Happy holidays! Let's hope this year's winter isn't too brutal, ey? Art of Queen Ambi has been posted on the garden-eel-draws tumblr under the "characters" tag, as well as displayed in the Ao3 version of this chapter. Artwork for Zelda is pending her future meet n' greet with the Heroes running around her kingdom.
Ron's stomach flipped as they walked back to Gryffindor Tower. He was right. He had to be right. The implications of being wrong were just too horrible.
It couldn't be that his family had been harboring a criminal for almost as long as Ron had been alive. He simply couldn't have been feeding and cleaning up after a Death Eater in disguise. There couldn't have been a murderer in his house and his dorm room for all this time, putting everyone he cared about at risk. Sirius Black couldn't be an innocent man who'd been kept in Azkaban for twelve years because no one had let him give a Veritaserum testimony.
Even though he absolutely couldn't be wrong, Ron felt like he was walking to his grave.
The Fat Lady greeted them at the door and let them in without a password. House cooperation was more important than ever now, and the enchantments protecting the Hufflepuff, flooded Slytherin, and half-missing Ravenclaw dorms weren't working anyway. The other Houses just posted Prefects at the door who asked anyone out-of-house to state their business before walking in. It was another one of those odd changes that had happened after they'd arrived in Hyrule, like leaning out the windows in the morning to fire spells at the monsters outside, or seeing giant shark-people in the halls.
Ron looked at everything but the staircase to the boys' dorms as they made their death march through the common room. There was a Zora teenager sitting by the fireplace with a gaggle of students from across all years sat around him on various pieces of furniture and floor pillows. It was probably meant to be a Hylian/English study session, judging by all the notebooks and quills, but a fair number of kids were just watching the oblivious Zora pretty-boy speak with glazed eyes and dreamy looks on their faces. On the other side of the room, people were milling around the dining area that had gone from a temporary measure to a semi-permanent feature of the tower. It would be breakfast soon. Ron only felt nauseous at the thought of eating. Had he been feeding a murderer? Was Scabbers fond of nibbling on Ron's snacks because rats just liked such things, or was it because he was a human man who wanted human food?
They came up to the boys' staircase. Ron's feet plodded up the steps without his input. Did he have to be here for this? He knew he had to be right, because Black's story was so ridiculous that even Dumbledore hadn't felt the need to test it, but did he need to watch?
In a blur of time, he found himself appearing by his bed. Scabbers lay asleep on his pillow, the nest of rags that Ron had laid out rejected. Hearing their footsteps, the rat's ears twitched in their direction and he woke up with a little yawn. Lupin leveled his wand as Scabbers opened his eyes.
There was a frozen second in which Lupin was partway through saying the revealing spell and Scabbers stared up at the teacher with stark terror. In that moment, Ron's stomach plummeted. He'd been wrong.
A jet of blue light—weakened and flickering, like most wand-magic in Hyrule—hit Scabbers. It wasn't fully-powered, but it was strong enough. The rat's body suddenly jumped up in size, like a pumpkin growing at hundredfold speed. Clothes formed from fur and a grotesque human face with a rat snout and bulging dark eyes swelled at the end of the rat's neck. For a brief second, the form of a short man just as plump as Scabbers had almost been visible. Then he was back in animal form and shooting under Ron's bed. With his mind reeling, Ron acted with the trained instinct of a pet-owner. He pitched himself over the side of the bed and thrust his hand under it. He managed to get a handful of violently twisting rat before a sharp pain between his thumb and forefinger made him reflexively release it. Ron cursed, crawling under the bed to grab Scab—Pettig—the rat again.
There was a hole in the wall under the bed. He stared at it with numb, dumbfounded surprise. The rat had prepared an escape route. Scorches marked the brick where it had been blasted until loosening. Ron's wand had probably gone missing a time or two while he'd been getting the hang of the Hylian staff Hermione had made him. It had just been in his trunk, because who among his roommates would steal someone else's wand in a place where wands were already somewhat useless?
His sodding rat, apparently.
Ron rolled out from under the bed. "He's gone," he said. "He's gone!" He pulled at his hair. He'd been taking care of a murderer for years! Because of him and his family, an innocent man had rotted in Azkaban for over a decade! He'd cared about the wellbeing of a Death Eater!
He suddenly found himself sitting on his bed, Hermione next to him with her arm over his shoulders. Lupin had gone somewhere. Ron's mind was too loud and too quiet. It felt both full of cotton and buzzing bees. How had he been so stupid? How had he been so terribly wrong? Hermione's bloody cat was smarter than him.
"I'm sorry you were wrong," Hermione said simply. She cast a few healing spells with her wand to ease his hand's bleeding. "What happened…none of it was right. We'll find him, Ron."
Ron didn't have any words. There was nothing that would express what he was feeling other than a sustained scream accompanied by smashing furniture. He just sat there, silently stewing in his failure, while Hermione talked around him.
His mind churned backward through time against his will. Ron had never considered himself the most responsible or capable pet owner, but he had indeed been a pet owner. He had done a lot for that rat, now that he thought about it. He'd just never thought about it because, well…feeding and cleaning up after a familiar was just a matter of course for any mage. Hermione didn't keep track of how many times she'd fed her cat, after all, just whether her cat needed food.
But now he was imagining every single instance of pet care through the lens of doing those things for an adult man. Malfoy, at least, had been caring for a dog Animagus who might have actually been mentally trapped in that form. A dog was mostly self-sufficient, if let outside a couple of times a day. The most embarrassing part of that situation would have been baths. A rat, though, was more…involved.
'Scabbers has peed on me before,' he thought with a surge of nausea. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Pettigrew had done things like that in the pursuit of being a convincing rodent. That was all. It was only a part of the act. Pettigrew was an actor, and Ron had fallen for it. Percy had had the rat before him and he'd never noticed anything suspicious. In fact, even this year, Ron's older brother had never picked up on anything odd about Scabbers, and Percy was practically an adult! If Gryffindor's Head Boy could be tricked, so could a normal third-year. Right?
Was he just stupid? Was he just that easy to fool? Ron had to wonder. He knew most people considered him a dullard. What if they were right?
Suddenly he wanted to talk to Malfoy. Yes, Malfoy. The Snake was still on thin ice with Ron after his antics since first year, but he'd know what this felt like. He was off with the Harrys on an adventure, though, and Ron didn't want to speak with him through a Gossip Stone. Malfoy was one of those kinds of people who was only semi-bearable face-to-face; if Ron only had the words without the facial expressions that went with them, Malfoy would just sound like a miniature version of the Death Eater he'd been raised by.
He rubbed his hands over his face. Hopefully the urge to have a discussion would fade by the time Malfoy got back to the castle. In the meantime, there were more pressing things to worry about. Like the Death Eater scurrying through the walls, for example. Ron had grown up as the son of fervent supporters of Dumbledore. He'd been taught how dangerous the followers of You-Know-Who were, and he knew from his father's and Bill's lectures on leaving cursed objects to the experts that there were some truly horrific spells out there that people were willing to stoop to. If anyone was willing to use that strain of magic, it would be a Death Eater. They had to catch Pettigrew right away, before he managed to crawl back to his master. He'd proven himself enough of a cockroach that Ron didn't doubt he'd find some way to do it.
"Let's go," he said shortly to Hermione. "Dumbledore's going to call a meeting about this as soon as Lupin gets the news out. Hell, Lupin might have already used some kind of memo charm! Come on!" He hopped up from his bed and ran out the door.
Albus, Severus, and Minerva swept toward the meeting room they'd spent the bulk of the last month in. The rest of the castle staff was either already assembled or soon to arrive. A few minutes ago, they'd received a message from Remus passed along by a fleet-footed Oliver Wood. Once again, a new problem had cropped up. Last week it had been the freezing enchantments on the castle's stores starting to fail for a few hours at a time (they were still working, but weakened and untrustworthy even after repairs), and now it was…this.
Albus was trying very hard not to go into a mental freefall. Harry Potter, the boy prophesied to bring Voldemort down for good, was currently roaming loose in a monster-infested country with an incredibly powerful (and possibly Four-Sword-boosted) desire to throw himself into danger for the betterment of others. To make things worse, the boy wasn't answering his Hylian telephone and not even his friends knew where he might have gone after his trip to Death Mountain. Draco Malfoy was also missing, which had sent Severus into a tailspin. The man's worry over his godson had been building for weeks; this was the culmination of his greatest fears.
And, not to forget, the school was still in slow peril. A sufficient number of teachers had learned enough Hylian basics to communicate to a limited degree and he'd started writing up expedition plans, but those plans hadn't been set in motion yet. They were still the unknown castle sitting in the lake, with no connections to the community around it beyond the local Zoras, who were similarly locked in place by Lake Hylia's current situation. The children and staff had been steadily banishing the Skullfish teeming by the shores of their little island, but the monsters kept reappearing just as quickly. Albus had to wonder whether the creatures were only symptoms of an evil rooted deeper into the body of water.
Now, though, the new and terrible problem that had landed in his lap was that he had two murder suspects in dangerous proximity to his students. Sirius Black had been on his best behavior, according to Zelda's reports, but he had yet to properly testify his innocence. Albus had had no choice but to accept the fact that the man had appointed himself as caretaker for his lost students, because honestly, what could he do? Sacrifice his staff to the same forest that had nearly consumed eight of the children under Albus's care? As a result, he'd resigned himself to tentatively accepting that the man was either being honest or committing himself to a façade that involved him helping the children.
As for the other suspect Albus now had to deal with…Peter Pettigrew had started out as the victim, but his revealed ruse combined with Sirius Black's consistent story had Albus closer to being convinced that Black was in the right. So far, Black had done nothing but manage the displaced Ravenclaws to the best of his ability. Through Miss Granger, Zelda had reported him giving the children potions classes, helping them fashion masks to deal with the volcanic ash, and accommodating the children mentally affected by the forest spirits with kind understanding. Peter Pettigrew, on the other hand, had apparently been using Ronald Weasley as his cover for the last twelve years. Upon being found out, he'd immediately fled and was now off somewhere in the castle. That didn't necessarily confirm him as a betrayer, murderer, and Death Eater, but it certainly didn't support his supposed innocence. Just the fact that he was alive, which meant he must have faked his death and used the Weasleys as accomplices in his deception, was a mark against his moral fiber.
Albus hadn't thought to pursue Black's story because keeping the castle's food stores from rotting and/or running out, buzzing around to do what repairs he could on the less stable portions of the building, organizing outreach initiatives, and keeping an eye on the Zoras staying under his roof had completely consumed his mind. It had just…slipped by the wayside, like things often did when he didn't use his Pensieve to stay organized. The vessel wasn't broken from its trip across worlds, but he hadn't been using it lately; he had too many worries he needed to keep track of all at once for the sake of his students and staff, all of them so important to keep at the forefront of his thoughts.
Now he regretted not doing his due diligence. Because others had been driven to do what he should have, there was a fugitive Animagus loose in Hogwarts, armed with a wand that could still do significant damage despite its lessened efficacy in Hyrule's strange atmosphere. If Pettigrew did turn out to be a Death Eater, it meant he'd have no compunction against using the kinds of curses that could maim and kill even when weakened.
Albus clenched and unclenched his jaw to keep his expression neutral as he swept down the hall to the meeting room. The only saving grace in this situation was that it was Vaati running loose and not Voldemort. If Black or Pettigrew attempted to pledge themselves to that ancient entity of chaos, he imagined they'd either be rebuffed, killed, or turned into a creature that would ultimately be much easier to handle than a dark wizard seeking to return his vile master to human form. Vaati was pure impulse without proper ambition; he had power and a will to use it, but a lack of ideas beyond what might occur to a child. His was a simple, straightforward, guileless sort of evil. Troublesome, yes, but less so than restarting the nigh-genocidal civil war that had nearly resulted in the destruction of British magical society.
Yes, Albus could manage this situation on top of everything else. Somehow. He just had to…Had to—
Running steps pounded down the hall. "I have a map!" a voice howled. "We can find him!"
Albus and his entourage turned around. Remus, recognizable only by his brown suit, was bounding toward them with a rolled piece of parchment held up triumphantly. He wore gloves, dark sunglasses, a bandanna mask, and a hat that he held down with one hand. Sprinting up behind him were Hermione Granger and Ronald, Fred, and George Weasley.
Remus slowed down to weave through any teachers not quick enough to get out of his way. "This map tracks everyone in the castle," Remus panted, unrolling it. "Friends and I made it back in school—Weasley twins got it somehow."
"We thought 'Peter Pettigrew' was a misprint," Fred admitted sheepishly.
"The name never moved around, so it looked like it was frozen into the parchment or something," said George.
Severus sucked in a breath, his nostrils flaring. "You've known that a victim of Black's rampage has been alive this entire time and you never thought to say anything?" he demanded furiously, stalking toward the twins. "We've had a witness to his crimes sitting right under our noses this entire time, and now he's off in the wind! He could have filled in the details of the entire case—proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that Black is guilty!"
"Severus, I believe you've forgotten the fact that Peter Pettigrew has been taking advantage of the Weasley family to conceal himself for the last twelve years," Minerva said with a frown. "Regardless of the other details of his case, that in itself is suspicious."
"Black is a killer, Minerva. Has been since before the Potters. I've learned that firsthand," Severus hissed. "Why wouldn't Pettigrew want to hide? I'm sure Black is on his way to finish the job as we speak!"
"He's innocent until proven guilty," Remus snapped. "He's given his testimony, and now that we have confirmation that the rat was indeed the man he said it was, I'm inclined to believe the rest of the details hold similar weight." He pointed to a name on the map. "Pettigrew is smart. He's changing floors, staying in the walls. Even if we can locate him, we may not be able to reach him due to all the stone he's hiding inside. We'll have to be clever about capturing him; the castle can't handle much more damage, so we can't go in blasting."
"Negotiation is the obvious solution," Severus said. "Pettigrew is a victim. He'll take any chance to cooperate without question."
"Except he's a bloody Death Eater who was sharing my pillow with me this whole time!" young Ronald nearly screamed. The boy looked in dire need of a Calming Draught. His eyes showed the whites all around and his ears and cheeks were a furious pink.
"Don't pretend you know anything about this, Weasley—"
"I know more about it than you do! He's my sodding rat!"
"And Fred and I have been seeing that rat around the house since before Ron could remember!" George added.
"I believe this is a discussion meant for the meeting room," Albus cut in. "Miss Granger, Misters Weasley, I apologize, but the details of this meeting will be rather sensitive." He imagined that once Harry's close friends learned about the betrayal of the Potters' Secret-Keeper, they would waste no time in passing that information along through whatever means they had at their disposal. Harry deserved to know, but not like that. Such information had to be delivered tactfully. Harry was sensitive about his parents, and learning that their deaths had been caused by a trusted family friend would cause him a terrific amount of stress. Merlin knew the boy had decided to create enough stress for himself as it was!
"But Professor!" Ron protested. "We know more about this than most of the teachers! He's my rat!"
"You're children, willing to foolishly swallow any sad story Black feeds you," Severus sneered. "Your misguided input is hardly useful here. You have no concept of how dangerous he is. He's only putting on an act for the Ravenclaws; as soon as he no longer has any reason to pretend, he'll turn on them. They're only useful to him as pawns."
"The well-being of our students is nothing to speak so flippantly about, Severus," Minerva said crossly.
"Please, if we could begin the meeting," Albus said, his patience beginning to run out. They already had more meetings that they had to get to in order to arrange the crop logistics of terraforming some of the castle's rooms and halls into gardens, so this wasn't even the only problem of the day. Nor was it the first; Albus had spent that morning in an intense Arithmancy session, attempting to reverse-engineer the enchantments on the castle's storerooms in a way that Magic Rods—terribly imprecise instruments—could manage to recreate.
"Yes, right away," Remus said, handing Albus the enchanted map and hustling toward the room.
"Professor Dumbledore, please, we could help," Hermione said. "I'm in direct contact with Zelda. I know best what's been happening with the Ravenclaws."
"And I trust you to keep me apprised of the situation, Miss Granger," Albus said patiently, "After the meeting, the student body will be informed of our decisions."
He and Minerva swept past the angry and disappointed looks of the children and through the door at the end of the hall. As soon as they entered the room, the occupants erupted with exclamations.
"Has there been any word on my students? When will they evacuate Kokiri Isle?" Filius squeaked.
"We need to arrange a party to retrieve them right away!" Pomona urged. "There's no telling what danger they're in!"
"Have we confirmed which one is the criminal at large? Or how we intend to detain them, for that matter?" Aurora asked.
"I know where Pettigrew is! I've Seen it!" Sybill proclaimed.
Albus raised his voice over the commotion. "Please, let us speak one by one and entertain all ideas in an orderly manner," Albus said as he walked to the head of the table. "We have much to discuss and time is of the essence, so allow me to lay out the details of the case." He sat down and puzzled his hands in front of him. "We have two murder suspects and possible Death Eaters on the loose and in close proximity to the students. One of them is the former Secret-Keeper for the Potter family, and the reason Voldemort—" he ignored the collective flinch that followed, "—was able to locate them on the night of their deaths. It is known that Sirius Black pursued Peter Pettigrew for reasons that are currently unconfirmed, and Pettigrew was led to fake his death. Pettigrew has demonstrated himself to be particularly clever and an able escape artist, as demonstrated less than an hour ago when he fled into a pre-arranged escape route leading to the castle's plumbing."
Minerva grimaced. "From there, he can go anywhere. The castle's pipework is extensive, reaching to every floor and wing."
"Worse, Pettigrew is armed," Albus said gravely. "Black, at least, is without a wand. Given the possibility of Pettigrew being a Death Eater, he may be willing to use spells that can cause great harm even when weakened—up to and including the Unforgivables."
The outcry at that was equal parts outraged at the potentiality of such heinous actions and horrified for their students.
"Now, here are my plans to handle both of these situations, now that Black will soon leave the Lost Woods and Pettigrew has given up his ruse. For Black, I would suggest a four-member party of combat-ready staff on broomsticks to detain the suspect and escort the students back to the castle. Ferrying all thirty-two children by broom would be implausible, especially since some have been left with a tendency to wander due to their experiences in the Lost Woods—"
"What, exactly, were those experiences?" Filius asked. "Oughtn't Poppy be here so we may discuss treatment options?"
"Poppy is needed in the Hospital Wing and we have more pressing dangers to worry about in this meeting," Septima said in businesslike tones that made the Head of Ravenclaw House puff up indignantly.
"Eight of the children under our care have been traumatized and suffered some form of unknown spell damage!" Filius cried. "It might even be permanent! This is more than a reversible case of Petrification!"
"Poppy has been making extensive preparations to receive your students and provide them with whatever care they may require," Albus soothed. "I encourage you to see her out at the conclusion of this meeting. You as well, Pomona. She and Queen Zelda have been discussing the efficacy of Hyrule's native herbology for magical treatments."
"Please continue, Headmaster," Severus said. "Tell us, what will happen with Black? Some of the cells in the dungeons are still functional—"
"This is a man who may be innocent and has spent the last twelve years in a cell!" came an angry outburst from Remus. "Clapping him right back in chains would make us no better than his previous captors!"
"Black will be humanely detained to the best of our current capabilities," Minerva said more levelly. "Both him and Pettigrew, until we can extract a truthful confession."
"Black has been a skilled liar practically from birth. How are we to believe anything he says?" Severus countered. "Even assuming this world's magical ingredients are capable of mimicking something like Veritaserum, it could take months to chart out enough reactions to achieve that result. In the meantime, we'd have to find some way to keep Black from getting rid of the only witness to his crimes."
"I was intending to have them both submit memory testimony using my Pensieve," Albus said, glad to have found a place to wedge his foot back into the discussion. "But returning to the topic at hand, I would like to send Minerva, Remus, Pomona, and Filius out to escort the Ravenclaws. The rest of the staff will remain here to watch the students and hunt for Pettigrew."
"I should be the one leading the party to retrieve Black!" Severus protested. "I've certainly faced more duels than Pomona. She would be more valuable assisting Poppy. And as for Lupin—"
"I am aware of your objections, Severus," Albus acknowledged gently. The Potions professor had made it only too clear that he distrusted Lupin and thought hiring a werewolf was too dangerous a risk. Albus found it unfortunate that the man's trauma during his teenage years continued to plague him so. It had been cruel of Sirius to trick him in such a way, but it had also been unkind of young Severus to so eagerly delve into Remus's private medical troubles in an attempt to get him expelled. He'd hoped that Remus and Severus might be able to, if not bond as former classmates, then at least learn to reconcile their differences. However, it had become apparent that not enough time had passed for Severus to accept or forgive.
"How have you been managing, Lupin?" Severus asked, turning a suspicious glare on the Defense teacher. "Without the ingredients for Wolfsbane at hand, you've gone one full moon without medication and the second is now coming up."
"I'm curious as well," Aurora said, leaning forward and propping her hands under her chin. "Even assuming you and Poppy worked something out, it was oddly…quiet, the last full moon."
One of Remus's hands went self-consciously to his hat. "My state is controlled and I'm only too willing to explain how that came to be, but perhaps in a meeting less pressing than this one," he said. "If I were to tell you the story now, it would thoroughly derail this discussion."
"Out with it, Lupin!" Severus pounded a fist on the table. "The students' safety is at risk!"
Lupin growled low in his throat. "I've told you, it's handled!" he snarled. "We have more important things to worry about!"
Albus wanted to bury his head in his hands, but refrained. Much like any problem, the current conflict could be solved. "Gentlemen, there is an armed fugitive loose in our school who may be willing to harm the students," he said in a tone of didactic reprimand. Both younger men ducked their heads slightly. "Now, if I may move on to how we may apprehend Peter Pettigrew, it's highly likely that he will want to seek our aid, so it's vital that we approach him as non-threateningly as possible. He may be innocent and scared, and so a softer manner of communication will be necessary."
Taking his Magic Rod from a spatially-expanded pocket of his robe, he used a few basic Gemini Charms to duplicate the map on the table several times over. He knew from experimentation that his conjurations wouldn't last more than a few hours at most; Hyrule's anti-magic allowed for conjured water and multiplied food, but had a low tolerance for duplicated magical objects. "We will search the school from top to bottom, evacuating any students in the halls to their dorms, and detain Peter Pettigrew with minimal violence—hopefully none. Remember that any reckless spellcasting may damage the castle in ways we are currently unable to repair," Albus said sternly. "Now, on to our search teams…"
Zelda peered out through the bars of her room's largest window at the storm. It had blown in with great speed and no warning, causing a great number of that day's planned events to be hurriedly called off and rescheduled. The outdoor training areas had been shut down, which cancelled both knight and Royal Guard training, the Castle Town Bazaar had had to be hastily packed in, and there were a great many more people in the castle than usual due to most outdoor staff waiting out the storm inside. Hylians and Sheikah knew how to weather a bad rainstorm, but this was downright historic.
The dark, purplish clouds above, barely visible through their prodigious output of water, sent a warning tingle down Zelda's spine. She had a strong feeling they were connected to the sudden appearance of a foreign village in the middle of town and the odd reports that had come in from Outset Isle regarding earthquakes and cyclones. Her power was a pitiful spark compared to her ancestors', but she had enough to sense ill-intentioned magic afoot. She'd told Impa her suspicions, to which the commander of the Central Kingdom division of the Royal Guard had only been able to shrug and confirm that she thought the same. Without any of the foreign mages fluent enough in Hylian to explain their circumstances, the kingdom's knights and Sheikah warriors could only run around doing their best to address the building symptoms of what was clearly going to become country-wide siege.
She looked over to the window behind her, through which Death Mountain had been distantly visible until about two hours ago. Strange, that. Her father had sent a contingent of soldiers to investigate after the eruptions had begun, but three of them had been lost in a sudden landslide and two had been swept away in the lava flood that had caused it. After that, the Gorons had hurriedly rushed the survivors back to the castle and the problem of Death Mountain had been left to fester for as long as the path to the summit remained blocked. As far as Zelda knew, the Field Operations division of the Royal Guard hadn't been deployed to resolve the issue in the knights' place. And yet, the mountain had briefly been clear as day. The ash-filled clouds had disappeared from the sky, the bloody hue of the sun had returned to normal yellow-white, and the air had suddenly been much easier to breathe. It had been the work of a spirit, surely, but that just didn't make sense. The Mad Dragon was the only one who could undo Death Mountain's rage with such speed, wasn't she? Had someone managed to talk sense into her?
There was a knock at the door. "Zelda, I have some new clothes for you! With the cancellation of your classes, I'm certain you have space in your schedule to try them on sometime today."
Zelda groaned into her sleeve. Her non-poufy, non-lacy sleeve. If her mother had her way, she'd wind up with no such thing in her ever-filling closet.
"Please, Mother, no," she whined.
The queen opened the door and breezed in. "Oh, Mother yes!" she sang with a brilliant, ruby-lined smile. Her arms were wrapped around a bundle of dresses with the crumpled, deflated look of garments meant to be held up with underskirts and scaffolding. Joy. "Don't worry, my dear, I'm not going through your closet just yet—only adding to it. Remember, you have until Monday to wow with me that embroidery assignment of yours. I hope you've chosen an appropriate subject for your craft this time."
Queen Ambi was formerly foreign royalty from the Labrynna Isles, betrothed to Zelda's father when she was ten and married to him over ten years later. Both had agreed to follow through with the deal even after Zelda's potentially scandalous birth. As mothers went, Ambi was better than anyone of Zelda's circumstances could hope for, just…grating. She was a hard traditionalist with a very Labryn sense of style and feminine propriety. Her scarlet hair was almost always hidden within the confines of a twin-horned hennin hat and she never went out in anything that showed her wrists or ankles. Her sleeves were always grand, her bell-shaped skirts were habitually propped up by petticoats or a crinoline, and she insisted on wearing steel-boned, laced-up Labryn bodices everywhere. Those things were way more restrictive and uncomfortable than Hylian corsets—difficult to take off and tight enough that the only way for a lady to take a deep breath was through her tastefully revealed bosom.
Ambi was a genuinely good person. She'd passed down the lessons her own mother had taught her with honest care to a child she had no obligation to love, which Zelda was thankful for. The queen's rigid ideas of what women were and weren't allowed to do, however, had driven a wedge between her and Zelda since before Zelda could even remember.
According to the Queen, a princess must be graceful, well-mannered, a skilled conversationalist, accomplished in painting and embroidery, able to sew, musically competent, knowledgeable in the social etiquettes, languages, and politics of all the kingdoms within and around Hyrule, able to appropriately dress and paint her face for any occasion, et cetera. On the other side of things, banned activities included wearing trousers, wearing footwear more rugged than royal mules or court shoes, wearing un-approved colors, running, playing with messy things, roughhousing, sitting improperly, speaking loudly, using crass language, making ugly faces, and basically everything else most children Zelda's age did. Zelda found it astounding her mother managed to live within her own set of rules. Ambi really did, though; she was painfully old-fashioned and pushy about it, but one thing the principled queen wasn't was a hypocrite.
"I'll leave these here for you to test the fit of, since I know you're particular about being seen changing," Ambi said, laying out the outfits on Zelda's bed and smoothing down the silk with one gloved hand. "Let me know if anything puckers or sags, if you please. It's either that, or me bringing you to Madam Couture's for your first proper fitting in years."
They exchanged challenging looks. Zelda despised being seen unclothed, which getting measured required to an extent. The last time she'd been forced to pay Ambi's favorite cat-obsessed designer a visit, Zelda had thrown a very deliberate fit to convince her mother to never drag her there again. She could take her own damn measurements and draw her own clothing ideas, thank you. Such things weren't among the Queen's many lessons, but Zelda had used books from the castle library to teach those commoner skills to herself. Madame Couture had proven herself perfectly capable of making Zelda's designs come to life, so the long-distance arrangement suited the princess just fine. She could have even done her own alterations, but that was where her mother put her foot down.
"I'll record variances to within a sixteenth of an inch, Mother," Zelda said obediently. "But why have you bought me new gowns? I already have five ball gowns and plenty of nice silk kimonos."
"Mm, yes. Kimonos," the queen mused with a delicate moue of distaste. After years of carefully calculated, heartstring-pulling arguments on Zelda's part, Ambi had come to tolerate (to an extent) her daughter's fondness for Sheikah-inspired fashions, but that didn't mean she approved. To her Labryn sensibilities, there was no Sheikah garment that wasn't either "mannish" peasant clothing or scandalously body-conforming.
"This will be more of a formal setting," Ambi said, folding her hands at her waist. "You have a scheduled familiarity meeting with your betrothed coming up in two months. I'm sure you understand why a traditional style may be preferred."
Zelda sent her an expression of silent suffering.
"Use your words, dear," the queen prompted. "If a lady must object, she does so with eloquence, not by making faces."
"Mother, I must once again declare that I do not wish to marry Prince Ralph," Zelda said. She forced the irritation out of her voice with some difficulty, because this was easily the fiftieth time she'd repeated herself. By now, she had learned that it was better to speak politely and be mostly ignored than speak with true feeling and have her words thrown out because of her tone. "My nature disagrees most thoroughly with his. Furthermore, he's my cousin on the official family tree and the general citizenry would only know of our public relation."
"He's the cousin of my cousin, dear. Hardly anything for the people to be dramatic about. A great many commoner marriages are closer than that," Ambi said dismissively. "Of course, you're within your rights to push for a different candidate, even one not listed in the catalogue, but your father and I believe this is a fortunate match."
Zelda quietly sighed through her nose and suppressed an eye-roll that would have made the queen tut at her for being childish. Well, of course her parents thought that. Ralph was a Labryn traditionalist, a dutiful young aristocrat, and in training to be a knight. He was the ideal of a young prince, all dashing and chivalrous and handsome. His family also had valuable overseas business connections to the Holodrum Kingdom and the exotic reaches of the Northern Isles, including Hytopia. What more could the king and queen ask for in a match for their darling princess?
Well, if you asked Zelda about her kind-of-cousin, Ralph was bossy, sexist, and aggravatingly thick-headed. Getting him to listen was like trying to persuade a stone wall to budge. He did what he wanted and the people around him either got dragged along or got out of the way. The boy wasn't mean or anything; like the rest of Ambi's family, he had a strong set of old-fashioned morals that he held himself and everyone else of his sex to. Compared to, say, the twin Gerudo princesses Koume and Kotake, who made a game of seeing whether they could get Zelda in trouble at any given royal get-together, Ralph was decent company. He was just annoying. Any time he opened his mouth, Zelda was tempted to stuff a sock in it before he went on blathering about nothing but his stupid opinions for the next hour.
Zelda couldn't imagine a world in which marriage to any other human being (or non-human being, for that matter) wouldn't be torturous for her, but when the time inevitably came to pick the least horrible option to continue her bloodline with, her choice certainly wouldn't be the boy she'd once disguised herself as a waiter to avoid at a party.
"My refusal to wed him is firm, Mother," Zelda declared, fully aware that her parents would continue pushing for the union nonetheless, "but I'll test the fit of these dresses. If I find any issues, I'll write them down and present them to you at dinner."
The queen flashed her perfect, dazzling smile again. "Thank you, my dear!" she chirped, turning toward the door. "Don't forget to work on your embroidery today!" She glided out of the room and silently shut the door behind her, as a proper lady should.
Zelda went over to the bed and looked over the garments laid across it with distaste. She'd been spared from having to wear stiff, heavy Labryn damask, but they were still pink because of course. Violet, Zelda's favorite color, was such a drastic change in tradition, after all. Heliotrope and mallow were the furthest that her mother was willing to stretch, and only for one dress out of five.
'So much lace,' she thought despairingly, picking at the froth spilling from one set of sleeves. Lace was a material that took considerable effort to make and looked quite nice on people like Queen Ambi. It was a decoration that Zelda could respect, much like she respected her often-exasperating parents. When she wore lace, however, it was an itchy nightmare that managed to snag on any sufficiently protruding object in the vicinity. Sometimes she even mistook it for a pale bug out of the corner of her eye and wound up slapping herself at random. Honestly, what was wrong with a clean, streamlined silhouette?
Ugh, and those skirts. All that ruffle-weighted silk brocade called for a crinoline, which meant she'd have to get used to being a meter in diameter for the duration of her stupid betrothal meeting. Her mother's love of structural undergarments was going to be the death of her one day, she was sure; Zelda would eventually catch her hoops or frothy underskirts in a fireplace and burn to death, and it would be the Oni's fashion tyranny to blame.
She sighed, suddenly very tired of dresses. The unconcealed swell of her chest and the sight of swishing pink silk were starting to press uncomfortably on the back of her mind.
Luckily for her, she didn't have any tutoring scheduled due to the panic caused by the unnatural rain. Impa would be easily convinced to give her leave for the rest of the day and her parents didn't know she had ways of escaping the castle, so Zelda figured she was well within her rights to make use of her other uniform.
A wave of rain smacked against her tower's windows. Thunder rumbled outside. She squinted into the furious monsoon. Hmm…
Yes, she was going out today. She could handle a bit of evil weather. If she caught a cold, she caught a cold. At least she'd get a pleasant afternoon out of it!
Notes: (Lots of details getting mentioned in this chapter! As well as some clues being dropped~)
-Scabbers/Pettigrew is plump upon being detransformed because he got complacent about Sirius's prison escape and recovered from the stress-induced sickness he suffered from in canon. Also, he didn't pee on Ron intentionally. Rat body just means rat problems.
-Because Harry didn't sneak out to Hogsmeade and overhear the conversation about what Sirius Black supposedly did to his parents, all he knows about Sirius is that the guy is an Animagus, was stuck as Dog for a while, and isn't out to kill him. He knows nothing about there being a betrayal whatsoever. Dumbledore wants to avoid the drama that Harry canonically went through upon learning about how Voldemort knew which house to target.
-The Field Operations Division of the Royal Guard is a collection of elite teams that each specialize in different functions (disaster rescue, emergency law enforcement, high-level monster-fighting, etc.) that launch from bases stationed around Hyrule. Unlike the Outreach Division, which is similarly scattered around Hyrule, they're strictly emergency personnel.
-Labrynna exists in this fic-verse as an archipelago to the southeast of mainland Hyrule. Compared to Hyrule, it's a rather conservative country with very strict gender roles that get more rigid the higher up one is in society. Women can own property, get a job in a decent handful of industries, and participate (somewhat) in politics, but are banned from doing quite a lot of things. Like wearing trousers or learning how to fight, for example.
-Madame Couture is a character from Tri Force Heroes. In this fic-verse, she's still Hytopian, but immigrated to Hyrule. Koume and Kotake are characters from Ocarina of Time and Ralph, like Ambi, is from Oracle of Ages. Humans from Holodrum, Hytopia, and Labrynna all have round ears in this fic-verse, by the by.
-Crinolines were a very real fire hazard back in the day! Those hoops were made from flammable materials, messed with your mental estimation of how big you were, and swung around if people moved too fast. According to Google, there were about 3,000 crinoline-fire deaths between 1850 and 1860!
-Just to fend off some potential misinterpretations: Zelda is asexual and aromantic. She wouldn't be any happier being forced to pick a girl to marry than she is being betrothed to a boy. For that matter, Link is also aroace. Not super important in this particular fic (I've got a queerplatonic love story in the works for a later one :D), but I wanted to make things clear for the shipping crowd.