-3-
The days following the announcement of the thirty Eligibles were the busiest of Hermione's life.
On the night of the broadcast, after the initial shock and anger had worn off, she was faced with the stark reality of her situation. And the most pressing reality she needed dealt with was the fact that government officials would be coming to confirm her eligibility and prepare her for her move to the Royal Castle. Because she didn't actually live at the address she had registered with the government, she needed to set off for McGonagall's, and quickly.
Thus began a sullen, yet frantic night of removing every trace of Hermione from the Burrow.
Her bedroom was hastily reverted back into an inconspicuous spare room, all personal effects of hers were sent off to McGonagall's via Floo. It was imperative that she take her leave, and soon. The repercussions of anyone from the Royal Castle finding her in this house were too terrifying to imagine.
The goodbye's were brief and rushed - no one knew how much time Hermione had before officials would look to contact her and the repercussions of being found here would be horrific.
She hugged Mr. and Mrs. Weasley first, thanking them for their hospitality over the years. Despite their lower caste, they had done more for Hermione than she'd ever been able to do for them. She would feel indebted to them for the rest of her life. She hoped, when she was eventually dispelled from the castle, they'd let her come back. The Burrow had come to feel like home.
She then turned towards Ginny, who rushed into Hermione's arms. A sister Hermione had never had, this goodbye tore at her heart. They had grown so close during her last few years staying here. It was hard to say goodbye to her best friend.
"I'm so sorry," Ginny whispered, tears brimming her eyes. Her hands, now holding Hermione's, were shaking slightly.
Hermione merely shook her head, hoping Ginny understood that she put no blame on her for this outcome.
"Listen carefully - you are to make sure that whatever rations I earn are sent here to the Burrow from McGonagall's. I normally send her an owl when we're ready to receive more and she - well, she finds the means to get them here. She will take care of the transport. Just make sure you contact her when supplies are low. Okay?"
"Yeah, okay," Ginny said, and through one last sarcastic grin, she muttered, "Don't go falling in love with Malfoy, got it?"
Hermione chuckled. "If I do, may I be struck by lightning or punished by some other horrible fate." She pulled Ginny in for one last hug before moving on to her last farewell.
Ron.
Everything that had been said the past few weeks - and everything that had been left unsaid - hung in the balance of this goodbye.
She wanted to profess her love to him and assure him that she'd do her best to leave the castle quickly and come back to him, and then they could forget this whole mess had ever happened. But then she remembered his words of burden and uncertainty, which he'd uttered even before she'd been picked for the Choice. Perhaps, to Ron, there wasn't anything left of their relationship for her to return to.
So, she vowed to keep her goodbye cordial and devoid of any expectations or emotions.
"I'll help you bring down your trunk," Ron said before Hermione could even muse about how to begin this particular goodbye. Thankful for the excuse of privacy, she followed him to her old room.
While Ron closed her trunk and fiddled with the latches, Hermione made small talk.
"Think the castle looks anything like it did when we went to school there?" Hermione asked.
"With the Malfoys as the interior decorators? Not a chance in hell," Ron retorted, grunting in his effort to keep the trunk closed long enough to clasp the final latch closed.
"I'm just hoping they'll serve those apple tarts we used to eat - I'd give an embarrassing amount of money to taste one again." She licked her lips at the memory.
"Or the pumpkin pasties they used to serve around Autumn. Harry and I made ourselves sick one night, trying to see how many we could put down." The pair laughed at the flashback, but the moment quickly succumbed to a sad sort of silence that was always inevitable at the mention of Harry.
Ron tried to keep the atmosphere light. "Maybe the Royals kept the house-elves that were employed at the castle. It could be that the same elves that made our dinners will be serving you in a few days."
Hermione made a face at this - despite the years away from Hogwarts and the general acceptance of house elves as glorified slaves, she still felt horrible accepting the idea that house-elves were good for nothing more than cooking and cleaning for the wealthy.
The silence was short before Ron spoke again.
"I didn't think you'd actually be chosen," he said, sitting on top of the luggage he'd finally closed.
"I know," Hermione replied.
"Though I still believe in what I said - that you deserve way better than this life - I pushed you into this, and I'm sorry."
"Though I wish you'd realize I'm a grown woman who can decide for herself what she deserves - I appreciate the apology. And don't worry, I plan to get out of that castle as quickly as I can. Don't be surprised if I'm the first one sent home on next week's Report."
He nodded and smiled at her attempted joke.
"Ah!" Ron fished in his trouser pocket before pulling out a small box. "This is for you - the newest invention from the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, not even on the market yet. George thought you could use one before the world learns about them and they become illegal contraband, like every other product he's ever made."
Hermione laughed at this. It was common knowledge George kept his company going at a much smaller scale after the war, and a running joke that his inventions were considered illegal immediately upon their release. There were few Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products that could be used in public without a severe reprimanding.
She opened the box to find an admittedly beautiful gold bracelet. It shimmered even in the dim light of the room.
"Here," Ron said. He took the box from her and removed the chain, placing it around her wrist and securing it closed. He then tucked the box away in one of her bags.
"It's beautiful," she said. "But why has George suddenly decided to go into the jewelry business?"
"This isn't just an ordinary bracelet." He tapped the gold chain with his wand, and it changed from its shimmering gold color to a brazzen red, and with another tap, a forest green. "George will market it as a simple accessory that can change colors based on a woman's outfit choice. But we thought it could be used as a sort of…signal."
"A signal?"
"You know, while you're at the castle, I doubt we will be offered the privilege of contacting you much. So, how about, if you're in danger or if Malfoy is doing your head in, you can change the color to red, and we'll know we should make a plot to get you out of there," he said, his face relaxing into a goofy grin.
It was an outrageous idea, and would be completely unnecessary, but she couldn't fight the smile this imaginary scenario generated. She decided to play along.
"Ok, got it. Red for danger. Any other color means I must be…surviving, at least."
"You can wear it on those broadcasts so we know how you're doing. It'll be our little secret." He held her gaze as he said this, his hand still holding onto hers.
He brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her wrist that held the bracelet, then decided it wasn't enough and leaned in to kiss her lips lightly - a familiar gesture that felt devastatingly different tonight.
Instead of a kiss of a promising future, this felt like a true kiss goodbye.
The officials showed up to McGonagall's early the following morning. They, quite politely Hermione thought, knocked on the door rather than letting themselves in through Apparition or Floo, both of which would have been well within their means to do. When Hermione opened the door, a man and woman stood with smiling faces and clipboards, introducing themselves only by their Ministry Numbers - Workers 102 and 134 - and upon being let inside, promptly began commanding their quick-quote quills to note the scene in front of them, no doubt to be analyzed at a later time.
The woman - Worker 134 - must've seen Hermione observing the quick quills, because she said, reassuringly, "Oh don't worry, love. We're just making note of any entry and exit points of your home."
"Oh. Why?"
"Because you're an Eligible now, love. Every facet of your life is about to become a security risk. We're sure Ms." - she paused to check her clipboard - "McGonagall will be plenty safe here, but they're a relentless group, they are - "
The man - Worker 102 - perked up and, suddenly abandoning his solo inspection of their home, returned to his coworker's side.
"Safe? What group are you referring to?" McGonagall questioned. She stood gripping a newly purchased book in her hand, her reading spectacles still perched upon her nose. She was doing a poor job at hiding her impatience, seemingly eager to get back to what she'd been reading before being interrupted by their expected but equally unwelcome guests.
"A bunch of brainless plonkers, they actually think themselves rebels - "
"Rebels?" McGonagall's expression went from one of impatience to one of disbelief within a second. This was the first time since the beginning of the caste distribution that anyone had dared mention the word in public. According to the Royals, all rebels had been quickly and quietly defeated in the early days. No way any had actually survived?
Worker 102 rushed to the aid of his apparently clueless coworker, "Merely speculation, no need to worry yourselves."
"Anything to do with this girl is my worry." McGonagall began thrusting her book into the chest of Worker 102. "You think I'm about to let you lot take this darling girl and toss her into a castle that may or may not be under the attack of rebels? If that is what you believe, you are sorely mistaken." Proving her insistence, McGonagall shoved Hermione behind her, as if these two workers were the rebels she needed protecting from.
"While it is quite none of your concern," the man shot an accusatory look at the Worker 134, clearly alerting her that she'd made a mistake, "all we can say is a - very small - group of rebels attempted to infiltrate the Royal Castle a short time ago. Of course, they were laughably unsuccessful - the Royals have ramped up their military protection around the castle, not to mention the myriad of spells of ancient defenses surrounding the place. You should be most familiar with this, right, Professor?"
McGonagall seemed shocked at the blatant mention of her past life at Hogwarts. It had been instilled in the masses that any mention of their work or lives prior to the Dark Lord's reign was irrelevant and unproductive to the functions of their new society. A scare tactic, no doubt, but not one many people dared to test for its legitimacy.
When McGonagall didn't retort, the woman must've regained the courage to participate in the conversation again.
"Might we come in? We have many things to discuss with Ms. Granger here before her big move."
McGonagall only grunted her consent and led them into the parlor.
They all sat down in cushy armchairs. McGonagall waved her wand towards a drink cart, which began wheeling itself over to her chair. With another wave, four cups and saucers, freshly filled with tea, floated to their intended recipients.
"I see here that you're an Essential, Ms. McGonagall. That explains your lovely library here," said Worker 102, taking a sip of his tea. He glanced around the walls, which did boast an impressive collection of books that were (mostly) all legal and pertaining to the classwork she taught at Axios School.
"Given your…history, I'd say that was quite a stroke of luck for you, gaining Essential status." Worker 102, who had far fewer manners than his woman counterpart, made it obvious that no topic of conversation was off limits today.
McGonagall's knuckles grew white as her grip on her book tightened.
This type of sly interrogation lasted for about fifteen minutes, similar questions about their lifestyle as Essentials. It seemed like standard information they'd want to know given the circumstances, but the slightly condescending way in which the questions were asked had caused McGonagall to turn a ghostly shade of white.
Worker 134, either oblivious to the tension or rather, just ready to begin her obligations of this visit, put her tea to the side and retrieved a very thick scroll from her bag.
"Now, you both know why we're here, so I won't waste your time with meaningless explanations. It is my job, under the Department of Royal Affairs, to read to you today a decree from the Royal Family regarding your participation in The Choice. It's a rather long decree, so please bear with me, Ms. Granger, and do let me know if you have any questions."
After unraveling the scroll, she cleared her throat and began,
"UNDER THE GUIDANCE OF THE DARK LORD
BY THE POWER OF THE KING
HEREIN LIES
A PROCLAMATION
We, the Royal Family of the Imperial Territories, want to congratulate Ms. Hermione Granger on her achievement of becoming one of the thirty Eligibles of the Royal Choice. Prince Malfoy, especially, wants to portray his enthusiasm at your participation and is most excited to meet you.
Hermione snorted. Clearly the Prince hadn't anything to do with writing these Proclamations, or else that last sentence surely would've been voided from her copy.
"In a matter of days, you will become a resident of the Royal Castle among twenty-nine of your peers, hundreds of staff and, of course, the Royal Family. This opportunity comes with many responsibilities and many rules, all of which will be outlined for you within this Proclamation. Please note that the following may be changed by Prince Draco, with little to no notice given and at any time during the duration of The Choice.
All Eligibles will be provided a personal handler during their stay at the castle. This handler will be in charge of dressing you for events, escorting you around the castle, and will be available to fetch anything you might need, within reason. They will be introduced to you upon your arrival. Please verbally confirm your understanding of your receiving of a handler.
"I understand," Hermione said.
The woman nodded and continued.
Only Prince Draco holds the authority to dismiss an Eligible from the castle. This means that the women may not leave of their own accord, nor can anyone else oust them from the castle. According to the law, Prince Draco has the last say on who is allowed to stay or leave, up until he has chosen The One.
The Eligibles are not allowed to seek out Prince Draco independently, for any reason. It is the Prince who will decide with whom he wants to seek more time. In a group or social setting, it is most appropriate to hold a conversation with the Prince. However, outside of scheduled events, you will not seek him out for any reason.
As of the moment your name was chosen for The Choice, your only romantic interest is the Prince. By submitting your name, you agreed to the terms of being single, which means any evidence of a romantic relationship outside of the one you share with the Prince is considered treason upon the Imperial Territories and is considered punishable under the law. Please verbally confirm your understanding of your expected behavior as it relates to Prince Draco.
The woman paused, waiting for Hermione's agreement.
None of this should have been surprising to Hermione - it sounded just as oppressive and patriarchal as she would've expected from a contest in which the Prince dates thirty women.
But her thoughts were stuck on the last rule, about her only romantic relationship being with Malfoy?
She and Ron hadn't left their relationship on confident terms - but over the past few years, they had always been together - a pair, a couple. They talked about what their futures would look like and reminisced on all of the moments from their childhood where they'd been blatantly in love, but were too stupid to notice it. They'd happily laughed about that stupidity, because all of those moments had led up to them finally being together.
And now her only romantic interest, by law, was Malfoy, who is, though perhaps inadvertently, the very reason she and Ron are no longer together.
She would have to make sure Ron wasn't foolish enough to send her letters to the castle. Assuming he still wanted to speak with her after their falling out. Honestly, she wasn't entirely sure where their relationship stood exactly, but better safe than sorry. She made a mental note to send an owl to the Burrow before leaving.
"Ahem," the woman cleared her throat, attempting to pull Hermione's attention back on the task at hand. "Do you agree with the terms I've just outlined, Ms. Granger?"
"Yes, all understood." What she really wanted to say was "to hell with this competition" but instead she asked, "How many more terms are there? I'm rather tired and we have many things left to do before I leave," which wasn't a lie - it had been a busy few days.
"Only a few more, we're almost done. Let's see, now, where was I? Oh -
You are expected to conduct yourself in a most upstanding manner during the entire duration of your stay with the Royals. There will be no tolerating any sabotage or tossling between contestants. Any woman who portrays a lack of manners or displays unbecoming behavior can and will be removed, pending approval from the Prince.
If you become the final contender in The Choice and Prince Draco chooses you as his bride, upon marriage, you will become the Princess of the Imperial Territories. The roles and expectations of the Princess will be taught throughout the duration of the competition. If wed to the Prince, your status will be upgraded to Royal status and you will inherit the same powers and responsibilities of the other Royals.
"Well, that's all of them," the woman sighed and plucked her quick-notes quill from the air, handing it over to Hermione. "Please sign on the bottom line to confirm your agreement of all of the terms we went over today. Great, and again here, to acknowledge that your status as an Eligible does not put you above the law, and you understand you will still be held to the laws of the Imperial Territories while you live in the castle."
Hermione whisked her signature on every empty line she could see, partially because she didn't think she could refuse at this point, but also because she was very ready to be rid of these two intruders and left alone with her thoughts. Her dreams were dashed when Worker 102 pulled a heavy looking velvet pouch from his pocket.
"Can you confirm that you have no immediate family in the wizarding world to which you'd like the Family Compensation to be bestowed?"
Hermione thought of Ron, and the Weasley's, and wished desperately that they could receive the money outright. She knew McGonagall would continue sending rations to them - hopefully it'd be just as simple to send part of this money to them, too.
"Yes, that's right. The endowment should go to Ms. McGonagall in my absence," she said, rather bitterly. She hated the coldness of it all, the purely contractual reading of rules she must follow, the exchange of money for her participation in this marriage charade.
At least Ginny had been spared. Hermione was tough - she could hold her own against whatever awaited her in the castle. She wasn't sure how well Ginny would've fared, but she was glad they wouldn't have to find out.
The man handed over the pouch, which jingled happily as it was passed into McGonagall's waiting hand. It would've been impolite to count the amount in front of the Workers, but Hermione surmised it was an impressive amount. She knew McGonagall would ensure this was passed along to the Burrow.
She felt a squirming in her hand and realized the quick-notes quill was struggling to get free from her grasp. When she let go, it fluttered huffily back to the notebook, upon which it began again its furious scribbling.
After what felt like hours, but had realistically only been one, the duo stood and McGonagall eagerly took this opportunity to lead them to the front door.
"Before we go, we should like to congratulate you on your caste upgrade, Ms. Granger. You are, from this point on, an Elite."
This should be happy news - a sliver of light in an otherwise dim situation - but she couldn't enjoy this new status until she was dismissed from The Choice. Escaping the castle would be her priority from this point on, with the promise of Elite life as the motivation to get the job done as swiftly as possible.
"Thanks," was all Hermione replied.
"Someone will come by in the morning to escort you to the castle. There, you will be introduced to your staff, the other ladies and, that evening, you will introduce yourself to the King and Queen, and the Prince, of course," the woman said.
"And best not to mention the, uh - the earlier discussion of rebels. We can assure you that you will be in no danger in the castle. It is heavily protected," the man swore.
As they walked out, the woman tossed a wave over her shoulder.
"Goodluck, Ms. Granger. Who knows? Perhaps you'll be our new Princess by this time next year."
Draco paced around his study, his hand growing cold from his firewhiskey on the rocks. He took a contemplative sip before turning on his heel and pacing back the opposite direction.
The oversized room smelled overwhelmingly of mahogany and liquor - both of which were prominent fixtures in the room, what with the wooden paneling adorning the walls and the fully stocked bar displaying his extensive collection of lavish liquors.
The King had insisted this study be constructed for Draco upon his 20th birthday, when the Dark Lord first began hinting to the King that it was in his…best interests to get Draco more involved with the ins and outs of being Royalty.
Of course, in the beginning, even his father knew very little about what it meant to be a sovereign. It was no secret that Voldemort and his supporters only narrowly won the war. But over time, his father resolved how to quelch the rebellions and, for the past several years, it seemed as though all was quiet and everyone knew their place in this new society.
Until last week.
It was nothing major - at least, that's what his father would like him to believe. To Draco's knowledge, nothing was damaged and no one had been injured, but the mere existence of rebels threatened the control that his father and the Dark Lord had spent years garnering over the people of the Imperial Territories. Especially those with old ties to the Order of the Phoenix and Potter.
It was imperative that anyone who felt empowered to challenge the Royal Family or the Dark Lord be silenced before a small rebellion unraveled into an outright insurrection.
The King was currently meeting with military executives to discuss the best course of action. So for now, Draco could only pace around, waiting around for an update from his father.
After a half hour, he resolved to retire to his desk, upon which was a stack of images - one of each of the women who would be arriving… wow, was it already tomorrow they could expect them to arrive?
Draco shook his head in disbelief. This entire Chosen travesty was progressing much faster than he had anticipated. In less than 24 hours, he'd be required to sit and greet each of the Eligibles one by one. There was one woman in particular that he dreaded seeing, and had put his mind in a tizzy ever since he read her name on his calling cards.
It didn't take much digging to find her picture - it was near the top of the stack. The image in front of him was the same that had appeared during the broadcast, but he now had more time to study it.
It must've been a professional picture taken for work purposes, unless her normal wardrobe was a stuffy cardigan and a plainly simple pencil skirt. Unlike many of the other women, it seemed as though Granger hadn't put much effort into her submission.
Except for her hair. He had to admit that she had nice hair. Somewhere over the years she must've learned how to tame it. The only other time he remembered it looking this - controlled - was during the Yule Ball in their 4th year at Hogwarts.
Regardless of the above average looks of her hair, she was obviously not a serious contender. He hadn't found the time to ask his father how in Merlin's name she had passed the vetting to be a part of The Choice, but he knew the opportunity would come. He didn't expect Granger to last very long at the castle, especially if he had any say in the decision.
And apparently, he had a lot of say. According to the stack of terms and rules of The Choice, which was currently lying under this pile of pictures, Draco's say was the only one that mattered in the decision of who would stay and who would go. He'd already resolved that his first ejection should, rightly, be Granger.
He needed to focus his efforts on women who he would have actually given the time of day, even if they hadn't been thrown at his feet by the excuse of this sodden contest.
He had his eye on the dangerous looking brunette who was coming all the way from the Americas just to meet him. Or, perhaps, the sexy, French delight with the disregard for modesty that he so loved to see in the women he dated.
The point being, Draco had many options, and Granger was not even in his top twenty.
The King took another twenty minutes before entering Draco's study. When he walked in, Draco stood to greet him. He was dressed in his casual robes, which meant he must've gone to change after the strategy meeting.
King Lucius, visibly aged by the stress of his job, looked particularly worn today, which usually meant he had been graced with a communication from the Dark Lord.
"Sit, son," the King said, and so Draco reclaimed his seat. King Lucius grabbed a chair on the other side of the desk and sank into it. With a flick of his wand, a glass of ice and a bottle of the same firewhiskey Draco was sipping on appeared next to him. A house-elf toddered in, poured the drink for the King, then toddered back out into the hall, closing the door behind him.
"The Dark Lord is not concerned about the… minor… intrusion from the other night. Thinks it's just a handful of Undesirables who have nothing to lose and are trying to stir up some attention. We agreed that our attention is better spent on the arrival of the Eligibles tomorrow."
"That's a relief. So we'll halt the Military Growth effort?"
"No, the Dark Lord still wants to grow his arsenal of active recruits. Specifically to upgrade security here and at the Imperial Palace. But there are no talks of any combat readiness at this point. All you need to worry about right now is which of those young ladies you plan to marry."
"I actually wanted to bring that up with you - some of these women seem to have slipped through the screening process," he said, gesturing to the pile of pictures in front of him. "I mean, surely Hermione Granger isn't meant to be a serious submission to be my - wife," Draco said the last word with difficulty.
"Ah yes, I wondered when you'd bring this up. It was an idea of Lord Voldemorts to add her as an Eligible - not her, specifically, but adding a muggleborn to the competition. It was I who suggested the woman should be Granger." The King swirled the contents of his glass, watching the ice spin as he spoke. "He also requested women from other territories be included, which is why we have some ladies coming from the Americas and France. Purely political, but I assumed you'd be happy with the selection?"
Draco was too stuck on the Granger situation to be grateful for the dangerous American or the French delight.
"Of all the muggleborn women, why would Granger be your first choice?"
"She's a strategy, Draco. A strategic placement. Imagine you're one of these…insurrectionists, and while watching the weekly Report, you see one of your own, an old figurehead, living happily amongst those she used to despise. Don't you think that would cause them to think twice before attacking the institution that one of their own, an old friend of their dear Harry Potter, has come to accept?"
"So she's just - just a pawn to appease the rebels? I refuse to marry Granger for the sake of pacifying some petty attempt to overthrow us." Draco's hands clenched. The veins of his arms throbbed from the pressure.
"She isn't meant to win, son. Only to stay as an…example. A quiet declaration that even old enemies of the Dark Lord have now submitted to his commands. You are to keep her here for as long as necessary, and by any means necessary. She cannot go home before her purpose has been served. Do you understand the importance of this, Prince Draco?"
This, Draco could accept. It made much more sense than any belief that he could actually end up with Granger.
The only problem with this plan was…her. She was far too clever to be tricked. How could he possibly convince her to stay in the castle?
"She won't want to stay, father. If I know anything about that woman, it's that she despises me just as much as I do her. She'll try to leave swiftly, I'm sure of it."
The King's voice grew more and more impatient. "And so now you understand your mission, Draco. It is up to you to ensure she stays. Seduce her if you must, I don't care by what means you do it. But she must stay."
"Couldn't I have been consulted about this, first? I mean, this entire marriage market is a sham. Are we never allowed to contest an idea from the Dark Lord?"
He knew it was ridiculous as soon as he'd said it - of course there was no bartering with Lord Voldemort. He'd been at the meeting when the Choice had been suggested - to have opposed Voldemort's suggestion would've been a death wish.
Draco had pushed his father too hard. King Lucius's face scowled, and he leaned over the desk, as if what he was about to say was a secret only the two of them could know.
"Draco, enough. You know very well that this is the hand we were dealt. A lifetime of cowering to the wills of the Dark Lord, that is our job. Everything else is just for show." The king downed the last of his drink and stood from his chair. "We made our beds when we chose to follow him. Now we must lie in them."
Without a parting glance, the King disappeared out of sight.
A/N: A rebel plot and a Prince with a mission to keep his enemy as a love interest for…political reasons. What could possibly go wrong?
I so appreciate your time reading this story. As a culmination of two stories I love, I hope you enjoy the mashup of these worlds, too. Thanks for giving me a reason to write this fic.