What Makes You Different (Makes You Beautiful)
You don't run with the crowd, you go your own way
You don't play after dark, you light up my day
Got your own kind of style, that sets you apart
Baby, that's why you capture my heart.
I know sometimes you feel, like you don't fit in
And this world doesn't know, what you have within
When I look at you, I see something rare
A rose that can grow anywhere.
And there's no one I know that can compare
What Makes You Different (Makes You Beautiful), Backstreet Boys
(The Princess Diaries)
Princess Hermione loves the magical folk of Great Britain. Of course, she adores Muggles too, but there's an underlying eccentricity in wizards and witches, something endearing that captures her heart every time she has dealings with them. It's easy for an outsider to fall in love with the magical world.
Take Arthur Weasley, for example. The man is brilliant, resourceful, and holds a high position within the Ministry of Magic. He and Molly have kept their entire family functioning despite only bringing in one wage. Yet even though the man is powerful, the little things—like plugs and rubber ducks—fascinate him.
And what about how wizards and witches turn out when they're asked to dress with discretion to attend events in the Muggle eye? They don't have a clue in the most adorable way. Suits paired with flip flops and snorkel gear. Wizards choosing to wear flowery old lady nightdresses. Although robes are still all the rage in the magical world, slowly, more modern witches and wizards are phasing them out and replacing them with the most outlandish costumes.
At least the teens are getting it right.
Like fashion, wizards are also way behind Muggles in their culture and beliefs. And that's saying something when Muggles can be the most homophobic, racist, intolerant bigots she's ever met. This is why she yearns to be queen, so she can see the changes her world so desperately needs.
Once every three months, the doors of Ballindalloch Castle are opened to the general public and Queen Beatrice spends the day listening to her subject's worries and concerns. It's an important time in the royal calendar, as the topics people bring to the throne can help to guide what topics are put in front of the Wizengamot. The queen can also offer up help if the issue is within her control. But it's the face-to-face interaction with the 'normal people' in the queendom that's the most useful in ruling a country.
Dealing with these conversations needs tact, being diplomatic and understanding is the last of the 'skills' Hermione needs to master before the crown passes to her. Well, that, and firing a stupid flaming arrow through a stupid golden hoop. The rest of her session with Renard yesterday didn't go well, not even when she imagined firing directly at Ron's head.
As the owner of a local farm waxes lyrical about the benefits of using dragon dung on his dirigible plums, and how the ban on using said dung should be lifted to make it easier for the farmer to get a hold of, the princess suppresses a yawn. It's warm in the royal court, and the large room is crowded with people. Her feet ache in her smart heels, and she yearns to be sat somewhere comfortable, with a cooling charm applied directly to her. She shifts her weight to her left leg, accidentally brushing her shoulder against Nicholas' arm.
The lord returned from Gibraltar earlier this morning but gave no indication of how well his family took the news of their engagement. Their reintroduction was so boring, devoid of any passion or longing. It was as if she was catching up with Kingsley or Dedalus, although even those two show some sort of enthusiasm whenever they see Hermione.
"Sorry," she mutters, leaning away from him to give him space.
"Not at all."
But if he misses the pressure of her weight against him, Nicholas gives no indication. He does nothing to close the gap again. Neither does he rest a comforting hand on her arm or the small of her back or make any other move to signal that they're soon to be married—in only thirteen days. Instead, he remains in his rigid stance, his hands tucked behind him as he rocks back and forth on his heels. The man isn't even breaking a sweat, even though it's a million degrees in the castle today.
The queue of people waiting to speak to Beatrice stretches down one wall of the courtroom. Opposite them sits the royal retinue. Ladies-in-waiting, members of the Order, and Dedalus Diggle are all scribbling notes, their quills blurring with their hard work to get everything recorded, or trying their best not to look bored. For some reason, Ginny has wrangled herself an invite—does that woman ever work anymore—and she's wedged herself into a seat between Scrimgeour and…
Ron! What on earth is he doing here?! Did he not get the hint to leave her alone after their latest clash yesterday? Or did he understand and has chosen to hang around to annoy her anyway? She wouldn't put it past him, he knows all the ways to get under her skin.
Her eyes drift over him, her heart thudding in her throat. Despite the fact he's over the other side of the hall, he still spots her watching and that stupid lop-sided grin takes over his face. Beaming at her, Ron lifts his hand and gives her a small wave, heating her blood until it feels like steam might emit from her ears. It takes all of her self-control not to curl her hands into angry fists, or hurl a plethora of abuse his way. How does he still have this effect on her?!
Relax, Hermione. She takes a deep breath and holds it for five before letting it out in one shuddering go. There has to be an explanation as to why he's dared to show his face. Perhaps Kingsley asked him to be here? The head of the Order is nowhere to be seen, so maybe he's sent Ron in his stead. The redhead is at Ballindalloch to do a job, after all, and his attendance at today's court is not a thinly-veiled attempt to keep an eye on Nicholas and Hermione. Or to rattle her nerves. Nope, not at all.
In a desperate attempt to spite her ex-boyfriend, Hermione tears her eyes from him and leans towards Nicholas a little more, slipping her hand into his. Although he gives it a small squeeze, he doesn't even smile at her. Well, that did the job. Another glance at Ron shows his idiotic grin has grown even wider and her stomach lurches in dismay. She hates losing to Ron.
"I will take your proposed stop to the ban on using dragon dung to the Wizengamot at our next meeting," Beatrice says, cutting through the hatred brewing in Hermione's head and disapparating all the made-up situations where Hermione might claw that win back the next time she bumps into Ron. "Minister Scrimgeour's office will be in touch shortly."
The farmer bows so low that his raggedy hat grazes against the floor. "Thank you, your majesty. This is for your table."
All of the waiting visitors are armed with gifts for the royal family. This time, it's a basket full of the farmer's plums. Hermione casts her gaze down the queue, spotting bouquets of flowers, piles of books, and even a wicker basket full of something pink and fluffy. Pygmy puffs! Maybe I should gift them to Ginny? There's nothing that could be added to the vast museum Hermione opened at Winchester Palace whilst she was still in Hogwarts. She'll have to ask Dedalus what they do with them. Perhaps they can set up a scheme to redistribute the gifts to those who need them more—food for the poorest of subjects, clothes for those who are struggling to keep warm. It's one step towards a more equal status across Magical Britain, especially as the castle certainly does not need them.
With the basket of plums whisked away, Beatrice signals that she needs a break. Using her golden cane, she pushes herself off the throne and walks the short distance to where Hermione waits. The princess curtsies and lets go of Nicholas so that he can bow to his future grandmother-in-law.
"You're doing so well at this, grandmother," Hermione remarks as Beatrice takes a sip of water from her crystal glass. "They all adore you."
"Thank you. It's a part of our tradition, and I'm well-practised at it by now. One has to be fair and honest. Even if you can't help, you have to show the people you care. I think it's time for you to give it a try."
Hermione's heart catches in her throat as a throne that matches the queen's appears on the dais. Without waiting for an invite, Nicholas wanders over to the seat, one hand resting on the gold decorative trim. His expectant gaze settles on Hermione. Now you look at me. He can't sit down until she's settled. The Lord means business, and his confidence as he stands waiting for his princess to join him only heightens Hermione's nerves. It's like a bag of flobberworms has erupted in there. What if she messes this up and promises something unachievable? What if she says the wrong thing and ends up upsetting half the royal court?
Every eventuality, everything that could go wrong races through Hermione's head as she steps onto the elevated platform and takes her seat. She keeps her knees and ankles tightly together, the latter crossed as she slants her legs to the side, sitting in a way that is as natural to her as performing Wingardium Leviosa. Only now after years of practice.
Once Nicholas has taken his seat, Tonks steps forward and clears her throat before announcing the next person to step up. Her proximity is reassuring, helping Hermione to relax. It's nice to have someone familiar in charge of crowd control for the princess. And at least it's not Ron.
The first person to approach the pair of thrones is a dowdy-looking teenager. Her hair is unbrushed and there's not an inch of makeup on her face, not that it matters. A surge of annoyance flickers through Hermione at the fact she even noticed it. Perhaps being a royal is affecting her more than she thinks, despite her attempts at keeping things informal. But the teenager's appearance is a stark contrast to the rest of the day's visitors. who have made an over-the-top effort to impress the royals, and it's almost refreshing to see someone who hasn't.
Although the girl is dressed in Muggle clothes, with a plain t-shirt and a pair of jeans that look as if they've seen better days, the Ravenclaw badge pinned to her chest gives away that she is young enough to still be at school. She twists her hands once before stumbling into a curtsey, almost losing her footing in front of everyone else.
Sympathy twinges through Hermione's chest as a low chuckle ripples around the retinue. What the hell? Before the girl cracks her face on the stone steps, Hermione lunges off her seat to try and protect her.
"Princess, don't." Nicholas reacts immediately, extending his arm across Hermione's body to stop her. What does he think he's doing? His face is stern, but it softens when Hermione shoots a pointed look at him. But his fingers slide down her arm to take hold of her hand anyway, sending a shudder over her skin. As he squeezes it, he says, "If you're too personal with the first one, the rest of them will expect it. It's important to set a precedent straight away, and manage expectations."
"Are you okay?" Despite the prickle of embarrassment over Hermione's skin, she is still concerned about the girl's welfare. A public telling-off from her fiancé is not how she wanted to start this whole debacle, but she must push that aside so she can focus on the matter at hand.
After a short nod from the teenager, Hermione clears her throat, making sure her voice is devoid of any hint of her annoyance at Nicholas. "Please start whenever you're ready."
The girl brushes invisible dust from her t-shirt with shaking hands. When she speaks, it's with a stutter and a tremor in her voice. "I-I wish to attend M-muggle University after g-graduating from, uhm, Hogwarts. Like, uhm, you did. B-but—"
Nerves getting the better of her, the words stop coming from the teen's mouth. The poor girl looks close to tears, and Hermione's heart plummets. There's no way she wants anyone to feel this worked up about talking to her. How is it that royals get such a reputation for being scary and unapproachable? Is this how her grandmother has been treating her subjects?
Ignoring Nicholas' advice, and moving quickly before he can stop her, Hermione slides off her throne and kneels at the top of the dais so that her face is level with the girl's. Tonks steps behind Hermione, her wand in her hand, but the princess isn't scared of what she faces. It's only a teenage girl, after all, not a dragon. She warns Tonks off with a glance before turning her attention back to the girl.
"What's your name?"
"Sarah."
"Well, Sarah. I thought it might be easier for you to tell me what's bothering you if it's just the two of us, a girl to girl chat. Ignore Tonks, she's just here to make sure I'm safe, not that she thinks you'll do me any harm. It's just her job, nothing more. She won't be listening in, and neither will anyone else, and I'll make sure that only the important bits of what you tell me will be passed on to my helpers. Is that okay?"
Sarah nods but twists the front of her top in her hands. No words appear from her lips.
Making sure she has the biggest, friendliest smile on her face, Hermione pushes, "Go on then. You're safe here, I promise."
"Well," Sarah whispers, "I want to go to Muggle University, uhm, to study psychology. I-I want to be a mind healer. B-but my p-parents, uhm, can't afford the fees, the exchange rate to pounds is too much, and of course, uhm, they'd also need to help me with somewhere to stay and…"
She trails off, a look of desperation in her eyes.
"There's no financial help for you," Hermione finishes. "Oh."
Education is important. Hermione is privileged enough to be able to afford all the opportunities she wished to take. She still could if she wanted. But she can't believe there isn't already some sort of scholarship fund to help people less fortunate than her. Especially with all the money her grandmother has squirrelled away in a vault deep under Gringotts.
There are no options for school after Hogwarts. Once you graduate, it's expected that you'll learn on the job, unless you're lucky enough to be able to afford something else. It's a broken part of the system. How can they expect to deliver experienced professionals, especially in fields such as medicine and health when there are no opportunities to train and study? But this is an easy fix, a no-brainer. Although there'll probably be a ton of red tape, Hermione is willing to put in the work to make it happen.
Sitting back on her heels, she risks a glance at Beatrice, who straight away gives Hermione a nod. It looks like a smile is trying to form on the queen's face, but the effects of her magical surgery is still wearing off, so all she manages is a twitch of the corner of her mouth.
But it's enough.
Hermione turns her attention back to Sarah. "Well, that's fine," she says in a louder voice so the whole room, but especially Scrimgeour and the rest of the retinue can hear. "When I am crowned, which I hope will happen by the end of this summer, I will start a fund that people like you can access. I'm not sure what it's called yet, but I might name it after my grandmother since she has taught me a whole lot since I met her when I was about your age. You might need to apply for it, because I can't give money out willy-nilly, apparently, but if you put me down as a reference, I will make sure it goes to the right place. You will go to Muggle University, Sarah, and I can even put you in touch with some of the places I studied after my time at Hogwarts. Does that sound good?"
It's the right thing to say. Filled with confidence, Sarah lets out a loud squeal and claps her hands once before throwing her arms around Hermione. "Really?"
In the corner of her eye, Hermione spots Tonks and Ron spring into action, preparing themselves to fight off an attack. Idiots. She raises one hand to stop them, before wrapping the other around the teen. This feels good, and Hermione is finally on her way to making some sort of impact in the world she loves so much.
"Absolutely," she says so only Sarah can hear. "I look forward to reading your application and seeing the good work you'll do. Mind healing is so important. Maybe you can even help me?"
Once she's released from the embrace, Sarah passes a hand-knitted scarf to Dedalus, who has stepped up as Hermione's personal gift collector, before leaving the room, a spring in her step. Once she's disappeared, Hermione climbs back into her seat, ignoring the scathing look Nicholas gives her. Whose broom does he have up his backside? It's not like she's promised away all of his money, which Hermione is sure he has a lot of. If he doesn't like it, well tough. It's not going to change her mind. It's up to her what she does with her inheritance, after all.
"Right, who's next?" she asks, as she makes herself comfortable again, a huge smile plastered on her face. I'm going to nail this queen thing.
⁂
The visitors roll in in a continuous river of concerns and issues that fill up the rest of the afternoon. To make it easier, Hermione and Beatrice take turns in dealing with them.
It's hard, having the weight of everyone else's problems on her shoulders, but it's put everything into perspective for Hermione. She can't believe she was worried about Nicholas and whether he might fancy her, or the Wizengamot dictating when she should get married. If it's the only thing wrong in her world, she has it okay. The inhabitants of Magical Britain are having an awful time.
Famine, blood purity fanatics making people's lives a misery, and a shortage of jobs in the magical world. These are only some of the worries that have been brought to them today, and Hermione is determined to fix every single issue.
As Dedalus prepares to close the doors, an old crone appears, her back bent over a knobbly wooden cane. The head of the household protests her tardy appearance, but Hermione won't have anyone turned away. After all, what's one more person when they've seen a hundred or so today?
"Let her in, Dedalus," Hermione commands, her voice clear as it bounces around the mostly empty room.
The crone takes her time to get to the dais, her shaking hands making it look like she's wobbling back and forth. After shutting the doors to stop any other latecomers, Dedalus hurries to the thrones and stands to attention as he waits for the lady to reach them.
"Mrs Stowell," Dedalus announces when the crone finally arrives, "of Mousehole, Cornwall."
That's another well-made decision then. The old lady has travelled a long way today, so it's only right she gets a chance to have her say.
"Good afternoon, Mrs Stowell. How may the court help you today?"
Even though Hermione's exhausted from a whole day of listening to other people's problems, she tries her best to tune in.
"You see, Princess," the crone says without pausing to curtsey, "my house-elf refuses to work."
The mention of the creature is enough to straighten Hermione's spine beyond prim and proper. Her skin prickles and her ears tune out all the hubbub around them, as she forgets about her tiredness and focuses on the old woman. House-elf welfare is still at the top of her list of things she'd like to change, despite all the other issues and concerns she's heard about today. The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare hasn't met for a long time, but it doesn't mean she's forgotten about all her hard work during her fifth year at Hogwarts. Dobby is still alive and thriving, and he visits her regularly to tell her all about his stories and adventures as a free elf.
As the woman laments about how hard her life has become since her elf downed tools and refused to do any more back-breaking tasks, Hermione's eyes shoot across the hall to connect with Ron's. He's already watching her, a smirk on his face in understanding, sending a flutter to her heart. For a moment, she goes lightheaded and for the first time since she first saw him a few weeks ago, she appreciates him being around. Only Ron knows how important this is to Hermione. Sure, she had forced him into becoming a member of S.P.E.W and his participation had been lacklustre, but he'd still done it. Hermione never appreciated that.
Tingles spread over her body as he taps his chest. Of course, the badge she had made him and Harry wear. It's like he's reminding her to stick to her morals and beliefs and she'll get this right. She thought he might have forgotten all about it. He never wore it outside of their meetings, after all.
Although the corners of her mouth threaten to turn up in amusement at his action, she manages to keep her expression neutral. The last thing she needs is the crone thinking Hermione is taking the mickey. Ron and Hermione's silent conversation continues for a while longer before she raises her eyebrows at him and forces her attention back to the old woman, just in time to catch the end of her diatribe.
Not that it matters. Anyone who thinks they're entitled to the help and support of a house-elf is way down on Hermione's list of favourite people.
"How old is the elf?" Nicholas asks first, his fingers pressed together in front of his mouth as he digests what he's been told. Hermione bristles. How dare he speak before me? The other day, he told her how much he knows and understands the rules, so why has he forgotten about them now?
"She was in my mother's possession before I inherited her, and I am 84 now. I cannot remember my life without the elf."
So the elf is really old then? The poor thing deserves a bloody break. Blood boiling, Hermione pushes herself to the edge of her seat, determined to take control of this situation. There's no way Hermione will allow this conversation to carry on without her.
Even though Nicholas opens his mouth to speak again, Hermione cuts in first, not caring if she's being rude or talking over him.
"That is an extremely long time then," she says, her voice tight with anger.
"Yes. But she exists to work, and if she is refusing to do so then I must be supplied with a suitable replacement. However, the Ministry will not make arrangements until Sylvie has died. I do not have the money to buy my own elf to pick up the slack."
"Then how are you paying her?"
The question slips out with Hermione's annoyance at the situation. She shouldn't react this way, her grandmother is probably already preparing to chastise Hermione, but she can't help it. This is too important to ignore.
To make it worse, Nicholas' next question is aimed at Hermione. His words are decorated with a chuckle as he asks, "Paying for what?"
Oh no. Please, please, please don't say Nicholas sides with the crone. It shouldn't be a surprise, he is a pure-blood, after all. But his amusement at the situation still knocks Hermione for six. Is he laughing at her beliefs? Why shouldn't house-elves get paid? And how dare he question Hermione when he hasn't taken the time to find out what she stands for. They barely know each other at all. Will there be other things to disagree on?
In a normal dating scenario, Hermione would have had time to learn all the hates and loves of her future husband, but there's barely been enough time. None of their conversations have ever gone that deep.
"For their time and hard work," Hermione replies with a furrowed brow. Her heart thumps in her chest. Are she and Nicholas about to have their first argument in front of the entire royal court?
Her annoyance is further piqued when his suppressed laugh bursts from his lips. "And what do they buy with that money?"
Hermione's cheeks burn with Fiendfyre, reflecting her rage. Her hands are curled into fists so tight that her fingernails cut into her palms, leaving half-moon marks that do nothing to quell her fury. How can this man be so ridiculous? To pay for what? Anything they damn want! They work their backsides off day after day for a group of people who don't deserve it. If they wanted to, they could spend all their money on cake and tea at Madam Puddifoots, or mismatched pairs of socks. It's not a human's business to decide that for house-elves.
A cough from across the room distracts the princess enough for her to take a long breath and bring herself back to the room. For a moment, she'd forgotten where she was and the fact that there are still hundreds of eyes on them. Ron is probably eagerly watching, waiting for the cracks to show in this discussion, so he can wriggle his way in and prove to Hermione that Lord Nicholas is no good. But she won't give him the satisfaction.
Plus a disagreement, even a small one, could sow the seeds of doubt. It's important to Hermione that everyone around her thinks she's marrying for love, for her pride if nothing else. And the last thing she needs is for the entire country to feel sorry for her because she's been forced into something else she doesn't want to do.
"We'll talk about it later," she says through gritted teeth. With another shaky breath, she turns back to the crone. Although she should be diplomatic and give a response that will keep Mrs Stowell happy, Hermione can't bring herself to do it.
"Unfortunately, Mrs Stowell, I cannot dictate the Ministry's house-elf allocation rules. But I will flag your case to the right person for review. In the meantime, if you no longer want Sylvie in your house, I would be glad to have her here. The castle will look after her and pay her well, even if she can no longer do any work. Merlin knows she deserves a decent break. Thank you, Mrs Stowell."
"But what am I supposed to do?"
"Clean up after yourself for a while?"
A gasp reverbs around the hallway, broken up by the slow clap from a pair of hands she knows well. But Hermione cannot bring herself to look at Ron, nor does she want to wait and see what the crone has brought for her table. Probably a dead house-elf's head to stick on the gallery wall.
Before anyone gets a chance to protest her decision and sharp words or to probe about her almost argument with Nicholas, she pushes herself from her seat, smoothes down her smart shift dress and leaves the room, putting one steady foot in front of the other. She holds her head high as the doors to the left of the dais open with a lick of magic and she exits without a backwards glance.
Her grandmother can deal with the fallout. Hermione is done.
⁂
A red mist descends over Hermione as the conversation repeats in her head. What has she gotten herself into? How could she marry a man who thinks elves don't deserve to be paid? And how can she continue to deal with subjects who think the cleanliness of their house is more important than a poor creature's health? Sure, Ron may not have completely agreed with her position on all of her politics, but he supported her no matter what. And he stuck up for her instead of embarrassing her, although he was never afraid to call her out on her bullshit when it was needed.
She loses track of where she is as she stomps through the castle. It's not until she reaches a dead end that she lifts her head and takes in her surroundings. Somehow, she's made it to the fourth floor and an area that nobody has visited for a long time. Puffing out a hard breath of air, she looks for a quiet corner that she can sink into and unwind the tangled thoughts in her air.
At some point, she'll have to seek out Lord Nicholas and try to explain what made her so upset today. But not yet.
Spotting an old sofa, the princess makes her way over to it, looking forward to disappearing into its overstuffed cushions. The smell of mothballs and disuse reaches her nostrils, but it doesn't put her off her mission. She needs a break from everyone.
But before she can get there, muffled footsteps sound over the dusty carpets. She groans before puffing out a hard breath, refusing to turn around to face him again. "Can I not have five minutes to myself? And I told you yesterday to leave me alone."
Spinning around, Hermione does not come face to face with Ron as she expected though nobody could blame her for thinking it was him. It's what she's used to after a fortnight of him following her around. Instead, her lungs forget to pull in air for a brief moment as she lays eyes on Nicholas. To her surprise, instead of a smug righteous look on his face, his features are flooded with concern and a hint of guilt.
"If you want me to leave you alone, I will, but…"
"No, it's okay," she breathes out again, though his appearance does nothing to calm her temper. "I thought you were someone else."
Nicholas raises his eyebrows. "Ron, maybe? What's going on between you two, anyway?"
"Nothing." A sharp pain like a poisoned dagger hits her right in the stomach and twists, threatening to spill all of the snacks and drinks she's had over the course of the day. Even though it's been almost two years since they were last together, it's hard not being able to call Ron hers. She looks away, it would be unfair for Nicholas to see that emotion.
"Are you sure? Because I saw the way the two of you were looking at each other earlier, and I thought that maybe—I don't want to get in the way of anything, Hermione."
"We're exes, that's it. It's been over for a long time. He was just around when I started S.P.E.W in school. I guess we were just sharing an in joke about it." Because that's all it was, right?
Nicholas exhales but doesn't relax. He remains rigid next to Hermione's frozen body, keeping a suitable distance between the pair of them. His presence brings no comfort to her, and she's still desperate to have it out with him over the whole house-elf conversation. But why bother wasting her energy? What will it achieve anyway?
"Oh good. I was beginning to worry he might be competition for your hand in marriage."
I wish. Even if Ron was still interested in her, there's no way they could get married. Hermione has already accepted Nicholas' proposal. And anyway, Ron's life is in America now. The long-distance thing didn't work before, so it absolutely would fall apart once Hermione became Queen.
"Listen, Hermione," Nicholas continues, his hands looped behind his back again. "I misspoke earlier or at least said something that upset you. I didn't mean to. Clearly, I have a lot to learn about the ways of the British. I didn't realise you had different attitudes to your house-elves here."
A cultural difference. Of course. Although Gibraltar is similar to the UK in a Muggle sense, it might be completely different in the magical world. This could work in her favour, could be her chance to influence Nicholas' opinions the way she needs them to be to live with.
"That's okay," she says, even though deep inside her she still wants to reem him out for embarrassing her the way he did. "There's not much difference really, not yet. House-elves don't have many rights here, and they rarely get paid. I managed to get a handful of them a wage whilst I was in school, and all the elves in Ballindalloch castle get paid too. Madam Bones at the Ministry has been helping me, but I can't make much of an impact while I'm only a princess."
"Ah, I see. It's good that you care, though. So many people don't."
It's an unexpected response, but it fills Hermione with hope and goes a long way to quell some of her anger towards him. Perhaps this will all turn out okay if they keep on having open and honest conversations.
"Nicholas, I—"
But another set of footsteps come towards them, and Hermione bristles. This has to be Ron this time. Of course. He's getting worse than Harry at interrupting Hermione's alone time with her new partner. But the head of hair that pokes around the corner is bubblegum pink, not red, and the smile on the face that follows it is wide and friendly.
"There you two love birds are. Your grandmother is mad you've wandered off alone. You know you're not supposed to. Come on, it's almost time for dinner."
Apparently, the promise of marriage is not enough reassurance that nothing is out of hand. Nicholas is too proper to try anything before they tie the knot, but that hasn't stopped Kingsley from sending a bodyguard everywhere they go together. At least it's Tonks this time, although she still believes Hermione and Nicholas are doing this whole thing out of love.
It's another thing that's filling Hermione with guilt. It's not that she doesn't trust Tonks, Hermione does so with all of her heart and soul, but Tonks can be a bit haphazard. Beatrice was keen that only the most crucial people know about the whole arranged marriage thing, so only Ginny, Jean and Kingsley are aware of the truth, aside from Hermione, Nicholas and the queen. And the rest of the Wizengamot. Everyone else believes Hermione is enjoying a whirlwind romance.
If only they knew the truth.
"Actually, I can't stay for dinner today, princess. I, uh, have to return to Delnashaugh house. You know…wedding and family things."
"Oh, right."
The lord holds his hand out to Hermione. "But will you see me out?"
With Tonks and Nicholas' eyes on her, there's no way she can say no. It would be odd if she was to decline the offer, that she was still mad with him. Instead, she slips her hand into his and nods.
"Sure. Lead the way."