A/N: Hello everyone! Welcome back to another fic :) To be honest, I had something written for this prompt and hit a wall 750 words in. Then I went prompt hunting, and suddenly got this idea that I wrote up very easily. Who knew all I needed was a fairytaleAU prompt lol!

This one is for Round 4 of The Houses Competition, where I'm in Ravenclaw House and writing for Potions. This competition, we have to write a drabble (500-1000 words) as well as a standard (1000-3000 words). This fic is the Standard of the two. Prompts are listed below.

Thank you kindly to BeaWrites and VanillaAshes for the beta!

Word Count: 1544

Disclaimers/Warnings: Mild Abuse

Summary: Hermione's Princess Charming shows up when she least expects it. Muggle!AU / Fairytale!AU; Cinderella inspired

Prompts:

The Houses Competition Y10 R4

[Restriction] No male characters to be mentioned.

[Action] Washing the dishes

Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Assignment 1

Celtic Studies With Professor Sophie: The Great Torc from Snettisham: Write about royalty.

"The Stroke of Midnight"

Hermione winced as her stepmother, Lady Carrow, slammed her against the sink full of dirty dishes. A heavy alcoholic scent wafted from her breath, and Hermione fought not to wrinkle her nose.

"How sloppy of you not to finish all your chores before going to bed! As punishment, you're going to do them all, right now, and then stay up the whole night." Her two stepsisters tittered by the door to the kitchen before flouncing out. The clock struck the half-hour past midnight; Hermione inwardly thanked her lucky stars at the timing.

Her stepfamily didn't know her secret.

Warily eyeing her stepmother as the taller woman stepped away, Hermione reached behind her to turn the water on in the sink while never turning her back to the woman, waiting for her stepmother to leave the room before facing the sink.

Her hand reached up to rub at the phantom bruise of the last time she had turned her back on her stepmother years before, and the older woman had grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed her head against the stovetop. It was a miracle she hadn't been burned.

Adding soap to the sink and snagging a clean rag, Hermione shoved her hands into the water and pulled out a glass to start the process of cleaning it. Her stepfamily had been away at the ball hosted by the royal family to find Princess Pansy's suitor–more like a female suitor, since through conversations with the princess, Hermione had learned that the royal only liked girls–and Hermione had snuck away to join them.

Hermione's mother had been a noble, but she had passed away when Hermione was young, and this eventually meant that she was left in the custody of her stepmother, Lady Carrow, who brought her two daughters, Flora and Hestia, with her. Shortly after, the twelve-year-old Hermione had been left alone with a cruel woman and her insipid daughters.

Hermione had immediately been stripped of her room and place as a family member, and sent to live with the servants.

Newly turned twenty in the fall of last year, Hermione had been gifted a chest of her mother's old things from her fellow servants, one of the few chests that were saved after her stepmother went on a rampage to remove anything that wasn't hers. Inside that chest had been the shimmering periwinkle dress and mask that she had worn to the ball the past three nights.

When her stepfamily had left for the ball, Hermione had sighed and relegated herself to merely finishing up her chores and perhaps going to bed early to catch up on much-needed sleep. Her fellow servants had other plans. She had expressed interest in going to the ball, not to gain anyone as a suitor, but to just have fun and say she had gone to a ball. And so her friends had made that happen. With her mother's dress and mask and a pair of shoes borrowed from the back of her stepmother's closet, Hermione had been shipped off in a carriage to the palace.

Hermione scrubbed a handful of silver cutlery harder than necessary, annoyed that her stepfamily had to tarnish the memory of a wonderful three nights for her.

And what a wonderful three nights it was! The passed finger foods were delectable, the dresses floating around on the dance floor were divine, and dancing for several hours in the arms of Princess Pansy had been like a dream. The princess had seen her, actually talked to her as they danced, and Hermione had felt something unlock inside of her when the Princess had kissed her cheek halfway through a dance on the second night.

But Hermione had left dutifully at midnight the first two nights with nary a goodbye, and by the third night–due to her stepfamily planning on leaving early–Hermione dashed away at the stroke of eleven, Princess Pansy calling after her.

The carriage awaited her at the bottom of the palace, and Hermione stumbled halfway down in her stepmother's slightly too-large shoes. She caught herself, however, and continued on, but in her haste, her mask loosened, fell, and cracked against the stone.

Hermione paused several steps down, torn between dashing back up to grab the mask–one of the last few things of her mother's that she had–and making it to the carriage in time for no one to see her face. Her decision was made for her as footsteps slammed against the flagstones at the top of the steps. Hermione whirled around and practically dove into the waiting carriage. They were off before the carriage door was even shut fully, and Hermione got a glimpse of Princess Pansy pausing on the stairs to pick up the fallen mask. She looked up, and they locked eyes for a brief moment before the carriage whipped around a corner and then were out of sight.

Hermione had rushed home, stripped off the dress, returned the shoes, and finished the last few chores she had left on her list before forcing herself to bed. She had been feigning sleep when her stepfamily had come home an hour later, and there was only noise as they puttered around in the kitchen, fixing themselves up a midnight snack.

And then her stepmother had 'woken her up' in order to do the dishes they had just drunkenly created.

Hermione scowled further, brushing tears from her eyes, leaning her arms against the sink and pressing the back of her wrist to her nose to stop more from falling, her hands covered in soap. Tonight had been the most magical, and her stepfamily had ruined it! It was so unfair!

Taking a giant shuddering breath, Hermione steeled herself to finish these dishes quickly so she could cry in the safety of her bedroom. How three people could create enough dishes for six, she wasn't sure, but everything had to be scrubbed and soaked. It wouldn't have been the first time for them to create a mess just so Hermione had to clean it up.

The plate in her grasp suddenly clattered back into the sink, thankfully not breaking, but making enough noise to draw the attention of her stepmother.

"It isn't enough to spurn our hospitality, but you have to go around and throw our plateware, don't you?!" her stepmother screeched. Hermione's denial earned her an unsympathetic smile and a backhand that made her spin and smack her head against the sink. Dazed, Hermione braced herself for the second blow, but a commotion at the front door caught her stepmother's attention. "I'll deal with you later," she hissed before whirling out of the room in a swirl of skirts.

Loud voices drifted from the entryway as the kitchen door slammed shut. A shrill voice sounded concerned, one that Hermione recognized as her stepmother's, and Hermione grasped the edge of the sink to finish up the last of the dishes.

She plunged her hands back into the scorching, soapy water, searching around for the last few bits of cutlery that needed cleaning. It wasn't her problem, whatever it was at the front door. Servants never went to the front door, always to the kitchen side door. Had to stay out of sight, after all, and with her stepmother's ire right now, Hermione wanted to stay out of view as much as possible.

The kitchen door to the house suddenly slammed open, and Hermione whirled around, clutching the sink behind her like a lifeline, her eyes wide.

A panting Princess Pansy stood in the doorway as if she had run here from the palace, an intense expression on her face. After a quick curtsy, Hermione searched her face and couldn't read her. For a moment, a lick of fear grew in her belly at the thought of the princess here to punish her for acting above her station. But then the expression on the princess' face smoothed out into something fond as she gazed at Hermione, and a different fear filled her gut, freezing her in place.

Did she know it was her? Was this too good to be true?

Without a word, Princess Pansy strode towards her, lifting a very familiar cracked masquerade mask up, and pressed it against Hermione's face.

"Mia," Princess Pansy whispered reverently, using the fake name Hermione had used at the ball, the hand holding the mask up now cupping her face. Hermione leaned into the touch as she closed her eyes, soaking in the moment.

"My lady," Hermione replied respectfully, and the next moment saw Pansy's lips on Hermione's, the two women lost in the embrace.

The hallway clock struck one in the morning, and Pansy pulled away to start barking orders at her retinue. With her throbbing head, Hermione wondered if this was all a dream and if her stepmother had actually knocked her out against the sink. But suddenly, the cold night air from outside hit her, and she stood by a liveried up mare, her hand in Pansy's. A slight tug, and then she was on the horse, and alarm filled Hermione at the thought of a concussion ruining what would be her favorite memory: the princess rescuing her from her family. She slumped in Pansy's arm before her next thought could form.