Hermione goes to her first princess lesson with Queen Beatrice, then visits Hogsmeade with Ron, Harry and Tonks. Whilst she's there, she gets an epiphany.

Saturday 28th September 1996, 08:37 am

Dear Diary,

Tonks is a walking catastrophe.

I'm beginning to wonder if I should ask my grandmother who the responsible one is in this arrangement since the number of times Tonks has had to save me since she took up her post to look after me is zero. Yet, the number of times I have had to rescue her is already at five.

I have never seen anyone as clumsy as her.

Calamities Tonks has had since I met her twenty-four hours ago

* She tripped over her school robes and had to be saved by Ron

* Missed a step on the moving staircase and almost kicked Mrs Norris

* Set fire to the feather duster I was trying to transform into a ferret

* Sent a lamb shank flying down the Gryffindor table at dinner time

* She walked straight into a pillar because she was too busy gossiping with Harry.

And that's only during the hours we've been spending time together. Once I'm safely inside the Gryffindor common room at night, she goes home, and Elphias Doge takes over the night watch. That's twelve or so hours where I've not watched her almost kill herself.

To make matters worse, the offending piece of meat landed right in front of Lavender and Cormac, who took a short break from eating each other's faces to question who my loser friend was. Of course, they didn't speak to Tonks directly because they are that rude. Every comment from them was aimed at me as if it were my fault the Auror's dinner landed on their plates.

Which I guess it kind of is, but I can't admit to that out loud because then there would be a lot more questions.

Even last night, as I was sitting by the fire with Ron and Harry, Lavender kept shouting across the common room to ask if my new idiot friend was hiding from shame.

I mean, what do I even say to that?

Aside from the disasters that I have to help Tonks avoid, I enjoy spending time with the witch. She's funny, transforming her face into grotesque caricatures of my teachers and fellow students whenever they turn their backs on us. Ron, Harry and I have also taken to calling out random animals and erupting into giggles with Tonk's face morphs. It only takes a blink of an eye, yet it's so brilliant and effective.

It's great that she can get on with Harry and Ron as well. It feels like she's fast becoming a part of our little gang, even despite the age difference and the fact my grandmother is paying Tonks to hang around with us.

The jealousy I felt yesterday when Ron saved her from face planting on the floor has disappeared, now that I know that Tonks isn't a transfer student, but the Auror assigned to look after me. I know deep down that it was ridiculous to feel that way because he was trying to help her. But there's a tiny, annoying part of my brain that keeps on reminding me that, although he's saved me from a troll before, I've never had the feel of Ron's arms wrapped around me in any other way than a friendly hug.

But I guess I don't have any difficulties in keeping both my feet firmly on the ground.

Still, it might be nice to be caught by him and held close to his firm chest. Since he started playing Quidditch last year, he's filled out a lot. Before, he was lanky, almost like a string bean, but now, his tall frame has muscles, and he can be pretty pleasant to look at.

Not that I spend a lot of time admiring his arms or any other part of him for that matter.

.

.

.

.

.

Oops, sorry. I might have drifted off a little there. Even though my to-do list can probably double the length of the Great Hall now, I'm finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate. At breakfast, Tonks caught me staring off into space while I chewed a piece of dry toast. I had hoped to start my Charms essay, which is due next Thursday, before I left Hogwarts for princess lessons, but my brain is elsewhere today.

Given my nerves, I decided to travel to Ballindalloch castle early. My grandmother had made it clear that turning up late was not an option, and my attempts to eat breakfast were futile anyway. Everything seemed to catch in my dry throat and sit heavily in my stomach.

Tonks grumbled when I announced that I wanted to leave early. I think she was planning on having a second helping of eggs and bacon, but after threatening that I would go by myself and take the mouldy old Portkey instead of apparating with her, she soon got to her feet. I think the thought of having to explain to my grandmother why she wasn't with me scared her into action.

Now we're sitting in the vast foyer of the castle, waiting for my grandmother to be ready to see me, so I figured if I couldn't concentrate on my essays, I could at least write to you. Each scratch of my quill echoes around the cavernous room, and every so often, Tonks leans over to try and catch a sneak at what I'm writing. She's already commented twice that she's never seen anyone write as much about nothing as I do.

Mind you, she's yet to see me on a homework writing mission.

I've had to add extra protective charms to stop her from snooping. Every time she looks over, all she can see is Arithmancy equations. Now, every time she tries to sneak a peek, she looks confused for a moment then returns to picking at her nails.

It's a shame she had to go home last night, as I enjoy spending time with her. Despite Lavender and Cormac's teasing (which they soon got bored of when they didn't get a rise from me), the evening was relaxed. I spent it in our usual corner of the common room, in front of the fireplace. I read while Ron and Harry played Wizarding Chess. Ginny decided to hang out with us instead of spending time with her current boyfriend, Dean Thomas, who is in our year. Harry looked particularly pleased with this situation, and I must remember to ask him more about that.

I like Ginny.

When I stay over at the Burrow, Ron's mum makes me share a room with Ginny rather than bunking down with the boys. She has an unfounded suspicion that we might get up to stuff if we were left alone, which is utterly mental because one: Harry also sleeps in that room, and it would be weird doing anything in front of him (even if Lavender insists on spreading rumours about the three of us). And two: Ron doesn't even think of me that way; I am only a friend to him.

Oh, and point number three: Ron only has a single bed, and he's far too gangly. He would take up far too much space, and there would be no room for me, no matter how many variations of us sleeping next to each other I've imagined.

Tonks just interrupted me to ask why I was blushing. She said, "You've had your head buried in that stupid book all morning, and half of that time, your cheeks have been bright red. Are you writing about naughty things?"

Gross. I haven't even experienced anything like that yet.

Anyway, Ginny used to have a massive crush on Harry. One year, she sent him a Valentine's poem, and the poor dwarves Lockheart dressed up as Cupid read it out in front of all of our year. The twins teased Ginny for ages after that. Last year, I told her to try and be herself more around Harry and relax, which seems to have worked. She's had a string of boyfriends ever since, and Harry, finally, seems to be noticing her a little more.

Back to last night. Every time a Gryffindor asked me where Tonks was, I told them that she was studying. Of course, I had to tolerate the usual jibes about the amount of time I spend in the library, and why aren't you there with her 's, but I'm used to it by now. It's easy enough for me to roll my eyes and ignore them all now. They seemed to accept my reasoning. Nobody has asked where the witch will be sleeping, and for now, I think we're getting away with the lie.

When I got to the dormitory, an owl was waiting on my bed to remind me what time my princess lessons began. There was another at breakfast.

Like I could even forget the time of my appointment with Queen Beatrice. I wouldn't even dare.

I tried asking Tonks what sort of stuff I'd be learning. She reckons it could be anything from holding myself or speaking correctly when meeting with royal dignitaries from other countries. The amount of skills one has to master before becoming a princess is endless, and there is a long list of topics my grandmother wants to teach me, but according to Tonks, Kingsley was staying tight-lipped about it all.

Without receiving instructions on what to wear to a princess lesson, it took me a while to get dressed this morning. I only had the light of my wand to guide me, as I didn't want to wake anyone else up before I had a chance to leave the dorm. I'd never hear the end of it if I disrupted their beauty sleep. I've never spent time considering what to wear. My choices are pretty limited up at the castle—school uniform or jeans.

Considering it's a Saturday, I decided to go for jeans. At the bottom of my trunk, I found a lovely cardigan my mum got me for Christmas last year. I used a small Engorgio charm to make it fit, and it didn't look too bad when teamed with a nice vest.

But what if that was the wrong thing to choose? Is this what a princess would wear? I don't have a lot of source material to help inspire me (and my wardrobe is pretty limited). I don't read fashion and beauty magazines, and Witch Weekly is out of the window ever since they accused me of being a scarlet woman a couple of years ago (it's better not to ask). Queen Beatrice wore a muggle coat dress when she visited Hogwarts last week, but she was in plain robes when I was at Ballindalloch the other day. What if she expects me to wear robes too?

Why am I even worrying about what I should wear?! Fashion has never been a problem for me before now. The thought of being a princess is already warping my mind.

Anyway, it's too late to change my mind since I'm already at my grandmother's castle, and there are only five more minutes until my lesson is due to begin. I'm sure she'll tell me if I got it wrong, anyway.

There's a flurry of activity coming from the furthest corridor. I guess I better put you away and prepare myself for whatever is to come next.

Until I remember to write again x

Tonks glances at Hermione as soon as the brunette snaps the leather-bound diary shut.

"Finished scribbling away then, have you?" she says with a smirk. "I've never known anyone to have their head in a book as much as you. If you're not writing, you're reading."

Hermione shrugs then stows her diary and quill in her bag, which she's brought with her despite her lack of school lessons today. "What can I say, I enjoy studying."

"Is that what you were doing? Writing an essay?"

"Yep, that's all it was."

The Auror narrows her eyes then looks up as Dedalus Diggle emerges from a corridor that Hermione has worked out leads to the kitchens with a houseplant in his hand. He sets it on the podium next to the front door before jumping back in surprise when he spots Tonks and Hermione still waiting.

"Miss Granger, I forgot you were still here." He checks a small pocket watch which he draws from thin air before smiling. "Queen Beatrice is ready to see you. She's in the drawing-room. Go straight ahead, then take the second corridor on the left. Follow it to the end and then you'll be at the right place."

"Thank you, Dedalus," Hermione replies as she gets to her feet then looks expectantly at Tonks.

"Oh, I'm not coming with you," the Auror protests. "No thank you. I think you'll be safe in the drawing-room with your grandmother. I'm going to catch up on my paperwork and annoy Kingsley while I'm here. I'll be back here at twelve to escort you to Hogwarts."

Trying to hide her disappointment at the lack of reinforcement coming with her to the princess lesson, Hermione forces a smile on her face, remembering she must remain gracious. She nods once at Tonks before following Dedalus' instructions.

As Hermione walks, she takes in the beautiful artwork adorning the walls. Moving pictures of who she assumes are previous members of the royal family wave regally back at her, interspersed with magical versions of famous paintings.

It would be easy to get lost in a place like Ballindalloch Castle. Corridors stretch off corridors, and Hermione loses count of the number of doors she passes. How does one person need all this space, anyway? It seems like such a waste. Most of these rooms must sit empty most of the time.

Finally, she reaches the door she suspects leads to the drawing-room and lifts her hand to rap on it. She plays with the edge of her jumper as she waits for permission to enter, but it doesn't come.

As she begins to worry that she has the wrong place, Hermione considers whether she needs to retrace her steps to find another room. But then the same old house-elf from Thursday night pulls the door open, a friendly smile on her face as she takes in Hermione.

"Please, come in Princess," she says before holding the door open a little wider for Hermione to squeeze past her. "The Queen is expecting you."

On Thursday, Hermione might have said that the library at Ballindalloch was the grandest room she'd seen so far. It took her breath away. But as she steps into the drawing-room, her jaw drops. If the library was beautiful, then this room is simply stunning.

The purest of white paint covers the four walls, with shining gold trim outlining each panel. Every other section has the house crest on it, hand-painted in gold to match the edges, whilst candelabras and mirrors fill the rest of the wall space. A red and gold Persian rug stretches from one corner of the room to the other, broken up by various seats and sofas scattered around the place, all of them upholstered in white with gold trim fabrics. Near to the vast dormer window, which looks out at the beautiful grounds and the Highlands in the distance, sits a baby grand piano, a stark contrast to the rest of the room in mahogany wood.

Even the scent of the room screams privilege and high class. As Hermione takes in a deep breath, her nostrils fill with orange and bergamot, immediately putting her at ease.

Queen Beatrice is waiting on the most central settee, with her back to the entrance into the room.

"Your royal highness." The house-elf bows low enough for her large floppy ears to touch the floor. "Princess Hermione is here."

The queen rises to her feet, turning to face Hermione, who tries her best to paste a massive smile on her face. Although nerves still twist through her stomach, the warm fondness she feels for her grandmother eases them somewhat.

That soon disappears, however, when Beatrice glances at her granddaughter then snaps, "Is that what you've chosen to wear?"

Hermione takes a look down her slim body. Sure, the cardigan is a little worn, but her jeans are in good condition, and her boots are brand new. Before giving her a chance to reply, the queen closes the gap between them, moving as if she is floating despite the high heels she wears.

"Let's take a closer look, then, shall we?" she remarks with a sigh.

Choosing not to respond, Hermione allows her grandmother to pull her further into the room and under the bright light of the grand crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling. The queen takes her time to assess the young witch, pacing a slow circle around her, the click of her heels muffled by the rug under their feet.

"Not too bad," Beatrice says, although a smile does not form on her face. "Your posture could do with some work."

She presses her hand against the small of Hermione's back, forcing the curve of her spine to straighten up and the young witch to stand more upright.

"I'm usually okay with standing, it's just that my bag is—"

Beatrice cuts Hermione off with a tut. "Your hair is a frizzy mess. Have you not heard of Sleekeazy's? Fleamont Potter was a close friend of your grandfather's."

"I used it once for the Yule Ball, but—"

"Your skin isn't too bad, quite clear. You don't suffer from spots?"

"Not really—"

"You have lovely eyes," Beatrice continues without pausing to take a breath, "although they're hidden by your awful eyebrows. And you have ears like your father. That isn't a good feature, by the way."

I wonder if she'll let me get a word in edgeways?

Picking up Hermione's hand, Beatrice shakes her head, tutting away. "Oh goodness, your nails are horrific. Gnawed right down to the quick. Don't they feed you up at the castle?"

"Of course they do, but—"

The queen holds a hand up to silence Hermione, then floats to where Amelia is furiously scribbling notes. She snatches the notepad out of her assistant's hands to review the comments. After a moment, she realises that Hermione is still standing there, her mouth open wide in astonishment.

"Oh, please do take a seat. And do not gawk, it's rude."

Hermione slumps into the chair Beatrice gestures to with a huff, already exhausted by her grandmother's impromptu assessment.

"Hermione," the queen scolds, "not like that. A princess sits upright, with her legs folded underneath her. Like so."

Beatrice settles herself in the chair opposite Hermione, sitting straight without leaning on the back of the chair. Her chin remains parallel to the floor with her legs bent to one side, her knees and ankles kept together, one behind the other with a slight bend in the knees. The effect is immediate; the queen looks regal, as if she belongs in the beautifully decorated room, unlike Hermione, who is awkward and out of place.

With a frown, she tries her best to mould her body into a similar position, an ache radiating from the base of her spine as soon as she manages to create a mirror image of her grandmother.

How the hell do women sit like this for hours at a time?

The pose is in no way relaxing. Hermione's shoulders pang in pain, and a tingle runs up and down her back. She manages to sit like this for a moment longer before relaxing again, ignoring her grandmother's indignant tut.

"That hurts," Hermione whines, rubbing her sides with a groan.

"Your body will adjust to it in time. By the end of this lesson and for every future time we meet, I expect you to sit like that. In fact, you should practice it all the time, even in your classes."

"I'll try my best."

"Good. I also wish for you to dress properly to our sessions moving forward. A princess does not slum it in jeans and jumpers, unless they are designer brands, and made from the finest materials. Your cardigan is unravelling at the sleeves."

Hermione's cheeks heat up; she had hoped her grandmother might not notice it. Before she can even stop the words from tumbling out of her mouth, she snaps, "I don't have a lot of clothes up at the castle. I only packed items convenient for school. It's not like I knew I was a princess."

"No matter, no matter." Beatrice brushes off the outburst. "Amelia will take your measurements at the end of our lesson and will order you a few new items. A nice skirt and a pair of proper shoes will be fitting, perhaps a new robe too. I also expect you to at least apply a slick of lipstick and will show you how to paint your nails a respectful colour. No more biting them. You must be prepared at all times to greet your public."

The queen pauses and reviews the notes in her hands before turning her attention back to Amelia. "Actually, please arrange for Madam Malkin to come to next week's session. I think this is too much of a mess for us to handle by ourselves.

"Now, Hermione, the main focus of our lesson today will be sitting and walking. You've already got a taste of the sitting, so let's work a little more on that, shall we? Since we're already in a prime position."

Trying her hardest to suppress the groan that fights to escape her lips, Hermione rights herself straight away. The sooner she can get this over with, the sooner she can get back to the castle and begin to enjoy her Saturday.

The moment can't come quickly enough.

⁂

There is a lot to learn about sitting and walking like a princess, and Hermione's head swims with all the new information her grandmother has given her. When she is dismissed and sent back to the foyer to meet Tonks, she is two hours late to meet Harry and Ron.

"Wotcher, Hermione," the Auror says as the young witch approaches her. "We've had a visit from a beautiful snowy owl. You should have seen her. She had a note for you."

Hermione takes the offered note, frowning at Ron's unintelligible scrawl on the front. She opens it and begins to read.

"It's from Harry and Ron. They said they tried looking for me in the castle and couldn't find me. They hope Hedwig will have more luck than them. They're fed up of waiting for me and have already left for Hogsmeade." She sighs and folds the note back up, and stows it away in her bag. "I guess I'll see them in the Three Broomsticks or something?"

Tonks grins and gets to her feet. "Brilliant. I could do with a butterbeer. Maybe one of Madam Rosmerta's pies, too, it's been forever since I've had one. I'll apparate us straight in. Bye Dedalus."

The pair wave at the guard then Hermione takes hold of Tonks' hand. As soon as they make contact, the Order member turns on the spot and whisks them away.

⁂

Hogsmeade is bustling with students, and Hermione lets out a small groan at the sight of them all.

"Perfect opportunity for you to practice your walking," Tonks quips before pointing at the Three Broomsticks at the end of the short row of shops. "If you can make your way down there without falling, I'll buy the first drink."

Never one to turn down a challenge, Hermione straightens her shoulders and raises her chin so that it's parallel with the floor. After a deep breath, she places all of her weight on her back foot before stepping forward, letting her heel brush the instep of her front foot. Remembering what Beatrice told her earlier, Hermione focuses on making her stride half a foot long. Landing on her heel, she rolls through her instep and ends with the weight on her toes. Although she tries her best to make it look like she's gliding, the result is more like a giraffe on roller skates.

"This is no good," Hermione cries with an exasperated sigh, her frustrations piqued by Tonks' giggles.

The Auror hurries to catch up with Hermione, covering her lips to hide how funny she thinks the princess-to-be's efforts are. She replies with a shaky voice, "It's easy enough."

Tonks tries her best to mimic Hermione's gait, laughing even harder as she trips over her own feet and almost crashes to the floor. Despite Hermione's initial annoyance at the Order member, the sight of an uncoordinated Tonks trying her best to walk like a princess is too funny, and she soon joins in with the laughter. Once she's caught her breath, Hermione loops her arm with Tonks' and the pair weave through the crowds, almost breathless with the effort of trying to glide, avoid stepping on unsuspecting shoppers' toes and suppress their laughs.

Hermione is relieved when they make it to the pub, and she pushes open the door, smiling as a wave of warmth and noise hits her. The Three Broomsticks is as packed as the street outside, forcing her to stretch up on her toes to locate Harry and Ron. Eventually, she spots them in their usual booth, and she heads over to them, still trying her best to glide around the patrons.

"There you are!" Harry shuffles over to make space on the bench, and Hermione steals it straight away. "Where have you been?"

"And why are you walking funny?" Ron adds, frowning across the table at Hermione.

"I'm not walking funny!"

"You are! Different to how you normally walk, anyway."

"I didn't know I walked in a particular way," Hermione huffs before turning her attention to Harry in the hope of brushing Ron off. "I was at the library and got distracted, sorry I missed you at lunch."

"But we checked there," Ron interjects before Harry even has a chance to open his mouth.

"Well, you can't have looked hard enough, because Tonks and I have been there all morning, haven't we?" She looks at the Auror, who pulls up a chair to the end of the table.

"Yep, all morning. Research for Slughorn's latest assignment. I can't wait to get started on the Elixir."

Relief floods through Hermione at Tonks joining in on the excuse, even as Ron grumbles and sits back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. It's clear he's not impressed with missing her earlier.

"Well, I got you a drink." He unfolds one arm and pushes the full glass towards Hermione, his ears turning pink as he glances at Tonks. "Uhm, sorry, I didn't realise you'd be with Hermione."

"Not a problem, I can get my own. I owe Hermione a drink, anyway."

The table falls silent as Tonks gets up and walks over to the bar, swinging her hands happily. It's not the usual kind of quiet, the comfortable one that usually occurs between the trio. The awkwardness of Hermione's lies hangs heavily over them. Rather than address it, she busies herself with taking a sip of the drink. The creamy butterscotch sweetness helps her relax, although she doesn't allow her posture to slip from the one Queen Beatrice taught her earlier.

"That's exactly what I needed. Thank you Ron." Hermione smiles as she places the glass back on the table with a heavy clunk. She's left a lipstick mark on the glass, and she turns it around quickly in the hope that none of her friends spots it.

Ron doesn't respond as his attention is drawn to her lips, causing a bright red flush to creep over her cheeks. As if sympathetic to Hermione's embarrassment, the tips of Ron's ears become almost luminous.

"Uhm, you've got something…" he trails off, his lips smacking together as if his mouth has dried up. Instead of continuing with what he's saying, he leans over the table, placing one finger against the corner of Hermione's lip and wiping away the Butterbeer residue she'd left behind.

They've touched before, of course. Ron is a tactile person and always offers hugs when she needs comforting or as a greeting, especially if he's in a cheerful mood. But for the first time ever, the tip of Ron's digit ignites Hermione's nerve endings, sending pleasure shooting through her veins before finally tangling low in her belly. Her whole body flushes, and for a moment, she worries she might faint.

The other occupants of the pub, including Harry, who is still sitting next to her, fade away. All she can think about is the pad of Ron's finger touching other places on her body—trailing down her neck, disappearing under the neckline of her cardigan…

And then the realisation hits her. The fantasies, the undeniable jealousy she felt when Ron caught Tonks the other day, her inability to concentrate, the thunderous Hippogriffs in her stomach.

Oh.

Her feelings for Ron Weasley are definitely more than just friends.