The world only sees me smilin'
My pillow knows the truth every night
'Cause that's where I hide my sorrow

And they call me happy go lucky
They don't know my heart is dying inside
A smile's a frown turned upside-down
I do my happy go lucky so well
I'm even fooling myself.

- Happy Go Lucky, Steps
(The Princess Diaries)

The clatter of her knife and fork reverberates down Hermione's spine as she drops them against her plate. Luckily, the mumble of conversation around the table does enough to mute the noise from everyone else but she still risks a glance at her grandmother anyway. Queen Beatrice is too engrossed in a conversation with Fleur Weasley to have noticed.

Over a count of five, Hermione lets the air slip past her lips, hoping it'll get rid of the bitter taste from Lucius Malfoy's words still running circles around her head. But it doesn't matter what she tries—reading, meditation, the hottest shower the castle will give her, the toughest scourgify she can muster—nothing will wipe away the dirty residue they have left on her skin.

I will not bow to a Mudblood queen…you're a fantastic hypocrite, Miss Granger…Women cannot rule without letting silly things like their feelings get in the way…

A shudder takes hold of her body, her stomach churning in disgust. Her meal—a delicious truffle chicken with potato gratin—threatens to make a reappearance. Not even the sounds of her favourite string quartet or being surrounded by her nearest and dearest friends is enough to distract her. Her attention fades in and out of the conversations taking place around her, as she slowly loses her grip.

Across the table, a guest clears their throat before carrying on talking, startling the princess away from her spiral into doom and gloom. Shaking her head, she lets her white napkin join her cutlery before taking another deep breath. Hermione needs to get it together. If she doesn't, someone might notice her behaviour and start asking questions. And if her grandmother gets wind of her plan to overthrow the Wizengamot's rules, she might make Hermione's final unmarried days unbearable.

Downing the last of the wine in her glass and scrunching her nose up as the sour bubbles tickle her throat, Hermione gets to her feet. The chairs around her grate along the floor in unison as the rest of her guests join her, but she puts her hand out to stop them. The action only adds to the tension building in her stomach. Nobody should be force to stand just because she is.

"Please," she says, trying her best to sound chirpy and nonplussed. She fixes a smile on her face, trying to act the role of a girl excited about her upcoming wedding. "No need to get up for my benefit. Ever. I just need to visit the bathroom, powder my nose. I won't be long."

Each click of her heels bounces from wall to wall as the guests watch her leave. The conversation only resumes once she's slipped between the dining room's doors. Without a million sets of eyes on her, her shoulders are a little lighter and she lets out a small sigh of relief.

Now where to go for some peace and quiet?

Instead of taking a left towards the ground floor bathroom, Hermione turns right, taking a detour down the long corridor that leads to the foyer, ignoring the portraits as they once again extend their congratulations and excitement for the upcoming nuptials. The cooler air hits her as soon as the front door is opened, her skin erupting in goosebumps as she takes the steps in a hurry. At least Dedalus isn't on shift tonight, and the nameless Order member manning the front desk barely looks up from whatever magazine she is reading.

Good. The fewer people who know she's out here, the better. Hermione needs a moment to herself so that she can rearrange her thoughts, get a grip on herself and head back to her party. If this is the only bridal shower she's going to have, she might as well enjoy it.

The scent of petrichor fills her lungs as she takes another deep breath. When did it rain? When Hermione left the castle this morning, the sun had been shining over its ivy-filled walls. But the Ministry has its own weather system, and deep inside its depths, it's easy to lose track of what's going on outside.

Hermione likes the rain. While she was away, she spent many hours sitting on balconies, enjoying the thunder and lightning as they crept over the country. It's refreshing. She could do with a great storm right now.

Pressing herself against the cold stone of the castle, Hermione closes her eyes, trying her best to tune into the rustle of the leaves or the hoot of a nearby owl. But she doesn't get long to pull herself together. The sound of feet crunching on the gravel driveway soon distracts her from her downward spiral. She scrunches her eyes shut, willing whoever it is to turn in the other direction, to not notice her hiding under the shadow of the tallest tower, but the noise doesn't stop. Instead, it grows louder as a dark figure draws nearer.

Fear slides over her body as she fumbles for her wand in her dress pocket. Her fingers loop around the familiar wood and she lifts it high into the air before shouting, "Lumos!"

"Oy! Watch it will you? Could bloody blind a man assaulting him like that."

Ron.

As her heart slows to its usual pace, she drops her arm to her side although she keeps her wand lit. It's enough to illuminate Ron's freckled face as he takes a step closer to her, his eyebrows furling in concern.

"Sorry," she mutters, casting her eyes down briefly in shame. "I thought that maybe—"

"Come on, Hermione. You know the wards around this castle will stop any weirdo from sneaking in. And they're super tight right now. Kingsley and I spent all day reinforcing them, ready for the…well, y'know."

"My wedding?"

"Yeah."

Talk about hitting a bludger straight at the Erumpent in the room. With a sigh and a whispered incantation, the light shifts from the tip of her wand to above their heads, bathing the pair in a warm yellow light. His frown dissolves into his stupid lopsided grin and her heart skips a beat.

"You're so fucking good at that." He takes a breath, shoving his hands into his pockets before asking, "What are you doing out here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be at your bridal shower?"

"I needed some fresh air. It's been a day. Not trying to crash it, are you?"

"No." Ron lets out a soft laugh as he rests against the wall next to Hermione. Although she tries her best, she can't seem to remove her eyes from him, her stomach twisting into knots as her pulse throbs in her neck. He's so close, wafts of sandalwood and cinnamon invade her nostrils, threatening to put her head in a spin. It would be so easy to take one more step toward him, and they could continue where they left off at the fountain.

But before she can even contemplate seeking out his lips, Ron continues, "To be honest, gushing over pastel silks and flower arrangements with you and my sister is not my idea of a fun night. Although I do miss the castle's cakes. I heard they've made you a red velvet. That's my favourite."

"Well," she quips in response, the corners of her mouth turning up in a smile, "did you know that I'm about to be Queen?"

"What? No way!"

"I know! And I can order you a plate of cakes whenever you want. All you have to do is ask!"

"Really?" Ron lets out a mock gasp.

"Oh yeah. The reach of my magic knows no bounds."

"Your loyal subjects are so lucky. Imagine having a queen who can just make cake appear with the snap of her fingers."

"Well, once the royal baker has made it. You know, Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration still applies to me, too."

"Even you, huh?"

A silence drifts between them as Ron's chuckle fizzles out, although it's not uncomfortable. Hermione closes her eyes for a brief moment, concentrating on fighting the urge to stretch out her pinky to graze against his calloused, freckled hand. She knows how it'll feel—warm, safe, his too-large fingers completely encompassing hers. There was a moment in their lives when they'd always be touching, even during mundane conversations like this. The memory of the comfort it would bring her already warms her body.

But it's not Ron she should be seeking out anymore.

Hermione should go back inside, back to the party celebrating her upcoming marriage to Lord Nicholas. Perhaps she could floo him later, see how he's getting on with his friends. But something keeps her glued to the spot. You don't want to leave Ron's side. Not yet. Not ever.

"It's funny I bumped into you actually. I was looking for you during my lunch break." Ron's words cut into her thoughts.

"Oh yeah?" She flicks her eyes open again, the knot in her stomach leaping towards her heart as she teeters on the edge of his deep azure gaze. "Why's that?"

"Had a meeting with Robards earlier. Apparently, you've been doing the rounds at the Ministry, and people are talking about how well-versed you were. Whatever you're up to, it's making an impact. He said, 'It's clear to me she'll make a great leader'."

Ron's imitation of Robard's pompous tone does nothing to conceal the inquisitive nature of Ron's statement. He doesn't care what the people at the Ministry are saying about her, he never has—unless it's something truly bad, and then he just gets angry. Ron is just trying to find out what she's been up to without asking. He's always loved going around the houses when he thought she was hiding something, finding creative ways to eke the information out of her. He better be more direct when questioning America's criminals.

"And what do you think?" she asks in an attempt to derail him.

"You know what I think." He swallows hard before adding, "Why won't you tell me what you're up to?"

Well, that lasted long. Turns out he's learned a few things during his training.

Hermione closes her eyes again before replying, "I still can't. It hasn't changed from the other day at the Ministry. I wish I could tell you, Ron, please believe me. But I can't."

"Some things never change."

His grumble of complaint is enough to push her from the wall although she doesn't take her eyes off him. Standing in front of him, she crosses her arms across her chest. "That's not fair."

There's no venom in her voice. She doesn't want to give him a telling-off. It's too nice being in Ron's company again, and she doesn't want to do anything to scare him off. Maybe some things have changed.

"I know." Ron holds his hands up in surrender, a frown crossing his face. "I'm sorry."

When the silence comes this time, it brings with it a Frost Salamander that's determined to wriggle its way in between them. No, this can't happen. She and Ron have been growing closer again and she doesn't want to lose that. Her cheeks heat up as she remembers the snogging they did the other day in the garden. Despite that, she's adamant they're going to be friends again soon. There's no way Hermione can let a couple of snapped words throw them off course.

But the amount of wine she's drunk and the after-effects of Lucius' dressing down of her earlier have turned her brain to mush. There are a million things she wants to talk to Ron about, and all of them race through her mind, but the first thing to fall out of her mouth is, "This isn't my proper bridal shower, by the way. It's one of those formal things my grandmother has arranged. All silver cutlery and posh music. Apparently, I'm having a slumber party later."

Shut up, Hermione. He doesn't even care.

It's enough to melt the ice as Ron laughs again. "I know. I overheard my sister warning my mum about what might come up. Though I'd be surprised if Mum hangs around for it all. She'll probably floo home before the main event. Apparently any mention of penis straws and pin the willy on the Lord is too much for her at her age."

"The woman has seven children!" Hemione cackles.

"She's more worried about your grandmother seeing them and popping her clogs before the big day."

"Oh, nothing will put Queen Beatrice off. She's a trooper. Lived through two Muggle world wars and a magical one, too. And given some of the stories she's told me, I'm pretty sure she's seen plenty of penises during her years."

"Please don't put that image in my head." Ron's laugh grows louder, and he struggles to continue. "I wouldn't put it past my sister to do something shocking, though," he splutters. "You know what she's like. Plus, she's been watching far too many Muggle TV shows now she can't fly. She hates being stuck at home."

Shit. But Ginny wouldn't plan anything too drastic, right? Hermione's no prude, but she's a public figure and if the news got out…

Her worries must be etched all over her face because Ron reaches for her hand, looping their fingers together before squeezing it. Heat races from the point of contact, flushing the princess's cheeks with warmth. Maybe he'll think it's the embarrassment from the penis talk. Not that she ever let it bother her before. There was a time when she and Ron used to be able to talk about anything.

"I'm sure whatever she has planned you'll have fun." He keeps hold of her hand, his thumb rubbing a pattern over the back of it as he adds, "Congratulations on the engagement, by the way, I don't think I said before."

"Oh."

Pain twists her heart. How could he be so kind and nice, especially the way she's been talking to him recently? It disarms her completely. His eyes shine with… are those tears? But his face is still friendly, a smile still gracing his lips. Hermione knows this face better than hers. The lines of it, the patterns of freckles that dust every inch of his skin. She used to trace them with the tip of her finger, and laugh as he crinkled his nose up and pleaded for her to stop.

It's the same face she fell in love with all those years ago. The one she always craves when things are going downhill. The one she'll never be able to forget.

I'm marrying the wrong man.

Her heart stops beating for a moment. Sure, she's had her suspicions over the past few days, especially after their dalliance in the rose garden. It's too easy for those old feelings to reignite, especially with Ron. The secrets she's been hiding for the past month threaten to spill from her mouth, coaxed out of her by the gentle rhythm of his thumb stroking over her skin.

Tell him. Tell him everything, and he'll make it all better.

But instead of speaking, she clamps her lips together tightly. She has her reasons. And as easy as it would be to run away with Ron, to tell him that she's making a huge mistake, that she has to marry or lose the crown, the words will not come out. Ron would be desperate to take Nicholas' place at the altar. But their married life together would be anything but fun. Being a royal has destroyed their relationship more than once. It causes too much heartache and pain from both sides. It drove them apart and made them hate each other.

No, it's less painful if they're only friends. Ron deserves someone better than her.

Hermione is surprised to find a hard lump in her throat when she tries to swallow. Her breath is missing from her lungs, and she struggles to speak.

"Th-thank you. I-I know it's quick but, uhm—"

"Is the stag tonight too? I didn't get an invite."

The sudden changes in conversation are giving Hermione whiplash. What is up with him?

"O-oh, yeah. Nicholas went back to Gibraltar. His dad has this whole thing planned, apparently. He'll be back tomorrow, though."

"Ah, I see. Well, maybe once all this pomp and shit is over and the two of you are married, we can do something together. Maybe with Ginny and Harry too. If he truly makes you happy, then I guess it's important to get on with him."

Why is he so nice? Hermione doesn't deserve any of this. She's been a royal cow to him and all she's getting back is him being lovely and accepting. How is that fair? Hermione hasn't even had a chance to apologise, but maybe now is the right moment to say sorry for her behaviour and get everything she can off her chest so she and Ron can move forward.

The lump in her throat grows harder and bigger, and tears burn in the corners of her eye. "Actually, while I've got you here, I wanted to say…"

Their conversation is interrupted when the castle's front doors fly open. "Amelia, I'm warning you, if you interrupt—"

Ginny and Amelia stop as they set eyes on Hermione and Ron. Realising they've been caught, Ron lets go of Hermione's hand and a shiver of cold travels over her at the loss of his touch. Dammit.

"Ah, Hermione, there you are. Your grandmother is about to make a speech and dessert is being served," Amelia commands, gesturing to the clipboard in her hand.

"Oh, right, yes." The princess smoothes down her dress, even though nothing happened to ruffle it up. She regrets her actions instantly as a knowing grin spreads over Ginny's face. Bloody great.

"I should let you go, anyway," Ron says, taking two steps away from Hermione. "It's lasagne night tonight, then me and Dad are going to watch a game while Mum is out. Don't want to miss that."

"Make sure Dad saves some for me," Ginny shouts at Ron's retreating head.

The three girls watch until he passes through the wrought iron gates and disappears. Immediately once he's gone, Ginny and Amelia's gaze turns back to Hermione, burning into the side of her head. The way Ginny shifts from foot to foot shows she's eager to find out what happened between Hermione and Ron.

Before Ginny can throw any questions at Hermione, the princess says, "Right, well. Better get inside. I need more wine before the proper party starts."

She marches back inside the house, her cheeks still poker hot in embarrassment. The crunch in the gravel indicates the girls are following her, but she doesn't even care. The sooner they get this party over and done with and she can forget about the day, the better.

⁂

The bridal shower rampages through the castle, occupying most of the ground floor rooms for entertaining before finally ending up in Hermione's suite. Mattresses are scattered all over the floor, along with luxury duvets and pillows; snacks, movies and games have been set up in every possible corner; and it turned out that Ginny's threats were right—there are a load of penis accessories, much to the delight of Queen Beatrice.

By the time Hermione gets into bed, the sky is already changing from pitch black to navy blue. Although the rest of the partygoers have settled themselves on the floor, Ginny climbs onto the four-poster bed with Hermione, making herself at home.

"Can't believe Mum stayed for the whole thing," Ginny whispers, nodding to where Molly is laying on a futon at the foot of the bed, a Gryffindor scarlet duvet thrown over her body and an ominous pink straw still tangled in her red curls.

Hermione laughs and wraps her arms around her best friend. "She parties harder than I expected. And I'm pretty sure she led my mum astray." A yawn escapes her lips before she continues, "Tonight was brilliant, thank you for giving me a good send-off."

"You're welcome. You deserve it after the month you've had." There's a slight pause before Ginny lowers her voice and adds, "Hermione, can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"Why have you been out of the castle over the past few days? You missed my dress fitting; you don't even know what I've picked."

Is this another of Ron's attempts to find out what's going on? Is he sending Ginny in as a spy now? Ugh.

Hermione's eyelids droop closed as she mumbles back, "I'm sure whatever you've picked will look lovely."

"Hermione!"

With a sigh, the princess peels her eyes open and rolls back over to look at Ginny. "Fine. If you must know, I've been petitioning the Wizengamot to change their mind over this stupid law."

Ginny's eyes widen. If she was sitting up, her jaw might have dropped too. Instead, she covers her shock with the corner of the duvet. "And? How is it going?"

"Not great. I've not been able to persuade a lot of them to see my side of things. I think it's going to take longer than three days to put it to vote. Which is too long for me."

"So, you're stuck marrying Nicholas?"

"I'm stuck marrying Nicholas. The worst thing is I had to speak to Lucius Malfoy about it today—"

"Why?" Ginny interrupts.

"Because if I'd left him off my list there would have been uproar. If I want equality, I need to treat everyone equally. Even pompous dick heads with far too much money and power."

"Ugh, I can only imagine what he said."

The cutting words Lucius spat at her bounce around Hermione's head again as she shifts onto her back. Sensing her distress, Ginny cuddles up to Hermione's side, resting her head next to Hermione's on her pillow.

"Apparently," Hermione continues, "women are too emotional to rule. Add that to me being a half-blood and I have no chance of doing a good job. So there's no way I can lead this country by myself. The only solution is to have a pure-blood husband to help guide me in the right direction."

A gasp slips from Ginny's mouth as her cheeks burn red. "That fucking asshole!" she exclaims, twisting the duvet in her hands.

"I know. It took a lot of self-control not to curse him to oblivion. But it's Malfoy. Merlin knows what might have happened if I had."

"I would have done it too. Would have gone straight to Azkaban willingly. I'm sure Harry will be fine looking after Baby Potter by himself." There's a passing moment of silence as a look of contemplation crosses Ginny's face. "You know, there's another pure-blood who'd be willing to marry you in three days—"

"Ginny," Hermione warns.

"But I just can't see why you can't—"

"No! I can't force Ron into marrying me, it's not fair. At least Nicholas knows what he's letting himself in for. Ron almost lost his job and his identity when he was dating me. And he's achieved so much. I can't make him give all that up."

Ginny's eyes burn into the side of Hermione's head, forcing the princess to bury her own head under the duvet. The feelings from earlier stir again, the pressing desire to call this arrangement with Nicholas off and beg Ron to be her husband. Being married to him would be perfect. Hermione would be a part of the Weasley family again, able to slip to the Burrow when she needed a breather from her royal duties. She misses Molly's lasagne, too. She could almost taste it when Ron mentioned it earlier.

Nostalgia does bad things to Hermione. Before she knows what's happening words continue to spew from her mouth, "Anyway, Ron has already proposed to me once, and you know how that went."

"He what?!" Ginny shrieks.

Oh, fuck.

Across the room, someone stirs. Hermione's heart pounds in her chest as she waits for a voice to question what's going on, to complain about the disturbance at such a late—or early—hour. She pops her head from under the covers to glare at Ginny who winces in response.

"Sorry," she whispers. "But, he what?"

"Did he not tell you?"

"Of course, he didn't. He barely spoke to us while he was in America. This is the most I've seen of him in years."

"What about Harry?"

"If he told Harry, then I would have known. That man cannot keep a secret from anyone, but especially not me. He loves his bollocks too much. But I don't understand. If Ron proposed then why aren't the two of you married? Why aren't you already my sister-in-law?"

In for a knut, in for a galleon. Hermione has already said too much. She might as well carry on now, dig herself into a bigger hole. At least Ginny can be trusted; she hopes.

"It was the worst timing, Gin. It had been a long time since we'd seen each other. He was preparing for his final exams, and I was getting ready to leave University. There was an owl, an invite to an awards ceremony at MACUSA, but there was no way I could travel. I had an essay due plus something I had to attend with my grandmother. We were always too busy for each other. So I had to stand him up and he was livid about it. Turns out he was up for some big accolade and he won and I wasn't there for him."

A tear burns in her eye but she brushes it away. "I think he only proposed to try and save our relationship. He appeared at my flat in Oxford late one night, after getting two portkeys at lunchtime. But it was just"—Hermione sighs—"wrong."

"What happened then?"

Hermione's grateful for the gentle tone Ginny's using. The princess expected vitriol; Ginny is fiercely protective over all of her brothers, after all, and Hermione let Ron down in the biggest way. But instead, the redhead pulls Hermione into a cuddle, and once again, she finds tears springing into her eyes. But this time, Hermione lets them fall.

"I said no, of course." She sniffs and wipes her nose on her pyjama sleeve. "Didn't take long for us to fall apart after that."

The gentle snores from the other women in the room envelop them as Ginny holds Hermione, one hand stroking her back as the older girl cries into the redhead's top. Hermione told nobody about the proposal, not even her mother. Turns out she's a serial secret keeper. The princess doesn't deserve any of the people in her life.

After a while, Ginny breaks the silence. "If he wanted to marry you then," she suggests, her voice hesitant, "he'd do it again now. There would be no forcing him into it. I saw how the two of you were earlier. It's clear there's something still there between you."

"But I'm so close to getting his friendship back even though his reappearance turned my world upside down. And anyway, he lives in America. He'd have to move back here and there's no way I can make him do that. I don't want him to lose his business because of me. He's worked so hard to make a life and a name for himself."

"Ron would give it all up for you," Ginny whispers.

"Yeah, but would I be able to give up my crown for him? Otherwise, it's not fair. Anyway, I don't deserve him."

Ginny sighs. "You're an idiot, you know that? You say you love your country enough to marry a stranger, yet what sort of example are you showing your people by giving in to its archaic rules?"

"But that's what I'm trying to change—"

"Yeah, for your future kids. Which"—the redhead gives an over-the-top shudder— "I can't imagine you without a horde of ginger kids following you around the castle, but that's an aside. Don't your subjects deserve a queen whose love for her country is enhanced because she hasn't sacrificed her own happiness? Don't you and Nicholas deserve what you really want? Not some stupid arrangement, but the chance of true love, to be really happy? Plus, being married to someone is really fucking hard, some days I want to kill Harry. That's going to be fucking difficult if you can't find an ounce of feelings for your partner. You deserve more than that. You deserve Ron if he is who you really love."

The words ignite a flutter of hope deep inside Hermione but she pushes it away. Not now. It's too late for it. Instead, she lets out a shaky breath and says, "I'm sure Nicholas and I will be happy enough."

If only she could believe it. As she drifts off to sleep in Ginny's arms, it's visions of Ron flooding her mind. And when Hermione dreams, it's about their past together, and the future they'll never get to have.