Once upon a time in a kingdom far, far away there lived a young girl who loved her father very, very much. Her name was Ginerva.

Her father was Lord Arthur of St. Ottery. She had seven brothers, all living away from home in the service of His Majesty, King James. When Ginerva was six years old her mother had taken ill from a mysterious illness that lead her to her grave. Her father remarried a few years later to a foreign woman by the name of Persephone Patil. She had twin daughters from a previous marriage, Parvati and Padma. They were all pretty enough but they were also cruel. They hated Ginerva and eventually banned her from sitting at the dinner table with the family. They took away all her pretty frocks and gave her rags to wear. She was moved out of her spacious rooms with view over the garden and lily pond and into a cold tower-room. She was now, they told her, one of the servants. And poor Ginerva worked from sun-up to sundown. She prepared their meals, she washed the floors and made their beds. She never complained but did her work quietly and diligently. Her stepsisters teased her, calling her Cinderella, for she was always covered in soot and grime from the kitchen, her fair skin covered with dirt and her lovely red hair hidden under a cloth.

"You're nothing but a filthy commoner, a Muggle." They said and shoved her so she fell into the ashes in the fireplace.

Her father was never there to witness the cruel treating of his daughter for he was an adventurer, traveling the known world, looking for the treasures of their folk legends. He looked for the First Tear of the Phoenix, the Heart of the Gentle Dragon and the Silver Arrow, each a magical artifact with great power in it's own. If he were there the stepmother and stepsisters would act kind to her and then banish her to the kitchens as soon as he had left again.

Her brothers never came home for they were away, fighting in the war, except for her youngest brother, Ronald. He was at the Royal Palace in training to be a knight and was never allowed outside the castle walls.

It looked for a grim life for poor Ginerva but fate seemed to think differently.

King James and Queen Lily had one son, Prince Harry. He was seventeen years old and therefore of marrying age. He however showed no interest in that, more intent on developing his magical ability with his master, Sir Dumbledore.

Queen Lily invited princesses and daughters of the noblest houses in the kingdom to the palace but no-one seemed to spark the interest of her son.

"I swear," She complained to her husband one night, "There is not one girl in the entire kingdom Harry wants to marry."

"Well," Her husband, suffering from an intense headache from dealing with advisors and lawyers all day, said. "Just invite everyone and eventually, he will have to fall in love with one of them. If he doesn't, he shall marry Princess Emaline, for my sake."

"Oh, James." His wife cried. "What a wonderful idea. I'll throw a ball and invite every eligible girl in the kingdom. We'll throw it on Harry's birthday, so he won't suspect a thing."

And therefore it came about a royal messenger came to the mansion in St.Ottery with an invite to a ball to the ladies of the house.

"Oh, girls." Persephone cried excitedly. "We will call your father home immediately," for she referred to Lord Arthur as their father, "and he will buy you the prettiest frocks and the nicest jewels found in the kingdom."

"But mother, I don't want Padma to come to." Parvati objected. "I'm two minutes older and tradition says the older sister must be married before the younger looks for a husband."

"Mother. That is completely unfair, treating me like I'm Ginerva or something!" Padma shouted.

"Hush darling." Persephone chastised her. "A ladies voice should never be higher than the gentle rustle of the wind in the willow. And Parvati, dear, of course Padma will come too, this is not some oafish noble, this is Prince Harry. Now, I think your frocks are going to be purple, for blue is Prince Harry's favourite colour and red is the colour of the kingdom. We shall use diamonds, of course…oh, I must write to your father immediately."

"Can I go too, stepmother?" Ginerva asked from the corner of the parlour, where she was dusting of some hideous porcelain statues owned by Persephone. Her stepmother turned around, holding her swan-feather quill aloft.

"You?" She asked. "Why would you want to go to a dance? You don't know how to dance and you don't even have a frock to wear."

"The invitation says 'ladies of the house. I'm a lady."

"In what dimension?" Parvati asked sniedely.

"Now, Parvati, there's no need to get less than courteous. Ginerva dear," She addressed her, "if you have finished all your chores in time, I don't see why you can't come. Now, go and make me some tea."

"But mother!" Padma objected as Ginerva hurried from the room. She could go to the dance! Nevermind that almost everytime her chores kept her up until around midnight, when she finally nodded of while mending stockings and washing handkerchiefs in rose-water. The dance was now three weeks away. All she needed was a plan.

What went on in the parlour:

"Mother," Padma said. "You aren't seriously thinking of letting that pig join us at the ball? She'll embarrass us and Prince Harry will never marry me then."

"My dear girl, didn't you listen to a word I said? I said if. And if is miles away from a yes." Persephone replied, a smug smile playing on her dark lips.

Two weeks before the ball, Lord Arthur returned to his house. He came with trunks packed with the finest Chinese silk and taffeta. He also carried sacks of precious jewels that would be meticulously hand-sewed in by the manors seamstresses. His two stepdaughters would be dressed to the latest fashion and with the best materials gold could buy. Of course he thought there would be three dresses sewn and three pairs of dancing slippers bought and the hairdresser paid to do up three girls, no two. For he loved his only daughter dearly, remembering her as the cheerful child she used to be. His wife told him that while he was away she was insolent and rude but when he was around Ginerva barely spoke a word, looming in the corners of the rooms, head bowed and never quite as well dressed as the other three. It worried him but he daren't say a word to his wife. He had once and the fury unleashed on him had kept him away from home for four months. He had already decided he would leave after a week to visit his estates in the country and collect taxes. He didn't expected to be back before the ball but much rather the day after.

Both Lord Arthur and his late wife, Lady Molly, were magical. They had passed their heritage on to their sons but it was not traditional to formally educate daughters with magical abilities but most nobles looked past that rule, teaching their daughters all they knew. Ginerva was too young to have shown her abilities when Lord Arthur married Persephone. Neither Persephone nor her daughters were magical, so she had all magic banned from the house. The few servants with magical abilities were banned from using them and fired if discovered. Ginerva had a powerful branch of magic in her. She found if she didn't use it, glasses tended to break if she concentrated too hard and the air around her began to hum. So she practiced secretly, levitating small stones and moving objects around the room. She had never used them before with her chores but now desperate times called for desperate measures. Now she would no longer do the dishes by hand but make them do it themselves while she cleaned the house. Stockings mended themselves while she was busy baking. If she hadn't used her magic those weeks she never would've finished for her stepmother piled her with chores and duties. Her sisters seemed to have exceptionally large amounts of laundry, all which needed to be handwashed with the upmost gentleness. But she handled it all with unusual briskness.

There was, however, the matter of the frock. She only had dirty and tattered skirts and shirts she wore everyday, none fit for polite society, let alone the royal palace. She started looking around for dresses her sisters had discarded, for they were last month's fashion, and with the help of an old book of dresses she made the most beautiful frock. It was shimmering white, who on Padma had washed out her dark skin and brown eyes, but on Ginerva it brought out the green of her eyes and made her hair look glowing. Her mother had left her a emerald pendant, which she had kept hidden form her stepmother, for it was of the finest make and best of qualities. She threaded it upon a silver chain. It was the only piece of jewelry she planned on wearing, for her ears were not pierced and she didn't own anything else. She saved up the few gold coins she had managed to scavenge from coat-pockets and purses and snuck into the town one day to buy slippers. She had to buy the cheapest the cobbler had but they were white so it was all right.

Every night she went to bed completely exhausted but excited at the prospect of spending one night looking at all the well-dressed people and eating delicious food. She hardly thought about Prince Harry, knowing full well he should marry some princess, not little old her.

"Father." Harry said. "I'm barely seventeen, I don't think I should marry just jet. I want to travel, see the world. I want to fight in the war, not bow to poncy little socialites and listen to how they love taking walks underneath the cherry trees!"

"Don't even mention going off to the war!" James replied harshly. "You're my only child. If you die I'll have to live forever or hand the throne over to some distant relative, all stalking around waiting till I die. And if I'm not dying quickly enough they'll hurry up the process, I suspect. No," He said dejectedly. "Get married, produce an heir and then we'll talk about fighting in wars."

"Yes, father." Harry replied, knowing this discussion had come to an end, ending unfavorably for him once again.

"You seem distracted, Master Harry." Dumbledore said to his young pupil. "Tell me, what weighs so heavily upon your mind?"

"Father wants me to marry. He says I can't fight until I do." Harry said, staring gloomily at the feather he was to transform into a ring.

"Well of course he wants that. He was but eighteen himself when he married young Lily, And you followed in the year after. Your situations were not altogether unsimilar. He was eager to fight wars and slay dragons. His father was going grey worrying that he wouldn't climb over the castle walls and fight anyway. And then he met your mother and realized there were things worth going to war over and worth keeping the peace over."

"That's all well and good for him but I'm my own person. I've almost finished my training, I'm a better swordsman than most in the castle and my horse is quicker than anyone's."

"I daresay young master Ronald is hot on your heels when it comes to a swordfight. And you still haven't successfully transformed that feather. " Dumbledore replied with a glint in his eye. "Now, think about the transformation, feel the softness of the feather go hard and cold. Feel it coil around itself as it becomes a complete and unbreakable circle."

Harry stared intently at the feather and slowly it began to transform. Small pearls of sweat formed on his forehead and before him lay a gold ring.

"Very good Master Harry." Dumbledore said pleased. "Now remember every nobleman has his duties and preserving his lineage is one of them. And also, when you marry you can stop chasing the kitchen maids around." He said and gave Harry a playful slap on the shoulder as the young prince turned a very common shade of red.

On the day of the ball Parvati and Padma spent their days soaking on hot water and perfumes, ensuring that every inch of their bodies smelled divine. Ginerva combed fragrant oils into their long black hair before the hairdresser twisted it and pinned as fashion required. Then the applied rouge to their lips and lined their dark eyes with kohl, ensuring that their exotic features were visible in what was sure to be a dark ballroom. Ginerva was running around the whole day, sweaty and exhausted. She sneezed from the fumes of the bath making her hair appear from under the cloth she always covered it with and frizz to no end. She hadn't had time to wash her face or hands so everything she touched got stained. Eventually, an hour before they were set to leave they sent her out of the room, saying they wouldn't be in the same room as her any longer, fearing the stench of her would linger on them.

And it was true, she did stink. She was sweaty and covered in grime and dirt from crawling around on the floor, looking for escaped earrings and buttons. Having used both all the firewood and the water taking so long to heat she decided to bathe herself in the little stream that ran next to her dear mother's grave. She gasped as she stepped into the water, even though it was high summer the little stream was cold as ice. But she closed her eyes firmly and steeled herself before sinking her head under the surface. As she re-emerged she suddenly realized she was no longer cold.

"I'm going to a dance tonight." She told the willow that grew on her mother's grave as the stream danced along her hips. "You taught me to dance as a little girl, I hope I remember it still."

And then she stepped out of the stream, wrapping a cloth around her virgin body. She hurried to her room where her beautiful frock waited for her. She pulled it over her head, stepping into the slippers and hanging the pendant around her neck. She quickly brushed her hair, tried to twist it into a bun but grimaced and let it hang loose down her back. She could hear her stepmother talking to her stepsisters three floors down. They were leaving she could hear. She ran down the narrow stairs of the tower, holding the hem of her dress up so she wouldn't tear it. As she came to the door at the bottom of the tower, the one that lead to the foyer she pulled the handle. But the door wouldn't open. She pulled harder, thinking the door was stuck but it still didn't open. She was desperate now, for she could hear the driver outside greet her stepmother as he opened the door to the coach for her.

"Wait!" She cried and pulled at the handle desperately. "Wait for me!"

Then she heard the most beautiful sound she had ever heard. It was clear and reassuring and somehow she imagined a gentle face with golden hair. She didn't realize at first that the sound was singing. She couldn't see any source of the song but when the last, high notes died out the handle of the door finally gave after and the door swung open.

She looked into the dark, empty foyer. They had left without her. She could hear the rattle of wheels in the distance and see through the large windows a faint shape of a disappearing wagon.

Tears of disappointment threatened to flow over the brims but Ginerva stopped herself. She had never cried over them, she would not start now. But it was just so cruel! She wanted to go and had looked forward to it for weeks. And they hadn't even stopped to wonder why she wasn't there. Of course not, they had planned it all along! She was never to go to that ball. Now she was almost crying and had heavy hiccups. She ran out to the grave of her mother, to confide in the solid bark of the willow. Her lovely dress swished behind her as she ran, creating the illusion of a million stars trailing behind her. When she approached the grave she heard a gentle neighing. She stopped, seeing a white mare standing next to the grave. Her mane and tail seemed to be spun out of pure gold. She stepped closer to Ginerva and she could see the saddle and reins placed on the mare. She smiled widely.

"Come here, you pretty girl." She said gently. "Come and take your dear Ginny to the dance."

And the mare approached daintily, her small hooves barely touching the ground. Ginerva led her to a small stone where she swung herself on the mare's back.

"Are you my Goldstream?" She asked as she urged the horse forward. "Can you show me how a real lady runs?"

And the mare turned into a leap and didn't let down until they were at the castle gates. There Ginerva stepped off her and handed her to a hostler.

Many elegant people were mingling around the palace gardens, the trees illuminated by lanterns hung from their branches. The whole place seemed enveloped in a soft glow. The soft laughter of ladies and the lower rumble of men's voices didn't quite manage to overpower the sound of the orchestra playing inside.

Up a lengthy set of stairs there were large doors thrown wide, where light streamed out. And up those stairs Ginerva headed.

When she stepped into the ballroom itself she was almost overtaken, the walls almost breathing glamour and elegance. There were so many young ladies, dressed in all the colours of the rainbow, talking excidedly among themselves. Something important was clearly about to happen.

A small man standing next to the doors in the other end of the spacious ballroom banged his staff.

"I give you," He almost had to yell to be heard over the entire crowd, even though all the girls had suddenly fallen deadly silent. "His Royal Majesty, Prince Harry."

And the large doors opened and out walked a tall young man with a head of raven. He was muscular, she could see even from across the room, and very handsome. The young ladies gave a collective sigh of longing.

How does the poor young man feel to be looked at almost like a piece of meat or an expensive jewel to be desired? Ginerva thought to herself. He could never have a proper conversation with any of those girls, they would just giggle and hide their faces with their fans.

Unbeknownst to her Harry was thinking the same thing. He could never talk properly to any of those girls, let alone share their bed. His evening looked to be another boring night of giggling girls when he caught bright brown eyes staring at him intently. The lady had brilliant red hair and she was not dressed the same as all the other girls who wore big, poofy gowns with large crinolines under. Her dress was white but almost shimmering. It was closely cut at top but with a modest neckline and fell in gentle waves around her legs.

She looked directly into his eyes and gave him a small smile. The smile seemed to say: I know, but I'm not that shallow.

He walked directly towards her, splitting the sea of swooning noblewomen. When he reached her he bowed before her. She replied with a curtsy.

"My lady," He said. "Will you join me in leading the first dance?"

"I'd be honoured, Your Majesty." She replied. As she laid her hand on his extended arm she whispered. "You need to help me, sir, for I haven't danced for a long time. "

"Don't worry," He replied. "I'm a horrid dancer myself, the band will keep it slow and easy."

And, lo, the band began to play a slow waltz as Harry lead Ginerva to the middle of the dancefloor. They waited, poised to begin. As they danced they soon felt they had an easy rhythm, neither outshining the other but more complimenting.

"May I ask your name, fair maiden?" Harry asked. "It is rare to find such exquisite beauty in the sea of plainer fish." He gestured around them at the dancers.

"It is Ginny, Your Majesty. And such flattery, while appreciated, is unnecessary. I'm quite content discussing something else."

"Very well." Harry replied, both surprised and pleased. Most young girls loved talking ill about their competition, thinking it improved his feelings about themselves. "What would you like to talk about? What books have you been reading lately?"

"Well, recently I have been reading Portner's Theory of Magic. Do you know it?" She said.

"Know it? I live by it. How he talks about every persons obligation to use his or hers abilities and how it is almost a crime to disregard it. I've tried telling that to my father but he insist upon using only armies and strategy to win wars."

"Of course one must not forget that your father is king and not you, begging Your Majesty's permission." She answered, fearing she might've been too bold. To her surprise she heard him chuckle softly.

"You're right. He is king. And a damn good one at that. What he does however forget is that evil also comes armed with magic. It is like the tale of the young maiden and the dragons. She used her magical singing to soothe them and bind their fire. That fire was magical and would've been used for evil if she hadn't." He said.

"What you're leaving out of this example is the fact that she had the help of the Gentle Dragon, lulling the others into false security. She never even would've gotten close to them it wasn't for him, And yet he was persecuted and killed." Ginerva replied, having heard that tale again and again from her father when he told her about his adventures.

"You know you legends well, miss Ginny. Let's talk about less theological topic. What are your opinions on music?"

They talked and talked while they danced. When Ginerva's slippers began to hurt her feet he walked her through the gardens and sat her down on a bench. There they talked all night while inside scores of young noblewomen seethed at the thought of the unknown girl that had taken their prince away.

As the dawn began to break Ginerva finally came about to the lateness, or earliness more likely, of the hour.

"O my." She said. "I really must get going. They'll be expecting me at home." She was hurrying across the garden to the stables.

"Wait." Harry called after her. "How may I find you again?"

But Ginerva didn't reply, she was halfway across the gardens and saw a stable boy waiting with Goldstream for her. She swung herself on back, no longer caring to ride sidesaddle or ruining her frock.

She barely made it inside and up to her rooms to change before she was expected to the kitchens to help with breakfast preparations. She was humming to herself, she realized, the waltz they had danced to.

Harry was sitting with his mother in her parlour.

"Don't you know her?" He asked impatiently.

"Well," Queen Lily replied. "It would've helped to know a little bit more about her family, her home, anything dear. You don't expect me to recognize every noblewoman in the kingdom, do you?"

"There's only one I need you to remember, Mother." Harry said. He sighed. "She's beautiful, red hair and brown eyes. She likes Dillon's poetry is interested in politics and knows surprisingly much about our legends. She has a wonderful sense of humor, her eyes light up whenever she thinks something funny, her voice is so soft and musical…what?"

His mother was barely concealing her smile.

"Nothing, darling, nothing." She said. "The only one I can remember to fit that description is Lord Arthur's daughter, you know, of St. Ottery, but she hasn't been seen at court for years. Frankly, I either thought she had become fat or joined a convent." She giggled a little at her own humour but stopped when she saw her son's serious face.

"They live about two miles outside the city, in that big old mansion. Poor Arthur lost dear Molly about ten or eleven years ago and then married that intolerable Persephone. I wouldn't be surprised if the little girl hadn't had a hug or a kiss since then. Her father travels quite a lot. In fact," She said. "He was the one that brought back the dragon claw that made your swordhilt, Harry."

Harry looked down at the exquisitely carved hilt that hung at his waist. It was solid but still lightweight and was of the nature that if it was once grasped in a noble hand it would immediately return to it if lost. Harry rose to his feet.

"I will ride out there today and find her." He said while exiting his mother's rooms.

"And do what, pray tell?" Queen Lily called after him. Harry's face appeared from behind the doorframe. He grinned.

"Marry her, of course." And then he was gone.

Queen Lily gave an unceremonious sigh and let herself fall against the soft cushions of her couch.

"Well," She said and then started laughing at his son's boldness, reminding her of another dark-haired nobleman, eighteen years ago.