Hermione returns to the Gryffindor common room after the Ministry Dinner and finds a sleeping school friend. Will this lead to reconciliation?

With dinner over and the final speeches delivered, Hermione finds herself in a quiet corner of the foyer, her third glass of elf-made wine in her hands. She should be tipsy by now, given that she rarely drinks. Her grandmother has probably commanded the wait wizards to water the alcohol down.

Probably to stop me from making a further fool of myself.

The guests occupy Queen Beatrice, allowing the young princess to wallow in self-pity for a bit longer. The queen glides between everyone, engaging them in conversation and asking for their opinions on topics that Hermione really couldn't care less about.

As the clock ticks closer to midnight, the yearning to be back at Hogwarts grows. Hermione longs to be out of the dress, which is beginning to feel tight and uncomfortable after her massive meal, and in her warm pyjamas with Crookshanks on her lap. She needs to dismantle the mortifying events and tell her diary precisely what happened before it disappears from her mind.

Not that she thinks she'll ever forget about it.

However, every time Beatrice passes, she gives Hermione a disparaging look, telling the young princess that she should probably stick around for a while longer.

The Malfoys are the last to leave, and Hermione cranes to hear what they're saying to her grandmother over the noise of the string quartet. Maybe she can talk the twins into putting together a Princess package of useful items that might help her? Although, that would mean admitting to them that she thinks that their Weasley Wizard Wheezes are actually good (which they are). She only banned them from the Gryffindor common room because they were a nuisance. But maybe, it might be worth it?

Eventually, the tops of Lucius and Narcissa's heads disappear in the green flames that burn from the white marble and gold fireplace with a loud whoosh. As Dedalus silences the music, Beatrice glides over to Hermione.

"Come with me," she demands, her lips drawn into a thin line. Hermione notes that there are no pleases or thank you's from her grandmother, signalling that she is in serious trouble tonight.

With a low sigh, Hermione pushes off the wall she had propped herself up against. She was quite enjoying being a wallflower instead of the centre of attention, even if it had only been for a couple of minutes. Fewer things can go wrong when you're hidden away. Since the only people left in the room are Dedalus Diggle and Kingsley Shacklebolt, Hermione skulks after her grandmother, no longer worrying about whether she is walking correctly or if her shoulders are squared off enough.

Queen Beatrice twists and weaves through the myriad of corridors, taking Hermione further into the depths of Ballindalloch castle. Eventually, they get to a room she has never seen before. Her grandmother yanks open the door then shuts it behind Hermione, closing off the rest of the world.

"What is this place?"

They're in an office, although it isn't as well-decorated as the other rooms they've been using. The wallpaper is floral and fading, although Hermione can hardly see it underneath the edge to edge photographs on the wall. These are family snaps, more candid than the official ones available in the more public areas of the castle. Their occupants wave casually at Hermione as they slouch against the scenery.

The room smells of her grandmother, too—a mixture of rose and vanilla fills Hermione's lungs as she takes in a deep breath.

"This is my private office," Beatrice says as she settles in a battered but comfortable looking desk chair behind an old scratched desk in the corner of the room. "There are several ways to get here, as well. Over the years, I've added hidden tunnels and secret doorways as I've needed them. This room exists purely to give me a break from visitors, or to hide from my royal duties when they become too much."

"It's not like anywhere else in the castle," Hermione muses.

"Of course not. This is my room, untouched by the fancy decorators that keep the castle's decor up to date with the fashions of the decade. You will need to carve out a space of solitude to take rests too, should you take the crown. Now please, sit down. I wish to have a quick chat with you before you disappear for the night."

The kind tone Beatrice takes with Hermione clouds her mind with confusion. She takes the old wingback armchair her grandmother points to anyway, sinking into the soft, stuffy material and closing her eyes. Hermione was sure her grandmother had called her here to tell her off, but Beatrice's tone indicates otherwise. Still, Hermione knows she should probably broach the subject first. It's the done thing.

"Grandmother, I'm sorry about tonight," she mumbles.

"What was that, Hermione?"

Hermione sighs, then sits upright, trying to talk a little clearer as she repeats, "I'm sorry. Tonight was a disaster."

The young princess glances across to her grandmother in time to see a frown knit across the queen's face.

"Whatever are you talking about, dear?"

"Well, I got everything wrong. I almost set fire to Minister Scrimgeour's sleeve. I caused a scene when I ate too much sorbet and it gave me a brain freeze, which, by the way, Lucius Malfoy witnessed and commented on. And I tripped up a wait wizard, who soaked the Minister with accidental magic."

Holding her breath, she waits for the scolding from her grandmother, but it doesn't come. Instead, a noise that sounds almost like a laugh erupts from Beatrice's mouth, taking Hermione by surprise.

"Is that all?" the queen asks through her chuckles. She pulls a lace handkerchief out of nowhere to dab at her eyes. "It was your first event. Merlin, I'd be more worried if it ran smoothly. Hermione, dear, you were bound to have an incident or two tonight. I didn't want to warn you of them because I was worried that you'd concentrate too much on making a mistake and forget to have fun."

Hermione isn't sure what to make of the whole situation. She was convinced that tonight's series of events was enough to get her fired from her new royal role. Can you even be dismissed from your own family? Either way, she was confident that her grandmother was going to say, 'thanks, but no thanks.' The cogs in her brain buzz and click as she tries to formulate a sensible retaliation, but all she manages is an, "Oh."

"I could tell you so many stories about your father. During his first Ministry dinner, he was so nervous, he accidentally re-animated the hog roast. It took us forever to catch the poor beast."

"No way?" Hermione joins in the laughter, covering her mouth with her hands. "That's ridiculous."

Beatrice nods. "I speak the truth! Although we're royalty, we are also only human. As long as you learn from these mistakes and try better next time, then that's all I can ask."

"Then, I don't mean to sound rude, Grandmother, but why did you ask me in here? I thought I was here for a telling off."

"Well, I wanted to tell you how proud of you I've been today. And not only the dinner but how you performed through the dress fitting, too. You acted like a lady, despite the fact your patience was growing thin.

"Tonight, it was clear that the majority of our guests were enthralled with you, and as I was saying goodbye to them, everyone was simply gushing about how nice it was to meet you. You were the epitome of how a princess should behave, and for a young girl who hasn't even had that many princess lessons yet, you performed beautifully."

A warm flush of pride washes over Hermione even as she tries to suppress a yawn. "Really?"

"Yes, of course. This sort of event will soon become the norm for you and every one will get better. I am extremely pleased with how tonight went." The queen pauses for a moment and dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief once more. "Now, I can see that you are tired. I have arranged for our floo to be connected to Minerva's office at Hogwarts, since it's so late. Good night, my dear."

"Thank you."

Hermione pushes herself out of her seat with a slight groan, fatigue settling into her bones and making her arms and legs ache. Her head feels like it's wobbling on her shoulders, and she longs for her squishy mattress and as much sleep as she can get.

She reaches the door, her fingers fumbling to find the handle, but she stops herself before she leaves. Without a second thought, she crosses back over the room and around the desk before pressing a firm kiss on Queen Beatrice's cheek.

"Good night, Grandmother. I'm glad I'm getting a chance to get to know you."

A huge smile appears on Beatrice's face, and tears fill her eyes. Before Hermione can get emotional, too, she turns on her heel and makes a swift exit.

⁂

The corridors of Hogwarts are dark and cold by the time Hermione steps out of Professor McGonagall's office, and the young princess wishes she'd worn thicker robes before she left this morning. It's easy to forget that Autumn is setting in when you spend most of your time travelling by magic.

She shivers and wraps her arms around herself, moving quickly in the hope of generating a little bit of heat. Filch has already dimmed the oil lamps, so Hermione lights her wand to help her find her way. Elphias Doge is already in his usual spot, hidden behind the suit of armour opposite the portrait hole when Hermione approaches, and he gives her a slight nod when he sees her.

"Good night, Princess."

Hermione reaches out to wake the Fat Lady then pauses, turning instead to speak to Elphias. "Are you okay sitting out here all night? Is there anything you need?"

The usually sour-faced wizard smiles. "I'm okay here. I prefer peace and quiet and I'm too old to be following you around in the day time. Anyway, Filius Flitwick often pops by with a dram of whiskey if he's struggling to sleep. We go way back, so it's nice to have a chat."

"Okay, good. Well, good night then."

The Fat Lady doesn't create a fuss about being woken up by Hermione, even though it's now well past midnight. The portrait swings open as soon as Hermione gives the correct password.

The common room is empty, which is not a surprise given how late it is. But it's not entirely quiet. Soft snores fill the space, bringing a smile to Hermione's face. Someone must have been trying to stay awake but has failed miserably. It happens as much as you'd expect, especially since the entire tower is full of teenagers without twenty-four-hour supervision.

They're lucky they're alone, whoever they are, as sleeping students in the usually bustling common room often wake to find rude words cursed into their skin.

Hermione follows the noise, planning on waking up whoever it is and checking on them before sending them up to their bed, as a proper Prefect should. She hums to herself as she weaves around the furniture, her heart stopping for a brief moment as she lays eyes on the owner of the snores.

Ron fills the entirety of their favourite sofa nearest to the fire, which has burnt down to its embers. He's lying on his side, his legs curled up to his chest so that they can fit in the tiny space. He must have his right arm tucked underneath him, but the left dangles on the floor. Ron's old t-shirt has ridden up as he sleeps, baring an expanse of freckles that stretch across his pale hip.

Her heartbeat returns with a quicker pace than before, filling her ears with its incessant pounding. Hermione is surprised that the noise hasn't woken Ron. She knows she should walk away, head up to bed, and leave him be, but she can't stop watching him as he sleeps. His face is peaceful, almost happy looking, although she notices two new bruises on his arm.

They must have had their first Quidditch training today. He's never been great at healing his injuries.

Ron lets out a loud snore, and he stirs, causing Hermione to freeze. He yawns and stretches without opening his eyes, then rolls onto his stomach, almost falling off the sofa in the process. He's a wriggler. With dismay, she realises that sleeping next to him would be a massive pain in the backside, especially because she struggles to sleep unless it's completely quiet in the room.

Hermione shakes the thoughts out of her head as she waits for him to get settled again. She lingers for a moment longer before moving again, just in case. Her palms are sweaty, and she doesn't even realise she's been holding her breath until her lungs begin to burn. The close encounter is too much of a close call. Ron is like a sleeping dragon, and you should never wake one of them up, especially while they're still not speaking to each other. Also, he probably wouldn't appreciate waking up to find her perving on him. She could do without the fight that is bound to ensue when he spots what she's wearing.

But what kind of a friend would Hermione be if she left him to get cold? She Accio's the blanket she knows is on the end of Ron's bed and tucks it around his lean and gangly body, holding her breath again and trying her hardest not to make a sound. As Hermione leans down, the unmistakable scent of Ron wafts into her nostrils—something clean, although she can't put her finger on what, with an undertone of mint and cardamom—a smell that is so overwhelmingly him. There is a strong urge to kiss the top of his head and run her fingers over the red, sweaty locks next to his ear, but she ignores it with a heavy sigh.

That would be pushing it way too far.

After taking one last glance at him, Hermione leaves him be, tiptoeing her way around the rest of the furniture. She makes it to the door that leads to the girl's dormitory and pulls it open when a grumble and a sleep-filled "'Mione?" disturbs her.

Resting her forehead against the door, she closes her eyes before replying, "Yeah?"

"Whatchu doin' up?"

The rustle of the blanket tells her he's stirring, but she doesn't risk a peek. Her pulse is racing, preparing her for fight or flight. He's going to have more questions, and a million excuses race through her mind, but she knows she can no longer lie to him. Nor does she want to. The tattered ends of their friendship can't take it.

"I've only just got in."

She steels herself for the ensuing argument, but it doesn't come.

"Why? Where have you been?" Ron's voice is more alert now, although it's not as harsh as it has been recently.

Letting out a hard puff of air, Hermione turns around and opens her eyes as she presses back against the door. "I've been to a Ministry dinner."

It feels good to speak the words out loud, even though there are still a million other things she has to say to him. If Ron is willing to talk, Hermione decides there and then that she is going to tell him everything. She trusts him with her life, even after all their arguing, and she knows he'll keep the secret close to his chest.

"A Ministry dinner?" Ron pushes himself up and turns around to face her, his eyes widening as he takes in her outfit. "Bloody hell, you're not joking are you?"

Hermione shakes her head, trying her best to ignore the tears that spring into her eyes. The lateness of the hour, the aftereffect of her disastrous evening combined with the relief of having some sort of civil conversation with Ron, becomes too much for her. It doesn't take long for her emotions to overcome her, as a loud sob escapes her lips.

He crosses the common room in three long strides and regards her for a short moment before pulling her into his arms and against his chest. His scent overwhelms Hermione again, mixed with the standard nondescript soap that the school supplies for all students in the bathrooms and as she takes a deeper breath, she gets a whiff of the Burrow, too. It's familiar and comforting, and she allows herself to get lost in it.

After giving her a moment to calm down, he mumbles into her hair, "What the hell is going on, Hermione?"

She lifts her head from the sanctuary of his warm embrace and stares up at him. Even though she's already decided to trust him, a moment of hesitation still takes grip of her. But then his piercing blue eyes gaze back at her, immediately putting her at ease.

"I'm a princess."

"Yeah, alright. Pull the other wand."

With a sigh, Hermione lets go of him and leads him back over the sofa. She pushes the blanket out of the way then gets settled on the seat. Ron plonks himself next to her, sitting so close, their legs press against each other.

"It's true." She wipes her eyes and then her nose with the back of her hand before turning more to face Ron.

How the hell is she supposed to start this story? It's not a normal conversation, explaining to your best friend that you became an heir apparent when you woke up on the morning of your seventeenth birthday. And there's still the risk that he won't even believe her.

She rakes a hand through the curls Madam Malkin put into her hair earlier, shaking them loose. With a sigh, she begins.

"You know how on my birthday I was called to Dumbledore's office to meet him and McGonagall?" She waits for Ron to nod before continuing. "Well, I wasn't telling the whole truth. They didn't want a Ministry official to meet me. Queen Beatrice, who it turns out is my grandmother, had come to tell me that I was a princess."

"The Queen Beatrice?" Ron is incredulous. "But that would make your dad Prince Hugo."

"You've heard of him?"

"Of course. Mum used to tell us all of the stories about the magical royal family when we were younger. She used Prince Hugo's death to teach us about class equality and how it is important to be kind to everyone."

Hermione chews her bottom lip as the mention of how lovely her dad was and how awful it is that she never got to meet him threatens to set her off again. She focuses on continuing her story, cursing as her voice trembles when she adds, "It turns out that he did have an heir, even though the Ministry told the whole magical community that he didn't. He and my mum met when they were young but decided not to marry because their worlds were too different.

"He didn't even know she was pregnant when he died and when I was born, Queen Beatrice came to visit my mum and they decided to keep me a secret to protect me from my father's killers and to give me a chance at some sort of a normal life. At least until I came of age."

She doesn't think she's ever seen Ron's mouth as wide as it is now as he stares at her. Eventually, he spits out, "Fuck. I mean. Shit. That's fucking mental."

His use of swear words doesn't even register with Hermione, as she's far too busy concentrating on his facial expressions and trying to gauge how he feels about the news. Does he even believe her? "Yeah, I know. I'm still getting my head around it myself, to be honest. It's all been a bit of a whirlwind."

"So, everything that's happened over the past couple of weeks. The hair and makeup, all of your hiding in the library with Tonks?"

"Sometimes I am hiding in the library, but that was before, when I was trying to find out more about my new family. I also spend a lot of time at my grandmother's castle, in Ballindalloch. I have until the ball she's throwing at the end of November to celebrate my dad's birthday to decide whether I want to take the crown, or if I want to abdicate. She's giving me princess lessons to help me learn everything I need to know about being a royal."

"What happens if you don't take it?"

"Then it goes to one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. The Ministry decides who."

Ron laughs. "Doesn't that mean my family is eligible? Yeah fucking right! Can you imagine having a Weasley on the throne?"

All of the tension from the past week—the arguing, the bad feelings between the pair—dissolves as Hermione joins Ron's laughter. Although it's not so ridiculous, having a Weasley on the throne, she knows he means the comment in jest. They forget about the others in the tower as they let the noise of their giggles fill the common room. A rush of excitement courses through Hermione's veins, infusing her with energy despite the ridiculously late hour.

"Oh, I would love for your family to take the throne. I would abdicate straight away. King Arthur and Queen Molly would be the best rulers our community have ever had, and would only make the decisions that would benefit everyone. But you know there's no way that'll happen. The crown will probably go to the—"

"Malfoys," Ron spits, his voice laced with venom. "Seriously? There's no way you can let that happen."

"The only way to stop it is for me to step up."

"Well, it's a no brainer then. You'd be the best princess, er, queen."

"It's so hard though, Ron. Tonight's dinner was a disaster. I almost set fire to the Minister of Magic!"

"And I missed it? Bloody hell." Ron flops back against the sofa in a mock strop.

"I know, I'm sorry. But now that you know, maybe you can come to more events with me, although I did promise my grandmother that I wouldn't tell anyone."

"Yeah, but I'm not anyone, am I?"

Ron's question goes unanswered as a comfortable silence fills the room. The smile remains on his face as the pair maintain eye contact, and Hermione's pulse races with desire for him. He's not just anyone to her. But she's too tired to act on any of it tonight, so instead of responding, she sinks further into the sofa and curls up to his side. Automatically, he slides his arm across her shoulders.

"It kind of sucks that you didn't tell me as soon as you knew," he admits, speaking so quietly, she almost misses his words.

"I know. I wanted to. Although my grandmother is sure that I'm no longer in any real danger, she wants to play it safe until I make my decision. I even have a bodyguard following me around during the day."

"Seriously? Who?"

"Tonks."

"No way! How is that woman a bodyguard? She's so clumsy!" He pauses for a moment before adding, "I wondered why she was never around the common room in the evenings."

"She's good at her job, I promise. But she goes home once I'm safe in the tower, and a guard stands watch outside the portrait hole all night."

"Bloody hell, Hermione. This is all…it's just…it's bloody mental."

"I know."

Another silence creeps over them, and Hermione's eyelids grow heavy. It would be so easy to fall asleep where she is, pressed against Ron's side, but she knows it would make her life ten times more challenging to be caught down here with him. Knowing her luck, it'll be Lavender that finds them. Before she can escape to the sanctuary of her four-poster bed, though, she knows she has one last thing to say to him.

"I'm sorry, Ron."

The smile falls off his face as he nods, the tips of his ears turning pink. "I was just as much in the wrong. I should have known that something was up and that Lavender was talking utter shit. Come on, you and Draco? How does she even come up with that crap?"

"It upset me that you might have believed that."

"I know. I'm sorry, too."

A yawn bubbles behind her lips, and although she tries her best to suppress it, it escapes anyway.

"Oh so you're bored by my apology, huh?" He lets out one more laugh before his expression softens, and he questions, "'S'been a long day?"

"Yeah. Princess lessons at nine, then hours of dress fittings, hair and make-up and then I had to socialise. It's exhausting, being a princess."

Ron quirks an eyebrow at her. "I'll tell you what's exhausting: three hours of Quidditch training with Harry in charge. The guy is a menace!" He reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear, leaving a burning trail over her skin as concern floods his face. "You're looking after yourself, though?"

"I'm trying to, I promise. Not fighting with you will help."

"Yeah, well, I've missed studying with you. And you know, hanging out with you and stuff."

"We have hung out, you just haven't spoken to me."

Rolling his eyes, Ron gets to his feet and holds up a hand to pull her off the sofa. But he doesn't let go of her. Instead, he wraps his arms around her and presses her back into his chest.

Hermione lets out a contented sigh. This is definitely where she belongs: flush against his skin, safe from all the crap she has to deal with. Hermione breathes in his comforting scent once more; it's like a drug to her, and she just can't get enough of it. Her hands creep up his back and take hold of the material of his top as she tries her best to make this moment last for just a second longer.

Although if she has her way, she'll never let him go.

"Ron? You know how I said my grandmother is throwing me a ball?" she mumbles against his t-shirt.

"Yeah?"

"Well, what if I ask my her if I can bring someone. Would you want to? Come with me, I mean?"

She's unsure where the question is coming from or where she got the courage to ask it, but it's out before she realises what she's saying. Hermione nestles further against him and scrunches her eyes up, waiting for the inevitable rejection.

There's a moment's pause, during which Ron's chest rises and falls three times. She can hear the steady thump of his heart in the silence of the room. As she's about to give up and plead with him to forget she even asked, he answers her.

"Sure. That'll be nice. I reckon Harry and Ginny might be up for it too. Maybe some of the others, if we're allowed. A large group of us will make it more fun for you, for sure and you don't even need to tell them what it's for. They'll find out when they get there, anyway."

Before she can even digest his response, Ron lets go of her.

"Well, I better let you get to bed. I want to hear more about this Ministry dinner and your princess lessons tomorrow. I'm sure we can escape at some point, unless you want to tell Harry too? You should probably tell him, but you can decide tomorrow. Night, Hermione."

Hermione opens her mouth, but she's too slow to react. His babbling has confused her, and for a moment, she misses that he didn't understand the intent of her question. Ron raises his hand in a small wave before making a swift exit, leaving Hermione staring at the spot where he was standing.

Sunday 13th October 1996, 01:34 am

RON IS MY FRIEND AGAIN!

I know it's crazy late, and I promise I am going straight to bed, but I had to get it written down on paper in case I wake up in the morning and think it's all part of a strange dream.

There are still a few issues I need to deal with. My brain kind of engaged auto-pilot and invited Ron to be my date for the ball my grandmother is throwing, but he kind of just brushed it off as a friend thing. OH, and don't forget the disaster that was tonight's Ministry dinner; there's a lot to unpack there, too. But my head is buzzing way too much to even think straight, and I'm far too overexcited to make head or tail of any of it tonight.

Anyway, that's probably a good thing because I should try and sleep. It's late, and despite everything that has gone on today, I am drained.

Until I remember to write again x

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