Ain't Nuthin' But a She Thing

It ain't a man's world (You go girl!)
No more sugar and spice (and everything nice)

It's a she thing and it's all in me (It ain't nothin' but a she thing)
I could be anything that I want to be, baby
Don't consider me a minority, Yeah you know
Open your eyes and maybe you'll see, It's a she thing.

Ain't Nuthin' but a She Thing, Salt-N-Pepa.
(The Princess Diaries)


Ballindalloch Castle sits proudly in the Scottish Highlands, its ivy-covered walls catching the early summer sun, which is already warm even this far north. Mayflower petals flutter over the grounds, caught by a light breeze, and the birds chirp in appreciation of the bountiful gardens. Water trickles from the fountain in the front garden, and a woodpecker continues building its home, adding rhythm to nature's soundtrack.

Two flags hang high over the tallest turret—the Union Jack of Great Britain and the Sherington-Windsor coat of arms. They're both at full mast today, signalling that Queen Beatrice is in residence (which isn't a surprise, since Ballindalloch is her favourite abode). But the castle and its grounds are quiet, and you'd be mistaken in believing that the building is empty.

The air in front of the castle ripples once, disturbing the otherwise peaceful afternoon. Out of nowhere, a shining black limousine appears. The tyres crunch on the long gravel driveway as it struggles for a moment to gain purchase in the dust. Two pennants lead the way, fluttering at the front of the car from the surge of magic.

Its appearance ignites a flurry of activity. A short wizard flings open a set of wide, wooden doors and rolls a red carpet over the two shallow steps and onto the road. As the car pulls up alongside it, a crowd of staff in bright red robes appear and take their places along the rug.

"She's back," an excited whisper surfs over the group.

The driver turns the engine off and steps out. He rounds the vehicle in four long strides and pulls open the back passenger door before offering his hand to the person inside.

"Thank you, Kingsley."

Princess Hermione climbs out of the back of the car, straightening her knee-length blue skirt as she finds her feet amongst the white pebbles. Thank Merlin her grandmother has given up trying to force Hermione into heels every time she leaves the castle. She's useless on them and much prefers her converse trainers or a pair of battered Dr Martens. Plus, the flat shoes are a hundred times more comfortable.

"Welcome home, Princess," Dedalus Diggle calls as he hurries down the steps, bowing low as he reaches Hermione. "It's so lovely to see you again."

Curtsying in reply, Hermione's face lights up as she takes in her favourite member of the staff. "And I'm happy to see you. How's the castle been since I left last September? Quiet?"

Over the last few months, Hermione has been touring around Europe and Asia, visiting other magical communities and learning how they run their countries. It was unprecedented for a magical princess to go on a long tour without a prince consort accompanying her, but eventually, Kingsley and her Grandmother had agreed that it would be good for Hermione. Not only that, but instead of doing what was expected of her—mostly spending her time meeting other magical folk, and rubbing shoulders at grand events—Hermione had decided to spend her trip working. She wanted to learn as much as she could about how to be a great leader.

After all, how would she put into practice all of the information she's gleaned from her grandmother, during her degree and the time she spent working with Amelia Bones in the Ministry?

Hermione studied with Junichiro Koizumi, the Muggle and magical Prime Minister of Japan; dined with King Albrecht in Germany; and spent time visiting the Bulgarian courts alongside her good friend, Viktor Krum. The newspapers had a field day with that one.

"Oh, you know. We're kept busy. I'm sure it'll be a lot livelier now you're home, though." Dedalus pulls the small bag from Hermione's hands and winces as her belongings roll around. "I always forget about that undetectable extension charm. How much did you pack?"

She opens her mouth to apologise, but he cuts her off. "Come, come. Your grandmother is waiting in the front room. We've put on the biggest afternoon tea for your welcome home."

"Delightful."

Hermione casts her view upwards, drinking in the castle and the rolling hills behind it before following Dedalus up to the castle doors. As she passes, the staff bow and curtsy, and she acknowledges every one of them with a nod. What she'd give to have the time to chat with them, to find out what's going on with their families and make sure they're all well, but she cannot keep Grandmother waiting. Not since it's been eight months since they last saw each other. Hermione even spent Christmas away, delighting in some downtime in the Netherlands with Jan Peter Balkenende, the Muggle Prime Minister.

Anyway, she's back for good now, or so she hopes, and there'll be plenty of time for catching up later.

A loud yowl greets Hermione as soon as she steps into the castle's foyer. She grins and drops into a squat in front of everyone, forgetting about acting properly as Crookshanks pads across the marble floor.

"Hello old friend," she mutters as she scratches under the cat's chin. "Did you miss me? I certainly missed you."

The ginger squashed-face cat has been her familiar since her third year at Hogwarts and is probably older than is possible, yet he still runs around the castle as if he were a kitten. "I've got some treats for you from all over the world," she continues to baby-talk him, ignoring Dedalus' pleas that the Queen is waiting. "I have to go and visit Grandmother. I promise to come up to the suite and fuss over you more afterwards. Yes, I will."

Crookshanks purrs and rubs himself against Hermione's knees in understanding. With a groan, she pushes herself into a standing position and throws a grimace at Dedalus, who is now wringing his hands. "It's okay, I'm going there now. You can tell the kitchen staff to get ready to serve."

"Yes, Princess."

Once he's hurried off, Hermione takes the first corridor on the right and follows it around to the front room. The castle has not changed since she left, and the familiar portraits greet her as she passes. She's surprised to see that the door is closed, and she knocks on it once before leaning against the wall, a sudden wave of fatigue washing over her.

Magical travel is hard.

"Long travels, my love?"

Hermione jumps back as she fumbles for her wand but her pounding heart calms as her gaze settles on her grandfather's portrait. A grin spreads over her face as he frowns at her.

"I didn't mean to startle you, but I missed seeing you around the place and I couldn't resist saying hi."

"It was long, yes, and very tiring, but I'm glad I did it. Thank you for giving me the tip about Switzerland, extending my stay there to go skiing was the break I needed."

"At the exact right time?"

"It was perfect timing."

"Come in," a sharp response comes from inside the room, interrupting Hermione's conversation with King Eric. Talk about perfect timing.

"Has Grandmother freed Winky?" she asks, her eyes lighting up in hope.

"You know she wouldn't. But my wife finally agreed to start paying her. Your nagging has paid off." The portrait grimaces. "We'll catch up later, it wouldn't do to keep Beatrice waiting any longer."

With a small wave at the King, Hermione pushes the door open, her jaw dropping and eyes widening as she spots who's in the room keeping her grandmother company.

"Mum!" Hermione shouts as she races towards her mother, forgetting all about grace and propriety.

Jean Granger shoots to her feet, wrapping her arms around her daughter in a massive bear hug. Hermione drinks in the smell of lavender, filling solution and peppermint. Now I'm home.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asks into Jean's shoulder. "Don't you have appointments today? It's the middle of the week!"

"And miss your grand homecoming? No way! As soon as I heard what time your International Portkey was due to land, I owled Beatrice and asked if I could wait here for you."

"Scrimgeour wouldn't allow her to wait in the Department of Magical Transportation, although Percy Weasley tried his hardest."

Queen Beatrice's voice cuts through Hermione's bliss at being reunited with her mum. She lets go of her and spins around before dropping into a low curtsy. "Grandmother."

"It's so good to see you, my dear."

Hermione rises and kisses her grandmother on both cheeks before letting Beatrice lead her to the settee.

"You look well," Beatrice continues as Jean settles next to Hermione. "It seems all that travel has done you good. And it looks as if you didn't spend all your time locked in council chambers, libraries and museums. You've caught the sun."

"It was brilliant, and yes, I did manage to have some fun too."

"Perfect. You're young, you might as well enjoy it when you can. Now, let's summon the tea and you can tell me all about your travels."

Her mouth watering at only the idea of the meal, Hermione nods. All the delightful foreign food she's experienced has nothing on one of her grandmother's afternoon teas—the best thing she's ever tasted. It'll be worth the grilling from her family to get a bite of one of the castle's scones.

Once the silver platters of finger foods and cakes have been cleared away, Amelia, Beatrice's private secretary, appears from nowhere and passes Beatrice a roll of parchment. The Queen unfurls it and raises her eyebrows at its contents before shifting to the edge of her seat, all without slouching or changing her regal posture.

"Now, I won't keep you longer," she says, removing her glasses from the bridge of her slim nose and letting them dangle from the gold chain around her neck. A Queen never pushes her spectacles into her hair. "But there are some things I wish to discuss with you before you disappear to get ready for tonight's ball."

Ugh, the ball. In all of her excitement about arriving home, the event had slipped Hermione's mind. It's the last thing she needs; she's exhausted after taking five separate Portkeys and apparating twice to make it back to the UK (not to mention having to ride the last part of the journey in the magical car). But it's customary to throw a welcome back ball when a royal returns after a long time away. And Queen Beatrice loves her traditions.

There have been rumours that most of magical Britain have been invited. The thought of having to be friendly and rub shoulders with everyone has Hermione's bones aching. Suppressing a yawn, she pushes past her tiredness and sits more upright, casting a concerned glance at her mother. Jean shrugs, drawing her lower lip between her teeth in a move that alarms Hermione. She knows what's coming next. Beatrice and Jean have become as thick as thieves over the past few years, and Hermione is their favourite topic of conversation.

"Your mother and I have been talking"—I knew it—"and I think you are ready for your coronation."

The delicate china teacup almost slips out of Hermione's hands, sloshing hot liquid onto the antique rug under her feet. She winces and sets it on the table with a clatter, her pulse racing as she cries, "What?!"

"It doesn't have to be straight away, but I would like to retire before the end of the year."

"But that's only six months away. That's not nearly enough time." A trickle of sweat slides down the back of her neck, and she lifts her curls up in an attempt to cool her skin. How has it got so hot in here so quickly?

"At the latest. Ideally, I'd like for you to be ready by the time summer is over. There's a delightful cruise setting sail from Southampton at the start of September, and I wish to be on that boat."

Jean interjects, "You've been preparing for this moment since you were seventeen, Hermione. That's seven years. And you've spent the majority of that time studying hard to get yourself ready. Beatrice and I both believe that you are more than ready for it, and there will be a team of advisors and staff on hand to assist you too."

Two months to get ready for a coronation and to drain every last piece of information from Queen Beatrice's head.

"B-but I'm only twenty-three."

"Yet, you are wise beyond your years." Beatrice reaches across the low table and takes hold of Hermione's hand, squeezing it. "The crown is precious to me, as is this family and especially you. I have not taken this decision lightly, but you are more than ready for it. I plan to make an official announcement at tomorrow's Wizengamot, although I will not set a date with them until you're ready."

Expelling a lungful of air, Hermione nods. "Okay. I can do this."

It's a lot sooner than she'd planned; she wanted to be married with children before she considered taking the crown. But Queen Beatrice is getting old, Hermione can see it in the slower way her grandmother moves, and her increasing reliance on the gold-gilded cane she's now using. And Hermione would prefer it if Beatrice didn't run herself into the ground for her country, however much she knows the queen loves every single person that resides here.

"Brilliant!" Beatrice releases Hermione's hand and clasps her own together. "I will speak to the Wizengamot, and we will go from there. But for now, let us get ready for the ball tonight. I've been looking forward to it for a while, and we've pulled all the stops out for you, my dear."

"Thank you. Mum, are you coming to my suite to get ready?"

"Yes, love."

Hermione gets to her feet and offers a hand to her grandmother to help her up. Once she's steady, Hermione presses a kiss to both of her cheeks. "Thank you for putting your faith in me. I won't let you down."

"I know, love. See you in a few hours."

Looping her arm in her mother's, Hermione leaves the front room but she's silent on the walk to her living quarters at the back of the castle, her mind awash with the new information. Of course, she knew she'd be Queen eventually, but she wasn't expecting to be assaulted with the crown as soon as she set foot in Ballindalloch.

"I'm sorry I couldn't write to you sooner," Jean says as soon as they reach the top of the wide staircase. "But we didn't want to ruin your trip."

"Still, you could have grabbed me before I entered the front room." Hermione regrets the snap as soon as it leaves her mouth and she squeezes her mum's arm. "I'm sorry, it's not your fault. It's a huge surprise. I thought I had another five years, at least."

"I know. And I'll help you prepare. But you can do this, Hermione."

The princess tries her best to push all her doubts out of her head and focus on tonight's party. There'll be plenty of time to worry—two months, in fact—after the event, although she doesn't think she'll ever truly be ready to be Queen Hermione.