A/N: I'm so sorry for the delay in the update! I know that this chapter is shorter than the other three, but I still hope you guys like it. I'm also going to try to get the next chapter up by the next week. Please review!
Chapter Four
She sighed and ran her fingers through her blonde hair, inhaling through her nose deeply as she relaxed her entire body. She rolled her head to the side, feeling her neck cracking and releasing the furrowed tension within each movement. She lifted her wand again as she felt her magic come alive once more, filling with its familiar energy and pure happiness. Again, she concentrated her mind on the wardrobe in front of her as the magic coursed through her veins.
"Confringo!"
Just as she uttered the spell the wardrobe combusted into bright, red flames, and she sighed contentedly, listening intently to the roar of the flame, allowing the warmth to radiate throughout the classroom.
Then the door to the classroom was sprung open. She groaned quietly as she tilted her head behind her, seeing another student, Lee Jordan, at the door.
"I've been looking for you everywhere, Mariella!" he complained.
She rolled her eyes and asked, "What is it now, Lee?'
"Our dear Professor Dumbledore asked me to retrieve you and for you to come to his office immediately. Password's black licorice, and I'd put that fire out," he answered with a wink before he snuck out of the room.
Mariella flicked her wand, and the wardrobe was restored to its normal state. She left the room with another groan. What more could that man possibly ask from her? Yes, her mother was high in standing in the Order of the Phoenix, but that did not mean that Mariella was. Constantly he would ask her to keep surveillance over specific students who could possibly have insight on some of the Death Eaters' plans. Yet, in her mind, what could children possibly know? But she knew that it would not be proper for the Headmaster to stalk young students in the corridors, even though the thought provoked amusing imagery in her mind.
The thought of the Death Eaters disgusted her, bringing the taste of vomit to her tongue. They were a group who brought torture, destruction and death, a group who burned her father alive for standing against them and their bigoted beliefs, and that thought would never cease to bring tears to her eyes. She prayed for vengeance against them and their mysterious leader. She and many others were forced to refer to him as You-Know-Who, for he would not reveal his name, and no one knew why. Everyone, besides for Albus Dumbledore feared him, and she knew that if his name was revealed, people would still utter You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. But, the only thing she cared about is if he would finally die soon, no matter who he could possibly be.
The mysterious leader had been causing torture for five years after an eighteen year "break". His main target appeared to be eliminating the muggle race, persecuting muggle-borns, and anyone else who opposed him, which he(or possibly she) would refer to as Blood Traitors. That was the Order of the Phoenix, which was founded by Albus Dumbledore himself. Her parents had joined almost thirty years ago, but once he came back into his reign of terror, her father was burned alive, and her mother was thrown into a depression, thus Mariella swore vengeance.
For what was life without the people you love to share it with?
A life of vengeance.
Dumbledore's gargoyle was perched on the wall. Mariella muttered the password, ignoring the other students walking behind her, and the gargoyle shifted its position, revealing the staircase to Dumbledore's office. She climbed the curved stairs and rapped on his door.
"Come in," she heard him beckon before she opened the door.
Professor Dumbledore smiled at her from his seat at the desk and waved her forward.
"You wanted to see me, Headmaster?"
"Yes, Miss McKinnon, come, sit. More importantly, would you care for a licorice?" he asked with a smile and a twinkle in his bright, blue eyes, offering her a bowl of which was full of some black looking gunk.
"That's not necessary, Professor," she politely declined, waiting for him to speak once more.
"Very well, then I may as well get to the point," he began. "As you clearly know, you are graduating soon, and I am sure you wish to secure a spot in the Order."
"Yes, sir."
"After graduation, I have the perfect way for you to do so."
"I'm interested," Mariella commented, leaning closer to Dumbledore in her seat.
Professor Dumbledore smiled before he continued. "I'm sure that you know of Muggle politics and that in England there is a monarchy ruled by King Jefferson, who has a wife, the Queen, named Margaret, and one lone daughter, the princess, named Hermione."
"What do they have to do with the Order? They're muggles, aren't they?" Mariella questioned.
"Unbeknownst to many, their daughter isn't as she is a muggle-born. The Ministry had discovered this when she had turned eleven years old, for there is a highly intricate system to identify the muggle-borns. But as you very well know we cannot simply extract the princess and educate her here. The muggles, including her parents, would be in uproar if the princess suddenly disappeared. Or her parents, who advocate vehemently against witchcraft, could have her executed or inform their whole civilization, which would spark them into getting more muggles and wizards executed by the muggles."
"But why does this matter now, Professor? What's it got to do with the Order?"
"I'm sure you remember the name, Tom Gaunt."
XXX
One Year Later
"Filthy, little mudblood," Hermione's betrothed remarked as he pushed some of her bushy hair behind her ear, his breath tickling her face. "Or am I mistaken?"
Hermione glared at him blankly, befuddled by that word…mudblood. The term was disturbing, and it perplexed her more merely for the fact that she had never heard of it… mudblood. His obsidian eyes pierced into hers as he awaited an answer. She could barely contain herself. He had said he sensed magic in her! It was preposterous, but it explained everything: the man in midnight blue, Sir Harry saving her miraculously, the shaking tables from earlier, and other events that had occurred throughout her lonesome childhood. No doubt Sir Harry possessed magic as well. She wanted to burst into tears of joy and hug the cold man for revealing the answer she had been eagerly waiting for.
"I-I don't," she could barely stutter out, a grin attempting to form.
His grip on her shoulders tightened, his nails seemingly trying to cut through her thin, silk dress as his glare turned from uncaring to vicious. "Mudblood it is then."
"But I don't-," Hermione tried to say, but he placed his long, pale finger over her lips to shush her.
"Know anything about your world, or rather anything about yourself," he finished for her. Hermione made no reaction, but waited for him to continue instead. "Tell me, princess, have things happened to you that you cannot explain, for instance having the entire dining hall start shaking or people being thrown around a room spastically."
Hermione eyes widened, and she uttered, "I knew it was you there."
He let out a chuckle and began tracing a circle on her pointed shoulder. "It's always good to keep an eye out, princess."
"What do you want?" Hermione snapped, throwing his arm down, growing sick from his touch that would not stay away.
"No need to get snippy, princess. Or is this how you normally behave? Quite unladylike," he teased, slipping away from her, facing away, his black cloak dancing behind him.
"What's a mudblood?" Hermione demanded, and she heard him snicker.
"This indeed proves that you are one," he answered, seating himself on her red armchair. His long, pale fingers began stroking the pile of books next to him. His lips formed somewhat of a half-smile as he muttered the titles of the books to himself. "The Social Contract by John Locke, an interesting choice."
"How so?" she asked, her eyebrows creasing as she maneuvered herself away from the bookshelf.
"It is not a belief that I would expect a princess to have," he commented. "I'd expect you to be influenced more by other writers, perhaps those like Machiavelli, not Diderot, Rousseau and Montesquieu, which you have here, or rather none at all as I figured that your servants read for you."
"Machiavelli is a dreadful man with irrational, nonsensical beliefs. I could barely get through The Prince without feeling vomit in my mouth. I am not like my father," Hermione retorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "And believe me when I say this that I am not an idiot or a fool, and I prefer doing things for myself, another reason why I do not want to marry you for one thing. If I even desired marriage in the first place there are far better suitors than you."
Her betrothed smirked at her. He stood and walked towards her ever so slowly with The Social Contract gripped in his hands. She began stepping backwards, soon feeling the bookshelf behind her once again, and mentally cursed, wishing for an escape from the dreadful man.
He was now merely an inch away from her, and he lifted The Social Contract, bringing it by Hermione's head, but instead he slipped it in between two books on the shelf.
"No more convoluted beliefs, especially ones that emulate from muggles," her betrothed requested.
"No," Hermione scoffed. "What gives you the authority to tell me what to do?"
"I'm sure you know that we will be married in the near future," he drawled, "Believe me when I say this, I'd rather not marry you either, but as you will unfortunately be my wife, I'm afraid you will have to listen to me for now on, princess."
"Unfortunately? It was your family who proposed the idea of marriage, and I will not listen to a goddamn word you say." Hermione nearly laughed.
"It is only because I want to be in control of the kingdom, not because I want you in my bed, princess. Though you are better than a muggle would have been. You were quite the surprise, princess. I had thought you would be a muggle," he sneered.
"What in the world are mudbloods and muggles?" Hermione asked, throwing her hands at her side, landing on her hips.
"You may as well know, considering that you are one. A mudblood is a child who was born to muggle parents, but possesses magical capabilities. A muggle is a non-magical person," he answered.
"So you are saying that I'm a… mudblood?" Hermione asked, the word feeling wrong and distasteful on her tongue, but was almost smiling of pure joy. Yet, she concealed her emotions from her betrothed by pressing her thin lips together; he did not deserve seeing her like this.
"What part of your insipid little brain did not understand that?" He froze in his steps, staring at her with his dark eyes, making her feel as though he was digging inside of her soul.
"But-," she began saying, but was cut off once more.
"But what?"
"I need more of an explanation," she begged, her eyes draining of its happiness.
"What more is there to tell exactly?" he asked.
"How this is possible, or rather how I use this magic. And how did you know I'm magical, as you say?" Hermione suggested.
"Your magic is so strong, untainted, so, so pure that I can feel it within your veins from a mile away. It is begging to be released," he answered as he began stroking the sleeve of her dress.
"Don't touch me," Hermione snapped, slapping his hand away from her arm.
"I can do as I wish with what's mine," he retorted.
"Not yours yet," she retaliated.
His dark eyes gazed into hers, a glare full of anger. The man wanted to curse her, to hurt her, and she had no doubt that he could so if he wished. His hand gripped once more on her shoulder, pressing into her skin harder. She winced under the pain as his hands clamped down, tighter and tighter.
"Leave her alone," a voice commanded. Immediately, her betrothed's hand left her shoulder, slapping down against his thigh. Hermione peered around and saw Sir Harry glaring at her betrothed viciously.
"Sir Harry," he addressed with a mocking bow.
"Lord Gaunt," Sir Harry reciprocated with gritted teeth. "I'm sure that Princess Hermione would like you to dismiss yourself."
"Very well," her betrothed sneered. "I wouldn't wish to intrude, and I have other things to attend to as a matter of fact. Until later, princess."
He backed away from the shelf, pushing past Sir Harry, his black cloak swooping behind him as he glided out of the library.
"Are you well, Hermione?" Sir Harry asked.
"Physically," she responded. "Though I believe that you have been lying to me. He told me that I'm a-."
"You're a what?" Sir Harry asked nervously, his fingers drumming on his armored thigh.
"Magical," she said flatly, her foot tapping impatiently on the ground.
"This isn't the place," Sir Harry mumbled.
"Then what is! It is the only explanation, isn't it? It even explains you and your sudden presence! The man in midnight blue! Everything! Why didn't you tell me?" Hermione questioned furiously, her heart began beating faster as she began wondering if she what had just happened was merely a hallucination, that it was just a perplexed Sir Harry there the whole time. There was no such thing as magic or mudbloods, it was just her mind playing tricks on her, wasn't it? But after everything, Hermione knew that that once believable possibility was not true anymore.
Yet she knew that if it was all true, she wanted to scream. Her life was full of secrets, secrets referring to her own life. First the betrothal and then magic! For God sakes' magic!
"I promise to explain everything if you just give me some time," Sir Harry begged.
"Fine!" Hermione exclaimed, throwing her hands recklessly in the air.
She pushed past Sir Harry and stormed out of the library, without a destination in mind. Fury dictated her direction. Her heart began thudding loudly, until Hermione could hear it echoing throughout her body. Her fingers and toes were tickling. She heard something traveling through her veins, continuously growing louder until it was the only thing that Hermione could hear. Sparks shot out of Hermione's fingers, and she was thrown back against the wall.
Her hearing returned to normal, and she began gasping, staring at her fingers.
And she knew.
Slowly, she pushed herself off of the floor, panting wildly. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a figure marching through the halls towards her.
"Oi, Hermione!" the girl called. It was only Mariella. Hermione prayed that Mariella had not seen what she had just done.
"Y-yes, Mariella," Hermione stuttered, regaining her balance.
"You're coming with me," Mariella ordered.
"What for?" Hermione questioned.
"To get ready for the new hospital opening ceremony, silly. Don't you remember?" Mariella laughed and ushered Hermione along.
Hermione sighed. A princess' duties were never over.
A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Please leave a review, it would mean so much to me to know what you guys think.