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 11
Hermione's new wardrobe had proven to be more than adequate for a private luncheon with the King. Pheme had revealed to the wide-eyed friends an exceptionally large closet already fully stocked with dress robes in all colors and styles. As they'd pulled out the magnificent garments, they'd quickly seen that everyone single one of them was in Hermione's size.
Either Steward Aidos was particularly efficient in preparing for every possible contingency, or the wardrobe had magically adjusted to provide for the newest inhabitant of the rooms. Hermione thought Pheme was using house-elf magic to ensure the dress robes had the very best fit.
Astoria had wanted to dress her up in something very expensive and fancy. Luna had suggested something colorful and impractical. Hermione, however, had decided on something elegant and simple.
It suited her style, but she also thought that a king who wore leathers the majority of the time would not be overly impressed by silks and satins and gold embroidery.
Dressed in a pleasant set of periwinkle robes, she followed Pheme down the large corridors, gradually twisting and winding until she found herself on a terrace half in sunshine and half in the shadow of the castle walls.
There was a table already laid with several covered plates of food, and the King stood at a balcony railing, looking out over the gardens.
She admired his profile—the sharp angles of his strong jaw, his confident posture in his dark, practical clothing. He was much less intimidating standing alone in the sunlight than he'd been sitting on a throne in the darkness.
As she approached, the King turned to greet her. Much to Hermione's amusement, Pheme insisted on announcing her properly.
King Riddle smiled kindly as he told Pheme that she could leave Miss Granger in his care for a little while. Reluctantly, Pheme did as she was bid, though she undoubtedly remained nearby.
When they were alone, Hermione exclaimed, "This all looks so lovely!" The table was covered in a delicate antique lace tablecloth and short vases of fresh flowers added bright spots of fragrant color.
"Cook was kind enough to provide the dishes that she had observed you were especially fond of," he told her as he held her chair out for her. "I asked her for food that was particularly hearty, as I imagine you must need to replenish your strength after the taxing events of last night."
With a rueful smile, Hermione admitted that she was famished, even after her lovely milk pie breakfast. "I had not realized how much energy I must have expended solving your extremely difficult riddle."
As he seated himself, Hermione noticed how his eyes seemed to glint with curiosity.
"I had begun to despair that anyone could solve it," he began, his words slow as if he were choosing his words carefully. "Though there were a few who seemed to come close, more often than not they simply destroyed the chamber and required rescuing before destroying themselves as well."
Hermione's eyes opened wide, remembering the state she'd left the Throne Room in. Quickly, she apologized for the wreckage she'd left behind. "I should have stayed to set it right. I do hope there was no lasting damage." She cringed, remembering the broken stained glass and the headless stone woman.
Riddle tapped his fingers on the table for several moments before answering. "Even if there was, it would have only been my own fault. The nature of the riddle was such that solving it was bound to make a mess." Looking up at her, he added, "I do feel it was entirely worth the risk, however, as it yielded results beyond even my expectations."
Hermione colored at his words, quickly looking down at her plate.
"Did you write the riddle entirely yourself?" she asked him. It was something she had been wondering ever since the competition began, and the question only became more prominent in her mind when she'd seen firsthand how difficult it truly was.
He nodded. "It was necessary if I expected it to remain a secret."
"Can you—" she started to say, before she realized her question was possibly inappropriate.
At his raised eyebrow encouraging her to finish, she hesitated, but finally asked, "Can you. . . perform the tasks to solve the riddle?"
The King's lips twitched with the slightest of smiles. "Yes," he said.
She waited for him to elaborate, perhaps provide insight into the reason for the riddle, or even an alternative solution.
Instead, he just commented, "I do not ask of others what I am not prepared to do myself."
"A good rule of thumb for a king," Hermione observed. "I have read through many of the policies you have enacted, and I have to say that I've seen considerable evidence of that same perspective." She felt her cheeks flush a little bit at the way he looked at her, as if he found her words incredibly interesting. She found herself saying more than she intended.
"I admit that I was very excited to have the chance to meet you. I have longed to visit Ophidia. As the only Wizarding country in existence, I find it absolutely fascinating! But the more research I did, the more I admired your administration in particular. I think your country's attitudes toward social progress and technology would only serve to benefit any other countries that are forward-thinking enough to adopt them. I do wish it were not so difficult to inspire change in Brittania. The bureaucracy of the Ministry is a source of frustration for me."
"Are you not a part of that same bureaucracy?" he asked her.
She shouldn't have been surprised that he knew what she did for a living. He most likely had an entire file of information on her, everything she could possibly have on record.
"Yes, but I had nearly decided that working within the Ministry was a waste of time and energy, when I received the notification of the competition here in Ophidia." She shrugged as if to indicate that the rest was history, and she took a drink of her tea. It was fabulous, perfectly brewed, which was highly unusual to find outside of Brittania. Cook apparently knew exactly how she took her tea, as well as her favorite Ophidian foods.
"This must be very different for you," the King said. "To be here in Ophidia."
"Yes, but it's so lovely," she answered him, enthusiastically. "It's such an amazing feeling to know that everyone I meet is a witch or a wizard, and that everywhere I go, everything I see was meant for Wizardingkind. How wonderful to grow up in a world where you never have to fear being harmed for your heritage!"
King Riddle's expression was serious as he asked her, "You have read of my father's experience?"
She nodded, not mentioning the conversation she'd had with the portrait. She supposed the King had already heard of it, but she thought it might be awkward to discuss having met his parents while she was on what might loosely be considered their first date. Thinking of their lunch as a date made her suddenly feel very warm, and she tried to focus back on the conversation. "I have been more fortunate, I suppose, that my family was extremely supportive upon learning that I was a witch."
"Tell me of your family," he said. "It must have come as quite a shock to them."
"Oh, it was, but I think my parents had always believed, as many parents do, that I was incredibly unique." She laughed indulgently. "It just served to validate their feelings to know that I had power beyond normal comprehension. They had always pushed me to succeed, and being a witch simply meant they had to revise what their picture of success looked like."
He tilted his head, examining her. "You speak of them with much affection." He almost seemed surprised. But Hermione supposed that if his only stories of Muggles were about his father's family, then it was no wonder he was skeptical.
"I love my parents very much," she told him, honestly. "They have provided me the very best examples of hard work, integrity, and strength. I'm so grateful to them for their unwavering support and their belief in me. They truly helped to shape me into the witch that I am today, despite not having any magic themselves."
It was clear he found this difficult to believe, but he conceded, "Remarkable children often owe at least a measure of gratitude to remarkable parents."
He'd done it again. He'd given her a very subtle compliment, as if he knew that it made her uncomfortable to be praised directly.
"I'm curious about how they reacted when you told them about your trip to Ophidia. I imagine that a king choosing a bride by a magical riddle would have seemed highly unusual to them."
Like a fairytale, actually, had been Hermione's own first thought upon reading the parchment announcement. She admitted, "I'm afraid that though I told them I was taking a trip to Ophidia, I have yet to tell them about the competition. Though they are incredibly supportive, Wizarding things are sometimes very hard to explain to them, and I didn't know how best to describe the situation. I figured if I failed, it would be easy to gloss over the details. And if I succeeded, well, there was plenty of time afterwards to explain how their only daughter is going to marry a foreign monarch."
"Ah, I see," he said, without censure. "And have you contacted them, yet?"
She shook her head. "I wanted to find out the details of the wedding, first, so my letter can be more thorough. Or perhaps even return to deliver the news myself."
The King's face was carefully blank as he said, "It is Ophidian custom to marry at the next full moon. Which, I'm sure you know, is in less than three weeks' time. There is much to do, and a journey back to Brittania would perhaps be difficult to fit in at this time." His tone was diplomatic, but Hermione doubted there was any room for negotiation.
Someone had neglected to keep her informed on Ophidian marriage customs. She'd thought she would have far more time. Three weeks was hardly any time at all to plan a wedding, let alone to get to know the bridegroom and set the foundation for a marriage. And that wasn't even taking into account learning all the things she would need to know in order to participate in Ophidian politics. No, she wasn't going to be able to return home before the wedding.
"Oh," she said, furrowing her brow in thought. "Perhaps I could task my closest friends in Brittania with preparing them for the journey to come to the wedding." Harry and Ron would be bollocks at that sort of thing, but Molly would probably be very efficient in rounding everyone up and keeping them organized.
Hermione looked up from her plate to realize that Riddle was staring at her in silence. She felt a hint of misgiving at his expression.
Deliberately, he wiped his mouth with his napkin, and set it down. "As you know," he said, his tone very delicate, "there are no Muggles in Ophidia, Miss Granger."
"Of course," she said, frowning. "I just thought that surely there must be a way they could come to visit—even if only for the wedding itself."
Her statement was met with silence.
Slowly, Riddle pushed back his chair, standing up. When he stood beside her, his gestures were clear that he expected her to stand as well, so she did.
With graceful movements, he tucked her arm into his and he walked her back to the balcony railing. The sky was a deep, cloudless blue, and the afternoon sunlight was bright on the white stone walls of the gardens. Away in the distance, she could see the towering shape of Vertic Alley.
When he spoke again, he waved his hands out over the land. "You are aware, Miss Granger, of how Muggles cannot see many magical things. Houses can materialize and disappear in front of them, or they can be jostled by a Dementor, and never notice anything out of place. It is because they have no magic. And magic is woven into the very fabric of this country. For hundreds of years, we have infused every corner of it with our magic—the air we breathe, the water we drink, the earth beneath our feet. A Muggle in this country would be unable to interact with either the citizens or their environment in even the most basic of ways."
"I see," Hermione said, slowly, and she thought that she did. "Are you saying that my parents are not welcome in Ophidia?"
"I am saying that Ophidia's borders have been closed to Muggles for hundreds of years. And that I intend them to remain so. For their own protection as well as for ours. It is one of the foundations this country was built upon."
She didn't know why those words upset her so much. It wasn't as if he were telling her anything new. It was what she admired about the country, in fact, that it could be so unapologetically magical. She should have expected as much. Of course, her parents would not be able to come to her wedding.
Maybe she and the King would be able to visit Brittania afterwards, including them in a small, private celebration. Her parents would be devastated to miss out on the wedding, but she hoped that they would understand the complicated circumstances.
Still, their frank discussion did bring to mind another concern.
"I'm not ashamed of my Muggle-born heritage," she said, quietly. "I'm very proud of it, actually. I had hoped to teach my children, one day, to be proud of both their Wizarding and Muggle heritages." To her credit, she didn't even blush at the mention of future children, considering that any children she had would be fathered by the man in front of her. "But tell me, will it be very difficult to get the people of Ophidia to accept a Muggle-born Queen?"
When he didn't answer her right away, she added, "I'm not afraid of a fight. I'm not going to shy away from difficult circumstances. I just—I would like to know in advance if I need to make mental, magical and physical preparations to protect myself."
"An admiral quality," he said, folding his hand almost affectionately over hers where it held his arm. "Like any country, the Ophidian people vary in their opinion on any given topic. Many Ophidians have never met a Muggle; they know only the stories that are often exaggerated in nature, or incomplete in relevant details. Muggle-borns are rare, as they are all foreigners. They rarely choose to become Ophidian citizens unless, like my father, they are seeking shelter from persecution."
He paused, before looking directly at her. "Some Ophidians will be excited at the change. Others will be curious, but ultimately unconcerned about your heritage. As my father was a Muggle-born, he had already set a precedent. But still others will be. . . decidedly unwelcoming, perhaps even hostile. But no one would dare to cross the King, and as of last night, you outrank every other citizen of this country. A threat to you is a threat to me. I do not expect that you will have anything to fear from any of my subjects."
She was no stranger to prejudice. His words, though not meant to be reassuring, did comfort her with their honest assessment.
After a moment, he said, "Give me your wand."
She placed her wand into his outstretched hand with only the slightest trepidation.
He muttered as he cast a spell over it, and her wand glowed briefly. He returned it to her, and answered her unspoken question. "I removed the Peace-Bonding. Normally, it would remain until the fulfillment of your citizenship ritual. But if it assures you of your ability to adequately defend yourself in any and all circumstances, I see no reason you should not have the full scope of your magic at your disposal, free of any limitations."
She thanked him, uncertain if it was a token of trust, or an indication that she may need to defend herself with violent spells in the near future.
The corners of his lips quirked up into a smile that made his dark eyes seem a degree warmer than they'd been just a few moments ago. "I also changed your library account." With an exaggerated courtly bow, he said, "For you, Miss Granger, unrestrained access to the library at Castle Marvolo."
The look of shocked reverence that she gave her wand with its increased significance, made him laugh out loud. She thought her husband-to-be was particularly nice looking when he laughed. Despite the seriousness of their discussion, she couldn't help smiling at the man who had quite casually made one of her long-held dreams come true.
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