Disclaimer: As for those rumours that I own Harry Potter, false I am afraid. That would be JKR and several rich multi-national companies. The plot is thanks to Penny Jordan.


Hermione looked down from the high balcony on to the public square where a large crowd was gathered in anticipation of the official announcement of the Prince's engagement. People were clapping and cheering. It was a decidedly surreal experience, and Hermione was beginning to feel like an impostor in some twisted fairytale. She was no princess stuck in a lofty tower, nor was she the dirt-poor but beautiful maiden waiting to be rescued; she was simply average and boring and middle-class in almost every way.

It didn't matter, she reminded herself, the crowd would have clapped and cheered for almost anyone. Draco had said that the people didn't care who he married, just so long as he did marry. The people in the square were all celebrating Draco's engagement… at least, most of them were.

Towards the back of the crowds an angry band of protestors were being contained by the police. Occasionally a snatch of their chanting slogans could be heard above the general noise of the celebrating assembly and the banners declaring that they wanted transparency of government and increased association with the outside world could be seen waving over the waving crowd and photographers' flashes.

All through the long announcement, Hermione's tried to focus on the crowd rather than the flowery speeches. Thanking her lucky stars she could hide her emotions better than Harry she managed to keep up the charade of loving bliss, or at the very least, she presented the appearance of not plotting to rip out her fiancé's throat, or curse him with an archaic flesh-eating spell or poison him with any amount of painful but untraceable potions or just plain hex him into oblivion...

It took the fanfare of trumpets to bring her attention back to the balcony and, in particular, to the man standing next to her. Hermione was nonetheless unprepared when in a calculated move Draco turned to her and gave her a seemingly spontaneous kiss on the lips. The noise the crowd was making amplified considerably and the cameras went into overdrive. All through it Hermione felt like she wanted to throw herself down and start punching and kicking the ground like a child having a temper tantrum. Fitting behaviour for the Prince's consort, she was sure.

Mercifully, it was over quickly. Draco's lips now moved to just above her ear, no doubt it looked as if he were whispering sweet-nothings.

"Now we must walk in the square so that the people can share our happiness and congratulate us in person. It symbolises that even though Malfoys are royalty we are not so removed from the general populace."

Hermione just ached to make a sarcastic retort; it would have been soooooo easy, he really had walked into that one. But she could feel his silent warning as his fingers dug into her upper arm as a truly ancient looking man approached them and stopped in front of Draco with a perfunctory bow.

"Highness, it is advisable for you to return inside," advised the stern looking man. "I must advocate that the agitators who spoil this most celebrated occasion by persisting with their ridiculous claims are punished swiftly and firmly. You know my views."

"As you, Gerard, know mine," Draco returned calmly, his tone light enough to lessen to sternness of his rebuke. "I appreciate your concern and your advice, of course, but the people have a right to express their feelings."

"Your father would have never tolerated such an insurgency. If they carry on like this everything your ancestors strived to achieve for this country will be destroyed. Without the separation of Muggle from Magical–"

The man's expression did not change, but his narrowed eyes flicked quickly to Hermione and he stood straighter, turning his body more towards Draco so that his back was almost to her. Draco still had his fingers curled around Hermione's arm, and she felt their grip tighten briefly in reaction to the older man's outburst – or was it in reaction to his snubbing of her? But she noticed that Draco's expression remained calm and unreadable.

"I respect everything that my forebears did, Gerard, of course. But times have changed, even in the wizarding world, and we must change with them... we will discuss this later."

For a moment Hermione thought the elderly man would renew his objections. She could see from the heat rising in his thin cheeks that he wanted to do so, but obviously he did not wish to argue with the Prince.

"Very well! It is your prerogative to make such a decision. You are the ruler of Cythera."

"Indeed." Draco agreed gently.

"At least let me have the louder ones removed from the square."

Draco shook his head. "Leave them be, Gerard. They have a right to their views, and they must be allowed to express them."

Hermione admitted that Draco's apparent tolerance of the protestors had surprised her. Was it a genuine willingness to consider their concerns, or simply a pragmatic tactical ploy… like their marriage?

"Now, we really must tour the square and accept the people's felicitations."

The elderly man obviously knew he was being dismissed. He nodded, a slightly constipated look on his wrinkled face, and allowed Draco and Hermione to move past.

"Sometimes hierarchy is a good thing," Draco dead-panned once they were out of earshot.

"It must be so easy to say that from the top looking down!"

He merely raised one fair eyebrow, before turning to lead Hermione into the square.

"Stop being so perverse. And for heaven's sake, smile – we're supposed to be happily in love and your face has been contorted in a pained grimace for most of this morning."

Ok, maybe she wasn't all that good as concealing her emotions… better than Harry, even so.

As they entered the sunlight dappled square the wild cheering increased exponentially; Hermione couldn't hear anything above the buzz of the excited crowd. Carefully placed barricades kept people back from the castle gates and stopped the large crowds from clogging the square entirely.

Despite her intent on continuing to stew in her malcontent and dream up new and wonderful ways to exact her revenge, Hermione could not help but be affected by the crowd's euphoria. Surreal it may have been, but such a public outpouring of happiness and delight did wonders to restore her good spirits. It reminded her of the first few weeks of celebration after the war; by now she could remember that exultant, joyous time removed from the more tragic events before it…

Hermione found herself smiling genuinely and her eyes sparkled with emotional tears as people stretched out their hands to offer flowers or make the briefest of contact. Rosy-cheeked children squealed and clapped in excitement, pressing themselves up against the metal barriers while more subdued and serious old men and women with wizened smiles watched as the royal couple walked by.

Hermione stopped to accept a small, slightly wilted daisy from a young boy blushing bright red. She grinned and ruffled the cherubic toddler's hair, looking up to the woman holding the boy on her hip. The woman bowed her head. "Merlin bless this union", she said serenely, somehow managing to make herself heard above the crowd, "and may He give you strong sons and beautiful daughters". As if that hadn't been embarrassing enough, a young man next to her grinned and yelled over the crowd, "that's her husband's job, more likely!"

Hermione was positive she was the one blushing now. But Draco had just been needling her when he mentioned that thing about heirs, right? She would not look at him… she would not… she absolutely refused to even look out of the corner of her eyes from under her lashes… Damn him! The jerk was grinning.

He bent down to whisper in her ear, causing the camera flashes to go berserk again. Talk about photo opportunities!

"The good looks will be from my side of the family, naturally…"

Well, two could play at that game. She raised herself and pretended to give him a kiss on the cheek.

More camera flashes.

"And the human decency, from mine."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

What were all these people doing in here? Hermione frowned as she looked round her bedroom. She had just come in out of the square and all she really wanted to do was lie down. It was so tiring being in the public eye, especially when she had to keep up a role she wasn't hugely comfortable with the entire time. She really didn't have the energy or patience to contend with the numerous persons swarming around her room like little buzzy bees. She couldn't even get to her bed to flop down on the mattress; besides the multiple bodies racing around, her bed, the chairs and even the floor itself was covered by cases, boxes and bags.

Hermione turned to Chloe, the only familiar face out of the mass of hovering servants.

"What on earth is going on here?" she exclaimed, bewildered.

"There is much excitement in the palace now there is a new princess…" the maid sighed happily.

"Who are all these people? What is all this… stuff?"

Chloe watched the activity with just a little awe, "It is the orders of his Highness," she explained in low tones. "He insisted on furnishing you with a new wardrobe, and sent help to assist you in dressing."

"He did, did he now?" Hermione responded, an angry gleam in her eye.

Why did Draco have to be so overbearing? Sure, she hadn't dressed appropriately that morning, but she was trying to prove a point and he knew well enough that it was just an attempt to unsettle him. She did not require assistance getting ready. Moreover, she did not want to accept any 'gifts' from him. Hermione felt morally compromised enough simply by participating in this farcical engagement to save her reputation, she did not want to be bought as well. If she needed new clothes she was perfectly capable of deciding so herself and choosing and paying for them.

Hermione started to gather up some of the bags from the nearest chair and sat wearily down after she had cleared the seat.

"All this can be taken back," Hermione gestured to the mess of clothes and makeup, "and please dismiss the… rest of the people."

"But you cannot mean that. The Prince has commanded this himself."

Hermione's lips thinned.

"Draco, his Highness, may command his subjects and his staff, he may think that he commands the earth, the heavens and the movements of the tides, but I mean to make it clear that he does not now, nor will he ever, command me."

Chloe's face crumpled in bewildered disappointment.

"And anyway I have a perfectly appropriate set of dress robes… I'll just wear the one I had on this morning."

"But tonight you are to attend a party held by Mr Lucas Bonython and you can't wear the same set of robes! It simply isn't done! All the other ladies will be in very beautiful clothes. You are to be the wife of his Highness and it is not fitting that they should look more elegant than you."

"I'm not the Prince's wife just yet..."

With a theatrical flourish the maid stalked over to the dressing room, her arms full of the tailored dress robes Hermione had dumped on the floor. Hermione wondered if it reflected badly on her that she couldn't even get her personal servant to follow her wishes. She could hear Chloe sighing in delight as she began to hang the clothes up in the wardrobe. Merlin, it was like sharing a dorm with Lavender and Parvati again. Grouchily, she waved away the woman who had timidly approached her with a manicure kit and huffed in displeasure.

"Oh. This is just getting beyond ridiculous."

What did it matter if she wore the same set of robes to two different occasions? Her robes were fine. They were practical, versatile … functional. Anyway, she had a whole closet full of clothes back at home. Hermione huffed again and scowled, scaring away another of the stylists or makeup artists or whatever they were. She had a lot of things back home; a job, a cat, a comfortable flat (the unpaid bills she could ignore for now), three new books she hadn't had a chance to read yet, best friends…

Hermione thought she'd give anything to talk to Ron and Harry about her predicament with Malfoy. If only because they'd call him some rather objectible (although not undeserved) names and then rush out and Avada him. Well, perhaps they'd run off and Avada him first of all, and then start with the name calling, but that was neither here nor there…

Hermione's thoughts were interrupted as her bedroom door was suddenly thrust open. Merlin, couldn't she finish just one 'Draco dies horribly and Hermione lives happily ever after' daydream without something intruding? A tall, forbidding-looking woman entered her room flanked by a pair of nervously hovering attendants.

Narcissa!

Refusing to be intimidated by the woman's malicious glare or frigid demeanour, Hermione stood up from her chair, lifted her chin and met the older woman's haughty gaze with a calm look of her own.

A small frown and a momentary glance was all it took for Narcissa to freeze all of the inane chatter and fix the milling servants to the spot in petrified apprehension. The woman really should have been born a basilisk…

"Leave," Narcissa commanded them icily, then turned to wave her own attendants out of the room along with the maid.

Narcissa spat out a quick muffliato as soon as the door was clicked closed. Hermione was beginning to feel slightly apprehensive now all the potential witnesses had disappeared from the scene.

"So. It is true! You have the effrontery to come back to Cythera and, even worse, you have somehow persuaded my son to agree to this farce of an engagement. It is just as well that I decided to return earlier than planned. Draco is to marry Pansy –"

"I'm afraid that Draco cannot marry Pansy, unless you propose that she commits bigamy," Hermione told her serenely. "You see, Pansy is now married to my friend, Ronald Weasley."

Oh, the pleasure of seeing Narcissa's expression – she had a chance to witness it after all!

"Marry… Weasley?"

The older woman's face held shock, disbelief and fury, all of the emotions vied for supremacy. However, none of them came anywhere near competing with the bitterness and obvious loathing Narcissa directed purely at Hermione.

"You're lying, you manipulative little harlot! I cannot understand how you have managed to persuade him to announce his betrothal to you so quickly, but I promise you I mean to find out…"

Hermione gave a dismissive shrug and completely ignored Narcissa's vicious statement. She knew nothing would irritate the other woman more than being disregarded.

"You know, I'm not surprised that Pansy felt unable to tell you her wedding plans personally. I do believe that with Ron she feels for the first time that she is properly loved. It's not hard to see how one could feel the lack of such an emotion here. You have never seen her for herself, have you? To you she was only ever a pawn that you could manipulate and dictate; a tool, through which you could control and dominate your son. Well, it's too late, Pansy is married to Ron and, as you can see, I am here."

"You do not need to tell me why you are here," Narcissa hissed contemptuously. "You have deceived your way into Draco's life a second time. I would not put it past you to have deliberately persuaded poor naïve Pansy to become involved with your wretched friend just so you could steal the place that rightfully belongs to her. It won't work. I will personally see to it that it does not!"

Hermione said nothing. Let Narcissa find out, far from forcing Draco into an engagement, he was the one who had forced the relationship on her!

"You are not fit to hold so high a position, for obvious reasons. You do not begin to have the faintest idea of how to conduct yourself properly. Just look at you – the way you are dressed. Never would I have permitted Pansy to wear such Muggle clothes, jeans…"

Hermione had very nearly reached her temper's breaking point, but it was her pride that stung the most from the regal woman's contemptuous words. So Narcissa didn't think that Hermione was fit to marry her precious son; that she knew how to conduct herself for such a role; how to dress herself for the position… Why on earth was everyone focusing on her choice of clothing all of a sudden? Well, she would show Narcissa just how very wrong she was about that.

"And what are all these?" Narcissa demanded, glaring at the general chaos of clothing, hangers, boxes and bags.

"My new clothes," Hermione informed her with a great deal more glee than she would ever feel over a few scant pieces of material. "Draco bought them for me."

Narcissa's face tightened with anger. "I see! You have not lost any time in persuading Draco to waste his money on you! How long have you been in Cythera, one day… two?"

"As you have only just pointed out yourself, I am the Prince's fiancée and must present an appropriate image. Naturally, I don't want to let my darling Draco down …"

To further annoy Narcissa she found herself pouting and tossing her head as she looked over to the clothing draped on her bed. Giving a good impression of her image-crazy dorm-mates from school, Hermione cast a lingering look at the collection of clothes that she had previously rejected. She swanned over to the bed and picked up a dress indiscriminately, holding it up, running her hand over the soft fabric.

"I just hope Draco has remembered that I don't have any proper jewellery. After all, when we attend this soiree tonight it is only fitting that I should be the finest there," she muttered just loud enough for Narcissa to hear. Turning quickly, Hermione forced a coy smile. "I simply can't wait for us to be married. Our wedding is to take place at the end of the month..." She thoughtfully tapped her lip, "I've heard that the crown jewels are especially grand."

Narcissa's face had turned an unpleasant mottled shade of purple.

"You will never marry my son," she intoned softly. "I shall make sure of that…"

Before Hermione had the chance to react Narcissa had brought her wand up and, after a second of hesitation, spoke a word that Hermione couldn't make out. She honestly thought, for a long moment, that it was the end; she had pushed Narcissa too far. But then no green light emitted from the wand and Hermione only felt a sharp pricking sensation, and brought her hand up to cover the now throbbing red lump that had formed on her neck.

Hermione winced as she heard the door slam behind Narcissa. She had truly burned her boats now. She counted herself lucky the enraged woman had only fired off a stinging hex, nothing more than a mild inconvenience, really. Hermione had faced Bellatrix after all, and had braced herself for much worse than a simple spell. She had no idea how she had gotten off with something so trivial and could only assume that the sister and wife of two of Voldemort's most notorious Death Eaters was saving the best for later. Hermione would have to keep one eye trained on her back from now on…

As she made her way over to the door, Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and grimaced. She looked dreadful. Her hair was frizzed up like Crookshanks on a bad day, her face was wan, the only colour from patchy red blotches of high emotion on her cheeks and she felt, and looked, totally drained after a sleepless night and a long, conflict-charged day. And then there was that obnoxious welt on her throat from Narcisa's hex.

Sighing, she opened the door wide and ushered in a curious Chloe and the confused maids.

"Alright. I need help getting prepared for this party-thing tonight," Hermione spoke resignedly, "I put myself completely at your mercy. I'll wear anything you put in front of me… so long as it has a high neckline."

It seemed that Draco had once again got his way.