All of the Emperor's Children

Chapter One:

"Well?" Hermione concluded. Her tone was challenging, her stance proud. Her precious ivory fan with its tragic history opened and she gracefully fanned herself as she waited for an answer. The day was hot, and although the small breeze her fan created was made up of warm air, it was till refreshing. "Will you do it?" The second question was asked more calmly and gently, with the barest hint of a drawl to it.

Harry and Ron had been exchanging glances throughout the entire soliloquy, impressed with her knowledge and well thought-out strategy, yet leery of trusting someone they had just met. The idea sounded promising, but was not necessarily so. Every plan had its flaws, and even when contingency plans were made for every thought-of possibility, you could never quite cover them all.

"We'll need time to think," Ron finally said, his blue eyes watching Hermione carefully for a single gesture that would betray her loyalties.

"What is there to think about?" Hermione asked crisply. "Either I'm trustworthy or I'm not. If I'm not, you can ignore me. If I am, you consider whether my offer is appealing or not. If it is not, you can dismiss me, but if it is, you consider whether I'm asking too much. If I am, we can negotiate. If I am not, I don't see any reason why you shouldn't take me up on my offer."

"We'll need a day," Harry said firmly. "To consider your offer from all perspectives. You understand the need for subtlety, of course. We will give you our answer tomorrow."

"How?" Hermione asked, one eyebrow delicately arched. Her expression grew sly as she pulled out the trump card she had dangled in front of them yet refused to reveal earlier during her monologue. "According to palace rumor, which is usually surprisingly accurate, you're Apparating to Galena tonight, and then heading for the Eliniac Villages." Her lips twisted into a wry smirk as she emphasized the word "Apparating," seeing the expressions on their faces. As they were nobles, and favored sons of the Jade Emperor, they shouldn't need to Apparate. As it was, they were Apparating to Galena, a common Apparition Point that nobles weren't expected to use. And, they were heading directly for the Eliniac Villages, instead of spending several days in comfortable hotels, like a son of the Emperor should be treated. They were slighted thrice in that one sentence.

"We will send word," Harry said, his face betraying nothing. "Trust me. We'll find a way."

"And if I receive more promising offers?" Hermione asked, leaving the question dangling. That would never happen, of course, because no one would actually consider offering the foreign princess a place among his or her allies. It was a looming possibility, however; especially if Draco Malfoy caught wind of this rendezvous.

"Then you are free to turn us down," Harry said calmly. "As it is, we shall give you our answer tomorrow. You can count on it."

Hermione nodded, recognizing Harry's adamancy and his reason for it. "Then I shall be leaving now. Winky!"

"Coming, Mistress!" a small figure scurried from the closed doors and came for her mistress, pillowcase flopping about her ankles.

Hermione opened her mouth to say something about the title, but realized that Winky was being prudent. If she appeared too progressive in front of Harry and Ron, no matter how liberal they were, she could possibly ruin her chances of returning to Avalon. And, if Winky was caught calling her something other than Mistress by prying ears, she would "get clothes" whether Hermione could help it or not. "Let's go," she said grandly, her formal dresswear* swishing about her ankles as she went outside and ascended upon the jiao.

Ron watched out of the window, making sure she had left before turning around. "So."

"So," Harry echoed, lost in thought.

"What do you think?" Ron finally asked, breaking the silence as he waited patiently for an answer.

Harry, who by this time had made his way over to one of the four straight-backed chairs that was regulated to each of the mens' quarters, looked up in surprise. "Of what?"

"Of what?" Ron echoed incredulously. "Of the offer?"

"We'll accept it, of course," Harry said, blinking, looking rather owlish from behind his thick-framed glasses. "What did you think?"

"But-," Ron sputtered. "Harry, are you thinking clearly?"

"Of course I am," Harry said. "What are you going on about? Are you referring to how firm I was on having a day before giving an answer? You should know the answer to that."

"That's not what I meant!" Ron said. "She's a girl!"

There was a slow silence, in which Ron realized what he had just said.

"You sound like Malfoy," Harry noted in passing even as he turned to confront Ron with his emerald green eyes.

"That's not what I meant," Ron sighed. "Look, you and I have no prejudices against girls, but the plain and simple fact is that in this Palace Royale, girls are useless. They have absolutely no influence whatsoever, and they spend their entire time on their looks. I would, too, considering that if one eyelash is out of place, and the Emperor notices, then it's off with their heads. Plus, they have no protection whatsoever. The moment Malfoy catches wind of what we're up to, he'll have her killed. That's if she isn't publicly made an example of for interfering with politics! There isn't really anything she can do with getting herself exiled to the ends of the earth. She can't help without endangering her life!"

Harry sighed, and took off his thick glasses, placing them on the mahogany table beside him. His head sank into his hands as he massaged his eyes, yawning. When he finally spoke, his voice was weary and exhausted, his shoulders drooping. He was letting his mask down, and anyone could see how vulnerable he looked. "Ron," he said tiredly. "We have no other choice. It's either accept her help and assistance or end up dead as soon as Malfoy because Heir. He'll try his best to get us executed. If that doesn't work, he'll just bide his time. You can't nullify an Heir, killing one is a death sentence, and once he ascends the throne, we won't live much longer. It's our last and, need I say, only hope."

Ron recognized the hopeless tone in Harry's voice. Once in a while, Harry completely lost faith in their beliefs, their views, and their hopes for the future. He would become extremely depressed and melancholy. Unless the two staged a long, heated debate about their beliefs, Harry would not be overcoming his hopelessness anytime soon. Still, now was not the time for the tri-yearly Harry-Breakdown. Right now, it was imperative that Harry keep his faith and not falter before the enemy's gaze. Yet Ron could not help but ask the question he knew would only contribute to Harry's readiness to give up. "What if she dies?" Ron asked, looking at Harry. "We would be responsible."

Harry looked up, his emerald eyes deadened with the look of one who has seen too much pain and suffering, as is usual among the nobility, especially the younger sons who must fight to keep their lives. "Ron, if Malfoy becomes Heir, she'll become one of his targets anyways. She represents what he hates. A foreign woman cleverer than him."

Ron sighed, seeing the look. He put up his hands. "If you say so, Harry. Anything to keep Malfoy off the throne." He paused, before correcting himself. "Almost anything." He watched to see if there was any reaction from Harry, any sign of life, any gesture that showed he had been listening and understood what Ron was trying to say.

Harry did not respond, eyes already staring off into space, mind whirling with plans and worries. Ron grimaced, realized that Harry had not been paying attention.

"All right," Ron turned. "I'm going to go back to my rooms now. See you later." There was just no way to talk to Harry when he was in a particularly pensive mood. He walked out, but paused to look at the sentries Fred and George. "Try to keep Harry in a good mood," he said shortly, his mind on other things. "He's losing faith, and we can't afford that. Do you understand?"

The twins, clad in garish yellow shirts (only nobles wore robes), nodded simultaneously. "Yes, Jade Prince Ron," they said together, heads bent as they kneeled.

Ron nodded, and left to climb upon his jiao. His last thought before he prepared for a bumpy ride back to his quarters was a rather dismayed, How am I going to explain this to Ginny?

*****Meanwhile*****

Hermione stepped out of the jiao, relieved to be back in her own courtyard. Her sectional** may not have had as many luxuries as Harry's quarters had, but it was her home and thus there was a faint feeling of relief every time she returned to it. It wasn't much of a haven, but it belonged to her, and that gave it some sort of familiarity that she doubted she would ever find elsewhere. Unlike the either overly drab or ostentatiously flamboyant sectionals of the other princesses sharing her courtyard, her sectional was vibrant with colors, yet properly modest. She was proud of it, as a matter of fact. In a burst of creativity, she had provided most of the colors through nature.

Atop the peak of the roof, there flew a small flag, invisible but to those who searched for it. It bore a wand (the symbol for Gaea) and a staff (the symbol for Avalon) crossed, representing the union of the two countries through her mother's marriage to the Emperor. Unlike Gaea, Avalon valued even the nonmagic, and her mother had been one of the nonmagic, though still a noble. Many dissenters (in other words, bigots) in Gaea thought of her mother as a commoner because of this, and there were many assassination attempts ... in fact, there were more than most of the population of the Imperial Palace were aware of. Which was why, of course, she had a pair of trained bodyguards that appeared almost everywhere with her.

As she stepped into her garden, one of the few small luxuries she allowed herself (another being the splendid decorations around her small sectional), two twins of Indian descent dropped down from a nearby rowan tree to land beside her. Both possessed a brilliant, yet subtle beauty and were quick with words, weapons, and wands. The Patil twins were two of the Elite Order of the Magi back in Avalon, and had been trained from birth to protect her (who was still viewed as a princess in Isisa).

"Parvati. Padma," she greeted, nodding her head even as she bent down to inhale the fragrant odor of the Carefree Camellias (flowers that washed away your worries when you made a potion out of them, and were faintly relaxing when you inhaled them). Of a pale, washed-out yellow color, they were not much to look out, but were useful for a number of things. They helped her to relax, for one. They also induced others to loosen their tongues, not necessarily inducing them to speak, but making them more comfortable in their environment and ready to speak. The Camellias really were useful, and had helped her a number of times when she had invited other princesses over to gather news on the latest gossip. Of course, the only gossip the princesses could provide that was of use was the information House-Elves did not bother to find out. Otherwise, Winky was able to ferret out secrets from other House-Elves, and told her mistress the most important ones. She was, in fact, probably the only one who did this, as other nobles didn't even deign to speak to their House-Elves unless they issued commands.

"Herm," Parvati said. Parvati was the friendlier one, and more skilled at casting spells and assuming disguises, while Padma was better at fighting and discretion. "You might like to know that a spy was following you from the Founders' Pagoda (referring to the courtyard the most favored of the Emperors' sons lived in) back here. I think he's one of Malfoy's men. The Prince occupying Slytherin's Quarters."

"So Malfoy knows," Hermione sighed. "I suppose it was too much to hope that he wouldn't have found out. After all, he rarely visits his quarters. He spends most of his time off gallivanting across the country, increasing his political support."

"But he has men there," Padma pointed out. Padma was more businesslike. Although Padma and Parvati were identical, Hermione had always been able to tell them apart, probably because she had known them for so long. Born and bred in Isisa, Padma and Parvati had been sent here to Atlantis at the tender age of ten (having completed their training with facility) when Hermione's mother had died. They had protected her ever since, not fully recognized as bodyguards by the Emperor, yet allowed in high-security-clearance areas.

Hermione nodded. "All right. Padma. Any news on their choice?" She tapped her finger against her chin as she waited to hear Harry and Ron had said after she had left. Although she never went anywhere without at least one of them, she often kept one with her and sent another on a prearranged errand, gathering information or destroying incriminating documents as favors for some of her ... paying friends, she supposed. She would never do a favor like that for an enemy, yet she wouldn't do it for a friend, either, without a substantial amount of money. And even her "paying friends" didn't know who she was dealing with. It was a dangerous business she was involved with, but the benefits were useful, among them a number of favors owed her (anonymously, of course) by a variety of people.

"They were bluffing you," Padma said flatly. "Harry was going to go along with your plan anyways. Osiris knows why he held out for that one day."

Hermione's look became speculative. "I can think of a number of reasons," she said finally. "Some of them are good. Some of them are bad. Most of them are politically sound." She eyed Padma and Parvati, sizing them up. "I need one of you to go with the Princes to southwestern Gaea. It's not that I don't trust them, but if I end up keeping Malfoy off the throne, and they're dead somewhere, it's not really of much use to me."

Parvati and Padma exchanged glances. This would throw off their plan, as well as slow down a number of operations they were currently planning. But if the Princess said so, she must have a good reason. Hermione never did anything without weighing the pros and the cons.

"I need someone who can gain their trust easily, gain access to their rooms quickly, put up fortifying wards secretively, and make sure that they don't die or betray me. The other, of course, will have to stay behind and help me carry out my plan alone, modifying it as we go along," Hermione said. She bit her lip, weighing her options. "Parvati," she said finally. "You'll go with Harry and Ron, and Padma will stay behind."

"Sure, Herm," Parvati said, eyes sparkling appreciatively as she considered the challenge ahead her. She was already imagining the best way to ingratiate herself into Harry's and Ron's presence, the best wards to put up, and the best alibi/alias she could assume.

"Yes, Hermione," Padma said, already adapting her plans to accommodate the changes they had just made. "But the entire plan will have to move slower, because I can't be in two places at once."

Hermione nodded. "I understand. I'll have to examine our situation some more before I can set up a new schedule, but I'll have it ready for you to look over by noon. You can go now," she said, knowing that they would want to spend the last few hour before their missions meditating and preparing themselves. The two had been brought up together, and had never spent more than a night apart. Now, they would spend an indefinite amount of time leagues away from each other. The loneliness, for them, would be magnified tenfold because their semi-telepathic link would not be able to cover such long distances.

Padma and Parvati nodded simultaneously, and faded into the background with ease, grace, and just a touch of the Chameleon Charm. Hermione, meanwhile, saw Princess Lavender emerging from her sectional, and hurried inside her own rooms. Although Princess Lavender was very sympathetic and compassionate, and a good provider of gossip, she was also an empty-headed, babbling blonde who often had nothing better to do with her time than speculate on the private lives of others. Her gossip was often vicious, though true, and she put way too much faith into her daily Divinators, who made up something and told it to her, and sat smugly back as she came back the next day gushing about how right they had been, and paying them exorbitant amounts of money. Really, she was wonderful about sorting through truths and untruths when it involved gossip, but she was so gullible when it came to "telling her fortune".

As Hermione entered her rooms, she promptly cast a cooling charm. She had no idea why Harry and Ron had chosen not to cool down their steaming hot room but she had no scruples about using magic for comfort. She sighed as she sat down on a plain brown rigid-backed chair (with a cushioning charm on it, of course), and contemplated her dilemma. Her plans would proceed much more slowly if she only had Padma to help her, but leaving Harry and Ron vulnerable like that was just asking for them to be assassinated. Still, this was her last chance. She knew that Draco Malfoy hated her, his reason being that her mother had been a "mere commoner", never mind her sharp wits and rapid adaptation skills. Her mother even had genteel blood, but that was not enough for Draco Malfoy, because she wasn't "magic". And of course, she herself had "tainted blood" because her mother had not possessed the skill to move things by waving a hunk of wood in the air. If Draco Malfoy did ascend the throne, she, Hermione Granger, would be dead before the sun rose the next day. But if she could keep Malfoy off of the throne long enough, she could safely return to Avalon. She didn't trust "if"s though. They didn't get you through life. She had to look at this objectively.

The plan would either succeed or fail. If it failed, she would die. If it succeeded, her part in it would either be discovered or it wouldn't. If her part in it was discovered, she would die. If her part wasn't discovered, Harry and Ron could either keep their part of the bargain, or they couldn't. If they did, she would go safely back to Avalon and never have to worry about this again. If they did not keep their part of the bargain, one of two things would happen to her. She would either be executed/assassinated because "dead men (or in this case, women) tell no tales", or she would be married off to some stuffy noble who would expect her to manufacture heirs and be a dutiful wife. If the latter happened, she would probably die of boredom or commit suicide. It didn't look like she had a very good chance of living through this.

Hermione closed her eyes. Why couldn't her life have been simple?

To be continued ...