After receiving the shocking news last Thursday, Hermione deals with it the only way she knows how - researching it in the library. When the masses of tomes at her dispense give away nothing about the Magical Royal Family, she then turns to Professor McGonagall for more information.

Monday 23rd September 1996, Afternoon free period

Dear Diary,

Everything has been a bit of a whirlwind since my meeting with Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore, and I'm not sure I'm keeping up with it all.

None of the crazy theories I came up with to justify being called to the Headmaster's office came close to why they wanted to speak to me last Thursday, and there was no way I could have anticipated what they were going to tell me.

You see, apparently, I am Hermione Granger, heir apparent to the throne of Magical Britain.

Heir apparent.

I looked it up, and this means that my claim cannot be set aside by the birth of another heir. Since I was my dad's only child, and he died before finding out that my mum was pregnant with me. Also, he was an only child too, which means there are no cousins to supersede me.

Honestly, I'm not even sure how I feel about all of this, apart from the complete devastation in learning that my mum has lied to me for seventeen years!

Of course, I'd known that Dad had died before I was born; she's never kept that from me. But learning that he had been magical and eradicated because of his beliefs was upsetting. I've prided myself on being a Muggle-born and still the brightest witch of my age since I got to Hogwarts, and now my whole Magical identity has been erased in a blink of an eye.

I don't even know who I am anymore.

For so long, I've felt like an alien within my own family, never fitting in with my mum and her straight-laced parents, who have their own rules and the way they believe people should act and behave. Since I was five and performed my first bout of accidental magic, I've never felt like I've belonged, although, of course, I was always well-loved.

And I'm not sure how much more I'll fit in with Queen Beatrice Anne Windsor Sherington, Dowager Queen of Magical Britain. In what version of reality am I royalty?

Princess Hermione.

I guess at least the name sounds good. Hermione is a pretty name and is almost princess-like. Although is that my real name now, or am I Princess Hermione Jean Granger Windsor Sherington? That's more than a mouthful. I can already hear Lavender laughing at it. As if the news of me being a princess isn't going to be enough ammo for her to pull a full-blown attack on me.

Do I even look like an heir apparent? I have frizzy hair and massive teeth. My knowledge lies in books and academic achievements and nowhere near parties and social climbing. I haven't even been able to keep up to date with Muggle politics since I've been at Hogwarts. I try to catch up when I'm home for the summer, and I can name the Prime Minister (John Major—ugh) and the party currently in charge (Conservatives—double ugh).

Wait, am I even allowed to think that the current party are gross fat cats only serving to line their pockets anymore?!

See! I am the complete opposite of what a princess is supposed to be.

Thursday was the worst day of my life. Seeing Mum in Dumbledore's office was awful. After our private talk, I escorted her back to the office. I had all intentions of rejoining the conversation about my news, but by the time we made it back, Professor McGonagall, Queen Beatrice and Minister Scrimgeour had already left. Only the headmaster remained, and he was attending to his paperwork.

I was secretly pleased about this, though, as the thought of having to spend any longer discussing my new royal status made me feel sick.

All Dumbledore said to me, as I steered my mum towards his fireplace, was, "Happy birthday, Miss Granger."

Because I was having such a brilliant day up until then!

Saying goodbye to Mum was hard. I wanted to go home with her, curl up in my childhood bed and allow her to comfort me, but at the same time, I was angry and needed to scream and shout at her, to smash up all those stupid trinkets Dumbledore keeps around the place.

Keeping the fact that I was a hidden royal was a massive betrayal from Mum. To make it even worse, instead of telling me in private, she blindsided me with it in front of a group of the most important people in Magical society.

It wasn't fair.

I wanted to disappear into the safety of my four-poster bed in the Gryffindor tower, with the strongest silencing and any other protective charms I could throw at it blocking out the world. It would be worth the risk of running into Lavender and her awful friends if it meant I had a sanctuary I could hide in.

But I only made it as far as the portrait hole. I was so absorbed in trying to work out the hows and whys of my awful news and what it might mean that I walked smack into Ron and Harry. It turns out they were worried when they couldn't find me after Potions and wanted to check that Dumbledore hadn't expelled me.

Charming.

Immediately, I wanted to spill all about what I'd been told in the Headmaster's office. I don't have any qualms about telling them about the inner goings-on of my life (well, most of the time, there are topics a teenage girl cannot share with her male best friends). But, the words wouldn't come out. And they were so happy that I was still a student of Hogwarts that they forgot to even ask what the meeting was about.

I was kind of relieved, to be honest. I know I regularly moan about their lack of interest in anything other than Quidditch, but it does have its benefits.

Before I could even argue with them that I didn't fancy socialising, even if it was my birthday, they'd yanked my hefty bag from my shoulder and stashed it in the corner of the common room. Harry even put a charm on it to hide it as a pile of books to make sure nobody interfered with it. With their hands on either side of me, I was forced back out and dragged down to the Great Hall.

I hate organised fun.

I tried to make an effort, more for their sake than mine. Being around a whole load of people is difficult for me on a good day, but after the meeting I'd had, I hated the thought of having to spend my evening socialising. But the boys had collected a group of the people I actually like in Gryffindor—Neville, Ginny, Dean and Seamus—along with our other friend, Luna, and they all wanted to make a fuss of me.

So I suffered along with it.

We didn't get any homework done that evening, and I barely touched the gigantic slice of cake Dobby pushed in front of me, but at least the festivities and the effort of having to keep up appearances distracted me for a while.

It wasn't until I was finally in my bed, alone, and with a hundred of the strongest charms I could throw at it to protect my privacy, that I allowed myself to cry.

I'm not sure if I've said it yet, but life is unfair.

Not only do I have to deal with all the rubbish that comes with being a typical teenager and a crazy workload, but I now need to work out how to fit in being a princess too. What does it all mean, anyway? Will I have to give up school and move to an even grander castle than the one I'm living in now? What will it all mean for my friendship with Harry and Ron? I can definitely kiss goodbye to getting a boyfriend now. Even if there was something growing between Ron and me (although I'm pretty sure there isn't) the news of me being a part of royalty will probably blow it all out of the water.

I'll be single for the rest of my life.

I'm currently in the library, where I've spent the rest of the weekend, apart from a short visit to Hogsmeade with Harry and Ron. I've been trying to find out all I could about the magical royal family, but my search has so far proved fruitless. The books I found only make a small reference to them, and there is no detailed history.

It's odd.

I have Transfiguration shortly, and I plan to stay behind after class to ask McGonagall about the lack of information. Maybe she'll know what happened to the books?

To-do:

* Practice non-verbal spells

* Research Britain's magical royal family (and see if a relevant party exists in other countries too)

* Ten inches on Dementors.

Until I remember to write again x

The rest of Hermione's post-lunch free period speeds by as quickly as a Niffler chasing gold, and it's not long before her wand vibrates to warn her that she needs to stop studying and prepare to leave. Fortunately, her research this afternoon has been smooth, albeit still fruitless. The quiet of the library is cathartic for her, allowing her to bury herself in the place where she feels the safest.

As a bonus, Ron and Harry are in Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid, and the rest of the student body avoids this place like the plague—as if you could catch dragon pox amongst the pages of the books.

Which suits Hermione well.

With an exasperated sigh, she eyes the latest pile of books towering over her. How can it be that every magical history tome in Hogwarts' vast collection only mentions the royal family in passing? Why are there no details anywhere ? Although she's not studying History of Magic this year, she could always pop her head in to talk to Professor Binns the next time she's free. Maybe he'll know more about them?

Now Hermione knows who her dad really is; she's desperate to learn all she can about him. She's hungry for knowledge about her ancestry. She wants to know what Hugo Phillip Windsor Sherington, Crown Prince of Magical Britain, stood for, what he truly believed in. She can't believe that for seventeen years, Hermione's mother allowed her to believe that he was a dentist who died in a car accident.

For the first time, books have let her down.

"Right, well," she mumbles to herself, as she pushes the pile of manuscripts into her arms, "fat load of good you lot are."

A sharp shushing comes from Madam Pince, who hates any sort of noise disturbing the peace in the library, but Hermione ignores it as she carries the tomes back to the correct stack. As she walks, books fly from the top of her pile and sort themselves into the right spots. She continues to mutter theories as she works.

"It's the first sign of madness, you know. Talking to yourself." A deep voice appears behind Hermione, causing her heart to skip a beat and forcing her to almost lose her grip on the massive stack of books in her hands.

Even though she knows who the voice belongs to without even needing to peek, she's keen to see his face. Spinning on her heels, Hermione turns to look at her redheaded best friend, who leans against a set of shelves, mud and twigs dirtying his uniform. His tie is breaking free from its knot, and his shirt is untucked from his trousers, as usual. His robes are missing. Despite his disarray, a lopsided grin appears on his face, accentuating the hundreds of freckles that decorate his cheeks. His blue eyes sparkle with mischief.

Even though his sudden appearance makes the world spin around her, Hermione can't help but revert to her usual nagging self.

"Why aren't you in class?"

Ron seems to ignore her scolding as he pushes his long body out of his casual stance and takes a couple of steps towards her. "You know we've been learning how to look after Glumbumbles?" He waits for Hermione to nod before continuing, "Well, mine and Harry's escaped and attacked Hagrid's honeybee hives. We spent the last fifteen minutes trying to catch Gary. Harry got stung, and it started to swell. I brought him up to Madam Pomfrey in case it was serious. While I was up this way, I thought I'd check in on you."

"But the infirmary is on the other side of the castle."

Shut up, Hermione.

"'S'on the same floor, though." Ron shrugs and takes the book from the top of her dwindling pile and flicks through it. "I didn't think you were taking History of Magic this year. You probably know more about this topic than Binns. You'd be able to teach it better than him, too."

Hermione laughs. "Oh, it's a little extra reading, but not for school." She pulls the book out of his hand and sends it in the direction of its home on the shelf. "Let me get this right, though. Our best friend is injured, and you abandoned him in the hospital wing to come and find me?"

There are two sure-fire ways of recognising when Ron Weasley feels awkward or embarrassed. The first is when the tips of his ears shine bright pink, and the second is when he rubs the back of his neck. Both reactions happen in quick succession, bringing a smile to Hermione's face. She was right. Her best friend is good at cheering her up, even if it is at his expense.

"H-he was adamant he didn't need looking after," Ron stutters, avoiding her gaze, which is a damn shame because, in Hermione's opinion, he has the most beautiful blue eyes she's ever seen. The thought almost makes her heart stop completely, but she takes a deep breath before she loses herself.

I need to stop thinking this way about Ron. He's my best friend. I've lived with him for five years. One slip and I might scare him away forever.

He coughs before continuing, putting on an awful impression of their bespectacled best friend. "It's only a scratch, Ron. Bet I can't even use it as an excuse to get out of Transfiguration, although you better not tell Hermione I said that."

A loud laugh erupts from Hermione's lips, earning her another threatening shush from the librarian. "I guess we're meeting him outside McGonagall's classroom, then?"

"Yeah, probably." Ron shoves his hands into his pockets. "Madam Pomfrey promised it was a quick fix."

"Alright then, let's go before you get me into any trouble. Madam Pince looks like she's close to banning me."

"Because that'll be the worst thing that could ever happen to you."

If only he knew.

⁂

It doesn't take long for Hermione to gather her belongings. Ron dumped his school bag and robes next to her table before he came to look for her. Once they're ready, they leave the library together. There is still ten minutes before the start of their next class, so they take their time, enjoying that they don't have to fight their way through crowds of students to get to their next destination.

They maintain a comfortable silence only afforded to long time friends, and it's not until they are on the moving staircases that Ron opens his mouth. He leans against the railing with practised ease as the steps swing around to the next landing and clears his throat before asking, "Are you ever going to tell me what happened in Dumbledore's office the other day?"

Heat creeps over Hermione's cheeks, and she takes a sudden interest in her shiny new Dr Martens. She had hoped Ron and Harry might have forgotten all about the meeting since neither of them had bothered to bring it up. She should have known better than to think she'd gotten away with it.

Why is it always Ron who spots these things?

Luckily, she's good at thinking on her feet because there have been millions of thoughts rampaging through her brain this weekend, and she hasn't had time to come up with a decent excuse.

"Oh, it was a waste of my time." Hermione tries to arrange her face into what she hopes is an impassive look. "It's a bit annoying that they pulled me out of potions, really. Professor McGonagall had a visitor from the Ministry, and they wanted them to meet their best-performing student. It was a bonus for them that they got a Prefect, too."

The first rule of effective lying—tell a lie that is as close to the truth as possible .

Rolling his eyes, Ron scoffs then steps off the stairs. "Of course they did." He thinks for a moment before adding, "Hey! I'm a Prefect, too. Why didn't they ask to see me?"

Hermione shrugs and shakes her head before following him. "I have no idea, but it was a boring meeting. I kind of wish you were there."

"Really?" His eyebrows spring up in surprise, and the tips of his ears turn pink again, but he recovers quickly enough, putting on a calm voice as he says, "Well, next time, you should be adamant that I'm there with you. I know that you can be persuasive when you want to."

The compliment is backhanded, and Hermione knows she should be annoyed at it, but it sends those stupid snitches fluttering through her stomach again. She needs to get these new peculiar sensations under control before it gets too out of hand. Otherwise, she might end up doing something stupid.

Like kissing him.

"Thanks," she replies, forcing out the words in a tight voice. "I think."

Her throat is dry as lusty thoughts fill her mind. Maybe snogging Ron Weasley wouldn't be too bad after all.

"Y'welcome."

The wonky grin appears on Ron's face once more as he nudges her in the right direction down the corridor and towards the South Tower.

⁂

By the time Ron and Hermione make it to Transfiguration, the rest of their class and year are there. As all of their lessons are electives for their sixth and seventh year, Professor McGonagall combined all the houses to make one big group of students. Transfiguration is still the most popular lesson which means all the sixth year students attend at the same time.

Of course, this means that Lavender and her minions are there, but the blonde-haired Gryffindor doesn't notice Ron and Hermione approach, as she's too busy shoving her tongue down Cormac's throat. The pair reach Harry, who rolls his eyes at them. Ron makes a loud gagging noise, forcing Lavender and Cormac apart. The action sounds like the seal being broken on a vacuum, and for a moment, Hermione is worried she might be sick.

"As a Prefect, Hermione, you should write them up for such a gross public display of affection," Ron comments.

"You're a Prefect, too. Anyway, it's not against the rules. At least, not this year." Hermione frowns as she recalls the increasingly ridiculous rules their temporary headmistress, Dolores Umbridge, applied to the school last year.

"It's not like you can take points away from us anyway, Granger. You're not that much of a freak that you'd risk losing Gryffindor points for a little bit of kissing. Only teachers can do that." Lavender folds her arms, but she maintains contact with Cormac by leaning against him. There's a wide smirk across both their lips, igniting the hatred that lies in Hermione's belly.

Cormac quips, "Maybe you three should stop being jealous."

Lavender picks up on the trail straight away, a giggle escaping her lips as she continues, "Yeah. Perhaps if the three of you did a little snogging once in a while, you'd relax a bit more. Or is that why you're always arguing? Is it difficult choosing who should snog who first?"

Led by Parvati and Padma, the waiting students burst into laughter. Heat floods Ron, Harry and Hermione's cheeks, further fuelling the hysteria. Satisfied that she's caused a big enough scene, Lavender takes Cormac's hand and leads him down the corridor, stopping within earshot of the waiting students to make her noisy goodbye.

Noticing Ron's curled fists, Hermione turns to him, hoping to change the subject to distract him from his rage. "How are you feeling now, Harry?" she asks as she continues to take deep breaths to calm herself down. "Is the sting gone?"

Her plan works, and both boys calm down enough to regale Hermione about the story of Gary, the escapee Glumbumble, as they wait for McGonagall to call them into her classroom.

⁂

Transfiguration class goes without any disasters, although Hermione struggles to concentrate with Ron's constant complaining about the difficult spell they're working on. The charms have gotten more challenging since they started back at school three weeks ago, as they work towards Human Transfiguration. Today, Professor McGonagall teaches them how to transfigure cauldron cakes into cabbages, much to Ron's chagrin.

"Cakes are for us to enjoy, not turn into vile vegetables," he mutters more than once.

At one point, Hermione even had to stop him from eating their subject before she could have a go at the spell.

The bell rings to signal the end of their day of classes without any successful transfigurations taking place. Hermione rolls her eyes as Ron helps himself to the waiting cauldron cake whilst she packs her bag.

"I need to speak to Professor McGonagall about the essay she set for homework. Why don't I meet you in the library? We can work on our Dementors essay before dinner. It's due at the end of the week."

"Oh come on, Hermione, it's been a tough day," Harry and Ron's complaints fill her ears, but she stops them with one look. "Alright, we'll see you there."

The boys disappear, and she takes a big breath, dread filling her stomach as she approaches McGonagall's desk. Hermione is not entirely sure she's ready to speak to the professor about the news she heard last Thursday, but if she wants to learn more about her family, she has to start talking to the people she trusts the most. Since McGonagall was close to Queen Beatrice, it's an excellent place to begin.

Professor McGonagall lifts her head from her paperwork as she notices Hermione waiting in front of her desk. "Yes, Miss Granger, how may I help you?"

"I-I was wondering if... Well, I mean, could I—" Hermione sighs as she struggles to form the words she longs to ask.

"You were wondering if you could ask me questions about the news you received last Thursday?" the professor asks with a tight smile. "Please, take a seat. Do you want a biscuit?"

The deputy headmistress opens the top drawer of her large oak desk and pulls out a tartan tin. Hermione knows better than to refuse. She takes a shortbread biscuit but doesn't even nibble on it, her stomach twisting with nerves and making her feel nauseous.

"I have meant to speak to you all weekend, but I didn't want to disturb your studying. I wanted to check on your well-being. It must have been a shock to you."

Before even realising it, Hermione scoffs then mumbles, "That's an understatement."

The professor's smile grows wider. "Yes, I don't blame you for feeling that way. You know, you're almost identical to your father, Hermione."

"Y-you knew him?"

"Of course." McGonagall conjures a pot of tea out of thin air and pours them both a cup before continuing, "As I said on Thursday, I was close to Beatrice and was her special advisor for a long time. Prince Hugo was a charming young man, with strong beliefs and a good sense of right and wrong, not unlike yourself. He didn't mind breaking the rules if he felt it was for the right reasons.

"When I saw you step up to the sorting hat on your first day, I knew straight away that you were his daughter without having to read your name. You're similar in looks, too."

Hermione's jaw drops open, but her heart grows warm. Her previous nerves melt into curiosity. "Was he a Gryffindor?"

"No, he was a Ravenclaw. A fitting house for him, as well. He had a passion for knowledge and spent hours in the library. I was surprised when the hat sorted you into Gryffindor at first, but as I've come to know you, I now understand why."

"Would he be annoyed? That I didn't follow in his footsteps?"

McGonagall puts down her cup of tea and sits back in her seat, pressing her fingers together in contemplation. "I don't think he would have," she says after pondering her answer for a moment. "Not many people know this, but you do have a say in what house the hat puts you into."

"I asked for the hat to put me in Gryffindor."

"And I'm confident that if you were to ask Mr Potter the question, he'd give you the same answer."

Hermione smiles and sips at her drink. Now that she has Professor McGonagall's attention, a hundred questions race to the front of her mind, each as important as the last. "Can we talk more about my dad?"

"Anytime you wish. If you need me, Hermione, you know where to find me. You're about to enter a difficult period of your life, made trickier when you add Princess duties to that list. Being a teenager, passing your N.E.W.T's. I want you to know that as your Head of House and a loyal friend to the crown, you have my full support."

"I don't even know where to start. What do I have to do? What does being a princess entail? Will it affect my studies? Will I be forced to leave Hogwarts?"

Professor McGonagall lets out a tinkling laugh. "Those are interesting questions, but I'm afraid I can only answer one. We will never force you to leave Hogwarts. It is home for all who seek it. The rest, well, have you spoken to your Grandmother since Thursday?"

"No." Hermione shakes her head. "I've been trying to find out more about my new family, but there are no mentions of them in any of the books I've found in the library."

"Ah. Well, I can answer that question, too. Professor Dumbledore removed all mentions of the crown when your name appeared on the magical list. We didn't want you to find out about your heritage before it was time. To protect you, of course. I will speak to him and ask him to lift the magic. That way, you can continue with your research."

"Then, I guess I should try and speak to Beatrice next?"

McGonagall nods, then drains her cup of tea before placing it back on the desk, ignoring the slight clatter it makes. "I think you should, yes. What about this Thursday? I'm sure I can make special arrangements to allow you off the castle grounds and visit Beatrice, should you wish?"

No.

Hermione's brain is longing to protest. She's adamant she doesn't want this, she never asked for this bizarre family history, but her curiosity gets the better of her. Hearing more about her dad has stoked the flames she didn't even know were growing in her belly, and she's hungry to hear more. She gives a hesitant nod, then leans further forward in her seat as McGonagall pulls out a fresh sheet of parchment and begins to write.

"Yes, please," Hermione whispers, her breath stolen away from the magnitude of what she's about to face.