Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction using characters and elements from the world of Harry Potter, created and trademarked by JK Rowling. I do not claim ownership over any Harry Potter characters or the Harry Potter world. This story is for entertainment purposes only, and is not claiming to be any part of the Harry Potter canon. Thank you to JK Rowling for letting me play with the characters and not suing me for writing them into a new situation.
Light of the Moon
Chapter 3
In the morning, after Pheme had brought her breakfast, Hermione prepared to meet with her companions from the night before. She packed her map of the castle grounds along with some parchment and quills.
She caught sight of the other two already standing outside of the Great Hall.
Luna's eyes were bright with excitement. "Astoria's night is tonight! Her robes were delivered this morning!" Each Suitor was delivered white robes the morning of their trial, and it was the only clothing they were allowed to wear. To ensure fairness for each competitor, besides the robes that were issued to them, they could bring into the room only what knowledge was contained in their head, and their own wand.
The Ophidian witch was less enthusiastic than her friend, but she did admit to having felt a certain thrill at knowing that her wait was over, and that she would be spending all night with the King.
"Should you be studying, then?" Hermione asked. "Or perhaps spend the day sleeping in case you need to stay up all night?"
Astoria made a dismissive gesture with her gloved hands. She was once again garbed in luxurious fabrics that draped dramatically against her body. "I don't think I'll need all night to establish having made a sincere effort. Many of the Suitors were put out early, so it's safe to assume that there's a point at which success is no longer viable."
"I wish we had an inkling of what was going on in there," Hermione mused aloud, knowing of course, that it was impossible, as such information would give someone an unfair advantage.
"Well," Astoria said, "since you are actually trying to win, I suppose we could give you the observations we've made since we've been here. Perhaps there's something there that you could use."
Luna frowned at the two of them. "I'd much rather show Hermione the paintings of the Dabberblimps in the gallery. There's plenty of time to discuss Riddle's riddle, especially after you finish your trial tonight."
"I won't remember anything from the trial, though," Astoria pointed out, unnecessarily. "Still, I'm sure I'll be happy to help."
The three meandered down the corridors, Astoria in the lead, starting in the Portrait Gallery, which was the closest to them. Being in the company of an Ophidian meant that Hermione learned much more about the history of the country, and the royal family, than she had been able to gather from the books published on the subject.
The Greengrasidis were a very old family with a long history of loyalty to Ophidia. Several of Astoria's ancestors greeted them with a nod of their heads as they passed by.
Though the Marvolo family was descended from Ptolemy, the magical portraits did not go far enough back to the time of Alexander the Great. There was, however, a very large marble statue of Ptolemy surrounded by pedestals with busts of his four wives.
The smoothness of the marble had the blush of skin, and Hermione could almost believe that the statue breathed. She reached out a hand to see if it was warm to the touch, but was quickly stopped by Astoria, who quietly shook her head.
Instead, she leaned forward to examine it closely. It was said that when Ptolemy founded his dynasty on the ashes of Alexander's empire that he did it on the principles of wizard supremacy. It would be a nation that would never hide its nature out of fear of persecution. Though the country of Ophidia was much smaller than the extensive lands that Ptolemy once ruled over, it still proudly held to those same basic beliefs, though thankfully without the ideology of enslaving Muggles for being a lesser race.
Though Hermione was fiercely defensive of her Muggle-born heritage, she felt an echo of the grandness of what Ptolemy had wanted to accomplish. Upon learning she was a witch, she had chafed under the restraints of the Statute of Secrecy that prevented her from sharing her true nature with her Muggle friends. She had to quickly become accustomed to living a double life if she didn't want to simply leave her old one behind.
It was refreshing to think that wherever she went, every store she went into, every home she passed on every street, she'd be known and respected for being a witch.
In a very secret corner of her heart, she thought that if she did win, and became Queen, that she would want to be part of the solution to mending the breach between Muggles and wizards. There must be a way that they can all coexist peacefully and without secrets. Her intuition told her that Ophidia was the key.
With those thoughts running through her head, she turned her attention to Ptolemy's wives. They were all lovely, but their faces seemed melancholy, compared to the stern pride carved into their husband's face.
Each of the women had a piece of broken jewelry draped around their necks. She'd thought it was part of the sculpture, but upon closer inspection, it appeared that each one had a torque, in the fashion of the Egyptians, fastened to it. The large moonstones that decorated each one were cracked and jagged.
She wondered aloud why they didn't fix the stones or reset them with new ones for the display.
Astoria regarded the sculptures thoughtfully. "They are said to have been magical talismans that each wife wore until she died. They granted an important magical property, though it is never specified just what they did. They were saved and put on display as each wife preceded him in death. And when he finally crossed the veil, it is said the stones were broken."
There was something eerie about those broken stones that made Hermione uncomfortable. She imagined there was a buzzing in the air, along her skin, that made the hair stand up on end. She looked around to see if the others felt the same. While Astoria didn't seem to notice anything amiss, Luna was wearing that frown again.
With her elbow, she nudged Luna, and they continued walking through the gallery.
Astoria kept up a chatter about some of the notable wizards and witches that they passed. Many of the portraits, used to a parade of magical visitors, sniffed at them in disdain. They had no use for foreign witches who would be gone from the country as soon as the King saw fit to turn them out.
Most contented themselves with ignoring the women as they passed. Some glared at them as if they were intruders. Some gaily called out corrections to Astoria's recounting of history. Once out of earshot, Astoria would lean over and say, "That's what they claim, anyway, but the records say otherwise."
They rounded a corner and came to an alcove that housed just two portraits in simple silver frames.
They were angled to face each other, and Hermione stepped up to read aloud the names engraved on the plaques. Tom Riddle and Merope Gaunt Marvolo. The King's parents.
Queen Merope's gaze flitted across the three girls before landing on Hermione. Her eyes brightened, an intelligence gleaming in them that many of the other portraits did not have. She took her in and a smile formed on her face. She had obviously been an extremely powerful witch for her portrait to have such awareness. "I do not believe we have had the pleasure of meeting, little one. I am Queen Merope. And you are?"
"Hermione. Hermione Granger, Your Majesty."
Awkwardly, Hermione dropped into a semblance of a curtsy. The regal bearing of the woman wearing the heavy silver crown made Hermione feel clumsy and boorish. Merlin, she should have practiced. She'd told herself it was only her magical ability that mattered, but she found herself suddenly wishing she'd spared at least a few moments to learn a proper curtsy. Or at least to learn if Ophidians even curtsied.
From her peripheral vision, she saw Luna make what appeared to be a bow in the style of the Japanese. When Astoria sank gracefully into a perfect curtsy, murmuring "Your Majesty" in a quiet voice, Hermione ruefully noted that action answered her question.
Astoria's wide eyes, and Luna's concerned expression told Hermione that it was not often the Queen, or rather, the portrait of the Queen, deigned to talk to passersby.
Queen Merope tilted her head to get a better look at Hermione as she stood. Under the crown, the Queen's long dark hair stood out starkly against the pale skin of her face, and it barely moved with her actions. "Your accent is British, but your name is Greek."
"Yes, Your Majesty, my mother was fond of Greek mythology. And Shakespeare's plays."
The Queen raised one eyebrow. "Wizards prefer calling it Greek magical history," she corrected, conveniently ignoring the statement about Shakespeare. "Your mother is Muggle-born, then?"
Hermione was taken aback by her statement. In Brittania, Wizarding society still called it Greek mythology, despite the knowledge that much of what the Muggles considered mythology had roots in truth. Here in Ophidia, with its strong Greek roots, they obviously felt very different about it. Still, the Queen's assumption was not far off.
"No, Your Majesty, she is a Muggle."
Beside the Queen, Tom Riddle's portrait stirred, his handsome face turning to look at them.
"You are half-blood," the Queen stated, no question in her voice.
Hermione was forced to contradict her again. "No, Your Majesty."
From the portraits there was silence, although Tom Riddle looked quite pleased. He seemed on the verge of saying something when the Queen spoke again.
"Impossible," she said, her voice very low. "I can sense the strength of your magic from here."
If the broken torques on the necks of the statues had made Hermione's hair stand on end, the Queen's statement made all of her blood turn to ice.
There was something in the intensity of her disbelieving stare that unnerved Hermione more than the usual prejudice she often encountered among Purebloods. Those dark eyes glittered with equal amounts of disgust and glee. She didn't move, the curtain of her hair still hanging perfectly straight on either side of her head, but she reminded Hermione of a predator lying in wait for its prey.
Before Hermione could speak, to once again contradict the Queen, Tom Riddle cleared his throat to get her attention.
"Good lady, I welcome you to the castle!" The Prince Consort's smile was wide, his expression open and friendly. "Another Muggle-born has found their way into Ophidia! What a refreshing change of pace."
He puffed his chest out with pride while the Queen continued to watch Hermione with unmoving eyes. "I am also a Muggle-born. I came to Ophidia as a very young man, fleeing persecution from my hometown near the border of Brittania and Francia. I had thought to stay only a short time, but I met my Merope, and she convinced me to remain here."
At this, the Queen's eyes cleared from her contemplation, and she smiled at the portrait beside her. "Ophidia is your home now, my love."
"Yes, yes, of course," the wizard reassured his Queen. "I wouldn't dream of leaving. But it is a breath of fresh air to have another Muggle-born here in the castle! Tell me, Miss Granger…"
For the next 30 minutes, Tom Riddle plied Hermione with question after question of life in Brittania. Hermione answered them all to the best of her ability, conscious the entire time of the Queen's portrait, which still continued to quietly assess her.
Eventually, a gentle cough sounded beside her. Astoria interrupted apologetically, "Excuse us—Your Majesty, My Lord—but I'm afraid we must be going."
Tom's portrait looked disappointed. "Oh dear, so soon?"
Merope's portrait echoed his sentiments, but they lacked the sincerity of her husband's.
Astoria came between Hermione and Luna, and linking her arms with each woman, she insistently tugged them both down into a short curtsy. "I'm so sorry to cut our visit short, Your Majesty, but I have many preparations to make, as tonight I am called before the King."
"Ah, you compete for the hand of my son," Tom exclaimed, happily, his gaze taking in all three of the women. "I wish you well! I do hope we will see each other again." It was clear he meant Hermione.
The Queen gave the very slightest incline of her head to acknowledge their departure. "Daughter of Ophidia," she addressed Astoria. "I wish you success on your suit. May you be quick of wit and quick of wand. I am certain we will be seeing each other again."
It was clear to them all that her words were also meant for Hermione.
A/N: I do not consider myself a Tomione shipper, so in case anyone is wondering, I have no plans to write any further Tomione stories. My immediate writing plans are to finish the Dramione stories I've been working on. I have a couple short stories awaiting publication, and I hope to spend the next few months working as hard on my WIP, Draco's Bad Day, as I had on this Tomione story. But I do very much enjoy the enthusiasm of the Tomione readers and am really happy to be able to give this story to you.
S&R: Constructive Reviews Welcome (CRW)