Hermione visits Queen Beatrice to see if she can find out more about her new family.
Thursday 26th September 1996, 04:58 pm
Dear Diary,
Can you believe that it's been two days since my impromptu meeting with Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore still hasn't lifted the charm on the library to help me continue with my research?
TWO DAYS?!
I know he probably has a wealth of other important tasks to complete, including the running of the school and Wizengamot stuff, but surely this should be at the top of his list?! I'm at a crucial turning point in my life, thundering towards a change I'm not even sure I can escape and I need as much information as possible to help me navigate it. Okay, talking to McGonagall was helpful, but it wasn't enough to quell my burning desire to learn everything I could about this previously hidden side of my family.
How else am I going to work out if being a princess, and joining the British Magical Royal family is the right decision to me, unless I know all about them? And at the moment, I really only trust books to tell me the truth.
I guess at least I have the option of speaking to Beatrice about my questions, if she'll tolerate them. But I'm not sure how much I can rely on her to tell me the truth, especially as she hasn't been in my life for the past seventeen years.
That's who I'm heading off to see now. As I write, I am sitting in the Entrance Hall, waiting for my Head of House to escort me off of the grounds. Students rush past, on their way to after-school clubs and early dinner, but none of them are paying me a blind bit of notice. I truly am invisible.
Once I step out of the castle gates, I will take a Portkey to Ballindalloch, where my grandmother is currently staying. It is her 'Scottish home', as McGonagall described it. Queen Beatrice has places to stay in England, Northern Ireland, and Wales, as well as others abroad, in case she needs to travel. As if she isn't a witch who can appear in a different location almost immediately if she thinks hard enough about it?
Perhaps the Queen doesn't have an apparition license?
I will inherit all of these homes when the Queen retires. If I take up the throne, it will be my job to choose which British castle will be my permanent abode, and I can gift another to my grandmother to live out her retirement in peace.
Despite my lack of research, I have found out that it is possible for me to decide to refuse the crown and live my life as plain old Hermione Jean Granger. But that means that the lineage will die with me. I'm not sure what happens after that, though. Maybe that will be the end of the magical royal family?
But no pressure, Hermione.
Still, the thought of having four or more places to live is ridiculous. I only ever dreamed of owning one house. When I thought about it, I always pictured myself living in a lovely cottage in the countryside, maybe one like The Burrow, which is where Ron's parents live.
Preferably shared with the man I'm in love with, but I have no qualms about living alone. Crookshanks will keep me company anyway.
But four houses (and more) for only one person is incredible—what a waste of money. Not only will I never live in them properly, but the upkeep and the staff needed to run these places must be expensive. Where do the finances come from? Is there a vault in Gringotts loaded with Galleons? And I can inherit it all without having to lift a finger? Do they use house elves?
What a load of old tosh! There are witches and wizards out there struggling to make ends meet for Merlin's sake.
Take Ron's family. There are seven children plus his mum and dad, Molly and Arthur. Only Arthur works because there were so many children to look after when they were younger, which means they have a limited income. They make do, but Ron wears trousers that are too small for him or trainers with holes in them. He says he doesn't mind, but I can tell it bothers him. Once, I caught him trying a spell to enlarge his school shoes because he was fed up with cramping his toes into his old ones.
Maybe, if I decide to take the throne, my first order of business should be to sell the excess houses and give the proceeds to those who deserve it more, like Ron's family. Arthur Weasley works hard for the Ministry and deserves more than what he gets.
I'll also donate money to important charities.
Whoops, I veered off course a little there. My brain is in utter chaos at the moment. As I was saying, once she gets here, Professor McGonagall will escort me out of the castle grounds and to a portkey, which will take me to my grandmother's Scottish castle. There I will have my first real conversation with her without any other adults nearby. I'm nervous about meeting her. The woman in Dumbledore's office was severe-looking, prim and proper. What if we don't get along? She might be horrific and mean. What if she's disappointed in me? What if we have nothing to say to each other?
I must be brave, though. As McGonagall says, the hat sorted me into Gryffindor for a reason. The best way to learn about my family is to speak to the matriarch and hope that she's honest with me in return.
Anyway, the lack of empty books in the library forced me back to the common room, which was nice, as it meant I got to spend more time with Harry and Ron. Harry hasn't noticed that I've been quieter than usual, but I know Ron thinks there is something going on. After questioning me on the staircase the other day, he seemed to accept my ill-prepared excuse, but every so often, I catch him watching me. Then he looks like a basilisk caught near a crowing rooster, his eyebrows knitted together and his mouth open in concentration. As soon as he notices I've spotted him, he looks away, but the tips of his ears turn pink.
It's like I've caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.
But I've come to realise that I don't really mind him looking at me. In fact, it's kind of nice knowing that he cares about me, even if it's just brotherly concern for my wellbeing. Every time I catch him, a smile appears on my face, even though I try my best to stop it.
Merlin, I must be losing my mind.
List of questions to ask Beatrice
* What was Prince Hugo like? Not just his passions or his beliefs, but what quirky habits did he have?
* Where are all of our castles or manors located? Why do we have so many?
* When did we first have the throne? Has it always been in our family, or was there a horrific war where we gained it?
* Where does the family sit on the house-elf issue? Do we have any, and if so, do we pay them?
* What is my full name now? Do I inherit all of my father's surnames AND keep my mother's?
Professor McGonagall will be here any minute. I guess I should put you away and get ready to head out.
Until I remember to write again x
The sharp click of Professor McGonagall's small-heeled boots on the stone staircase cuts above the rabble of students gathering in the Entrance Hall after the end of classes, catching Hermione's attention. She lifts her head from her bag, where she's stowed her diary, to watch the teacher's final descent. As the professor gets nearer, Hermione rises to her feet, dusting down her woollen skirt and fixing a broad smile on her face in the hope of hiding the nerves that churn in her stomach.
"I'm sorry for being tardy, Miss Granger. I was dealing with a student issue. Your portkey is not due to leave for ten minutes. We have plenty of time to make it out of the grounds."
"S-sure." Hermione falls into step with McGonagall as she moves out of the wide, open doors of the Entrance Hall and into the brisque September weather. Although Autumn hasn't fully started yet, there's a keen chill in the air, which has begun to blow a little harder around the highlands.
They walk in silence for a moment, but it doesn't take long for a thought to pop into Hermione's head. She lets it sit for a moment, wondering if she should ask it, but the quiet soon begins to bother her.
She blurts out, "Have you had a chance to speak to Professor Dumbledore about lifting the charms on the books in the library?"
A tight-lipped smile appears on McGonagall's face as she turns to look at her student.
"Yes, I spoke to him after we met the other day. The Headmaster has many important tasks to attend to, but I'm sure he'll get to it when he finds a quiet moment. I take it you've had to give up on your quest for knowledge?"
"For now, yes. I ran out of books."
"Well, I'm sure Mr Weasley and Mr Potter are glad to have you back within their group. No doubt their homework has suffered without having you there to chivvy them along."
Hermione laughs. "Last night, whilst we were sitting in the common room, Harry commented on how my increased library hours had forced him and Ron to do their own research and check each other's work for once. I was so scared about the quality of the homework they were preparing to submit, I ended up spending an extra hour checking over the essays they'd written while I was looking for books.
"Surprisingly, I hadn't had to make that many amendments."
McGonagall throws Hermione a knowing look, but doesn't reply. The pair continue to follow the path from the castle towards the boundaries in silence, and Hermione allows the millions of thoughts she has about being a princess take over.
"They may have to learn to do without me," she muses out loud. "I'll be a Princess soon, whatever that entails, and I may not have time to babysit them through their studies."
"Quite right too. I'm pretty sure Mr Weasley and Mr Potter are intelligent enough to write their own essays, after all."
They reach the large black gates that mark the boundary of the castle grounds. With a tap of the deputy headmistress's wand, they swing open with a loud creak, the sound reminiscent of fingernails on a chalkboard, causing Hermione to shudder.
She had never seen the gates closed before. Hermione has only ever left or entered the castle within pre-arranged times, for Hogsmeade visits or to go home for the holidays. Whilst she leaves the grounds with the boys on foot, the other trips are usually in Thestral-drawn carriages. Either way, she's always too busy chatting away with the others to notice how long the walk to the entrance is and how vast the grounds of Hogwarts are.
The teacher doesn't give Hermione long to ponder this, though. Seemingly unperturbed by the thoughtful look on the young witch's face, Professor McGonagall steps over the boundary line as soon as the gates are opened enough and continues on her journey without waiting to see if her student is following her. Hermione lets out a small squeak then hurries along, not wanting to delay her teacher, especially as she's doing her a huge favour.
"You haven't told your friends about the news you received last week." It's more of a statement than a question, but there's an imploring look on McGonagall's face.
"No." Hermione ponders it for a moment. "I'm not even sure what to say to them, in all honesty. Hey, Harry, Ron. I woke up last Thursday, turned seventeen and I'm a Princess. Surprise! I'm still trying to digest it all myself."
"I think you underestimate them, Hermione. And I think you might need them more than ever. The following months will be difficult for you, as we've already discussed, and having your best friends on your side will be beneficial."
Uneasiness settles in Hermione's heart. Professor McGonagall is right. Hermione isn't sure why she's keeping the news to herself. Sure, there's a risk of Lavender and Cormac finding out and all hell breaking loose. Hermione suffers enough from their bullying taunts daily, without this added nugget of information fuelling the fire. But surely she trusts her two closest friends enough to know they won't go blabbing the news? After all, they have a shared hatred of Lavender and her circle of minions.
On the other hand, what if Harry and Ron don't want a best friend who is also a Princess? The added attention from the rest of the magical world will be horrendous once they find out who Hermione is and that she exists. Who is she to subject them to all of that? They'll want to keep their privacy, and they deserve that. Hermione may not have a choice but to step into the limelight.
The thought sends a shiver down her spine. It takes a certain calibre of person to enjoy being featured in newspapers and on the television, although she hopes that because she's part of the magical royal family, she at least won't be subjected to the torture that is being on TV. Hermione isn't that sort of person. Although she has no qualms about speaking out, either in class when she knows the answer, or if she spots injustice, she isn't sure how she will handle giving interviews. She's already hugely unpopular at school, what if everyone outside the castle dislikes her too? What she says and decides will have a massive impact on a lot of people's lives, and the thought sits heavy in her stomach.
Hermione and Professor McGonagall reach a bend in the path and come across a wind-beaten bench. Beside it is a ratty old beach bag. Both items look out of place and like they've seen better days. The professor picks up the tote between two long, spindly fingers, holding it as if it might bite, which, given the nature of the school and their magical powers, there's a great possibility that it could.
"Ah, here is your Portkey. Scrimgeour said it would be positively disgusting, and he wasn't wrong." She sneers, then passes it to Hermione. "It shouldn't be long until it's ready to go." She wipes her hands on her robes, then, with a second thought, mutters a cleaning spell to remove the rest of the residual dirt.
"Scrimgeour?" Hermione frowns.
The look of distaste on Professor McGonagall's face grows. "Oh yes, you will be working closely with the Minister for Magic if you decide to take the throne. I'm sure your grandmother will update you, but nothing happens in the royal family without the Minister's say so. At least Scrimgeour is a little bit better than Fudge, though?"
"I guess."
Their conversation and mutual dislike of the men in charge of their community is cut short when the bag in Hermione's hand turns blue. From her previous use of Portkeys, she knows she doesn't have long before it whisks her away.
"Curfew is at eight-thirty," McGonagall states. "Either myself or another member of the faculty will be here to escort you back to the castle. Beatrice knows this, so don't try to push your stay out any later. You still need time to complete your homework and socialise with your peers before bedtime, after all."
Hermione's world starts to spin, but she's not sure she can put the blame purely at the feet of the Portkey. The immense pressure of what's to come next overwhelms her, and her heart rushes into her ears. As the familiar feeling of a hook takes hold of her stomach, she manages the briefest of nods in her professor's direction.
Then with a whoosh, the castle disappears, and the Portkey hurls Hermione into the darkness.
⁂
When she next feels solid ground under her feet, Hermione finds herself staring up at a vast, white brick castle. Although there are only three stories, wings and annexes jut out of the building, filling every available space in front of her. Ivy creeps up the walls, decorating the stone with its brilliant green leaves.
The castle sits at the end of the extensive green gardens, which are perfectly manicured. They surround a white pebble path that leads up to a stone porch, protected by a heavy-looking dark wooden door. Above the entrance sits a coat of arms: a crowned lion and unicorn standing on either side of a red, blue and yellow shield. Flowers are everywhere, in almost every window of the castle, and outlining the path as it extends past the building and into the Scottish Highlands behind it.
It's breathtakingly beautiful, and Hermione stops for a moment to drink it all in.
Once she's burned the image into her mind, she glances left then right, trying to work out what her next move should be. The majestic view is a little overwhelming, but excitement buzzes through her veins as she considers the fact that the castle could soon be hers.
There is nobody to guide her, which seems strange to Hermione. The only noise is the sound of the birds in the trees, and off in the distance, the low braying of cattle. It all strikes Hermione as odd . Royal families on TV shows and in the movies have people everywhere, but most importantly, at least one or two guards are usually posted at the front door. But nobody is watching over the grounds here. She decides to take a guess that the main entrance is where she should go.
Rather than follow the winding path, she decides to take the most direct approach to her destination. She places five steps on the crisp, green grass, smiling as the long blades tickle her legs over her black knee-high socks.
"Please stay off the grass," a voice shouts from nowhere, causing Hermione to jump out of her skin.
As her heart rate recovers, she looks around, trying to find the source of the intrusion into her otherwise peaceful experience. But it sounds like the commands are coming from the bushes, the flowers and even the lawn themselves.
It continues, "Bitte nicht den Rasen betreten! ¡Por favor, aléjate del jardín! Kripya ghass se dur rahiye."
"Okay, okay, I heard you the first time. I speak English," she calls with a loud huff, indignant about the continued assault of words.
With a hop, she covers the short distance to the path and continues on her way, the crunch of the white gravel not loud enough to block out the telling-off that seems to go on forever.
"Doya kore ghash theke dure thakun. Bly asseblief van die gras af. Arhoswch oddi ar y gwair."
The voice reverberates around her ears as she steps up to the door, which opens before she can even lift her hand to knock.
"Ne pas marcher sur l'herbe…" it trails off, as a smart-looking man in a crisp red uniform with shiny gold buttons gives her a sceptical look.
"Who are you?" he questions.
The abrupt greeting throws Hermione for six, and she stutters as she replies, "H-Hermione Granger. I-I've been invited by my Grandmother."
"And who is that?" A sharp tut punctuates the end of the sentence, which bounces around the grand entrance hall.
"Queen B-Beatrice, Sir." Hermione isn't sure who the man is, but the tone of his voice dictates authority, and she is never one to ignore it.
A sudden smile appears on the guard's face.
"Oh, Miss Granger!" He throws down his pen and shuffles around the podium, greeting the teenage witch with a firm handshake. "It is such excellent news that you're here. We've been waiting for this moment for a long time. I'm Dedalus Diggle, member of the Order of the Phoenix, an elite group of magical folk charged with protecting the Magical Royal Family. Most of us are Aurors, like me, or those who are highly proficient in duelling and other protective and defensive charms."
She keeps a limp grasp on the wizard's hand, not used to being approached or spoken to in this way. The pomp, exuberant welcome from Dedalus feeds into the overwhelming feeling growing in Hermione's stomach. Not only does the usual snitch reside there, but now a great big Hippogriff has been released and is thundering around, chasing after two bludgers and the quaffle, too.
The Order, of course, had not been mentioned in any of the books Hermione had read.
"That's...uhm... a prestigious position to hold. You must—"
A door opening across the hallway from them interrupts Hermione and her grandmother, Queen Beatrice, appears, followed by a nervous-looking witch in black robes.
"A princess does not say 'uhm', Hermione," Beatrice chides, crossing the shining marble floor with a practised elegance and grace that makes her look like she's floating. She's wearing purple robes today instead of the Muggle dress coat, with a set of dainty-looking pearls around her neck and the world's smallest handbag hooked on her elbow. "She says 'pardon'. That is lesson one."
"Sorry, pardon, Dedalus."
The wizard gives Hermione a sympathetic smile then hops back behind his podium. Beatrice reaches Hermione and takes her hand, pulling the teenage witch towards her. Before Hermione can even react, her grandmother squeezes her in the lightest of hugs and kisses both her cheeks.
"I was pleased to receive Minerva's owl telling me that you decided to reach out. Whatever Jean said to you must have worked. Come with me."
Beatrice strides down the corridor towards another room. Hermione looks from Dedalus to the witch with the clipboard then hurries after the Queen, the rubber soles of her Dr Martens squeaking on the floor.
"Amelia," Beatrice calls as she opens the room and steps in. "Please add how to walk properly to the list I need to teach Hermione. I cannot handle that incessant racket every time I see her."
Hermione frowns, although it soon disappears as she follows her grandmother over the threshold and into the room, which must be the library if the shelves and shelves of hardback books are anything to go by. They stretch from floor to ceiling and are on every wall aside from the grand bow window, which Hermione is excited to see has a large windowsill with soft cushions adorning it. She resists the urge to grab a book at random and settle into the nook. There's a reason she's here, after all.
"This room is beautiful," she says as she steps further in, letting her eyes travel over and over the stacks.
"Oh, my dear, this is nothing compared to the collection we have at Winchester Palace, our abode in London. Your father had such a soft spot for books and reading that we had to spread it all across our estate to keep hold of it. He'd never let us get rid of it. You'll inherit every page from him. I have my private collection."
"Winchester Palace?" Hermione frowns again, watching as her grandmother takes a seat at the low, red leather settee in the centre of the room. "But I thought that burned down in the early eighteen hundreds."
The Queen waves a hand dismissively. "That's what we tell the Muggles. We have charms on all our buildings, similar to those Albus uses on Hogwarts. We wouldn't want any non-magical folk finding us. I see what they've done to Buckingham Palace, those tourists traipsing all over the place as if they're monkeys in a zoo. Please, join me."
Hermione dumps her bag next to the coffee table and throws herself into an uncomfortable-looking armchair, not missing the tut and roll of Beatrice's eyes.
"Amelia, please bring us tea." Beatrice turns to Hermione. "You've decided to accept the throne, then?" she asks, a small smile appearing on her face.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione shifts further forward in her seat, wiping her sweaty palms on her skirt. She notices that they're shaking, and to avoid the Queen spotting her obvious nerves, she slides them under her thighs. "Well, I'm not sure. Maybe, it depends."
"On what?"
As soon as she gets permission to ask, a million questions spill out of her mouth. "Will I have to leave Hogwarts? What does being a Princess mean? Will I have to wear a tiara? What about public speaking? What will happen to my friends?"
A tight chuckle escapes Beatrice's lips. "Your father had similar questions when he came of age, too. You will be pleased to know that you will not have to leave Hogwarts unless you want to. I assume you wish to finish your N.E.W.T's?" She waits for Hermione to nod before continuing, "Good. You achieved perfect O.W.L marks. I was proud when I heard."
"You know about them?"
"Of course, my dear. Minerva has kept me up to date with all your achievements during your time in the school. Regarding your other questions, no, you don't always have to wear a tiara, yes you will have to make speeches, and your friends will remain your friends. As for being a princess, well, I wish to give you lessons to teach you how to behave and act, now you're a part of the royal family."
A whirlwind of thoughts race through her mind. Princess lessons? Will she be able to keep on top of these as well as her already heavy workload? She took on too many classes once, with almost disastrous consequences. She can already hear Ron's sceptical voice criticising her for it.
"I'm still not sure," she admits. "I still need to digest everything I've heard over the past week. Do I have to make a decision straight away?"
Beatrice pauses whilst Amelia brings in a tea tray, full of the most delicate-looking china, decorated with elaborate floral designs. Small sugar cubes sit in a bowl, as well as a jug of milk. Hermione leans forward to help the assistant serve, but a scathing look from Beatrice forces her to sit back.
"Whilst with guests, you do not pour your own tea. Amelia will do it for you. And no, you do not have to decide straight away. I understand this is a massive piece of news, and if you're anything like my dear son, Hugo, you'll want time to weigh the pro's and con's before you make your final decision. Plus, you'll probably wish to discuss this with your mother.
"At the end of November, we will be celebrating the late Prince, your father's birthday, with a ball at the Ministry of Magic. I wish to announce at that event whether you will take the throne or not. You see, the Minister and other parties are putting pressure on me to tell the wizarding world what will happen with our royal family. We have kept you well hidden, and they do not know that an heir exists or that it is you. They still believe the line will end with me."
Taking the offered cup from Amelia, Beatrice lets out a shaky sigh and pauses for a moment. Hermione sips from her own tea, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on her grandmother. She's sure she was about to get to all the juicy information Hermione has been searching for all weekend in the library.
Beatrice sets her cup on the coffee table before continuing, "We've already told you that your father was killed by a Pure-Blood fantasist shortly before you were born. Unfortunately, if there is no heir to take the throne, it will be down to the Ministry to choose a successor. The old, archaic rules still exist dictating that it must be one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight British Pureblood families to take the crown. That is—"
Hermione gasps, "Not the Malfoys?"
"Indeed," Beatrice affirms, pursing her lips in a look that reminds Hermione of Professor McGonagall. "They are the most influential Wizarding family, after all."
"But that would be disastrous. I mean, I haven't had a lot to do with the family, but their son, Draco, is in my year. He's the vilest boy going. Racist, classist, the list goes on."
"I don't mean to put pressure on you, Hermione, but it's pertinent that you know the whole truth before you make your decision."
Unable to drink any more tea due to the cotton wool that's now filling her mouth, Hermione sets her cup next to her grandmother's then sits back in her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. For a moment, she worries she might be sick, but she takes a deep breath to quell the nausea.
She shakes the feeling off and trains her gaze back on the queen. "You said you wanted to give me princess lessons? What if I attend those for now, with the promise that I'll decide whether I wish to take the throne with plenty of time before the ball. That way you can make any arrangements?"
Beatrice seems to weigh Hermione's suggestion for a moment before a larger, more genuine smile crosses her face. "Spoken like a true diplomat. I accept. But I have two terms I wish to add. Until you make your decision, you are not to tell anyone that you are a princess. I do not wish the Malfoys to find out and make your life even more difficult. Plus, there is always the risk they might try and put you in harm's way. And term number two: from tomorrow, a member of the Order will be responsible for your safety and will be stationed at the castle."
"How can I keep the fact that I'm a Princess quiet if I have an Auror following me around all day?" Hermione blurts out without even thinking.
"Oh, you'll be surprised at how discreet the Order can be." She nods to the corner of the room, where a tall, black, broad-shouldered man is standing. Hermione missed him the first time she surveyed the room, and now she sees him, she's not even sure how. He is bald and wearing a single gold hoop earring, with a red uniform similar to Dedalus's. "This is Kingsley Shacklebolt, my private guard."
"Miss Granger," Kingsley says with a nod.
"Brilliant." Beatrice claps her hands once before picking up her tea again. "Now, will you be staying for dinner?"