You've always been a tough girl but you feel you're about to break
You're feeling stuck and out of luck watching your dreams all slip away
You've been working mornings in the kitchen and nights at the corner store
As your life flies by you wonder why and you know that there's gotta be something more
Hold on but don't hold too tight
Let go it's gonna be alright
Don't run away from what your heart is saying
Oh, be strong, face what you're afraid of
Come on, show them what you're made of
I know it's hard when your hope is gone
But you gotta keep holding on
- Hold On, B*Witched
(The Princess Diaries)
The heavy green door slams behind Hermione, almost catching the back of her heels and throwing her off balance. She reaches for the wall, grabbing hold of it before she falls flat on her face. Well, that went well.
As the click of the lock slides down her spine, she shudders. It's been a busy couple of days traipsing up and down the sixth-floor corridor at the Ministry, fumbling over her words in dark offices as she pleads with grim old wizards. But all her pleas and well-researched words are not working. The members of the Wizengamot couldn't care less about ruining her life. The archaic rules that have governed their lives for so long should stick, according to them, never mind how oppressive they might be.
If it was any other witch, they might have given up a long time ago, but Hermione's adamance that she has to change the future of any potential children she might have has kept her going. Even if her motive is selfish, she knows change has to start with her.
To make her challenge even more difficult, she has decided to keep the details to herself, only letting Madam Bones in on the secret since she put the idea in Hermione's head. Not even Queen Beatrice or Kingsley know why the princess is here, although they suspect something is awry. Every time Hermione sets foot back in the castle, they bombard her with questions about her time spent in the depths of the Ministry. But Hermione kept tight-lipped about it all. If they were to find out why she isn't at Ballindalloch preparing for her wedding, then they'd put a stop to her mission straight away.
Tonks has doubled her complaints about wasted hours spent hanging around the musty hallways of the Ministry. She hates being left in the dark or having to linger outside doorways instead of in amongst the action. Which is why she looks less than impressed as she leans against the nearest wall, her arms folded over her body and her eyebrows heavy over her gaze.
Hermione elbows the Order member out of her open-eyed daze before flopping against the wall next to her, letting out a heavy sigh. Despite all the research she's done, the hours spent rehearsing what she has to say with Madam Bones, changing the minds of the Wizengamot has been tough. The equity of anyone who isn't pure-blood, rich, white and male is at the bottom of their lists. Hermione could have been prepared with all of the evidence in the world, and it wouldn't do a thing to tilt their cob-web-filled heads in her favour.
At least it's been easier with the female members of the council, although they're too few in numbers to make a massive difference. If Hermione was to ask for a vote to abolish the law, she's sure it would go against her right now.
Turning her head to look at the princess, Tonks gives Hermione a massive pout. "Do I get to know why we're still stuck in here when it's beautiful outside? We should be back at the castle, getting dolled up for your bridal shower. So can we go now?"
Guilt twists in Hermione's stomach. She's always been able to confide in Tonks, but the ex-Auror is close with Ron. They're always chatting with each other, and she mentored him through the Auror programme in America. Hermione can't trust that the real reason they're at the Ministry wouldn't slip past Tonks' lips accidentally. If even one person gets wind of what's going on, then it could be all over. The last thing she needs is Rita Skeeter or her cronies cottoning on. It wouldn't be fair to Nicholas. He's doing Hermione a massive favour by agreeing to the arranged marriage, and she doesn't want his royal career getting off on the wrong foot.
There's no way this law change will take place in time to save Hermione, especially not at this pace, but if she and Nicholas are going to have children eventually, then they have to be saved from this archaic rule. Otherwise, she might just refuse to produce an heir, just to spite the Wizengamot and her grandmother.
"Not yet." Hermione sighs and rubs her forehead. "If I told you why we're here then I'd have to tell you about a whole load of other things that I can't share with anyone. Please know that it's important, though. I wouldn't drag you around like this if I didn't have to." At the glimpse of Tonks' furled eyebrows and sad eyes, Hermione adds, "Not even Kingsley knows, or Ginny, and you know I tell her everything. It's something to do with the Wizengamot. That's all I can say right now."
Tonks throws her hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. But what about my last question: are we done for the day? I'm desperate for a glass of that elf-made wine Fleur sent over from France. Teddy is with Remus for the night, and I want to make the most of being a free woman."
"There's one more to go and then we can leave, I promise."
Another round of grumbles slides out of Tonks' mouth but Hermione tunes them out, casting her gaze down the corridor to the door that hides her final destination for the day. Over the past few days she's managed to speak to every other member of the Wizengamot, but she's been saving this one for last. He shouldn't even have his own office at the Ministry, given he doesn't hold any title in the magical government. But apparently being a member of the Wizengamot, and the sizable donations he's slid into the Minister's pockets makes him worthy.
Hermione's stomach churns in disgust. She cannot wait for the day when she can throw Scrimgeour out on his corrupt backside. One step at a time. First, she needs to talk to Malfoy. She's been putting this moment off for as long as she can, but with the rest of the doors down the corridor firmly shut behind her, there's no escaping it. It's a fool's errand—there's no way this member is going to be willing to help her—but Hermione is resigned to talk to everyone from the Wizengamot, regardless if it'll be useful or not. Plus, if she were to exclude him from her mission, then she could be accused of the same inequality she's fighting to eradicate.
All she has to do is focus on the massive glass of wine Ginny promised will be waiting at the party. One more meeting.
Pulling in a sharp breath, Hermione brushes her hands down the suit. Although forgoing her robes might have been the best idea in terms of her comfort, most of the members of the Wizengamot are nothing but traditionalists, and seeing Hermione in Muggle clothes—and in trousers, no less—must have been disarming to them.
But they have to get used to it. She'll be Queen soon, and she plans on being as informal as she can get away with.
It only takes her five steps to get to the last door. Without hesitation, she lifts a hand and raps twice on the door. Sweat trickles down her back as she squirms in her suit jacket. When did it get so hot in here? And why is Malfoy taking so long to answer the door?
After what feels like five hours, but is probably only a handful of seconds, the door swings open. From the darkness behind it, a cold voice drawls, "Please come in."
Her breath hitches in her throat and she pauses for a moment. What if she can't do this? Facing the man who has made her life a misery feels too extreme. She should run away, get on with her party and accept her fate. But instead, she wipes her hands down her suit, wriggles her shoulders then straightens up. You've got this nailed. And even though she doesn't believe it, Hermione steps into Malfoy's office anyway.
⁂
"Miss Granger, I've been wondering when you'd be coming to visit me. The news on the floor is that you've been doing the rounds. Saved the most important person until last, have you?"
The door shuts behind Hermione, leaving Tonks on guard in the corridor. The princess feels the loss of her bodyguard as a cold draft rushes over her, setting every hair on her arms on edge. It's ridiculous; Lucius wouldn't dare to do anything to Hermione in the Ministry, right?
Malfoy raises his eyebrows at Hermione but doesn't open his mouth or shift position to greet her. So she stands her ground in front of the door, staring back at him, channelling all of her hatred of the man into her glare. If looks could kill, she'd hoped he'd be Avada Kedavra'd ten times over. She refuses to break the stalemate as she slams her hands onto her hips.
Eventually, he tuts and slinks back against his chair, inspecting his nails instead.
"If you're waiting for a curtsy from me, Princess Hermione, then you might as well make yourself comfortable. I will not bow to a Mudblood queen."
Hermione's hands clench into tiny balls at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. The pain grounds her, reminding her why she's here and the ugly side of magic that she's so desperate to eradicate. It's a surprise there isn't a permanent mark on her skin with all the frustration she's poured into her fists recently.
"But you can take a seat," he continues, "and we can get this whole debacle over with."
With a sneer, Lucius gestures to the empty emerald and dark wood high-backed chair that waits in front of his large mahogany desk. The whole room reeks of money and privilege, and the Slytherin trim threatens to put her off her stride. Hermione thrives in reds and golds, in bright rooms with plenty of windows. Not dark, musty green holes. It's like she's back under the Great Lake, waiting for Krum to save her.
Raising her eyebrows, Hermione steps closer to the seat but does not settle into it. Instead, she continues to hold her head high, her fingers looping over the decorative edge of the chair. The trim bumps under the pads of her fingertips and it does enough to quell her nerves. He's just a man, nothing you can't handle.
Sitting would give Lucius the upperhand, and there's no way she's going to give him an easy fight. She maintains eye contact with him, challenging him to take the next step. To break it would admit defeat, and there's no way she's giving him that satisfaction.
"Very well," he says with a sigh, resting his hand back on the desk.
A cup of tea appears in front of her, bitter steam furling from the amber surface. Hermione reaches for it then thinks better of it. She wouldn't put it past Lucius to have slipped something into the drink. Perhaps Veritaserum or a potion that's just as nasty. The wizard notices this and twists his grimace into a grin.
"Please, start."
It takes a lot of self-control to push aside her bubbling anger over Lucius' contempt. The distaste, the turning up of his nose and the way the corners of his mouth contort are winding her up. He already doesn't take Hermione seriously, and she hasn't had a chance to make her speech yet. Hermione finds herself in this awful position because of him, yet he's still treating her like a massive pile of dragon dung. If only she could reach for her wand and…
"So we're clear, I'm a half-blood. Not that it matters," she says instead, fighting to keep her voice even and cool. "I would still be able to rule this country properly as a Muggle-born. My blood does not impede my ability to be a fair leader." Hermione folds her hands behind her before continuing, "I'm here about the law that dictates that I can't be crowned until I am married—"
"What about it?"
"I wish to address the Wizengamot in a special meeting and ask for them to retract it. I believe I should be given the freedom to rule as a single woman, without a King Consort by my side. And if we can't meet before my wedding and coronation, then I wish to meet as soon as possible afterwards, so that my daughters may not suffer the same punishment you are dealing to me, just because I dared to be born female."
"Absolutely not!" Lucius snaps.
"Very well."
Without another word, Hermione turns on her heel and strides back towards the exit. The direction of this conversation is clear, and the princess has no plans to follow down that path. She's done her due diligence, paid Malfoy her common courtesy by visiting him even though she knew he wouldn't listen to her request. Hermione is done with this conversation.
As her fingers graze against the cool metal knob, Malfoy lets out a loud cackle. Hermione spins back around at the noise, frowning at his head, which is thrown back against his chair, his fingers pressed together in front of him in the epitome of an evil overlord. It takes him a moment to recover, and when he speaks again, there's a lilt of joy dressing his voice.
"You're a fantastic hypocrite, Miss Granger. Draco used to tell me all about how you used to boss students around, trying to persuade them that your fanatical beliefs were the right way to live, despite only spending a few years in the magical world. Talking about equality for all, paying house-elves. You like for everyone else to follow the rules, but those that apply to you? Well, forget them. Yet you never seem to get in trouble for your inability to conform to our ways.
"Partying all hours and getting away with it, putting our country to shame all over the national press, acting like a child even though you'd have your professors believe that you're brilliant, the best of your generation. But it was a load of crock, wasn't it?
"Your family, your grandmother, your ancestors have ruined this country. You have gobbled up our land whilst screaming that all magical folk are equals. You pretend that the poor are worthy of the same rights, that Mudbloods are entitled to their wands, and that they haven't stolen magic from others. And your father was the worst. Destroying our traditions, eradicating our lifestyles.
"The sacred twenty-eight have worked hard to maintain our status in this world, and now you want to come along and destroy that?"
Lucius erupts into another fit of laughter, losing momentum with his speech. A coldness drifts over Hermione as she slips her shaking hands into her pockets and plants both feet firmly on the floor so that Malfoy can't see the tremor in her knees. She expected this conversation to be difficult, but his assassination of her character takes her by surprise. Tears threaten to burn in her eyes, but she blinks them away and swallows the lump that has collected in her throat. There's no way she'll give Lucius the satisfaction of seeing her cry.
Still, her voice is watery and thin as she fights back. "The fact you have a position on the Wizengamot despite holding no government job is indicative of the imbalance of power in our world."
"Oh, so is that your plan?" He sits up more, stretching his hands across the table to reach for his wand. Goosebumps spread over Hermione's skin as he fingers the silver snake at the top of the twisted wood. Perhaps this has already gotten out of hand? Maybe she should call for Tonks? Her heart pounds as she trains her eyes on his hands, mentally locating the position of her own wand in case she should need it.
But instead of throwing a curse at her, his eyes light up with glee and his sneer twists into something more maniacal as he adds, "An unmarried woman on the throne would be an abomination. You need a man to guide you in making decisions so that the best interests of our whole country are taken into consideration. Women cannot rule without letting silly things like their feelings get in the way. Plus, you're a half-blood as you so determinedly pointed out to me earlier. Which means you will not have the interests of the magical community in your choices. You need a man to ensure you don't drive this country into ruin. Lord Nicholas is the right person to do that. He comes from a great magical Pure-blood family.
"As you are already betrothed, surely this is all a moot point? Unless you are planning on playing another trick on us? Are you biding your time until you receive your crown? Divorce and murder are looked down upon amongst your subjects and you can't do much good from Azkaban."
A million words fly to the front of Hermione's head, but she can't spit any of them out through her rage. Her tremors have taken over her whole body now, and if she doesn't get out of here soon, she might explode in a fit of accidental magic.
"Go home, Hermione," Lucius continues. "Do what you princesses do best. Plan your wedding, smile and look pretty. If you came from better blood, perhaps I'd suggest a wedding between you and my son. Draco would know what to do for his country. He's loyal, trustworthy, his upbringing is steeped in culture and high society. He would make a perfect king. But alas, it is not his time to shine."
A long drawn-out sigh escapes from Lucius' mouth as he finally takes hold of his wand. Hermione braces herself as he lifts it from his desk and flicks it. But instead of a curse taking hold of her body, the door swings open, revealing a surprised-looking Tonks.
"I'll see you at your wedding. Only three days to go. I bet you're excited," Lucius spits through gritted teeth. "And if I were you, I'd give up on your little mission. There's no way you'll change this or any other of our laws. Things are this way for a reason. It works, Hermione. To change them now would hand our whole world over to chaos. And I will not sit by and watch the wizarding community that I have so carefully curated descend into flames."
Hermione tries to stare at him for a moment longer, but the fury burning from his gaze forces hers to her feet. Her body still shakes as she pushes herself from her chair and smoothes down the creases in her suit. How did this go so badly? It would always be a battle, but Lucius had his moves played out from the start, and his preparedness made Hermione forget all of her strategies. Has she not learned from watching Ron play chess all these years? What is it he used to say? 'Control the centre'? No, that's not it.
Always prepare your end game.
It's her chance to take control of the situation, to leave the office with a sliver of respect. Lucius may have the upper hand right now, the board may be set in his favour, but it's not the end of their game. If Hermione gives up now, then she might as well just turn over her piece and let him win. Over my dead body.
Ignoring all of her grandmother's pleas to always be courteous, kind and patient with her subjects, Hermione throws her nose into the air, trying to arrange her face in the same look of distaste that Malfoy offered her earlier. She does not curtsy or bow, and she doesn't offer him her hand to shake.
Her grimace twists over her lips as she states, "You're wrong. I am the right person to rule this country and I will see to it that our world becomes fairer for everyone who chooses to live here; magical or non-magical. And if that means I do that without your input on the Wizengamot, then so be it. If your beloved Draco is to be believed, there are plenty of secrets hiding in Malfoy Manor, and all it would take is one call from Kingsley to Head Auror Robards—"
"You wouldn't dare!" Lucius jumps to his feet, his teeth bared at the princess.
Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Tonks spring into action, her wand appearing in a flash of sparks. But Hermione holds her hand out to stop her, she doesn't need protecting from this man. Instead, she turns her back on Malfoy and leaves the office, trying to keep her head high and the shakes from her body as she takes even steps away from him. She wants to run away, to cry and kick and scream about how all of this isn't fair, but she can't let Lucius see any of that.
Walking straight past Tonks, Hermione continues towards the elevators, hoping that the Order member will follow. She has to get out of here before she implodes, and as she jabs her finger against the elevator call button, there's only one person she wishes to see.
Ron.
But no, she can't look for him when she gets back to Ballindalloch. If she told him about this meeting, then she'd have to explain the arranged marriage and everything else that's happened since her return from her tour. Instead, she'll paste a huge smile on her face and enjoy her bridal shower and she won't let anything slip past her lips about her secret mission or the angst that lies deep in her heart, no matter how many glasses of wine she sinks tonight.
Then tomorrow, she'll continue with her quest for equality. There's no way she can let Lucius Malfoy stop her, especially not now.