Chapter 27

"No, no, the peonies have to be red, not pink. Never pink." I addressed the witch as I was poring over the expense leger. "And damask roses. We need clouds of them. Understand?"

"Yes, your highness."

"Good." I slammed the books shut, and then strode out of my office. People were bustling around Windhithe again, as they did during the wedding, but now, I was in complete control. When I was striding out of the room, I collided with Draco.

"You were supposed to get fitted twenty minutes ago!"

"I know, Draco, but the peonies were pink!" I snapped, and started running towards my destination. Draco rolled his eyes and grabbed me, and with a crack, we arrived before the seamstress. I was immediately shoved into a gown of ethereal silver. Layers and layers of gossamer fabric of varying lengths made up the skirt, shimmering gently, giving the impression that I was walking through layers of cascading silver waterfalls. At the natural waist, the dress was circled with a band of red satin, red trimming the sweetheart neckline, and the hem of the skirts. I was not showing yet, which was lucky, in this dress. The sapphire necklace Uncle had given me almost a year ago was hung around my neck, and the silver, garnet and pearl diadem was placed upon my head. A cloak of red satin, trimmed with ermine, was embroidered with the Harcourt house crest; a rampant hippogriff, adorned with roses. I turned to look at Draco. He was dressed significantly more simply, in black dress robes and a cloak lined in green, trimmed with sable. Finally, when the fussing was over, I paced outside the Throne Room until it was time.

When the doors swung open, everyone rose. Red and silver were everywhere, from the flowers to the carpets. Everyone important from Wizarding society was there, watching me. Two house-elves carried my cloak as I approached the throne, in front of which the new Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, was standing. When I finally met him, I knelt upon the floor.

"Your Majesty," he said in a clear voice that echoed across the room, "Are you willing to take the oath?"

"I am willing," was my reply, carefully rehearsed to the last syllable.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland according to their respective laws and customs?"

"I will."

"Will you to your power cause Law, Justice, and Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I will."

"Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Laws of Wizards? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain in the United Kingdom the customs and practices established by law? Will you maintain and preserve inviolably the Ministry and government thereof, as by law established in England? And will you preserve unto the Minister of Magic, and to the Ministry there committed to his charge, all such rights and privileges, as by law do or shall appertain to them or any of them?"

"I will."

"And above all, do you, Jessica Artemisia Helena Ligeia Harcourt, promise to guide this country in times of turmoil, celebrate with it in times of prosperity, and rule to the best of your ability, until the end of your days?"

"All this I promise to do." Still kneeling, I took the quill presented to me, signed the Oath. The minister then gently removed the diadem from my head and, in its place, crowned me with a sumptuous silver crown that had been used to crown generations of Harcourts. It was heavier than the diadem, life-sized roses carved out of garnets and little ruby buds all sprang from a silver vine, silver leaves shining between the flowers. Four delicate silver hippogriffs with ruby eyes perched on the front, back, and two sides of the crown. When he lifted his hands away, I rose, and, turning to face the crowd, sat in the throne. "The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep until the end of my days." The room erupted into applause, and I smiled.

"Long live the Queen!" I heard someone call, and the rest followed into the chant, repeating it three times. They fell to their knees, every one of them, as I rose from the throne.

There was a banquet afterwards to celebrate. I had removed the cloak and heavy crown, wearing the garnet and pearl diadem again. Draco, as husband to the Queen, also wore a thin silver circlet, his studded with small emeralds. He sat to my right, and Uncle sat to my left. Of course, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger were invited along with their families. Neville, the Patils, and much of the Hogwarts faculty were there, including Luna. I cackled and joked with her for much of the night, Draco transparently trying to hide his discomfort. They still did not like each other, but that was fine with me. They didn't have to. I loved them both, and they would just have to deal with it.

I clung to Draco's arm as the banquet died down, head resting on his shoulder. It was late. These things lasted far too long. "Hey," he muttered into my hair.

"What."

"Sleepy?"

"Mm-hm."

"Come on," he said, pulling me along. While everyone was distracted, he snuck me outside and off to bed.

We had made our home in the suite I had first stayed in, with the dome-topped bed and cream hangings. He unbuttoned my dress and tossed it over a chaise, then went to draw a bath. Playfully, he picked me up and placed me in the bathtub, sweet-scented bubbles welling up over the sides. "I'm not that sleepy," I said, but I didn't resist. He slipped out of his clothes and climbed in with me, holding me in the hot water, his head nuzzled in the crook of my neck.

"You did well today."

"I know, I didn't screw up. Go me."

"I'm serious," he said. "You were positively regal… my queen."

"Oh, shush." He sat up in the tub, grabbing a soft sponge from the side of the tub and squirting a little soap on it. He sat me up, washing my back and shoulders, then the rest of my body, paying particular attention to my breasts and buttocks. He massaged shampoo laced with rose attar into my scalp, gently scooping water over my head to rinse it away. I lay back, my eyes closed, lavishing in his pampering. Finally, he pulled me out of the tub and rubbed our bodies with a fluffy towel, then pulled me into bed. I fell asleep almost immediately.

"Where have you been?" hissed Draco. I entered the bedroom, head hanging low. "It's four o'clock in the morning!"

"I didn't want to wake you," I murmured. He raised his wand casting a light over me. I was pale and shaking, sweaty and weak.

"Are you alright? What happened?" He rushed forward, taking me in his arms and leading me to bed.

"Nothing. Morning sickness, s'all."

"Jack…" he held my face in both his hands, turning it up to face his. "You're sure you're alright?"

"I feel terrible, but the reason is baby. So, yeah, I'll put up with it."

"I know. I wish I could do something, though…"

"You're the one who put me in this state," I said jokingly. He kissed me on the forehead. "Actually, there is something you could do."

"What?"

"Water?" I asked. "And… um… could you send for some bread pudding?"

"Bread pudding?"

"With raisins?"

He rolled his eyes, but he smiled, laying a hand on my slightly swollen belly. A house elf was summoned, and reappeared a short while later with the pudding and a goblet of water. I accepted it hungrily, thanking the elf.

Luckily, the morning sickness, which had been a staple of my mornings from the first weeks of pregnancy, tapered off at around early August, my birthday.

I woke up the morning of my birthday, thankfully free of nausea. I was eighteen years old, about two months after Draco. I lay in bed that morning, thinking. Last year, I had been a rather poor girl living in a cottage in the Berkshire mountains with her uncle and a few Mokes. This year, I was lying in bed in a grand castle, a queen, my husband at my side, and four months pregnant. My, how things had changed.

When we went down to breakfast with that morning, Uncle was standing outside the dining room, a small smile on his lips.

"Happy birthday, dear," he said.

"Thanks, Uncle." I would never get out of calling him that, despite the fact that we weren't related. He wasn't even an uncle to me, really. He was a father. He proved that even more when he pushed the scarred wooden doors open for me.

The dining room was the same, with its long wooden table and its stained glass, but instead of the normal delicate spread on fine glass dishes, there was simple, slightly worn china. Eggs, cinnamon toast, bacon, blood sausage, potatoes fried with onion and herbs, and pancakes were laid upon the table. "My… you had the elves cook my favorites!"

"Actually, Jack," he said, rather sheepishly, "I sent them out of the kitchen so I could get it just right." I turned around and hugged him. This was what I needed. A tie from the past, something to prove that things weren't entirely different.

"Draco, Uncle always cooks the same breakfast for me on my birthday," I said through a mouthful of pancake. It tasted wonderfully familiar. "And sometimes we would have to save up just to afford the sausage, but he always did it."

"It's wonderful," said Draco. I could tell from his tone he wasn't lying, and from the fact that he had piled his plate high. I sighed, happy.