Six
Virgo
The palace portraits do not only move, they also speak.
At least, they try to.
The portraits appear to yell and scream and curse everyone's existence, all while eternally suspended in silence. The curse, placed by a Malfoy king, keeps the family's secrets close, safely hanging on the walls like twisted tales.
Some subjects beat against the canvas and others throw around the items painted alongside them. A few are docile. Several are content with those painted next to them, but most of the former kings and queens glare at their fellow residents. Many are painted with those who held no love for them in life, it makes sense they would hold even less esteem in oil.
One queen gleefully watches her husband sip from a poisoned goblet.
Another king is depicted mercilessly torturing his queen.
Generations of dysfunctional brutality are captured and showcased, lined up along the walls of Legacy Hall like something to be celebrated.
Hermione walks the hall where she will one day be doomed to silence, falling farther behind Astoria and Pansy.
They want her to learn every name.
Hermione has not told either that she already knows them and their stories. Every atrocity they committed is burned into her memory. Every act written in the history books and every reason they have earned their ignominious epithets—the Accursed, the Mad, the Conqueror, the Bloody.
The list goes on.
She does not walk to learn. She walks to see what she has not.
She stops at the portrait which sits next to that of a much younger King Draco, painted shortly after he was crowned.
It is of King Lucius and Queen Narcissa.
Hermione stares at Lucius first. He and Draco favour each other so much it is startling. She sees the madness that killed and displaced so many, but also the love he feels when he looks at Queen Narcissa.
In his son, Hermione sees a man capable of the same extremes.
Their last conversation and the new weight of his mother's betrothal ring leave her contemplative.
Curious.
Confused.
She touches her temple.
Lucius has turned away, but she notices Narcissa is watching her.
Or rather, one part of her.
The ring.
Hermione moves closer, eyeing the painting just as the woman in the canvas mirrors her own interest.
She is beautiful, blonde, and painted with a healthy glow that she did not have for the last years of her life. Still, there is coldness in her demeanour at first, until whispers of warmth curve the corner of the painted queen's lips.
People are not all one parent or the other; they are a mixture of both. Hermione wonders how much of Queen Narcissa's warmth lives inside of her son.
Despite living in the shadows, and bedridden for the last thirteen years of her life, she was beloved, not only by the kingdom, but by those who knew her best.
By those who honour her memory by preserving the things she loved.
By her husband who massacred thousands to save her.
By her son who used her wisdom to select a wife.
By those she protected: Pansy, Astoria, and Daphne.
"If I knew more about you, I might be able to understand your son. I…" Words fail her when Narcissa's eyes soften as if the mention of her son roused her.
She mouths two words.
Help him.
Flustered by her encounter with Queen Narcissa's portrait, Hermione walks the corridors alone to try and collect her thoughts after leaving Pansy and Astoria. But familiar voices halt her footsteps.
Harry and the king.
What they discuss is none of her business, but her curiosity has grown far beyond a simple drive to learn more.
It is a rose that further unfurls with every morsel of information. And Hermione wishes to see the world in full bloom, knowing and understanding all aspects. For now, though, she settles for lingering outside the open doorway and sneaking peeks inside the room.
Her brother is restless, pacing from one side to the other. His hair looks as it often does when stressed: mussed from his raking fingers and standing upright in every direction. Draco appears calm, sitting and eating one of the tart green apples from the palace orchard.
Hermione ducks out of the doorway.
"Another unicorn was found dead in the forest," Harry says.
"Where?"
"An hour's ride east. Not far from that cave Sirius sent us to."
"The one that was emptied before our arrival?"
"That one."
Hermione wonders if it is the same Sirius steered her away from. She can visualise the scene as though she is standing with them in the next room. Draco's fingers tap against something; his steady rhythm is loud in the silence as the king and his most trusted knight debrief in confidence.
"And the Inferi you found yesterday?"
"It wore Lestrange battle armour, but none of that is why I wanted to speak to you." Harry pauses and the moment draws tense. "Why do you have designs on my sister?"
"Did I question your choice in a wife?"
"No, but—"
"Then I do not owe you an explanation for mine."
"After everything we've been through, you owe me something! It is not too late to choose another."
The king takes a bite and chews. "I stated my intentions before the court. We are as good as married."
"You could change your mind. You are king."
"I am, but I will not. My choice is made."
Hermione peeks around the threshold.
Harry looks ready to step on the king's face. Repeatedly. "She does not know anything."
"Which is a benefit to us all."
"She will be isolated."
Irritation sparks within Hermione, but she does not march in. She waits, willing herself to remain where she is, all while wondering what they could be referring to.
"Many families would consider it an honour to marry the king, yet here you are, chastising me—"
"Because she is my sister!" He does not shout but it is close. "I am duty bound to protect you, but she is family. You know we are marked, and still you have put me in a terrible position."
Marked? As she wonders what that means…
Hermione shakes the buzzing from her head, closes her eyes, and listens harder.
"I am aware of the… circumstances," the king replies carefully. "I have written to Firenze who looks for another way that does not involve drastic actions."
"Are you really—"
"I am not your friend, nor am I benevolent. All my actions, even this one, are self-serving."
"Tell that to someone who is not your brother in arms."
"Soon I will be your brother in marriage as well." King Draco sounds awfully smug.
"You absolute prat."
"Yes, I am," he says. "Are you going to break my nose again, or curse me with more scars in a fit of rage? My father is not alive to carve my face up any further. Perhaps you could do the honours instead?"
"I reserve the right to if you hurt her." Harry sounds sincere. "Three queens in as many months. Two executed. One cursed."
"The burns on my hands might have healed, thanks to your salve—"
"My sister's salve, you mean. She made it to heal my burns and gave me extra. She did not know it was for you."
"What else should I know?"
"Sire—"
"I am clearly aware of how many queens I have had. The process of choosing was tedious. I do not intend to call for a repeat summons."
Hermione's heart sinks at further confirmation of his refusal to change his mind.
"It is deeper than that. Hermione is… better than us all. You and I, we have fought side-by-side since Dumbledore set our course. Since you became king."
"You mean when he manipulated a scared, grieving boy into believing that either I fight for him or against the entire realm?" Draco's bitterness is loud, even when his voice is not. "A realm that already wanted my head on a pike because they feared I inherited my father's madness. He kept me in the dark about many things and all of a sudden I had this war and this cause I knew nothing about—not to mention a man telling me I had to pick up both or risk my crown, my family's legacy."
Harry audibly inhales. "Sire—"
"Or do you mean when he set your course to fulfil his Greater Good?"
"We all play our roles."
"And we play ours perfectly, don't we, Potter?" His tone darkens. "Our families, linked in a deal he helped create because he knew what it would come to—you at the mercy of my crown, and me a pawn in his agenda. I know you are not blind. Only those marked can destroy—"
"I trust Dumbledore." Harry's interruption makes Hermione want to curse him. "His methods are questionable, yes, but the end always justifies the means."
There is a heavy pause. "You know what he has planned for you, Potter. He stayed with Queen Augusta as her advisor and raised the Prince to fight, but he is not the only weapon. In his eyes you are nothing more than a lamb he has fattened for slaughter."
"Yet I know that despite saying we are not friends, you seek a different path to another outcome." Harry's pacing echoes around the room. "We are almost finished. One more. The last. With what is coming, you must understand my concern. I want to protect my family, even if something happens—"
"As long as your sister is not treasonous or tainted by those who conspire against me, she will live under my protection for life."
"That does not give me comfort. Hermione is brilliant, but in no way is she ready to be a queen. She knows nothing of life here or anything about her blocked me—"
"I will wed her as she is." His resolve leaves her unsettled.
"But why?"
"She will not—"
"Whatever you are about to say, you must know that Hermione absolutely will. You must learn to expect the unexpected. It is who she is. You cannot and should not change that."
"She is fearsome. I put a wand to her throat and she still called me a tyrant with her next breath. Told me to strike her down or let her leave, she did not care which."
"That sounds like my sister." Harry chuckles. "There are many reasons I say that I would not have survived long enough to come into your service had it not been for Hermione. You already underestimate her. I fear it is your first mistake."
"And my second?" Draco drawls, clearly bored.
"You must learn for yourself if you insist on her hand."
Hermione peeks in time to see Draco take another bite from his apple. "She will serve a purpose."
"You speak as if you were told—"
"Firenze will not speak of what the stars say about me. No centaur will." Draco's condescension sounds familiar. He almost sounds like her; she'd laugh if she wasn't afraid of being caught. "He gives cryptic, nonsensical hints about balance and other things, but nothing like what he has told you."
"He knows you will fight what is foretold. I will not."
Draco chuckles. "He is not wrong."
Harry joins him until the two fall into silence. "You can be honest with me, Sire. If you selected your wife for political means, you would marry Lady Alicia Spinnet. Her father has married the Shafiq Kingdom's widowed Princess. He is to be King Consort."
"I have my reasons, Potter, and they do not concern you."
Hermione peeks again in time to see Draco place the apple core on an empty plate hovering beside him.
"I grow tired of this conversation, and of your whinging. I will marry Lady Hermione in one week's time."
Hermione leaves, making a list of questions she will demand her brother answer, but by the time she sees him next, she knows there is something she must ask.
She simply does not know what.
Ten Ladies walk in pairs behind Hermione.
Some whisper their complaints about not being allowed to attend tonight's dinner, but none hint at what is to come or what Hermione should expect from the Royal Council. She glances back at Daphne, who is situated in the middle, a position that allows her to hear every conversation for strategic purposes.
Murmurs of wedding plans reach Hermione's ears from a pair nearby. She hopes her wince is disguised.
Guards lead the way through the lit corridors. The fragrant remnants of herbs the elves use to freshen the air linger, but there is a stale undercurrent of magic she cannot ignore.
Conversation shifts to the king's last wedding, which lasted longer than the witch lived as queen.
"The king did not even take the consort's hand after their betrothal was announced."
"Only because he knew she was there to kill him."
It makes no sense.
A man appears in the corridor, startling Hermione and halting everyone behind her. His focus is on Hermione, ignoring both the palace guards and her Ladies in waiting. "Might I escort you the rest of the way, Lady Hermione? We are nearly late."
She does not recognise him but instinct tells her to be careful. Besides, she is early, but she keeps that to herself.
"I am already being escorted, Lord…" Hermione offers a pointed look.
"Pucey." He bows low with added dramatic flare. No different from the men she has seen in Court, he is performing. "Lord Adrian Pucey, one of the king's advisors."
She curtsies. "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"You are well spoken for an orphan."
Silence falls like a stone in the deepest well.
Everyone watches, waiting for her reaction.
Hermione wills herself to maintain her composure, but Pucey's comment angers her into action and it is impossible to hold her tongue.
"Pray tell, how should an orphan speak? I did not know the murder of my natural parents left me with a lifelong ailment whose symptoms might include the inability to engage in polite and civil conversation. I suppose I should also exhibit both low intellect and a lack of manners. That would make me little more than a beast."
Lady Alicia's delicate cough rattles the silence.
Another—Lady Marietta—clears her throat.
"Lady Hermione." Lord Pucey laughs as if amused.
It might be charming if it were not grating on her nerves. She knows before he speaks that he intends to smooth over his faux pas.
"Please accept my apologies. I meant no offence."
"Of course." It is as blatant a lie as the smile on her face, but civility dictates Hermione should keep her opinions to herself, and she has already said too much considering present company.
Acclimation will take some time.
Being inside the walls of the palace and under the watchful eyes of her Ladies makes the task much harder, but she gestures politely and Pucey falls into step beside her. Whispers resume, though much quieter. Hermione knows the palace gossip will gorge on this exchange later.
"How are you finding Court?"
Hermione keeps her eyes fixed ahead. "I have not yet formed an opinion."
"Understandable." He hums. "You have never been presented to Court, yet after less than a week's time, you wear the late Queen Narcissa's betrothal ring and sleep in her chambers. Indeed you are most fortunate."
Lord Pucey is trying to guide the conversation in a direction she does not know.
Fortunate is not the word she would use by any means, but any other would draw scrutiny. Hermione is saved by their arrival to the dining hall. The guards wave the doors open before they step aside and bow, but do not leave.
Lord Pucey gestures for her to lead the way.
Hermione does not move. "You may take your seat, Sir."
"I do not mind seating—"
"She waits for me."
Draco.
While the Ladies and Lord Pucey bow to the approaching king, Hermione steals a moment to school her features. She turns to find him dressed in fine clothing, a deep blue tunic and breeches.
He wears no crown but there is no doubting his power.
She curtsies low. "Your Majesty."
The king gives one look to Lord Pucey, who excuses himself to take his seat.
Hermione bids her Ladies farewell, and they make their exits, no doubt to gossip in her absence about all they have seen.
Draco and Hermione stand just inside the doorway together.
Alone yet without privacy.
They are within sight of everyone who awaits. Hermione is painfully aware of the attention.
Silently, Draco offers a hand and she places hers into it without hesitation.
Dinner is as Hermione expects.
With fewer people, it does not rattle her nerves as badly as the Welcome Feast, but the audience keeps her alert. Draco barely spares her a glance. Instead, he encourages dialogue between his advisors and knights, starting conversations he does not finish, and making certain every man speaks. Hermione wonders if he does this on purpose.
In addition to his advisors, there are four knights in attendance: Harry, Goldstein, Wood, and Goyle. The other three are canvassing the woods.
As Hermione observes bits of each exchange, she realises his advisors are not what she expects. Half appear old enough to have served under the Mad King, which is unsettling.
Goblets of wine appear before them.
Followed by their plates, overflowing with food cooked to perfection.
Hermione is sure before the elf tastes the king's wine and food that it is clean, so when the elf comes to do the same to hers, she covers the top. "It is free of poison."
"How do you know?" Goldstein asks suspiciously.
Harry's eyes widen at her lapse.
It is a talent she does not want to explain, just as she does not want her years of Vasades' tutelage to be common knowledge. A skill like that is equally as beneficial as it is dangerous.
"Oh, the king's was safe so I assumed but I—I guess I do not." She uncovers her goblet, allowing the elf access. "Go ahead."
The elf confirms it is clean before the rest of the meal passes dreadfully slow. As the only woman in attendance, the men ignore her presence, but those who disapprove of her make their opinions known, albeit through subtle means.
Hermione notices but does not respond.
She is too busy learning through observation.
Names, ranks, and families—she files away every piece of information she catches, which includes what they say and all the ways they contradict themselves to align with the king's opinions once he vocalises them in order to curry favour.
It is easy to tell.
Five of the advisors are younger: Percy, Smith, Flint, Pucey, and Nott.
The rest are older: Avery, Mulciber, Rosier, Snape, Sirius, and Lord Rabastan.
Lord Rabastan is another member of the king's family. Brother to King Rodolphus, who married the king's cruel aunt, Bellatrix. Lovers of war for the sake of it, they joined Voldemort's quest and, after his defeat, continued to invade other kingdoms at will. Or request, if the stories are to be believed—and she does.
They were stopped by their own hubris.
Expecting the Malfoys to break their treaty with the Longbottoms, they went to war with their island neighbours and were surprised when they were left unaided. After the bloodbath, prosperity took root in the former Lestrange lands, which were absorbed by the fierce yet peace-loving Longbottoms.
Hermione goes down the line and finds each advisor, even Sirius, has a reason to want the king dead.
Her head spins.
"Now that the Carrows are defeated, we should turn our fight south to the Macmillan Kingdom," Lord Pucey suggests.
The knights exchange looks.
Perhaps this is not the first time this suggestion has been made.
"As you know," he continues, "their lands are rich with valuable resources and creatures. The kingdom is small and the king is weak. We could conquer it with little effort."
"I would sooner conquer the Crouch Kingdom to rid them of their useless king." Draco scowls. "But I will not. It is no longer the season for warfare that far north."
"King Barty wishes to ally with us." Lord Snape's nasally draw is unmistakable.
"He is no true ally," Mulciber sneers. "He only wishes to save his own skin."
"Skin that I have no current interest in," Draco says before sipping his drink.
"What should we do with the people of the Carrow Kingdom?" Lord Smith glances at the other knights. "They are not as populated and there are no nobles who live in their lands. All were driven into our kingdom after the invasion."
"It is better to utilise their population over making them citizens and installing nobles to rule over them." Mulciber takes a generous sip from his goblet. "There is always a need for peasant labour. Especially free."
Rabastan agrees with a grunt, as do Rosier and Avery.
Snape and Pucey suggest meagre wages, but still reject integrating them into society. By Hermione's mental calculations, they wouldn't be making a living wage for even the hardest labour tasks discussed.
The rest disagree with either proposition, but before the debate turns fierce and anything becomes physical, King Draco dismisses all proffered ideas.
"Our victory over the former Carrow Kingdom freed these people. We will not trap them now. The Malfoy Kingdom will expand the land of the closest three duchies—Grimmauld, Diagon, and Havia—to cover the Carrow lands. Integrate them into our society. Do not enslave them."
The king's declaration sparks heated arguments. It is far from popular, but the decision is final.
Long after, Hermione remains shaken, disgusted at the ease in which the subjugation of an entire kingdom is discussed, debated, and decided upon .
Like sport.
"Does the king permit you to speak tonight, Lady Hermione?" It is the first time she has been addressed. And it is by none other than an amused Lord Sirius. "I remember you to be a clever girl. Talkative, too."
Others shift at the mention of their prior association. She sees multiple wheels begin to turn.
Sirius' comment is testing dangerous waters and he knows it.
Thrives on it.
Percy looks right at her and shakes his head in warning not to speak too freely.
Hermione tries to give the safest answer. "I do not speak because I have nothing to contribute."
Rabastan slams down his empty goblet. "This is who you choose to be your queen, nephew? A girl with dirty blood from nothing with little to add to—"
"Uncle." Draco's tone is deep with danger even though he looks calm as he eats.
Lord Sirius sits back, now entertained. The others shift. The tension is suffocating.
Harry's hand rests on his wand holster. Goldstein is ready to draw, too.
"Leave it, Rabastan." Mulciber waves his hand as if bored. "He chose his broodmare, just like he wanted. Despite her questionable origins, she is inconsequential. Let her give him the heir he needs so he can return to war."
Nott clears his throat. "You do realise she—"
"Can hear you," Hermione says as every eye turns to her.
Then up.
The chandelier trembles.
Lights dim before reigniting.
Harry winces. Sirius' grin widens.
Wood almost looks impressed.
Hermione turns to Draco. Instinct begs her to apologise for her uncontrolled magic. But just as he previously watched her answer his questions, he watches her now in a way that feels like another test.
Rabastan scoffs. "Doing uncontrolled magic, having no opinion. You are no more fit than a child, practically a savag—"
"Sir, you are mistaken," Hermione says before she can stop herself. "I am no child, nor am I a savage, as you were about to say. My lack of contribution is not due to ignorance nor an inability to express myself. It is a decision I have made to not waste my breath on those who do not wish to hear my words."
Every eye is on her.
Goyle starts eating faster.
Hermione's heart races at a speed that leaves her hands trembling, but she curls both into fists and squeezes tight to settle herself.
Her nerves are not enough to keep her silent.
"The majority of the Royal Council has made their collective disapproval—as well as their opinion of my purpose—quite clear." Hermione looks at each, her gaze lingering on Mulciber longest. Then she glances at Flint. "Perhaps I should speak no further, lest I earn myself a tour of the dungeons to humble me."
He shifts in his chair. "Lady Hermione—"
"With suggestions like that, it is no wonder treason runs rampant amongst the king's subjects, particularly his previous wives and those who wiped their minds of their crimes." Hermione catches Draco glancing at where her hands are folded in her lap. Her knuckles are pale from squeezing her dress.
"You should not speak on what you do not know," Avery warns.
"I know that this council has chosen three queens who have made attempts on the king's life. Either you collectively conspire against him or are as foolish as those who do. I can see why he did not afford you this opportunity to choose his queen, lest she, too, turn out to be his next attempted murderer."
The tomb-like silence breaks when Draco clears his throat in faint amusement. The corner of his lips twitch for half a heartbeat.
Goldstein laughs first, then the rest of the knights succumb. Harry removes his hand from his wand.
Sirius drinks from his goblet as if his mission is accomplished.
"It appears you may be more than what meets the eye," Rabastan says.
It is followed by scattered nods from the men who doubted her.
It looks and sounds enough like approval for Harry and the others to relax, but Hermione remains on edge.
She knows this is a warning.
Dusk leaves the sky, and takes with it the last touch of colour. Its beauty is lost on Draco as he walks beside her, his attention everywhere except up. They have been walking this stony path away from the palace for so long that Hermione's questions about their destination have reduced Draco to irritated looks.
He finally stops beneath the largest archway yet. The high stone walls make her curious enough to follow him through.
Hermione does not know what to expect, but where he takes her is magical.
It is alive.
Breathtakingly so.
The trees are spaced just far enough to whisper with the borrowed breath of the sea's breeze. Fairies and dragonflies fly out of reach. Their buzzing melds into an inextricable chorus of chirping crickets and grasshoppers. Pockets of varied plants, bushes, and flowers are scattered everywhere. Some flowers glow and pulse, some do not. Other plants unfurl and flowering bushes bloom resplendently.
The order of it all is a mystery to everyone except nature itself.
Dim orbs line the stone wall that protects this place from outside view. They add little utility beyond denoting the barrier. The light already provided by the nearly full moon in the cloudless sky illuminates every patch it can reach.
They walk along the path while Hermione takes it all in.
Even what looks like a doorway in the darkness. Odd.
A light, floral fragrance sweeps through the breeze. Winged horses and hippogriffs share the same dusky sky with dragons, at least until Draco's familiar momentarily eclipses the moon. His dragon makes the beasts scatter in all directions, only to come together once again when the black dragon is gone.
Lit by the moon, his features are ethereal. "You prefer nature."
"I do, but it is less about being outside than it is about having freedom. I enjoy exploring places I wish to learn about. I like to read, too. There is much I have learned from books."
A fairy flies too close and Draco grouches as he swats it away in an oddly human moment. "Hate these blasted creatures."
"Every beast and being serves a purpose, even if you do not see it." Hermione laughs lightly. "Fairies are not pests or decorations. They are sensitive to changes in nature. That they fly too close to us instead of hiding in the trees speaks of brewing trouble in your land."
His shoulders tense. "Is that so?"
"Yes, Sire. Something nearby scares them." Hermione looks around. "Regarding your previous comment, I am inclined to remind you that I speak for myself in all matters that I am allowed."
"The reminder is unnecessary."
"Very well. Instead of asking my brother about my preferences, you are permitted to ask me… that is, if you wish."
"I did not learn about your affinity for nature from him." Draco's voice often carries authority when it should not, like now, when they should speak as people, not king and future queen. Or two people who are betrothed.
"Oh?"
"I pulled it from your mind during our walk."
"My mind is not yours to roam." Hermione's agitation flares. "You cannot—"
"It is." The cold heat in his tone makes her fists curl. "Until you learn to shield it from me."
Hermione scowls.
"I also caught that you overheard part of my conversation with your brother."
She shakes her head. "I…"
"Do you remember?" Draco inspects her closely. "I know you were there, just not what you heard. Potter was too busy berating me on your behalf to realise you were standing there."
"Sounds like Harry." Hermione rubs her temples. "I… there's something…"
"Do not strain yourself." He gestures for them to walk on. "Tell me, what did you learn during dinner?"
It is obvious this is the question Draco has been waiting to ask.
"Enough." Hermione stands before a group of pulsing flowers that will bloom beneath the full moon. They are rare, used for both potions and poisons, and she wonders why the king allows their presence near the palace.
King Draco clears his throat.
"Perhaps you might teach me early to conceal my thoughts since they irritate you. Or not listen at all." When he does not answer, she turns to him fully. "Or is it that you do not trust me?"
"I do not know you."
"Nor I you, yet you have chosen me."
"I have." Draco is obviously still firm in his choice. "I did not bring you here to discuss trust."
"Perhaps it is something we should discuss."
"Very well." His slow approach reminds her of his dragon flying in the sky. "You have two secrets. I can pull them from your mind during moments you unconsciously let me in or you can tell me now."
"I do not know—"
"How did you know your food and wine were free of poison?" Draco is now close enough to look down at her hands, then into her eyes after tilting her chin up.
Hermione looks away from what is now a habit, but his grey eyes always bring her back.
"You are a terrible liar, so do not try."
"I am a student of the centauride who found me as an infant." Hermione steps back. "I have spent my entire life learning centaur magic, how to read the stars, how to heal, how to find what I need in nature. I happen to know how to identify potions and poisons, even those that are odourless."
"Poisons?"
"Poison often smells like death."
"And what does death smell like?"
"Cold, rotten almonds. Sour, but not necessarily strong. Like a dying star, there is always one last spark of energy before it ends."
"Hm." Draco appears impressed. "That is useful. You were right to conceal this. Just as you are wise to conceal your second secret."
A single raised brow and Hermione feels him once again brushing against her thoughts. She shakes her head.
"You are nervous around me now, but your second secret is that you do not like crowded rooms. It is much worse when the attention is on you. You use boldness to cover your fear."
"Yes." Hermione pauses. "I know no other way to combat this without broadcasting my weakness for others to use for their benefit."
"Is that something you learned from my sister?"
"No, it is the law of nature. The longer I am here, the less I see the difference between this place and the wild."
"I would argue one is more civilised."
"Do not make me identify which."
His laughter is as much of a surprise as his smile. They escape before he can suppress either. They look at each other and soon Hermione's amusement mixes with his, echoing in the field.
"Perhaps your anxiety might improve when you learn to shield your emotions." Draco runs fingers through his hair to fix what the breeze has mussled.
She folds her arms. "Did you bring me here tonight to start Occlumency lessons?"
"No, I brought you here to have a private conversation."
"There are plenty of places within the castle to talk."
"No, there are not. Spies are everywhere," Draco says by way of explanation. "The mirrors are charmed to have eyes and ears. The only places without mirrors are your new chambers and the outdoors. I should not find myself too often in your chambers before the wedding or there will be talk."
He has a point.
Not for the first time, Hermione flushes. She seldomly thinks of the duty she has to perform, happy the distance between them and the moonlight hides the warmth that has surely coloured her cheeks.
"You are the king. You can rid the castle of both the charmed mirrors and spies."
"Why should I? Those who conspire against me would find a different means. I would rather know the dangers than nothing at all, or worse, alert them that I am not as ignorant as they think."
"Do you know who it is?"
"Missing guards, Inferi, and strange occurrences aside, I have my suspicions. Until I know for certain, I will gather evidence and wait."
The decision is wise, both surprising and not. Hermione is reminded that war is not limited to the battlefield. She has a terrible feeling it continues within the castle's walls as well. But Draco is experienced in many ways she is not.
Warriors are rash. They know nothing but war, how to survive and kill. It is a brutal, primal existence that can turn a man cold.
But generals are different. They know strategy.
As a child of war and a king, he knows the roles well.
Hermione is not sure what to make of him. "You trust me with this knowledge?"
"I could always make you forget."
Draco touches the holster that carries his wand, but it does not sound like a threat.
"How do you know that I am not your enemy, Sire?"
"Are you?"
"No." It is only then Hermione notices she has closed half the distance between them. "I have no reason to want you dead, Your Ma—Draco. In fact, your death could lead to a future that is much worse—ruled by men with the power to put an entire kingdom in shackles to suit their own means."
"I do find enslavement morally reprehensible."
"Good that we both agree."
"However, in other kingdoms, it is a way of life." He looks at her closely. "You should know my dislike for the institution has nothing to do with my earlier decision."
"Then why did you decide against it?"
"When one adds up the costs of keeping slaves, as well as paying toward the forces needed to prevent the inevitable revolts, it is expensive."
Anger burns through her veins like lightning. "An entire kingdom has their freedom—not because of your morality but because of your frugality. I—"
Her ire dies in a single breath.
Vasades.
Her lectures about Hermione's judgmental nature used to annoy her. But now, in Draco's presence, it is all she can think about.
One in particular lingers.
Are humans their deeds or their thoughts?
King Draco might be both.
A paradox.
"Speaking of frugality, there is also the matter of your dowry. I will leave it for you to decide what to do with it."
That is completely unheard of. "How much is it?"
"Fifty thousand Galleons."
Hermione sways on her feet. A dowry of that size explains the number of suitors who sought her hand over the years. The king allowing her to oversee its use is beyond unconventional; it is inconceivable. She wonders why, but he might change his mind if she asks.
It is enough for real, fundamental change. She can build orphanages, fund quality education for those who cannot afford such luxuries, construct gardens to feed the hungry, and create places to treat the sick.
All changes that will outlast the coins.
Draco examines her like he is searching for the single flaw that will unravel her. "You truly do not know about your family?"
"Why do you ask this?"
"You are blind." He looms closer, studying her with a frown. "But it is not your fault."
"What?"
"Nothing." He is still distracted by his thoughts. "I will give you time to decide how to use your dowry, but tonight is the only night you are allowed to address the terms of our marriage."
Terms?
The corners of her mouth quirk. "I was unaware I could negotiate."
"I find it is easier to get what I want through agreement than force."
"You do not need my permission, as I wear your mother's betrothal ring, but you want me to agree to marry you?"
"Yes."
Hermione observes him, just as he does her.
They circle each other once under the light of the rising moon.
Then again.
"My terms," Hermione starts. "First, I want the ability to re-negotiate any terms we set tonight."
"Very well." Draco's lips tip into a frown when he realises what she has done.
"Good. I would like a private space, without mirrors, to do as I please. And a safe place to brew and store ingredients for potions. I wish for time away from the palace in the forest of my choosing."
"That can be arranged."
"Oh, I want to meet your familiar, too."
"Kaida."
"What?"
"My familiar." Draco points to the skies. "Her name is Kaida."
"Oh."
"She wants to meet you, as well. And I agree to your terms. All of them. Though I may need time to arrange things."
"Very well. And what are your terms?"
Draco is not prepared for her question, but it does not take long for him to answer. "Be my ally. Help me secure control over my kingdom and protect the throne. Aid me in this war. Do not betray me."
She feels there is more but instead of pushing, Hermione bridges the gap between them. Tentatively, she reaches out, but her resolve stumbles when their fingertips touch.
Hermione hums. "Lady Astoria was right."
"What does that mean?" His response is but a low whisper.
"From the moment our paths crossed, your actions have made no sense. You threaten and insult me, but you want me to agree to be your wife. You demand my secrets, yet tell me things that feel private—like clues you want me to explore. You wish for me to not betray you, which means you want the trust of a stranger. You and I argue and debate, frustrate and exasperate one another, yet here we are…"
Standing too close.
Neither move.
"You are no prisoner," Draco says. "You are free to leave."
"Am I?" Hermione's eyes drop to his mouth for a second. "Intent aside, I wear your ring and now we have terms. I cannot lie and say I chose this willingly, but I have agreed." She looks down at her ring then back at Draco. "I do not understand your reasoning for this decision, just as I do not understand why you ask questions about my life and interests. Beyond our duties, neither matter—"
"I ask what I want to know." Fingers ghost hers as he leans closer, not in menace but in caution. As if Hermione is the danger she knows he is. "For my own reasons."
His lips brush hers, seeking an answer to the permission a king never needs. Still, it is an obvious request. Hermione leans back, but she does not run.
Her heart pounds and she is warm all over as she searches his face.
Draco is a king.
He is also a warrior and a general.
A masterpiece painted in hard angles and detailed with battle scars.
Everything she is not.
But tonight, he is not harsh or battered. He is neither at war nor on a throne right now.
He is something new. At least to her.
A man.
A question.
A curiosity.
"I am untouched, your Majesty, but you are not. What were you about to do?"
"You ask questions when you already know the answer."
"You are right." Impulse gives her the fortitude to make a demand. "Kiss me."
Draco does before she can change her mind.
It is not passionate or sweet, but it is thorough.
Hermione is left fumbling. Clumsy and inept, she leans forward and their teeth clank painfully as their noses bump, but then his hands frame her face and he slows her down.
Draco teaches her the value of savouring: his lips, this kiss, him.
Everything about this moment is meant to be remembered.
Lips brush her upper lip, then her lower—again and again, over and under, until she parts hers and they start kissing properly. Deeply. Draco's mouth softens against hers as he relaxes and she finally lets instinct take over and follows his lead.
The world ceases to exist as Hermione learns with her hands fisted in his tunic.
Explores with the growing awareness of the world of flesh.
She feels. Aches. Burns.
This sensation is a new sentiment.
She feels like she is drowning in pleasure, all while ignoring every spark of fear.
Like she is struggling for air, but cannot bear to pause and breathe. Letting her lungs collapse would be preferable to stopping at his point.
She is lost in a man who is no longer asking for permission. He is taking something she has never wanted to give before now.
Hermione should panic. She still might later, once her head catches up to her body's reaction, but Draco's tongue slides against hers and it sends them plunging into new depths. Recklessly tasting and touching, they fondle with a desperation as undeniable as the ache deep in her centre.
Draco's low groan is liquid fire searing through each of Hermione's attempts at thought. She wants so badly to understand this newfound hunger.
She lets it boil her blood, fuzz her brain, and blur her vision until their fingers lace and lock and hold—
Draco drags them both back to the surface.
Hermione opens her eyes and learns the stars behind her eyes match the ones emerging in the sky above.
Matching shaky breaths mix and mingle, playing across their lips.
Their noses brush one last as he steals another taste without any resistance.
When he pulls away again, there is a resolution in his eyes she has not seen before and cannot identify.
They should return to the palace, but they do not.
Like their hands, their shadows remain as one beneath the moonlight.
A/N: *waves* 14-16 hr work days and post-flu bronchitis are throwing a heavy wrench in this asthmatic's fun/energy. In fact, I'm back to work after dropping this, but wanted to thank everyone for the reviews and love. I've had so little time to respond, have been largely offline, but know it/you/your words of encouragement and fun theories are appreciated.
*Hello Jaxx trying to kill through art
*Hello politics.
*Hello finding out the dragon's name.
*Hello marriage negotiations/expectations
*Hello first kiss (shocking for me, yes I know, but this push and pull aint done yet)
*Chose Virgo for this title less because of her innocence (she ends the chapter technically no longer untouched) and more for the goddess, Dike, with whom the constellation is associated with and the location of the constellation, which next to Libra, the constellation representing the scales of justice. And we see Hermione's morality on display, her sense of justice, all while seeing into the grey areas of ruling.