A/n – can you spot a little bit of Ed Sheeran's 'Kiss Me' in here? This is very rushed - I hope to edit it later to fix it up, but for now, I'll post it.

Once upon a time, there was a princess.

You most likely dislike the cliche of 'once upon a time' and 'happily ever after'. So does she – in fact, she hates cliches. Completely loathes them, and no one can blame her. She's a princess with hair as red as the sunset and eyes darker than chocolate. Her laughter is contagious and she's braver than you'd expect her to be. She is not a princess, she says, but a prince who plays Quidditch and gets dirty and wears trousers instead of dresses. She is not, in fact, looking for her King, but her Queen.

Her Queen is tall and willowy, with age and grace. Her Queen is as cold as the wind blows, and as warm as a crackling fireplace. She is a very biased woman – just as a Queen should be. She is an unjustly Queen – her throne is battered and cracked and her own King and Prince are far, far gone, and she's a lonely Queen, running her kingdom with her own two hands.

This red-haired, freckled princess is destroying herself with every second the clock moves forward. Because while time moves forward, she moves backwards.

She's pining after a Queen who happens to care for another; an outcast of their kingdom, some would say. She doesn't belong here.

This commoner was once her brother's love.

This commoner had wild hair, intelligence unlike others, and the bravery of a lion.

"I'm going to be late after work tomorrow," Hermione explained apologetically.

Molly frowned; Hermione worked late often. As far as Molly Weasley knew, the poor girl was working herself to her death - she really needed to take a break sometime. "Well, okay," she said, before shooting Hermione a stern look, "but I hope to see you here for Sunday dinner."

"Of course, Mrs Weasley," she said courteously, giving her goodbyes to the Weasley family before Flooing out of the Burrow.

Ginny straightened her back and pressed her lips together. She knew exactly where Hermione was going; this was no extra shift at the Ministry. It was a lie Hermione was easily able to get away with, though - everyone expected her to do more work than she should. It was in her nature.

The elder girl had cut her hours back the moment she had inspected Malfoy Manor with the Aurors and found a bit of a surprise with one of the inhabitants there. She had told Ginny all about it.

"It was an unbelievable shock," Hermione explained. "It has no logic or reason. I don't know why she makes me feel so... uncomfortable. But a good kind of uncomfortable, you know? It's very taboo, you know, so for once, I don't know..."

Ginny had clenched her jaw – oh, she herself had known the beauty of this woman long before Hermione had – and like a good, supportive friend, she had nodded along and replied.

"It doesn't matter if it's 'taboo' or not. If it makes you happy, it makes you happy and that's all."

The bookworm had nodded once; she had probably already figured this out for herself. "I'm so glad you approve, Ginny. It would kill me not to tell anyone."

"I'll always be here," the other girl replied, surprised at how easily the lie slipped out. Perks of being related to Fred and George, she supposed.

"I know," said Hermione, rather blandly.

"I don't understand. This is unreasonable, it's -"

"Draco."

"- ridiculous. I am not doing anything of that sort, Mother! Father -"

His mother made a discerning noise at the word father and interrupted him harshly.

"It would be in our best interest to cooperate, Draco. We musn't be creating a scene; we don't need that. Go." Narcissa's words were clipped and cold - she had to remove her son from the room before her guest was over.

"Yes, Mother." Her son stood and left the room, giving his mother exactly what she wanted.

Not for long, however - that girl was coming. Just as she would, every Saturday night, exactly as the clock struck eight in the evening. It was very predictable; but then again, they had to remember who she was with.

And they'd dance the dance as old as time, and the girl would tell her how she knew the Weasley girl wanted Narcissa, in the way the girl wanted her. And how the girl wouldn't stand for it, because once, just once, she'd like something to be her own, without someone else getting involved or everything crashing and burning.

Because as much as the girl liked the Weasley daughter, she was not willing to share.

Once upon a time, there was a princess.

And this princess hated cliches. Loathed them, detested them. Couldn't stand them. She's petite and a firecracker, a rarity, a fiery path of destruction. Her Queen is ice cold, like snow in the summer. They are fire and ice, this princess knows. They could burn down stone and freeze lava together.

There was a commoner who took her place - it wasn't really the princess' place to begin with - and became the Queen's princess. She was supposed to be the princess. This commoner was fire, too - a gentle fireplace, crackling with warmth in the cold winter. The warmth inside the cold; the kind that you needed to survive. Not the destructive inferno blaze that the princess was; but something calmer and simpler.

You couldn't really fight fire with fire.

Happily ever after was a cliche. It was, it really was. And maybe that's why instead of getting it, she stood aside.

Maybe that was why she didn't have one.