Seven
Corona Borealis
On the eve of Hermione's wedding, the castle is alive.
A hum of excitement permeates the air.
Magic emanates from everywhere: the guests' rooms, the house-elves preparing for the celebration, and added layers of warding that secure the castle. It is easy to forget until Hermione stands still and the sensations return to her. Hardly pervasive, but ever present nonetheless.
As she has often since her arrival, Mother settles down in Hermione's bed. Her presence is an anchor in the storm.
But even now, Hermione cannot find rest.
She paces and contemplates.
She listens to the Abraxans and Thestrals neighing loudly from their island home.
She would trade her soul to experience the world and life without worry, even dreams of it.
Hermione allows her imagination to run wild and free.
The possibilities are endless.
Then Draco's presence invades her mind.
Just as she is always with her Ladies or drowning in wedding plans she has no care for, he is with his advisors or training soldiers and knights, establishing order in his name. They are never alone, nor have they spoken since the night beneath the moonlight.
Hermione wonders if he keeps his distance on purpose.
As if Hermione is the danger she knows he is.
"You should lay beside me and find rest." Mother's suggestion cuts her thoughts into pieces.
"I cannot. I have too much…"
It is a struggle to describe what agitates her. It fills her veins, and keeps in her a perpetual state of unrest.
Mother gets out of bed and stands in Hermione's path, blocking her each time she tries to dodge, then places both hands on her shoulders. They wear silk bedclothes, but Hermione's do not bear the wrinkles that come from rest.
"You always think too much, my love. What do you feel?"
"I feel…" Frustration builds. "I—"
"I wish there was another way." Regret is etched into every line of her mother's pale skin. "The life of a queen is not one I wished for you. I wanted you to live, to learn, to find love that is not born of duty, and choose for yourself. But I knew—" Tears gather in her green eyes, but Mother seems determined not to weep for what she cannot control. "I knew when you left that we would be here as we are now."
"Did Vasades…"
"The stars speak of you, your potential as the Healer of the realm and much more I do not know, but I do not speak of this now." She sighs. "Deep down, I knew that if your paths were to cross, the king would choose you."
"All mothers say such things about their daughters."
"I do not speak now as your mother. I speak as someone who has watched you grow and change into the woman you are today. I only wish I had prepared you better."
"I have years of experience hearing examples of how not to rule from Queen Millicent."
"It is not always about ruling. You also have a heart." Mother cups her cheek. "Do not forget that you are more than a title and a role, you are a woman, too. Men often forget they need us, but we do not need them. Despite this arrangement, do not lose yourself. You are half of a pair. Love is always a surprise, even if unwanted."
Hermione scoffs. "Regardless of our interactions, I think—"
"Do not think. Logic, rationale, thinking—believe me, none of it will do you any good beyond Court."
Mother leads her to the window where they listen to the song of the sea. Waves lap against the shore. With predators grounded by sleep, nocturnal birds take flight without worry. Hermione watches them soar under the light of the moon, leaning on her mother as she always has.
She hopes this will never change, but knows it must.
"The rest of your life begins when the sun rises." Mother presses her lips to the crown of her head then hugs her close. "Let us enjoy the night."
Hermione spends sunrise in deep meditation, both hands laced with Mother's and Ginny's.
The view is as beautiful as a painting, a poem, a thread of light.
The world looks the same, but hers is forever changed.
Thoughts of what she is leaving behind plague her: her life, her parents, and everything else she will miss. The ache is overwhelming, much like the journey she begins today. It brings tears to her eyes; a sob rises from the very pit of her. Motherly arms surround her and Hermione leans into her embrace. Ginny joins and they hold her close, breathing words of comfort into her hair.
You have our support, our love.
I will not leave until you are ready.
You will make a fine queen.
Hermione inhales the morning air and allows their presence to calm the storm brewing inside of her. They become her strength to grant her serenity and clear her mind of the fears.
She has to remind herself that there is no life to ache for, no home to return to.
This is her home now.
Hermione is determined to not only fulfil the role, but also to make the best of this new life.
King Draco flits into her mind. He has been fair in ways he did not have to be. Although distant, he is still intriguing. She has only just begun to explore his depths with her daily visits to his parents' portrait. Hermione has never failed, and quietly promises Narcissa that she will help, not only by becoming a queen to the people, but to Draco as well.
Just as he wishes.
When reflection is complete, the elves arrive to pack her belongings, including everything she asks Harry to retrieve. Trinkets. Memories. Precious books she tucks out of sight. Everything is going to the new chambers she has designed for herself.
Winky brings them breakfast and that is the last thing she remembers.
The rest of the morning is a blur.
From the time Pansy arrives to the time Hermione is dressed for the ceremony, draped in ivory silks and weighed down by jewels, she does not focus on anything. The flurry of activity does not stop, even after she notices the streets outside the palace begin to fill with people.
The kingdom, Ginny tells her, is a mix of excitement and apprehension, especially the duchy she calls home. Her students miss her dearly, but Ginny and Susan intend to fill the hole she leaves behind.
By the time they are ready to escort her to the hall, Hermione can hear the cheers. The celebration. It comes from beyond the palace walls.
Hermione is the epitome of every little girl's dream: an orphan turned queen.
Pansy, dressed in beautiful robes of her own, takes in the sight of her as she stands in the centre of her chamber.
There are no mirrors, so Astoria serves as hers.
Along with Daphne, they have spent every day since their initial meeting with Hermione, who absorbs their teachings of life in Court like a sponge. Hermione and Astoria clash while Pansy gives her a tour of the castle's dressings for the day. She and Pansy argue in the gardens while Astoria tests her on various customs for the ceremony. Daphne laughs while the three fight over everything and nothing.
When Astoria leaves to find her seat in the wedding hall, Pansy stands before her, takes her hands, and holds them. Despite their bumpy start, Hermione knows now they are kindred spirits.
Women who are too strong to tame.
Sisters.
"Are you ready?"
At midday, Father walks her down the aisle where Draco awaits at the end.
He takes her hand and they approach the altar.
A shaman speaks at length about the bonds of magic and love and life before instructing them to recite the bonding enchantment in unison.
The cords around their fastened hands spark to life.
Hermione gasps when she feels the hum of power. It glows as bright as the sun, ensuring a bond to last the rest of their days. Although blinding, she does not avert her eyes, entranced by the magical display.
For the first time since taking her place by his side, since the crown was placed on her head, Hermione glances up at her groom.
Draco is beautiful. Stoic. Fierce.
The perfect picture of a king.
Dressed in decadent ivory robes made of the finest silks and draped in so much regalia, it is a wonder he can breathe. The charms lining her gown allow her the ability to move freely but do nothing for the crown that feels foreign and heavy on her head.
Draco's crown looks far heavier; it is the symbol of a duty he has been groomed to carry out since birth.
He does not watch the handfasting.
He watches her.
Just as she now watches him.
Hermione does not understand why.
Their first kiss is a simple press of dry lips. A quick capture that leaves her with a feeling she cannot define.
Unlike the one in the field, this kiss feels like a nonverbal seal of agreement.
A covenant and transaction.
Witnessed by many, her ten Ladies stand behind her, his seven knights behind him—Sirius, Nott, and a newly arrived Crabbe even out his side.
When it is done, they turn as a united pair, hands still entwined. Some guests cheer, those who do not approve look on. Most of the rejected women fill the seats in the room with their families, dressed in noble colours, looking sour. The council has a wide variety of reactions—Rabastan does not stand while Sirius obnoxiously whistles and cheers.
Hermione's hands tremble but Draco does not let go, nor does he look at her.
Not when they walk from the hall and down the corridor, with a trail of subjects and nobles alike trailing behind them.
Not even when they greet the sea of cheering people while standing on the balcony high above them. There are people packed in the streets as far as the eye can see. Kaida soars overhead. Her fiery roar feels more like celebration than destruction.
Flower petals fall from the sky like rain.
They turn into gold coins once they touch the ground.
A gift to the people.
Hermione looks at Draco, eyes wide, shocked by the display. She finds him watching her reaction carefully, and wonders if it is also a gift to her.
The wedding feast is a loud, crowded, and grand celebration of their union.
While similar festivities rage outside the palace walls, with fireworks and bonfires in Wiltshire, the ones within the walls go into the night. She meets his aunt, Andromeda, who seems kind. She has left the royal life behind to live with her common-born husband and daughter, Hermione learns. The king is supposed to shun her, as the nobles do, but he never has. The hints of affection are in the softening of his eyes when they speak out of earshot. He goes from visible irritation to something akin to fondness.
Hermione wishes to see more of their exchange, to speak to Andromeda and ask questions, but she is distracted by the celebration. The performances from bards and actors. The exotic array of food and drink. There are wines and spirits Hermione has never heard of before, much less seen or tasted. People dance merrily on flower petals and the fragrance touches her senses from her place at the king's side.
Draco does not smile once, something Hermione notices each time she catches herself being entertained. He keeps a watchful eye over the room, as though there are not guards at every corner to do the job.
A warrior through and through.
When the time comes, Hermione is led out; the charms on the room render the hall silent once the doors shut. Mother waits in her chambers, Ginny at her side, both a comforting presence after an incredibly long day. Hermione does not hide her exhaustion.
The elves bathe her in water warm enough to soothe her aching muscles and sore feet. Rose petals and lavender ease her headache, and the soap they use smells like a blend of flowers that makes her feel at peace. Nerves return when they dress her in exquisite lavender silk robes and ornament her with gold armbands.
From Mother, she receives advice: "You must endure the pain and ignore the spectators."
The humiliation of her chastity test the evening before is fresh. She shudders.
It gets worse?
From Ginny, who has recently gone through this, she gets silent encouragement: a hand on her shoulder as she braids Hermione's long hair.
From Pansy, who arrives with the guards tasked with escorting her to the king's chambers, she receives a full cup of Elf-wine.
Hermione rejects it.
"You want this," Pansy insists. "It will relax you."
She glances over at Mother and Ginny, who nod in agreement, before she accepts the goblet. When she finishes, the guards lead the way.
Draco waits for her in an ornate chair in white robes, no crown upon his head.
"I know you take no pleasure in this duty, and neither do I, so I will make it quick."
It sounds like mercy.
With a quiet nod, Hermione stands before him, slowly stripping while looking away. Silk robes puddle around her feet. She feels his eyes, grey and bold, searing across her skin. But when she looks, Draco is unreadable.
The marble floor is cold as she stands before him in nothing but armbands. He stands, strips off his robe, and leads her to the bed.
She has seen parts of his body, though things are different tonight. She tries not to stare at the scars of war that cover his chest or the cock that hangs heavy between his thighs, but Draco catches her staring at both while dipping his fingers in the oil beside the bed.
They get on the bed together. The sheer curtains fall in a false veil of privacy.
The room fills with those assigned to bear witness to the consummation. Hermione listens to her mother's words, ignoring the men behind the canopy. Or she tries to. She does not see their faces, focusing instead on Draco as he settles between her parted legs.
He kisses her, but it is nothing like the night in the field.
Stiff.
Dutiful.
His touch is perfunctory.
One oily finger dips into her core.
Then two.
First shallow, then deep.
Stifling her discomfort with shuddering breaths, Hermione closes her eyes tight while his fingers twist and stretch her in a way she has never known. She tries to adjust to the sensation but she cannot. When he pulls them out, it is a relief until she realises what is next.
And braces herself.
The earlier glass of wine does little to dull the initial stab of pain.
Hermione has no expectations, is under no delusions that this will be the gentle and tender experience Ginny hints about. Still, it hurts more than she expects. More than uncomfortable and foreign, as he sinks his cock into her, it feels like being torn apart. Slowly. Miserably. Hermione starts to panic, breath coming short as she turns her head to the side to stop from sobbing.
The king looks equally as uncomfortable, but they have a duty to complete.
Draco is not a lover, he is a fighter, and he treats her body like a vessel he owns.
Hermione is full and engulfed, but neither is a good feeling.
The wine only makes it worse. Sick with regret, she bites her lip to stop from crying. Draco watches, close enough to see tears gathering in her eyes and hear the thoughts in her head if he so chooses.
If he notices, he ignores it, rutting against her by instinct alone, rushing to the end as promised.
The sound of their consummation fills her ears.
She feels…
Nothing.
Only numbness, as though her heart is petrified.
But just when she begins to turn to stone, a surprise comes in the final moments, when it is thankfully almost over. Draco presses deep and holds himself there long enough for something to spark.
Come alive.
A strange, fluttering feeling. But it is fleeting.
Then Draco is back to it.
The snap of his hips edges on brutal, punishing and—
He pushes up on his knees then pulls out just enough to spill onto the sheets with low grunt. A whispered spell makes the mess of blood and fluid vanish.
Draco brings a finger to his lips.
Hermione nods.
It is a secret they shall both keep.
The kingdom holds its breath for a fortnight, exhaling slowly when days continue to pass with no news of Hermione's execution.
Pansy says things are returning to normal at Court, and it will trickle out to the rest of the kingdom over the coming months, but Hermione cannot tell, and she is scarcely had the time to spare normality a thought.
The crushing pressure of her new crown is too distracting. It is hard not to break under the foreign weight she does not know how to carry.
Reality is a painful truth; a contrast to dream's beautiful lies.
Hermione expects a new sense of purpose, but being queen is akin to life inside a cage where she must now hide inside herself too while under the scrutiny of the kingdom. As an outsider, she straddles cultures and families and values, barred by her position from the intimacies of friendship and the thrill of ordinary life.
Even with her parents, Harry, and Ginny here with her, she is isolated in the ways that matter.
Loneliness eats at her, slowly and painfully.
Hermione cannot stop it.
Cannot talk about it.
Cannot even hint about being anything other than okay.
Every day exposes Hermione's inexperience, steals her confidence. All of her attempts to join the king's meetings with the Royal Council and reporting scouts are met with opposition from the majority. They say she is not yet ready, that the king intends to stay and there is no need for her attendance.
Hermione hates when Draco acquiesces and dismisses her. It makes her feel useless in a way she has never experienced, but she tries to adapt.
There are other matters of Court Hermione has to tend to—things Millicent did not care for.
Handling disputes between the elves and the human attendants, who serve no purpose except to tend to things people do not want elves to touch. Banquet planning teaches her how the castle operates. Inspecting ingredients for meals helps her learn how everything is prepared. Etiquette lessons assist with her growing understanding of who carries the sway of the Court. Time with her Ladies help her learn more about each person. Accepting wedding gifts from near and far introduces her to the people who give them.
Perhaps it is not all useless.
She tries to see the good.
Learning the ins and outs of the kingdom with Pansy is the most useful part of each day, but Hermione's brittle impatience with herself leaves them both frustrated. There are moments when they feel close enough for her to speak her true feelings, but a flowing river of insecurity carves a deep valley between what she feels and what she can express.
She stays silent.
Observant.
Quiet, even as she comes across twin open doors to the veranda where Draco speaks with Pansy.
"When I marry, I hope to not be draped in finery, given jewels, and placed in a corner for people to observe and mock." Pansy meets Draco's glare with one of her own. Hermione steps out of the doorway. "There is already talk of how you ignore her both publicly and privately."
"There are always rumours," Draco says dryly.
"Yet you do not deny this."
"I… was advised to give her time to adjust."
"Adjustment might be easier if you were not so distant, if you let her in and stop concealing her from what you face as both king and man."
"You know what is happening all around us. I have no time for—"
"You made her queen but do not treat her as one, nor do you correct those who disrespect her title."
"They will bend, eventually. One might say I am shielding her."
"She does not need protection, brother, she needs support. And knowledge."
"That I cannot give. You know why."
Pansy makes a low, frustrated sound. "Then figure out how to change that."
"As I told Potter, I am working on it."
Hermione frowns. It?
"Good." She pauses long enough for Hermione to steal a glance. She sees them standing side by side, leaning on the marble banister, staring at the sky where free dragons fly overhead. "Where is Kaida?"
"Canvassing for me. North, near the borderlands of the Lost Kingdom."
"So far? Is she—"
"Kaida is fine, nagging incessantly about the same topic, day in and day out." He exhales a frustrated sigh. "I cannot find rest with her in my head and you in my face."
"I cannot speak for your familiar, but I do not need to see how you look at her to know that you are conflicted. You watch her, yet you keep your distance. Your behaviour is confusing to everyone. Her, me, even your dragon. Do not be… yourself about this."
"I am not conflicted."
"You are lying," Pansy says. "And she will be the consequence of your hasty action, just as Millicent was. Do not allow her to be poisoned, by any means. What was the purpose of choosing a wife at all if you did not intend to—"
"Remember yourself."
"I will not remember myself. I am not here as crowned princess. I am here the advocate of hers that you made me. I am also here as your sister. You and I may not be blood but we are family. We have been since your father brought me here after my parent's death" A harsh breath escapes her. "Andromeda—"
"Has given me her thoughts."
"Then stop acting as if you do not understand. You gave her your mother's betrothal ring and chambers, allow her liberties, and keep her under constant guard as if she is a rare book on a shelf. Now she wears your mother's crown and jewels you never let anyone so much as touch. You cannot tell me that you feel no—"
"I can tell you whatever I like."
"Marriage is a duty you and I were born to fulfil, but it does not mean—"
"What do you know of marriage?" he asks harshly. "Least of all to someone who did not choose you, who will never choose you despite agreeing."
Hermione's breath catches.
"This is a circumstance I face daily," Pansy snaps. "And I do it with grace. To honour my family and their memory. For the good of the kingdom. To strengthen your rule." There is a pause. "She is your wife, Draco."
"I have given her allowances."
"She is not the sort to be controlled or coaxed." Pansy's voice settles with a sigh. "I understand that you do not know her, nor do you understand her, but this is an entire life change for someone who never intended to marry."
"Pansy."
"Try."
"I highly doubt she—"
"If you continue to leave her adrift, Hermione will be lost in waters so treacherous you will not be able to save her. You will lose her before you begin to realise what I already know."
"And what is that?"
Hermione's guards return before she can hear the answer, realising they left her behind. She swallows the lump in her throat and joins them.
Hermione notices things.
Like Draco's ability to interact with anyone other than her.
When he is not meeting with the Royal Council or overseeing the training of soldiers, he calls on his closest knights—particularly concerning the unicorn killings in the forest beyond Wiltshire.
Draco also seeks out Pansy or Astoria for reasons neither divulge. He does not return to her chambers after their wedding night, nor does he request her presence in his or anywhere else. Hermione is both relieved and perplexed. It took days for the soreness to fade, but with it gone, she is now left to wonder.
Then she realises she has a problem.
The king is not unkind, but his distance isolates her further. The rumours start, both looks and whispers, some even from her Ladies.
The man who kissed her in the field cannot be the same one she married.
Are they incompatible?
Perhaps he is as inexperienced at marriage as she is.
Perhaps he does not care.
Perhaps—
"You should not find yourself alone, Your Majesty."
Hermione tenses.
After only three visits, her hiding spot by the window beneath the stairwell has been discovered. So unnerved by this, she does not pay attention to the voice until turning to face the intruder.
Percy Weasley. The sight of wavy red hair, blue eyes, and a familiar expression makes her shoulders sag with relief. Hermione tucks away his warning to smile at her old friend. "You and I have known each other far too long to be reduced to such formalities."
"We have." He lowers his head in reverence, as serious as ever. "But you are queen now."
"I am reminded of this tiresome title each waking moment of every day." It is the closest her truth comes to being spoken. "If you wish to be formal, you may take your leave and allow me to continue in this moment of peace."
Percy's smile is slow and apologetic. "Hermione."
"That is better." She returns the gesture before watching the window again, which shows nothing but blue skies and rolling clouds. "Perhaps I should visit your library more. Speak to the travelling scholar about the other places he has been, the things he has seen."
"Who?"
"The scholar with the speech impediment. With the turban."
Percy looks even more confused. "I do not recall such a man in my libraries."
"Hmm. He must have left."
"Perhaps."
The occasional flying beast accompanied by a rider crosses her sight line. They patrol the skies above Wiltshire with increasing frequency since their wedding.
"You must know that your Ladies are in the courtyard. They wait for you." He joins her at the small window. Not much taller than her, Percy stands straighter in the robes that note him as a council member. "Why are you not there?"
"I am leaving them to their gossip. They have little else to do." Hermione waves her hand. "Who told you I was here?"
"Winky, but only after much bribery."
"I do hope she does not sense my displeasure and punish herself. The house-elves here punish themselves far too much. It is disheartening that they expect so little decency."
"I told her not to." Percy adjusts the sleeve of his embroidered tunic. "You are right. The elves here are far different from the ones I know. I try to be kind but I am one of few."
"Cruelty is the ugliest aspect of life at Court."
"You are right. It adorns itself in the finest robes, the largest jewels, and the highest titles, and thus believes itself above reproach."
"It does not make the act morally permissible."
"No, but I choose my battles." Percy gives her a meaningful look. "As should you."
They both turn when a door opens, spotting Lords Flint and Avery, who stop upon seeing them. She and Percy are at a respectable distance. There is nothing untoward to see, but Hermione feels as if she will hear of this later.
Lord Flint and Avery bow wordlessly and turn away, taking a different path down the corridor.
Percy frowns. "Perhaps we might change our location?"
"Where are you walking to?"
Percy's question stops Hermione, shaking her from the haze she does not remember entering.
She looks around.
They are close to the entrance where Draco took her the night they agreed to terms. The flying fairies are visible, buzzing in a blur of motion. A clear sign of panic.
"I do not know." Hermione's lips lower into a frown. This does not sit well with her, but she finds it difficult to express her concern. "I felt the strangest urge to come here, but I do not remember why or when the urge struck."
"Then let us turn back."
They walk along the stone path back towards the castle. Above them, birds flee as clouds gather in the distance. It will rain soon, but Hermione enjoys their walk with an obedient attendant trailing behind them, head bowed.
Percy casts a spell to keep their conversation private. The path they take is a popular one with a varied view—grass transforms into gardens against a backdrop of the forests, which then turns into a stony walkway that leads to a view of the sea and the island of winged beasts that graze upon the land. They pass other nobles who also enjoy the fresh air.
"I have not seen your parents today."
"Nor have I." Hermione inhales the breeze, savouring the hint of sweetness from the lilac trees where the elves pluck their blooms. "Father has reunited with Sirius. No doubt they are causing mischief in town. Mother is busy teaching Ginny how to use a sword and sparring with Harry and the other knights. Winning, no doubt."
They both chuckle. Hermione catches sight of a Demiguise before it vanishes.
Interesting.
She sees all sorts of creatures within the palace walls. They are domesticated gifts from other lands. Contained within wards and cared for by Magizoologists, they are left to be as free as they are in the forest. With restraints, of course.
She can relate.
"I will confess," she looks at Percy, "it is nice to see a familiar face in a sea of strangers who view me as unworthy or a means to an end."
"I cannot imagine you see many people at all when you hide."
"Queens do not hide," she says in her best impression of Pansy.
"I thought you were not a queen when we converse."
"You are right." Hermione's smile fades.
They pass Pansy and Astoria, who appear to be in a deep debate, their lips moving as each argues their unknown point. Like always upon seeing Hermione, the latter's eyes narrow and the corner of her lips twitch with discontent.
Percy ends the spell.
He addresses Pansy first. "Your Grace." Then Astoria. "Your Grace."
"Lord Percival," they say in unison with a polite nod and greet her in kind. "Your Majesty."
Pansy smiles. "I see you have found her, My Lord."
"I know the king asked you to seek her out," Astoria supplies.
Hermione burns with irritation but schools her features, something she has learned to do in Astoria's presence.
"He did and we are discussing matters now," Percy says.
"Very well. We shall leave you to it."
With another polite bow, they continue on. Hermione casts a glance back and meets Pansy's gaze, a silent agreement to meet later is passed.
Percy resets the privacy charm before pocketing his wand. "It is obvious Lady Astoria does not care for you."
"I am aware. She assists in teaching me the ways of Court at the behest of the Duchess and the king, but I do not wish to discuss such topics. I am not good at holding my tongue, you know this, so instead I crave solitude or else I do not know what I will say."
"Are you not already alone enough?" His question is soft, like he is genuinely curious. Or concerned.
It rattles her, rings in her head, and leaves her speechless. "I… I…"
"Perhaps you need something different to occupy your mind and time." He brings his hands behind him. "I hear you are in need of assistance with your dowry."
The only person who knows this is—
Hermione turns sharply.
"I am one of a few the king confides in privately," Percy offers.
Her stomach twists. She knows the others.
"What is it?"
Hermione starts to answer but stops. Outside of the closeness of their families and her bond with Ron, she and Percy have always been like-minded, sharing a common world view and similar moral compass. They talk and debate for hours. Hermione enjoys his company as an outlet to express some of her more controversial thoughts, but Percy has never been someone she trusted with her secrets.
This will not change today.
"Just a thought." Once she pushes all the negative emotions aside, all that remains are her own inquiries. Percy has been the palace historian since his predecessor's execution under Queen Millicent. Draco has been at war longer. "You had not laid eyes on Draco until his return as king. How is it that you have garnered such a position?"
"With my predecessor, I spent years observing and gathering evidence of those here who conspired against the king. He was caught and executed by Queen Millicent's accomplices, but they did not suspect me. I warned the king of the coup via letter."
"You are loyal to him. Just like Harry. Frankly, I am surprised. Are you still a pacifist or has joining the council changed your morals?"
Percy considers her as they walk. "There is no good or evil. There are actions and consequences, the realm's perception, and how history will remember your deeds. My feelings on violence have not changed, but there is the war you see and the war you do not. The reason for war is always multifold, but there is more that you do not understand. That most do not see. It runs deeper than power. It is about freedom. Our freedom."
Hermione is shaken by the normally quiet Percy's vehemence. "Tell me what I am missing."
"You will learn, but for now I am tasked to assist you on the matter of your dowry. Have you decided what you plan to patron?"
"I want to do more than patron existing charities. I want to use my dowry to build, not only within Wiltshire but the kingdom as a whole."
"Oh?" Percy is stunned. "This is…"
"Uncommon, I know, but I am thinking of how my work might survive me." She proceeds to vocalise the ideas she has only thought about.
When she finishes, Percy looks impressed. "I will draw plans and assist with ideas. In the meantime, might I suggest a better place to hide from your Ladies than under the stairwell?"
"Please."
"The king's private reading room lies untouched, as do the books within. He permits you to use it. There are no mirrors." He gives her a knowing look.
"How long have you been on the Royal Council?" Hermione's interest overshadows her frustration that the king has not told her of his permission himself. "I was not aware of this change when I saw you at Harry and Ginny's wedding."
"I was not on the council then. Normally, the Royal Council consists of ten members. He appointed me after Queen Millicent's coup as the eleventh. It was not a popular decision amongst the others, but I keep to myself and observe, just as he wishes."
"Who do you suspect?"
"Several. And you?"
"At this point it is a matter of who I do not suspect."
"You are right." Percy makes a small noise. "There are those who find my sudden presence suspicious. I was never a knight or a prominent Lord, nor am I a member of the royal family, which are the typical paths to joining the Royal Council. I believe the general belief is that a historian has no business on the council."
"I can think of more than one reason why you should." Hermione looks at him. "Who better to advise the king of the future than someone who has studied the past?"
Hermione looks up from her book.
Two of her Ladies—Lavender and Romalda—stand before her, smiling too brightly.
"What is it?" Her suspicion grows when the two exchange looks and giggle.
"Come with us," Romalda begs, dramatically folding her hands together and pouts. "Please."
Hermione flips a page. "I am not finished with my daily reading."
"How very dull. There are far more interesting things happening." Lavender waggles her brow. "Trust us. You will want to see this."
They will not leave, but Hermione waits long enough to make it appear she is not conceding too quickly. "Very well."
Her Ladies lead her out, arm looped with Lavender's while Romalda leads the way. They take the path to a set of stairs, then farther to an alcove overlooking a large courtyard. The sun is beginning its descent for the evening, casting long shadows on everything. Soldiers crowd around a large wooden platform. Murmurs rise among them, but Hermione does not understand why.
Others peer over the iron railing—Nott stands closer to her, with Lords Sirius and Pucey at his side. Lord Flint stands on the opposite end. Their eyes meet; he lowers his head properly, as do all the others around them.
She leans over to Lavender. "What is happening?"
"Soldiers," the excited woman replies. "New recruits."
"The king is to duel." Lady Romalda looks a bit lovesick. "It is quite the sight."
"Why?" Hermione asks.
"A display for soldiers who have just been given wands. It—"
The crowd parts and King Draco steps onto the platform. He is dressed in leather breeches and a plain tunic with a wand holster over his shoulder. His garb may appear simple, yet the way the king carries himself is anything but.
Broad shoulders, composed expression, and set jaw, the aura of authority rolls off of Draco in intoxicating waves.
Hermione finds herself standing straighter, bracing her hands on the iron.
Draco raises his wand to his throat, voice amplifying. "Today marks the beginning of your training. You will learn to fight, and to win. But first, I will demonstrate the skill that is expected. Potter will assist."
Harry joins Draco on the platform, similarly dressed. After he pulls his wand from his holster, the two take their positions at opposite ends of the platform.
The crowd falls silent.
"Duelling is different from war," Harry explains as they both sink into a fighting stance. "There are rules here, whereas the battlefield has none."
They start with simple disarming spells, taking turns making their wands fly from the other's hand. Both are formal: they show and explain how each spell is cast and how it works, but it does not take long for the demonstration to shift.
It starts when Draco dodges a hex he was supposed to take.
Then Harry throws a protective charm, which rebounds the spell back to the caster.
Draco makes the red beam dissolve into mist.
"Really, Potter?" Draco's voice is dark as the two circle each other.
"Come, Your Majesty," Harry jests, a taunting smile stretching wide. "Let us give them a proper show."
And they do.
Spells fly as they fight, beams of all colours. It is stunning to Hermione; she has never seen a duel like this. They fight with wands, wielding streaks of magic as swords. As they duck and dodge, sidestep and twist, the stench of magic twists, becoming more complex until the spells turn silent and the mood darkens.
This is no longer a playful spar, but something far more competitive.
Draco takes off his holster and throws it on the ground. Harry does the same.
They circle each other once more. Predator and prey, though who is which, she is not sure.
"I will not let you win, Sire," Harry calls.
"You never have before."
Draco goes on the offence, a quick set of spells that ends with him being struck by the last. Harry's defensive shield, cast expertly, sends him to the ground. He coughs, as if trying to regain his breath.
Lord Sirius spells a Galleon to float before the assembled. A bet. Nott adds two more while Harry addresses their stunned spectators.
"This is the only time using magic on the—"
A jinx from Draco cuts Harry off and sends him sprawling to the platform.
"Here we go." Theo rubs his hands together.
The two rise, wands pointed.
The fight turns brutal—elemental. Draco sweeps Harry into a maelstrom of sand that sends him tumbling, head over feet, feet over head. With a shout, her brother dispels the sandstorm, dissolving it through a powerful burst of wind and water. It leaves them both soaked.
Hermione is engrossed. She does not know who to watch, but the question is answered when Draco rips off his tunic.
Next to her, Romalda sighs dreamily. Hermione ignores her.
After ducking and dodging an array of spells, two beams of light collide, sending both Draco and Harry flying backwards.
They are rebounded by the invisible wards. Draco lands on one knee and raises his head, while Harry rolls into a fighting stance.
Onlookers begin to cheer and shout, watching the back and forth with rapt attention. The crack of Harry and Draco's spells connect and collide like lightning. They stumble back again and—as if by unspoken agreement—draw their wands back like swords. The tips glow with coloured light.
"Scared, Potter?" Draco smirks, sweat dripping from his brow.
Harry sheds his tunic. "You wish."
Three spells later, and they both lose their wands in glorious fashion.
Then summon swords and continue on, barely missing a beat.
All Hermione can see is Draco.
She watches the way he moves: swift and silent, every act purposeful and precise. He duels with finesse, whereas Harry moves on instinct. Draco's muscles ripple with each jab and parry, every strike and withdraw. Despite the obvious signs of irritation, the king is in perfect control of himself.
She does not ogle him like her Ladies, but she wonders if anything can challenge the way Draco steadies himself, if anything can push him to his breaking point.
He is human after all, maybe…
Harry loses his sword and casts wandlessly. "Flagrante!"
With a hiss, Draco drops his now molten hot sword.
Harry swipes at his feet, and the king falls.
With a victorious grin and his wand back in hand, her brother stands above Draco, chest heaving.
"Do you yield, Your Majesty?"
Draco does not answer. Harry smirks, offering his hand.
Draco flips him over onto his back, making him lose his breath, then picks up his sword, the blade glowing much like her mother's does when she fights. He brings the tip to Harry's throat.
"I yield." Harry says with a cough. "Cheater."
"The first rule of battle is to never fight fair." Draco smirks, then helps Harry up. He shoves the king exactly like Hermione has seen him push Ron when they were young.
Playfully.
They both smile.
Lord Sirius sulks over his loss to Lord Nott.
Harry returns his attention to the recruits and Hermione is about to leave when Draco looks up, tilting his head upon seeing her. If he is surprised, he does not show it. Lavender and Romalda giggle, whispering back and forth when Hermione steps forward, boldly holding his gaze. Where there was cool playfulness before, there is now heat.
Dominance.
Displeasure.
The realisation that his restraint is not so perfect makes her turn and run.
Flee.
Her Ladies call after her as Hermione descends the winding steps with every intention of returning to her book in the safety of her private chambers. There she can think and—
At the bottom of the landing stands Draco.
Sweaty and exhilarated from duelling, she should find the sight disgusting. Instead, her attraction grows.
Warmth spreads to her belly and races through her veins.
There must be more than what she sees, their wedding night, how he speaks to her, what she—
Hermione fans her face as her cheeks burn.
"Are… you well?" Draco asks with a familiar edge. He sounds out of breath. She wonders if she was not the only one who ran.
"I am, Sire."
Two steps from the bottom puts them at the same height.
Up close, he looks more imposing now than while he was fighting. It should not be this way. Hermione can hardly look at him, choosing instead to pick a spot behind him at which to stare.
"Did you enjoy the demonstration?"
"I did."
"Then stay."
It is not until Hermione is back with her Ladies, looking at the sight below as the recruits pair off and duel, that she secretly admits the rest of the demonstration is disappointing.
She enjoyed watching Draco far more.
A/N: *waves* Chaos drop at its finest. Still very much busy, but at least I'm breathing somewhat better? We'll go with that.
*Jaxx went a little crazy and forgot she drew so many pieces before the wedding art. We all cackled.
*Kept their first time more historical w/ people witnessing the consummation and neither one of them enjoying it. I figured that would be a more realistic first time than Draco being a sex god. He's been away a long time, and we get hints he wasn't really into Millie like that and they were married since he was crowned.
*Draco's distance...heh. I do love my emotionally constipated Draco's. Hermione's got it a bit bad. Both of them are pretty confuzzled emotionally about the other so this is fun.
*Where was she walking to? Heh.
*Also more and more clues. I'm stoked about where we're headed. Almost there. Almost. There.
