth onto Harry’s, tasting those rose petal lips, drinking the warmth from out of them until Harry wondered if perhaps that was the reason why he felt so cold inside…

‘’ ‘’ ‘’

Harry stood blinking in disbelief at the door of his little room. Abruptly, he turned around and looked down the five flights of stairs, wondering how he hadn’t realised that he’d climbed all the way up without at least stubbing a toe somewhere. Lilting laughter reached his ears and Harry smiled sheepishly as he stepped back into his tiny room.

Lounging on his cot was the tanned Fae creature with his mischievous blue eyes, but the smile disappeared altogether when he noticed the bruises that littered his friend’s pale skin. “Harry? What happened…?” His feet brought him straight into Blaise’s open arms and as he buried his face into the warm embrace, the cold that had seeped into him from Dudley drained away.

“He- he tried to eat my mouth,” Harry answered. “Like how Ron tried with Hermione.”

Blaise’s brows furrowed, gazing down at the face pressed snug in the crook of his neck. “He? Dudley?” Harry nodded. “He kissed you?” once more the boy nodded and alarmed, Blaise pulled away from Harry and ran his hands over the boy’s shaking body. Tears they hadn’t noticed before freely ran down milk white cheeks. “Did he touch you anywhere else, Harry? It is important that you be honest with me now. Did he touch you anywhere else apart from that kiss?”

Harry’s face scrunched up in perplexity, not understanding his friend’s suddenness. Dudley had reacted much in the same way—fearful and nervous. “Touch me?” he lifted up his shirt and showed his friend the purpling bruises across his chest. “He certainly wasn’t tickling me,” Harry said incredulously, his lips quirking into a half-smile despite his tears and Blaise could not help his relieved laugh. “And I wouldn’t call it a kiss. That wasn’t a kiss! That was Dudley the whale trying to eat my mouth!”

“Oh really? Are you the master of kisses now, my butterfly?” Blaise inched back in the cot, pulling Harry into the small bed with him until they were lying like snug caterpillars in their cocoon.

The verdant eyes glittered. “Of course! I’m the only one who gets real kisses around here.”

“And who from, might I ask?”

“Mummy Weasley,” was the proud answer.

“That’s because you’re the only one who’ll let her,” but Blaise smiled indulgently all the same, carding his tanned hand through the raven-feathered hair fluttering by his cheek. “We’ll look for your wings tomorrow, my butterfly.”

Harry perked up instantly, beaming through his excitement, but it faltered. “Ron won’t be able to come though… he has to study at the parish tomorrow.”

“Eh? So soon? How old is Ronald?” Blaise guessed, pursing his lips, “Eight? Nine…?”

“Eight and a half.”

“And that must make you at least six, am I not right?” Blaise questioned jokingly.

“I’m the same as Ron and you know that Blaise!”

The larger boy sniggered. “You do not look it, butter.”

Harry huffed beside him but the pout quirked into curiosity instantly. “How old are you”

And his Fae friend answered in his mysterious fashion, “As old as you want me to be.”

They lulled into a comfortable silence then, Blaise petting the smaller body and softly chuckling whenever the smaller person made childish noises if he stopped.

“Blaise?” Harry asked softly, “Why are you here…?”

His hand paused for a moment before continuing his attentions. “Would you rather I was not?” He felt Harry’s fingers bunch up his tunic tensely. Blaise moved his hand to curl around Harry’s, coaxing the fingers until they calmed. “The blessed Mother willed it and so I am here. At first, I only thought that we would be able to play all night; it didn’t occur to me that you would be in need of comfort…” Blaise gently tilted the slight face upwards, placing an even gentler kiss on the bruised forehead. Harry’s eyes closed involuntarily, hiding his tears. “It will get better, Harry. I promise that it will.”

‘’ ‘’ ‘’

There is a song in the woods—a song of silence and stillness and nature—that changes from day to ever lasting day. It lifted the hearts of the two boys as they trudged through the reddish expanse of dried, fallen leaves. And as they walked under the slight curtains of sunlight pouring through the thick branches, their smiles shone with a brilliance that was worth more than all of the world’s gold.

They talked of games and stories and dreams. Of quiet nights wondering what the other person was doing and of laborious days filled with duties and work, work, work. It was their moment together—as so few had come to pass—and in their inconsequential chatter they were happy.

“Here!” Harry cried when they came to a copse in the denser part of the woods. “This is as far as I went.” Together they squeezed through the thicket—more of a struggle for Blaise—and fell into a small circle of blinding light.

“You!” A voice shattered the silence and when their vision filtered through the sunlight, they saw before them another boy with Blaise’s build, silver-blonde hair, and such storm-grey eyes staring at them in mild surprise.

Blaise coolly pulled Harry behind him and sized up the blonde stranger, scowling at the unmistakeable mien of nobility. “Who are you?” Blaise asked rudely, not letting go when Harry tugged at his arm and hissed his name from behind. “He is from the castle, my butterfly, and if I have learnt anything in my years is that they are not to be trusted.”

The words spoken in such severity brought a defensive reaction from the silver-blonde boy. He raised himself to his full height and stared at the blue sapphires glinting from the tanned boy. “I mean you—either of you—no harm,” he intoned dryly, a swaggering lilt to his cultured voice but gave a polite nod of his head towards Harry as if acknowledging him with a sense of mutual superiority.

“Good. We are looking for a necklace that belongs to my friend here; made of silver and designed to appear as wings. Have you seen something like it?” Blaise stared heatedly at the blonde but the other boy denied ever seeing it. There was a niggling sensation at the back of his mind urging him to question the blonde even more but Harry was becoming impatient.

“Forget about it, Blaise,” said Harry, though his eyes were woeful with his loss. “Let’s just go play… It’s just a silly old thing-”

The despondent tone tugged at the Fae’s heart but before he could reply, the blonde interjected, a hint of excitement tingeing his earlier condescension. “Can I play too?”

“Sure.” Harry beamed at his newfound friend but in the blink of an eye, Blaise had disappeared, his last expression a scowl that dominated his normally smiling eyes. It worried Harry yet in the next instant his attentions were preoccupied with the startlingly energetic theatrics of his nameless friend as they cart wheeled and hurdled through the woods playing whatever games came to mind until their hearts soared and their cheeks were wind bitten and pink.

They wouldn’t know that it would be the one and only time they would spend together in such unadulterated innocence.