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 12
It turned out that there wasn't nearly as much work required to plan a royal wedding as one might think. Steward Aidos had been preparing for the happy event for months. The food, the invitations, the flowers, the colors—nearly everything had been ordered, chosen, made, or arranged well in advance, and set into motion at the drop of a hat. Or rather, at the raising of a flag.
The Mark of Ophidia was proudly displayed above the castle ramparts, silver on a white field. Normally, the serpent coiled around the skull seemed very ominous. The green mark that was usually flying on a dark black background always made it seem like a pirate flag to Hermione. But this version of the flag had just the silver serpent, its scales seeming to glitter as the banner waved in the sunlight.
Around the city, Hermione could see more and more flags go up as the message was received. The sea of white flags across the building tops was proof that Lagus was readying itself for a grand affair.
Hermione didn't mind at all not being part of the extensive preparations. It freed up her time to do much more important things.
Her first order of business, of course, had been to test her new library access. Taking her friends along with her, they'd wandered the stacks looking for rooms and corridors that she could get them into. Hermione found plenty of books of interest, and she made note of them for another day when she wasn't trying to learn how to run a country in as short a time as possible.
While Astoria grew quickly bored of Hermione's penchant to research everything, Luna was content to trail Hermione, almost always remaining in close proximity. When Hermione suggested to her that she might be happier pursuing her own interests, Luna just shrugged and said that something told her that Hermione needed her close.
She certainly came in handy whenever the two would run across Lady Carrow. Luna liked to wave at Lady Carrow from afar, as if inviting her to join them. Hermione usually stared at her very pointedly as if daring her to come closer. Lady Carrow always walked another direction.
Hermione heard it from Pheme, who was still a wonderful source of information, that Lady Carrow had been warned to keep a strict distance from King Riddle's betrothed. The warning must surely have been dire to prevent the disagreeable woman from even so much as speaking an unkind word to her.
She couldn't complain. She had much more important things to concern her than Lady Carrow.
Like the man she was going to marry in less than three weeks.
He was intelligent, witty, unfailingly elegant and dignified. He always spoke deliberately, his words couched in a way that made her question if she really understood his meaning. Though he was patient and kind—and always polite—whenever he spoke to her, she often felt like she stood in the eye of a storm. The power of him seemed to vibrate in the air, a deep roaring that reverberated in her belly. The touch of his hand produced electric shock waves. Her senses were always on high alert when he was nearby.
He fascinated her. He was young by monarchical standards, barely in his thirties. Yet, when she stood in his presence, she was sometimes overcome by the distinct feeling that he was going to be a prominent figure in history. That it was not simply Ophidia that was on a cusp, as Luna had once said, but all of Wizardingkind.
It excited her to be a part of whatever was going to happen. It excited her to be part of it with him.
She had that thought for the third time that day as they walked through the castle. They'd once again lunched together, and unlike the last time when she'd returned to her rooms and her friends, he'd invited her to walk with him.
They meandered through rooms that saw little use, commenting on the antique furniture, the priceless art, the ancient tapestries. Ophidian history delighted her. It wasn't merely the history of a country. In a way, it was a chronicle of the development of magic and the modern practice of it. She listened as he taught her things that she'd never heard in books.
When they came into a room of exquisite crystal artifacts, the rainbow of colors on the walls reminded her of the Throne Room and the crystal box that had opened to the refracted moonlight.
"Seven from one," she quoted, her hand setting a dangling multi-faceted teardrop spinning. The vibrant lights that danced on the opposite wall as a result, made her smile. "I almost didn't get that clue. It is meant to be the number of colors that light is split into, isn't it?"
As he often did, Riddle merely watched her, waiting for her to continue speaking.
She smiled at him, eager to share a piece of knowledge. "Did you know that the Muggles have determined that there are only six colors, though?"
A smile tugged at his mouth as if he didn't believe her.
"Oh, yes," she asserted, not even trying to keep the swotty, lecturing tone from her voice. "They've done research into the wavelengths of the color indigo, and determined that there isn't any real argument for indigo to be distinguished from the blue and violet on either side of it. Our eyes really can't tell the difference. So most modern color scientists include only six main colors in the rainbow."
That small smile of his remained as he looked at her. She almost thought it seemed…affectionate, which was a step better than amused.
He moved to stand closer to her. He seemed to like the way her breath clogged up in her throat whenever he got very near. With his wand, he lowered the chandelier in the middle of the room, and raised the drapes until the sun was shining squarely onto the light fixture.
The large prisms cast elongated streams of light onto the wall, causing the colors to stand out quite starkly.
"How many do you see?" Riddle asked her, leaning down so she felt his breath against the side of her cheek. His eyes were on her face rather than on the wall.
Feeling the beginnings of a shiver under his gaze, she moved away from him and closer to the edge of the room, careful not to block the path of the light. With her fingers, she marked out each of the different hues.
"Six," she said, confidently.
He seemed disappointed in her answer and didn't respond.
She turned back to the wall, her fingers ghosting over the lines, before he spoke again.
"You would lie to me, Hermione?"
He'd never spoken her given name before. It caused heat to shrill through her, from the back of her neck straight down to her spine.
Her cheeks bloomed with color as her mind registered his words and the slightly sharper tone that he'd never used with her. "I beg your pardon?"
In just a few strides he was by her side again, standing much too close, forcing her to look up at him. With the sun shining through the window behind him, he was mostly in shadow. But she could still make out the expression on his face. It was fierce. Like she had offended him.
"How many colors do you see?" he asked again.
She didn't have to count again. "Seven," she admitted in a whisper, her eyes wide on his.
For a moment he just stood there, large and immovable, like an iceberg in rough waters, and she a hapless vessel with no choice but to crash into it.
But then he backed away and she inhaled noisily, her heart beating so hard she found it difficult to breathe.
"I've heard that you are a natural Legilimens," she said, her voice reproachful. "Did you just read my mind?" How else could he have known that she'd thought she'd clearly seen the delineation of all seven colors? She wasn't trying to lie to him, she'd assumed it was the same optical illusion that had fooled Muggles for so long.
He waved his wand. The drapes dropped back to their normal position, and the chandelier returned to its place. He stood for a minute with his back to her.
When he turned around, the patient look on his face was back, replacing that brief touch of irritation she'd seen earlier.
"Hermione," he said, sighing, and her name had the same effect on her spine as it had had the first time. "I have never touched your mind without your consent. What thoughts or feelings you share with me, it will be by your choice or not at all."
His answer embarrassed her, and made her feel more than a little self-conscious. She'd just accused him of acting in an unethical manner.
"I'm sorry," she said, the difficult words coming out more easily than she expected them to. "I—I should have known better. Of course, you wouldn't."
Her words seemed to appease him, and she drew closer to him so he could see her sincerity.
He took her hand in his, and pressed a quick kiss to the back of it, the motion somehow both very formal and very intimate.
She cleared her throat. "How did you know? That I was…less than precise." He questioned her word choice with just a look, but she didn't correct them any further. She hadn't lied.
"There are seven colors in the rainbow," he said. Then he emphasized, "Seven colors in the magical rainbow. Each color has its own magical properties that can be tested and quantified. Like so many other magical elements, indigo cannot be seen properly by Muggles. So they insist on changing, and declaring as untrue, what has been a proven fact for so many centuries. You and I can distinguish between the colors because we are not Muggles."
Hermione's jaw dropped. She'd never considered that. Her head swiveled to look at the wall again, bringing her face up close to the small rainbow spots of color. Were there really seven true colors? Was it as simple as identifying yet another magical thing that Muggles were unable to see?
"You seem surprised," he observed. "Even after everything you've seen proving how wizards are fundamentally different from Muggles, this comes as a shock to you?"
"I'm just thinking about how different the world must look if you can't see all the colors that others can. Or hear all of the sounds. Or be missing something else vital. And to not even know what you are missing…that seems unbearably sad." Hermione thought of how hard it was to explain to her parents what it was like to be a witch. She couldn't imagine trying to explain a color.
The King shrugged. "Muggles aren't missing anything because they don't know it's missing. They are content to go about their lives without knowing what magic feels like in their fingertips, without listening to the magic of the land they live on, without knowing there's another way to live. They don't have to fear animals they can't see or plants that will kill them. They don't have to feel jealous or resentful about things they can never have, skills they can never develop, tools they can never use. And it's easier for them if they remain in ignorance."
"You don't think Muggles have the ability to live in harmony with Wizardingkind?" Hermione asked. Riddle's words seemed to rub her the wrong way, like Muggles were something other than human.
It was his turn to look surprised. "Of course, I do. We've seen the evidence of what happens when isolated Muggles learn about wizards. They fear us, they hate us, they turn their greater numbers to harmful activities. But that has more to do with the circumstances and the context of Muggles learning about magic. If done properly, I do believe there is a way that we can all live together. Finding this way, and implementing a plan to make it successful, is an accomplishment I fully intend to achieve in my lifetime."
Hermione felt two things at the same time. The first thing was a warmth at hearing his progressive speech. She wanted nothing more than to be free to be a witch and her parents' daughter. She hated living a double life. Considering the amazing things that Riddle had accomplished with his own country, she thought it entirely possible that he could find a way to bring about the changes that he sought. She thought it truly profound that the king of a country that refused entry to any Muggles, believed there was a way for everyone to coexist in harmony together.
The second thing she felt was a skittering of fear. There was a sour note to the ring of his words, that she couldn't put her finger on. Perhaps Luna's misgivings were rubbing off on her.
Riddle tilted his head to the side and he asked her, quietly, "Would you help me? If I could show you how Ophidia could be an example to the world, would you apply your brilliant mind and your prodigious magical talent to helping me to make it possible?"
With his eyes on her, she couldn't help but nod, the words stuck in her throat. She desperately wanted to be part of such a noble goal. The fact that he was asking her made her well up with pride. She knew now why he needed the strongest and the smartest witch. He needed a bride who was going to be able to help him with changing the world.
She grinned up at him, the possibilities that were suddenly swirling through her mind caused that brief feeling of dread to dissipate before she could examine it too closely. What new and brilliant things could the two of them achieve together? This was the big something she'd wanted to do with her life.
He rewarded her answer with an approving smile, and that warm feeling spread all the way down to her toes. His smile did curious things to the butterflies that she still had in her belly whenever he was close by, and instead of trying to repress them, this time she let them flutter.
"I think it's time we got you back to your rooms," he finally said, reluctantly. "I did promise Pheme I'd be sure to give her plenty of time to dress you for the ball."
Hermione scrunched up her nose in distaste at the idea of having to prepare for a formal event.
Riddle laughed at her expression, but he saw the concern that she tried to hide. It was the ball that would announce their marriage and present her to the court at Ophidia.
"I will be there," he reminded her softly, offering his arm to her to escort her back.
She placed her arm in his, gladly taking it, along with his reassurance that she would not be facing the court alone. Perhaps it was unwise to be so fond of a man she'd only just met, but Hermione had to admit she was beginning to feel decidedly attached.
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