A/N: Eager to know what you think about this chapter. As always, thanks for reading :)
-4-
Hermione awoke the next morning to an eerily quiet room. She had grown so accustomed to the bustle and noise of the Burrow as the Weasley's prepared for work. That was the life of an Undesirable - to be up at early dawn in order to earn as much money as possible.
Here in the dwelling of an Essential, life was much more calm and deliberate. However, this quiet felt lonely to Hermione. A reminder of how much her life had changed in a matter of weeks.
She felt no excitement about today - meeting the other Eligibles, visiting Hogwarts castle again - both caused her stomach to tie in knots. Thoughts of worry and fear ran rampant through her head.
The irony was that Hermione had moved into this castle many times before. All those years of running to board the Hogwarts Express had been some of the happiest of her life. Now, she felt only dread at seeing her old home again, knowing that it held too many disconsolate memories to feel like a home anymore.
Accepting that staying in this bed wouldn't change her fate, she slipped out of the sheets and into her bath, where she attempted to wash away the stress and the worry permeating her mind. When that didn't work, she got out and dressed in the uniform of the Eligibles - a thin white sundress that flowed down to her feet. Its neckline was modest and covered in ruffles that added extra layers of fabric over her breasts. It was not her usual style, but it was pretty and comfortable.
She had been told the choice of white was intentional, to make her 'look like a bride.'
She wanted to look like no such thing. Not when the groom was to be Draco Malfoy.
Dressed and finished with her grooming, she assessed her work in the mirror. She had left her curls down to lay over her shoulders and her face bare of makeup. She didn't want to give the impression that she cared at all what she looked like, and she definitely didn't want a certain Prince to misunderstand her effort in appearances as interest in him.
Hermione then turned her attention to packing her belongings. She'd been informed that there was very little she needed to bring - all clothes and toiletries would be provided for her at the castle. This left her to pack her textbooks - she convinced herself her time in the castle wouldn't be completely wasted if she could study for her teaching assignment while there - a few changes of clothes for when she wasn't swallowed in dresses, and some mementos to remind herself to return home as soon as possible.
Once she had closed her trunk and secured the latches, Hermione turned to leave her room, when a shine glistened on the chest of drawers in her peripherals. Curious, she set down her luggage and walked over to find the source of the gleam.
She stood, open-mouthed, as she came to terms with what she was seeing. Sitting here, within the home of a witch, was a small dagger, the sheen of which was glimmering as the sun soaked the room in morning light. Her eyes grew wide as she took in the existence of this small muggle weapon. Lying next to it was a sheath made of leather and a strap with golden buckles, which Hermione knew from old films was meant to be fastened around one's leg to hold the dagger in place.
She cautiously lifted the heavy metal to find underneath a single piece of parchment, which read:
Take this with you. Just in case. -M
For McGonagall to insist Hermione take with her a weapon besides her wand confirmed her fears about what she was about to walk into today. Her participation in The Choice was far more than just a minor inconvenience - it was a threat to her life. She was one mistake away from being made an example of in front of the entirety of the Imperial Territories. Maybe that was the Royals' plan all along.
She eyed the weapon in her hands, turning the hilt to study its intricate carvings. She knew very little about muggle combat, but she understood the general purpose. She carefully returned the knife to its sheath, hoping that she could bring herself to use it if the threat presented itself.
She hiked the loose fabric of her dress and wrapped the leather strap around her thigh, clasping the buckles as tight as they would go. From inside the chest of drawers, Hermione retrieved a slip that she pulled on over the cool metal, to better shield the dagger from view under the transparent white fabric.
Hermione climbed down the stairs slowly, trailing her luggage behind her. She found McGonagall waiting in her usual library chair, gripping the same book she had been reading since Hermione's arrival here. When she noticed Hermione approach, McGonagall stood, a pitying sort of gaze pulling down the corners of her mouth.
McGonagall was the only person here to see her off. At another time of her life, this room might've been full of people to bid her farewell. Hermione tried not to dwell on the loneliness of that thought.
Despite her old Professor not being one for affection, McGonagall suddenly swept Hermione into a hug, which she returned eagerly.
After a moment, McGonagall stood back, holding Hermione at arm's length. McGonagall looked her over, greedily, as if she thought they would be apart for a while. As if Hermione might not be coming back at all.
"Did you take the dagger from your room?" she asked, her tone serious and somber. This wasn't going to be a heartfelt goodbye - it was just like McGonagall to prepare Hermione for the worst.
"Yes," she said, patting her leg carefully, "but I know nothing about knife wielding."
"Do not worry about technique - if you find yourself in a situation where you need it, instinct will kick in."
"You think I'll find trouble in the castle?" Hermione knew the answer before she'd even asked, but she wanted to hear her fears confirmed by someone she trusted.
McGonagall sighed deeply before she explained, "I find it hard to believe that Lucius would give you any chance of becoming Princess. No, I suspect darker motives are at play here." McGonagall gave her arm a quick squeeze before they made their way over to the fireplace, which had already been prepared with Floo. "You be careful, now. Not a single soul in that castle is to be trusted - do you understand?"
Hermione nodded. Fear and anxiety settled in her stomach as she suddenly felt the gripping reality of what she was about to do.
McGonagall continued her warning.
"Get out as quickly as you can - we will figure out what to do next when you return."
Hermione couldn't blame McGonagall for the uncertainty in her voice.
She had been stupid not to consider the dangers of submitting her name. Naively, she had believed there was no way she would be selected.
But it was far too late for these thoughts now. She was heading straight into the dragon's den - if the Malfoys had malicious reasons to accept her participation, she had all but volunteered her services to them personally.
She swallowed the lump forming in her throat as she took care of her remaining responsibilities.
"Crookshanks - ?" she asked.
"I'll take good care of him while you're away."
"And the money for - for," Hermione stuttered, but she couldn't bring herself to say his name.
"I will make sure the Weasley's receive every extra Sickle I'm given. They'll be taken care of while you're gone."
Hermione nodded again, her mouth too dry to form any more words of thanks or goodbye. She stepped into the ashes flamed in green. With one last weak smile at McGonagall and a flash of bright light, she let the Floo envelop her body and guide her away.
When Hermione arrived in Hogsmeade, several members of the Royal staff were busy with different jobs, one waiting to take her luggage, while another ushered her over to a long line of beautifully ornate carriages that lined the road up to the castle. She must've been one of the first women to arrive, as there were still many carriages waiting for their Eligible.
Hermione, overwhelmed by the flurry of workers running to and fro, let herself be helped into one of the ivory coaches, whose interior was surrounded in lush red velvet. She peered out the window, catching glimpses of the castle between the trees as her driverless carriage made the short trudge up the hill. From the outside, it looked much the same as it had when she had attended as a student. It bore the same worn stone exterior, its silhouette still rising into peaks and turrets, and lowering into lush courtyards.
It was a haunting thought to be forced to walk the halls of this castle that held so many memories - both good and harrowing. In the same breath that she could remember traipsing to class with her friends, she could also recall the cascade of spells that flew as she went to war. This was where they'd lost Harry. Dumbledore. Lupin. The list was agonizingly long. Hermione swiped angrily at a tear running down her cheek. It was many years ago, and though the thoughts of their loss no longer stole the breath from her lungs, they still tore at her heart.
She made sure to exit her carriage tear-free, stone-faced and determined not to become a victim of this castle.
With a steadying breath, Hermione stepped through the great oak doors of the Royal Castle. It took a great amount of willpower to keep herself from openly gaping at the grand entryway she had just walked into. It certainly wasn't the same as it had been when she'd last visited, years ago.
The entire interior had been redone - a welcoming shade of ivory blanketed the walls, though it was largely hidden by several golden frames, whose inhabitants were chattering excitedly about her arrival. The floors were a beautifully patterned marble, so clean it felt wrong to walk on it with her well-worn shoes. Along the walls were various lavish furnishings holding vases of summer flower arrangements. It was hard to imagine this being the home of the Malfoys.
Hermione found herself relieved to see the castle had been changed so much - she could almost convince herself that this was her first time ever setting foot here.
While she looked around this foreign entry hall, a young woman strolled over to her eagerly. She came to a stop right in front of Hermione and, with a friendly smile, dipped into a curtsy.
"Lady Hermione - I'd like to welcome you to the Royal Castle," she said. "My name is Skye. I will be your Handler during your stay here."
So this was her Handler - Skye was a slim girl, dressed in the same off-gray colored staff clothes as the others she had met in Hogsmeade. Despite the colorless garb, Skye was very pretty - her dark blonde hair was curled slightly and looked long on her petite frame. Her face seemed kind and tired, and it made Hermione wonder how much labor this girl was subjected to every day.
Her smile was by far her best feature - it was so genuine, it made Hermione feel at ease instantly, as though perhaps not everyone in this castle wished harm upon her. She looked to be around the same age - Hermione made a note to ask her later. That is, if she lasted in the castle past dinnertime.
She was asked to surrender her wand - not by Skye, but by another nameless worker - before being led up to her room. She was given a box with her name printed on the front, inside of which she hesitantly placed her wand. She then handed the box back to the worker, who briefly explained to her that all Eligibles were to submit their wands for safekeeping until their dismissal from the castle. When his explanation was finished, he took her box and disappeared through a doorway.
Hermione felt the heavy metal of the dagger resting reassuringly against her leg and was suddenly grateful for it. Just in case.
Skye motioned down the long hallway in front of her. "If it pleases you, I will show you to your room now."
She began following Skye down the hall and up several stairwells, which changed direction constantly, just as she remembered they had. She tried to pay close attention to which turns they were taking so she could find her way back when she was no longer being led by her Handler. The castle had changed so much, she knew she would struggle to reacclimate herself to its layout.
"Er.. Skye?" Hermione asked as they walked, unsure of how to properly address her Handler.
Skye kept her steady pace, but peaked over her shoulder to answer. "Yes, my Lady?"
Lady Hermione, my Lady - were these her new titles now?
Hermione stared at her feet while she talked, determined not to trip over the length of her sundress. "I uh - I expected to meet the other Eligibles when I arrived. Am I the first one here?"
Skye shook her head, her pretty blonde curls bouncing back over her shoulder.
"A few other Eligibles arrived just before you. The Royals asked that your entrances be timed in intervals - that way, you all could settle into your rooms and get comfortable. You will meet the other Ladies during your Manners and Etiquette class tomorrow."
Manners and Etiquette. Two subjects Hermione had never come across in any of the textbooks she has studied. Especially as it relates to behaving in front of Royals who, without a doubt, wanted her dead.
"Tomorrow, you'll be preparing for your first dinner together," Skye continued, "where you will meet the King and Queen. And Prince Draco, of course."
Hermione felt a nervous shiver course down her back at the thought of facing the Royals for the first time since - she shook the horrible memories from her mind.
"If I'm not meeting anyone tonight, then what should I do for the rest of the day?" Hermione felt relief in her limbs as they'd finally reached the landing. She tried to recall whether this was the 3rd or 4th floor. She suddenly cursed herself for not packing her copy of Hogwarts: A History. Illegal contraband or not, it would have proved quite useful to her now.
"Your schedule today is very light, actually. I'll show you your room, you'll take lunch as you attend your first Manners and Etiquette class alone. Then, you may relax in your room for the evening, ordering anything you'd like from the kitchens for dinner. I can even snag you some books from the library if you want - I hear you're keen on reading," Skye giggled, as if she were sharing a secret with a friend.
Hermione beamed at her Handler, who may not know how fearful she had been in coming here, but was doing everything she could to make her feel as comfortable as possible. Hermione felt indebted to her already.
They must've reached their destination, because Skye stopped outside of a locked doorway. With a flick of her own wand, Skye unlocked it and stepped aside so Hermione could see her room.
This was a bedroom people of any caste below the Royals could only dream of. Hermione doubted even the Elites - which she now was, she reminded herself - could have imagined a room this marvelous. The walls were painted a delicate violet color, which complemented the several pieces of gold accented furniture.
Closest to the door was a small sitting room with plush couches and matching side tables. As she continued further into the room, she found a charmed chandelier floating down from the ceiling, lit with several large candles. Against the wall was the largest bed Hermione had ever seen - a canopy style, with sheer curtains that hung from its posts and fluttered from the breeze coming through the open window.
Skye seemed to notice Hermione's awe. "I'll just give you some time to look around, my Lady." With another curtsy, Skye started to back out of the room.
"Wait. Please, you don't have to - uh - don't worry about the bowing -" Hermione said, fidgeting with the tie around the front of her sundress. She found it hard to explain her discomfort with her Handler bowing to her, as if she were of higher rank just because she was an Eligible.
"It is part of my job, my Lady. If I were to be seen refusing to bow when required, they'd expel me from the castle immediately. I've seen it done before," Skye's voice dropped to a whisper, her face wrought with worry, like just speaking about it was enough to get herself thrown out, too.
"Well, how about, within this room, there will be no bowing. Deal?" She smiled at Skye reassuringly, hoping to convey that she had no desire to cost her her job.
Skye's face lit into another dazzling grin. "Deal. If you want to unpack now, I have a few errands to run. I'll be back shortly to help you into your bath." And she disappeared from the room, closing the door behind her.
It took Hermione a remarkably short time to unpack her trunk. She stowed her few clothes in the cupboard, set her books on the bookshelf, and placed her mementos in the drawer next to her bed. Lastly, she held Ron's gift in her palm - which, without her wand to change its color, was merely a gold bracelet now. A beautiful, sad reminder of what awaited her outside of the castle.
It was with the hope that her relationship with Ron wasn't completely doomed that caused her to clasp the bracelet around her wrist.
She then began searching the room for a safe place to stash her dagger. If she would be assisted in bathing, it would be quite difficult to explain to Skye the knife attached to her thigh. She needed a place to keep it until she could figure out a way to take it around with her without it being found out.
On hands and knees, she crawled around the room, in quite an unladylike way, looking for a suitable hiding place. Pressed for time, she settled for the bookshelf, which stood within the small sitting room near the door. There, she knelt down to the floor, unbuckled the dagger from her thigh, and pushed it under the shelf until it touched the back wall. Unless the staff moved the furniture for cleaning, it wouldn't be found.
She shuddered to think what might happen to her if it were.
Skye came back from her errands just as Hermione stood from her kneel.
"Well, Lady Hermione, it's time to get you ready for your class. After your bath, the stylists will come to do your hair and makeup. Are you ready?"
Hermione let herself be helped into a regal, clawfoot tub by her Handler. She washed her more delicate parts herself, while Skye worked through her curls, washing and conditioning and treating them until they were silkier than she'd ever felt them. She let herself relax in the warm, lavender scented water until Skye had finished with her hair.
Afterwards, she stepped out of the tub and into a towel. Skye left briefly to fetch her dress from the wardrom and Hermione sighed with relief when the gown she held wasn't a monster of layered crinoline.
Apparently, the Royals had foregone the corsets and petticoats, opting instead for a more modern ball gown. It was still a considerable amount of fabric, and it cinched her waist appreciably more than her normal clothes would do, but she could breathe easily, which was the only thing she cared about.
It was pale blue in color - its top a modest v-neckline with sleeves down to her wrists and the skirt full and pleated, so long that it kissed the floor when she walked around the room. This particular dress laced up the back and therefore had required strict help from Skye to put on.
Not ten minutes later, she was pleading with the stylists to leave her makeup as light as possible and her hair down. When all plucking and prodding was finished, Hermione took a look at herself in the full length mirror and very much liked what she saw.
She looked - neater, for lack of a better word - than she could remember ever looking. Though her face was still slim from a hungry Winter, the light makeup on her face added color back into her cheeks, but didn't overwhelm her natural features. Her stylists had compromised on her hair, pinning it into a half-up style, leaving a few of her curls left down to frame her face. The dress made her feel so feminine - she wanted to twirl around the room until she fell dizzy.
And then, with a gentle reminder from Skye, it was time to attend her first class.
The morning settled into early afternoon and Hermione found herself famished as she made her way down to her lesson.
Manners and Etiquette class was an hour of learning the basic behaviors of a Royal - how to curtsy properly when addressing the Royal family or High Staff, how to sit in a chair in those overly-fabriced gowns. Throughout her lunch - which was a delicious spread of various meats, cheeses and breads - she was taught table manners, many of which were common sense, but some things she learned could only be important to those of a Royal status.
When done, she exited with a curtsy to her teacher - as she'd just learned how to do - and was very ready to escape back to the privacy of her bedroom… wherever it was. She glanced around the hall unsurely. Skye was nowhere to be found and each and every statue and moving portrait looked identical to those in the next hallway.
She walked up the nearest stairway to her left, then waited for the next one to turn directions before climbing it as well. This felt like the right way to go. She could've sworn that her room was up this last staircase and past the suit of armor holding a sword, although - rats. The suit of armor in front of her had no sword, but instead held a shield and a rather spiky mace.
Wishing she had been given some sort of bell or call button for situations like this, Hermione looked around, trying to logic her way through this conundrum. When she had arrived, Skye had waited only twice for a staircase to move, which would mean her room must be on the 3rd floor -
"Are you lost?" said a voice from behind her, chilling in its tone, deep and rich in its resonance. "May I be of any help to you?"
The voice's accompanying footsteps grew louder as they approached. Hopeful that she'd just been saved an hour trying to find her way back, Hermione turned around to see who else but Prince Draco strolling towards her.
The years had changed him. He stood taller than she remembered, and still slim, though his upper arms strained against the sleeves of his white button-up. The lines of his face were sharper, more defined than they had been as kids. But those eyes - those same dark, grey eyes - they hadn't changed in the slightest.
"Malfoy," she said, her head emptied of every piece of manner and etiquette training she'd received that afternoon. She should've curtsied, but her knees had locked, as if her body refused to show this man any sort of respect. Her blood boiled at the sight of him, the source of her misery and incarceration in this castle.
"Granger?" the Prince questioned as recognition crossed his face. For a split moment, Hermione could see the anger she felt about this meeting mimicked in the Prince's cold eyes, but as quick as it had come, it was gone, replaced by a coy smile. It made him look positively regal, and she loathed him even more for it.
She stayed still as his eyes did a once-over of her. She suddenly felt too made up - she wanted to scream that this dress wasn't for him and that she was just playing this game until she could go home, but her fear of his title kept her lips shut.
"Well, what a surprise," the Prince drawled, closing the last of the distance between them. "I didn't expect to meet you until tomorrow night's dinner." He bowed his head slightly and reached for her hand, moving it up towards his lips.
"I think it's safe to say you and I require no formal greeting, Malfoy," she replied gruffly, removing her hand from his grasp just before his lips could graze it.
Unfazed, Prince Draco straightened his posture, regarding Hermione curiously.
"I believe we're meant to go by more.. formal titles.. Lady Hermione," he emphasized.
'You cannot punch him,' she reminded herself. 'He is a Prince and doing so will get you killed.' She sighed inwardly. This was a dangerous game, with high stakes if she didn't follow her part accurately.
Willing her knees to bend, Hermione dipped into the curtsy she should've performed upon seeing the Prince.
"Very well. Let's start over, Your Highness." The words felt vile on her tongue.
The Prince could see her struggling with the niceties. He crossed his arms over his chest, his brow furrowed.
"I'd prefer you call me 'My Lord'." The smirk on his face deepened. She wanted to slap it off.
"I will call you no such thing!" she nearly yelled, her voice echoing through the hollow halls. A staff member exiting a room nearby stopped, as if concerned there was a problem. The Prince shook his head at the young girl, waving his hand to show that she could move along with her work. He then turned back to Hermione.
"I usually get what I want," the Prince said darkly, "but - this time, I'll let it slide. Call me whatever you'd like."
There were many names she'd liked to have called him, none of them related to his title as Prince.
"What an interesting reunion. It's been… a while," he continued.
"It has," was all Hermione said in response, willing herself to block the memories of their last meeting from flooding her mind.
"You fixed the hair," he mused, his eyes scanning her updo. "It's much more - tame than I remember it being."
Her eyes narrowed into slits at his sweetly veiled insult. To hell with playing nice. Maybe if she stopped disguising her hatred, the Prince would have her sent home sooner.
"Glad to know you're still insufferable to be around. Time hasn't changed much, has it?"
The Prince had the audacity to chuckle. "In regards to you and I, I don't think it has." He lifted a curl from her shoulder, brushing it through with his finger. "Except the hair. Immeasurably better."
"You're so.. infuriating." Her extensive vocabulary was failing her in her time of need.
"Lady Hermione - you speak as though you have ill-feelings towards me?" Sarcasm dripped from his voice like honey.
"I have good reason to do a great deal more than just hate you."
"Is that a threat to your Prince?"
"Did you think it was a complement?"
Both stood in a combative stance, like they'd duel if they had their wands handy. It suddenly occurred to Hermione that maybe the Prince did have his wand - what a stupidly daring way to argue with someone of his power with little more than her hands as a weapon.
Prince Draco took a step towards her and, in her panic, she reached for the nearest weapon she could find - the suit of armor's mace. She gripped the handle with both hands and, with a great effort, lifted her arms until -
The weapon wouldn't budge.
"What are you - ?"
She tried to ignore the Prince's eyes on her as she heaved one more time, but instead of relieving the mace from the vice grip of the inanimate knight, she instead withdrew her hand with such might, it flew upwards against the metal spikes.
"Ow!" she howled, bringing her finger to her chest. She looked down and saw small buds of red flowing from her newly acquired cut. She swore, gripping the finger with her opposite hand.
Prince Draco stared at the injured Lady incredulously. "What in Merlin's name was that?" He grabbed her wounded hand gruffly and examined her finger, which was bleeding quite a small amount, despite her dramatic reaction.
She pulled her hand away again and curled her fingers into her palm to help stop the bleeding. "What? I felt threatened," she said fiercely, as though that completely justified her outburst, though nothing about what she'd just done made her feel fierce next to the Prince.
"You thought I was - what? I was going to assault you in the hallway of my own home?" What started as surprise by her attempted assault quickly dissolved into annoyance.
"You've done worse," she said with a shrug, holding his glare.
She saw his hands gather into fists by his side, his lips struggling to let out the words he wanted to say.
"I'll heed you this warning, Lady Hermione," he began, his voice thick with foreboding. She could sense his hesitation and knew he was choosing his next words carefully. "Despite what you may think, I am not your enemy here. Like you, I too am just a puppet in this ridiculous charade," he finished in a strong whisper.
She let his words sink in. The Choice was just a game to him, too? She wanted to ask what he meant, press him for answers to the questions now forming, but the Prince had already backed away from her. His cold eyes held no anger in them, his expression already relaxing back into the same coy smile he'd greeted her with. He gestured lazily to her hand.
"Might I ask you to kindly refrain from bleeding on my floor. This marble was terribly expensive." And without another word, hands tucked in his pockets, the Prince walked away, leaving a very speechless Hermione left holding her wounded finger.
She glanced around, still unsure of where her room was. Perhaps she'd leave a trail of blood along the path so she could find her own way next time.
