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 14

Hermione smiled to herself as she walked down the corridor back to her rooms in the Queen's suite.

With Luna off on a day trip to creature-hunt in the countryside and Astoria absorbed with family obligations, she'd had the whole day to herself. She'd decided to visit Vertic Alley again. It had been only a few days since she'd last been there, but she felt like things had already changed significantly.

The vendors that had been friendly to her before were ecstatic to see her, bowing down to her even though she'd laughingly protested that she wasn't even Queen, yet.

The ones who had previously been unfriendly to her, now greeted her, albeit stiffly, and reluctantly offered her samples of their wares with shaking hands. Whenever she'd made to refuse, a look of such fear had come into their eyes that she'd ended up having to accept the gifts anyway.

Though she wanted to snub them for their unkind treatment based on her blood status, she knew that all of her actions would reflect on the King and on her future position as his wife. She couldn't afford to alienate anyone or to start wars, when she wasn't entirely sure what the political landscape was like.

So, she'd changed her approach to simply continue refusing until they offered her the very smallest gift possible, and only then would she accept it, carefully placing it into her small, beaded bag. At that time, the fear that they would be refused entirely would give way to relief, and Hermione would offer them a big smile to show them that there were no hard feelings.

She was quite pleased with the way she'd conducted herself. She'd strengthened ties with those who had supported her, and she'd begun to bridge the gap and earn the respect of those who had been against her. The majority of people she brushed shoulders with in Vertic still didn't know who she was, although there were far more this time who watched her with wide-eyes as she passed, even with her face hidden deep in her hood.

She pushed open the doors to her rooms. As she rounded the corner, trying to remember all the notes she had for Astoria, she suddenly stopped short. The King was standing in the center of the sitting room, his back towards her as he gazed out the window at the late afternoon sunlight.

Hesitantly, she cleared her throat, wondering how she was supposed to announce her presence. The sound didn't seem to affect the King at all, and for a moment more he watched the sky turn from oranges to reds with the setting sun. Finally, he turned, obviously unsurprised to see Hermione standing there.

With a glance, he took in her casual attire.

She'd worn Muggle clothes under her Wizarding cloak, unashamed of her heritage. She resisted the urge to reach up and touch the flowers that adorned her hair, courtesy of one of the flower vendors who had said the creamy blooms had complemented her coloring. It seemed a bit young and silly now.

With her back stiff and straight, she gave the King a small curtsy, pleased when her motions were smooth. It wasn't the same without a big, flowing skirt, but she'd been practicing, and Astoria wouldn't let her stop until she'd done at least one perfect one.

"Your Majesty," she greeted him, with a neutral tone. "Forgive me, I wasn't expecting you today."

"My duties ended earlier than expected," he offered, by way of explanation. "I came to see how you were faring with the wedding plans and the adjustment to castle life."

"And for the pleasure of my company?"

Her wry tone caused a genuine smile to appear on his face. "That goes without saying."

She felt the warmth come to her cheeks, even though she'd been fishing for the compliment.

He gestured to her couches. "May I?"

"Oh, yes, of course, please sit," she said hastily. Surely, he hadn't been standing this whole time just because there wasn't anyone to offer him a seat! She fervently hoped he hadn't been waiting for her for very long.

As he settled into a corner of the settee, she boldly decided to sit next to him, her heart still pounding in her chest at the surprise of finding him in her rooms. That was why, of course.

"Did you find nothing to your liking in Vertic Alley?" he asked, noting that she had no other bags with her.

She should have known that he would be aware of exactly where she'd been. No doubt her whereabouts were being reported on.

"I enjoyed myself immensely," she said. "I made several purchases for my family and friends back ho—back in Brittania." She knew he didn't miss her correction. "There's a charm on the bag, it makes it much easier to carry everything. Just the assorted gifts from the vendors along the way would have been enough to weigh me down."

At this statement, he raised one eyebrow, as if encouraging her to elaborate.

"I only accepted the most modest ones," she quickly said, second-guessing herself for the first time. "It seemed like the most logical course of action not to refuse their generosity entirely."

He nodded. "Quite right. I'm sure you handled yourself well. Were your friends not able to accompany you this afternoon? I have been used to seeing Miss Lovegood and Miss Greengrasidi often in your company."

"I'm afraid they were busy today," she answered him.

The King continued to look at her, the dark intensity in his eyes something she hadn't been able to get used to, yet. After a moment, he called out, "Pheme!"

The house-elf popped in front of him before he'd even finished. Her eyes were very wide, and she folded her hands in front of her uncertainly. "Pheme is here, Your Majesty." She quickly remembered her curtsy, and dipped down very briefly. "How can Pheme be of service?"

With a calm voice, reassuring the house-elf that she'd done nothing wrong, he said, "Pheme, it would please me if you would be certain to accompany Lady Granger when she goes out on her excursions away from the castle, particularly when her friends are otherwise occupied. It is my wish that she not travel alone."

"Pheme will see it done, Your Majesty." The little elf dipped her head again, her ears quivering in what Hermione thought was either nervousness or excitement.

The King's heavy-handedness irritated her. "Belay that order, Pheme," she said, in a strong voice. Turning to King Riddle, she told him, "I appreciate your attempts to look out for my welfare, but I assure you that I can easily look after myself. I do not need for you to make decisions about where I can go, and whom I can go with."

He lifted an eyebrow at her words. "You'll notice," he pointed out, "that I didn't make any restrictions about where you could go, or who you could go with, or imply that you were unable to look after yourself. I simply stated that I do not wish you to travel alone."

She gritted her teeth. "But from that, one would infer that you think my safety is at risk. I assure you that I am well able to care for my own safety." Beside her, she heard the slightest pop of Pheme leaving, no doubt recognizing that she did not want to be in the middle of an argument between the King and the future Queen.

It irritated her that though her own hackles were up, as if she were on the brink of a fight, the King seemed more amused by her words than offended.

"Hermione," he said, his voice laden with patience, "Ophidia is a very safe place for you to walk around. Particularly since it became known that you would be the next future Queen. None of the citizens would dare to lay a finger on you." He smiled at her. "Do you think that if I was concerned for your safety that my first recourse would be to place Pheme as your protector?"

Hermione blinked, the vision of Pheme jumping on the back of an attacker and squealing at the top of her lungs suddenly making her see what Riddle found so amusing. She was careful not to let her lips quirk upwards.

For several moments she held his gaze, letting her ire die down.

Riddle spoke first, in words Hermione thought were meant to appease her. "It is customary for any member of the royal family, even an uncrowned one, to travel with a representative from the castle, as a mark of their station and their authority. I had assumed," he smirked pointedly at her, "and correctly, it would seem, that you wouldn't take kindly to one of the knights following you around. Your house-elf seemed like the logical option."

She told herself she'd come back to the house-elf thing. But there was something else she had to say first. "Is it because I'm a woman? You feel that I need to be chaperoned wherever I go? I notice you do not travel with any guards or house-elves."

At this statement, the King actually laughed aloud. "Ser Avery," he said.

Behind Hermione, there was a sudden movement, and she startled in her seat, turning to look. A man stood there, unsmiling, dressed in the uniform of Castle Marvolo, but with what appeared to be his own family crest on his sleeves. He was noticeably older than the King, the hair at his temples beginning to grey. He appeared fit and healthy, and Hermione assumed he was a guard of some sort. Had he always been there during her interactions with the King? Did he use concealment charms, perhaps? She tried to refrain from reviewing each of their conversations to see what the man might have overheard.

When the King spoke, her attention came back to him. "Ser Avery has served me since I ascended the throne and is one of my most loyal subjects. Though I do not have need of a guard, he does fill that purpose, and it pleases him to call himself that." The humor in his voice made Hermione think that he allowed Ser Avery the position more to satisfy the man than for his own need.

The knight spoke gruffly. "House Avery has served House Marvolo for generations. When I die, my son will take my position. It is our privilege to do so, regardless of whether the King needs us or not."

Hermione got the distinct feeling this was an argument that the two had had many times.

The King turned his attention from the man, and called out another name. "Ioke!"

Another house-elf suddenly appeared before her. She didn't hear the pop of Apparition, so either this elf was extremely good at it, or he had also been in position already. She'd have to remember that for the future.

"Are there any other servants lurking nearby?" she wondered, slightly peeved.

With a gesture to Ioke and Ser Avery, King Riddle said, "Only these two. And even then, not often in the castle." As if anticipating her next question, he said, "They will not come into your private quarters unless I am present. And they will not come into our private quarters when we are both present, without announcing themselves."

The way he emphasized the 'our' made Hermione remember that she would likely be spending considerable time in the King's suite, as well as in her own. In an effort to avoid thinking thoughts that the King would see plainly on her face, she turned to look at the house-elf in front of her.

He was slightly bigger than most of the other house-elves, and unlike the good-natured ones that she'd seen carrying about in the castle, Ioke had a very solemn expression on his face. He stood stiffly at attention, his eyes focused on something over her shoulder.

With a slight frown, Hermione looked from Ioke to the King and confirmed that, as she'd thought, Ioke was indeed wearing a very tiny house-elf version of the King's leathers. The soft leather was a green not quite as dark as the King's, but it was complete with a little belt knife at his waist and a hood that hung down his back. For a moment, she pictured him with the hood up, and wondered if he had holes cut out for his ears to stick through.

With a slight cough, she prevented herself from laughing at the serious elf, although for all his movement, she didn't think he would have noticed at all.

Seeing her amusement, the King once again called for Pheme.

She appeared with a pop beside Ioke, whose ears trembled for the slightest instant. Hermione thought she saw his stiff back seem to get even straighter and his determined face even more severe.

Pheme frowned at the other elf and took an exaggerated step away, lifting her nose just a bit into the air before giving the King her very best curtsy.

Looking at her, Hermione started in surprise. Pheme was now wearing a miniature version of the garland that was in her own hair. The much smaller blossoms were almost the exact same shade as Hermione's, and were perched on her little head pushing Pheme's ears to hang down.

Hermione blinked, uncertain of what to say, self-consciously avoiding reaching up to touch her own flower crown.

The King leaned towards her and said in a low voice, "It's not uncommon for house-elves to imitate their masters. It's a sign of high favor."

Ah, that reminded her of what else she wanted to talk about. She took a deep breath. "I'm afraid I don't want a personal house-elf for a servant. I feel that—"

Her words were cut off by a horrified squeak from Pheme. Her big eyes had opened wide, and her ears shook in alarm, the flowers falling at her little feet.

Beside her, Ioke had been shocked out of his sternness, as he looked uncomfortably at the clearly distraught house-elf. He swayed towards her like he was going to take a step before he firmed his stance again, looking down furiously at his feet.

Pheme stalwartly tried to hold back her wail of distress, her hands placed over her mouth, but Hermione could see the tears welling in her big eyes. "A-As Mistress wishes," she said, her voice muffled between her fingers.

"Oh, no, Pheme," Hermione quickly apologized. "I don't mean anything against you, personally. You've helped me wonderfully. You've been brilliant, actually." The elf's eyes turned hopeful at her kind words, and Hermione's voice faltered. "I just mean—I haven't—I don't—" She stopped, looking helplessly at Riddle who just raised one eyebrow.

"I'm not used to having house-elves, Pheme," Hermione finally said, feeling terrible at hurting her little friend. "I have always done things myself. I need a little time," she explained, though she forbore from mentioning what she needed the time for.

The King must have taken pity on the awkward situation, as he waved his hand and indicated to Ioke that he should remove Pheme to the kitchens for a bit of a break. "Have some galatopita, Pheme," King Riddle suggested kindly, "and by the time you're finished, perhaps Lady Granger and I will be ready for you to bring us some tea."

The elves both nodded, though Pheme Disapparated to the kitchens without waiting for Ioke, who frowned at the empty space she'd been standing in, before he, too, popped out.

Into the silence left in their wake, the King said with good humor, "He was going to be useless to me, anyway, until he knew she was over her upset." He shook his head in amusement. "He's been trying to get her to notice him for a year now."

Surprised into forgetting her argument, Hermione considered the empty floor space that had recently held two house-elves and now just held a few broken flowers on the floor. "Really? Do house-elves…court?" She couldn't seem to wrap her mind around the idea of a house-elf romance. She'd never witnessed such a thing.

"Maybe now they'll finally get their heads together," Riddle said, solemnly.

"Their heads?" Hermione asked, confused.

"Yes, when two house-elves finish courting, they close their eyes, and put their big foreheads together. A golden glow envelops them, and it shrinks into a tiny pinpoint of light, and from that light a tiny baby house-elf grows and floats down into their arms."

Hermione gaped at him. "Is that really how…how baby house-elves are born?"

From behind her, she heard a snort of laughter.

The King's eyes twinkled with amusement as he said, "Ser Avery, that will be all." There wasn't even a rustle to indicate the knight's exit.

Embarrassed at her gullibility, Hermione shut her mouth, trying to keep her cheeks from coloring as she knew they probably were. She frowned at herself. Why did the King always seem to get the upper hand in their conversations?

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