Twenty Three
Pyxis
Hermione's first act as the voice of the crown is suspending Court for ten days.
Her second is gathering the memories of everyone who was in the graveyard.
Her third is ensuring their prisoners are treated well.
There will be no mass execution.
They will all stand trial.
The dead are put to rest at sunset.
The funerals are private.
Draco is pale and drawn, in obvious pain to those who know him best, but he remains on the cliffside until the final ember on the lady pyre is extinguished.
Hermione waits by his side after everyone leaves.
Kaida lumbers nearby.
Draco pulls out his wand.
The Elder Wand.
"You could keep it," Hermione suggests softly. "The war is not yet over."
"I cannot risk it falling under another's control." He glances at her. "I also cannot risk letting it corrupt me."
"What will you do?"
Draco does not answer, but she knows the moment his decision is made.
He throws it over the edge of the cliff.
Kaida breathes.
The Elder Wand is ashes when it meets the sea.
Draco sleeps more than he is awake.
He is healing.
Firenze replaces his bandages at night. Vasades guards him through Hermione's short absence during the days.
Six sunrises pass before Draco heals enough to stand on his own.
Seven pass before he can move without tearing the newly patched skin.
Eight days pass before Kaida takes her first flight on her healing wings around the castle.
It is not until the ninth day that Hermione leaves their side for more than a few hours.
This is the first day she spends entirely dedicated to gathering as much information as she can. She visits the wounded, the healed, and their guests, who are finally preparing to return home.
By now, Sirius has recovered enough to warm her spirit. Hermione tries to shoo him away, but he will not rest while their small council of close friends and her family discuss plans for Court.
On day ten, Hermione is prepared. It is time.
While Draco sleeps, she returns to her chambers to prepare to address the Court for the first time. Winky helps her dress in a gown befitting the occasion. Her Ladies, Cho, Alicia, Luna, and Daphne, oversee her before they dine with everyone on a private morning meal that is mostly quiet.
After, standing on the veranda, taking in the sunrise over the palace gardens, one by one, her friends leave to prepare for the day.
Mother kisses her hair. Father hugs her tight. Harry is better, ready to act if something should happen. Remus and Sirius are with him. Neville and Pansy promise they will not leave until after this address concludes. Theo, Astoria, Percy, and the knights assure her that only those they trust will be in the first row.
Alicia stands alone with her.
"How have you been?" Hermione breaks the silence. "I feel as though we have not had a spare moment since…"
"I still struggle, but I am well," Alicia replies with a heavy sigh. "I am navigating this darkness, but not alone."
"You know I am here for you."
"I do, but I have found comfort in the strangest of places. In making certain this never happens again. I want to teach the Ladies to fight, to be as intelligent with weapons as they are with courtly knowledge. Those who were in the graveyard have a burning desire to learn, as do the others."
"I will teach, and when I cannot, I will find someone," Hermione says. "I also believe it is our right as Ladies to be wanded and this is something I intend to make a reality in this life."
"Thank you." Alicia clasps her hands together. "I understand what Remus means when he speaks of you. You have changed our lives more than you understand."
"Remus is—" Hermione frowns. "I did not know you two were close."
Alicia pauses before speaking carefully, "He has been an intellectual comfort in these past few weeks. Keeping Sirius on this side of the living has been a welcome distraction from all the troubles that surround us. Do not worry about me."
"You know I always will. You are one of my closest, best friends."
Alicia smiles and takes her hand. "And I, you."
"Are you ready?" Daphne asks from the doorway.
They turn as Cho and Luna join Daphne.
"I am."
Alicia does not let go of her hand.
"We support you, as always." Luna smiles.
"You are Queen," Alicia says with quiet ferocity. "Do not let the judgement or opinions of others guide you while you rule in the King's stead. We all will be here with you every step of the way."
Hermione exhales.
She is ready.
As it turns out, Hermione is not as ready as she thinks.
Chaos and fear have risen in the wake of Voldemort's fall.
Rumours have spread of what occurred in the graveyard. The disbanded Royal Council have been tight-lipped with the Court about the King's status to the nobles, only confirming that the guests have returned to their kingdoms to give their accounts to the ruling parties. Hermione has been cautioned to follow the temperament of the Court, and wait until Draco fully recovers to tackle the extensive list of matters that await.
Trials of the Death Eaters and werewolves currently housed in the underground prison.
The giants who are bound in a forest they cannot escape.
Hunting down any who escaped.
Outside of the matters of the realm, there is a hole in the Court, in the Royal Council, in the kingdom—all of which needs mending.
Hermione enters the crowded Great Hall with her ladies in line behind her.
A hush befalls the court when she takes the King's seat.
"I call today's court into session." Hermione turns to a puzzled Lord Pucey, who is to be the first to present his issue. "You may begin."
Sirius nearly chokes as the man stumbles over his words, clearly unprepared. "Your Majesty, I thought the King—"
"He is not here. As his Queen, I am more than capable of handling matters in his absence." Hermione turns to Percy. "Will you act as my scribe for this court session?"
He does so without hesitation.
Hermione creates a fund for the widows and children of the soldiers who died in the graveyard.
She gives a date for the funerals of all the victims as well as the trials for their enemies. Both are in a fortnight.
Hermione rejects extravagant penance offerings from the Rosier, Mulciber, and Avery families who seek the crown's mercy and wish to keep their titles, land, and wealth despite the treasonous acts of their family members.
Hermione declines and strips them of everything.
The only mercy she provides is separating the werewolves from the men due to the approaching full moon.
"You are most gracious, Queen Hermione," Flint says when she finishes her orders. "And what of the palace disputes?"
"I will hear five today from those who have waited the longest," Hermione declares.
This takes hours.
It is exhilarating at first, but listening to stories and ruling on petty disputes is ultimately dull when there is far more happening that needs attention. But when a lower noble requests spare grain for the poor who cannot afford the higher cost, Hermione grants his request and does better by lowering the cost by three Sickles.
A move so astronomical, the reaction around the room is loud.
Remus suppresses his smile. Percy looks vastly amused but continues to write.
Emboldened, Hermione makes nominal changes that stack up.
Leanne brings her a goblet to quench her thirst that goes ignored because Hermione is on a mission.
She lowers the kingdom-wide tax by one Knut, provides funds to renovate the largest, least maintained public bathhouse in town, and announces her plans to build a school in all towns, free to all regardless of class. Her last edict grants permission to turn an unused orchard into a public garden, which will be manned by both elves and volunteers.
The session ends with the room stunned silent until multiple competing voices argue about her decisions.
"You are out of line," Pucey protests when she allows him to speak freely. "The King—"
"Is resting," she interjects calmly. "And these changes will not drain the treasury, which overflows with Galleons and riches won from war. There is a surplus, is there not, Lord Smith?"
Smith stands quickly. "There is, Your Majesty."
Then he sits.
"You make such drastic changes, but speak nothing of the halted war." Flint sits back and relaxes. "Shame, Pucey. It seems you will not get your war anytime soon."
Spoken like someone who does not know that the war's true purpose has been reduced to ash.
"Is that what you seek? War?" Hermione asks. "What do you stand to gain?"
"The rest of the land to the south under one banner."
This is a lie.
She already knows he seeks the MacMillian Kingdom for their resources and treasures.
"War has brought both riches and strife to this kingdom. I do not believe we should be in a rush to return to the battlefield so soon after what has transpired."
"Do you speak for the King when you say this?" Pucey asks.
"I do."
"Then we must move on to appointing replacements to the Royal Council." Flint folds his hands. "I have been approached many times over the past days and—"
"We will assess the council's needs before adding new people." There are too many empty seats to fill in the council and not enough trustworthy people to assume the positions.
When court is over, it takes several minutes for everyone else to file out.
Hermione is still seated, reaching for her forgotten goblet when Flint re-enters the hall. She tenses. "I thought I dismissed you along with the others."
"You did," he replies. "But now is not the time to relax. The King wishes to see you in your chambers."
As Hermione leaves, she looks back to see Flint pick up her discarded goblet and dump the contents into a nearby plant. The plant does not die, but the fruit decays in an instant.
"What have you done?" Hermione asks, shocked.
"Saved you, once more." He glances at the tree. "It will live, but it will bear no more fruit. Go. I will get to the bottom of this."
Confinement makes Draco restless.
Bored enough to listen to Hermione detail her day at Court while Kaida sleeps deeply under restorative enchantments, her improvement steady.
Draco is frowning when she finishes. "You are setting a dangerous precedent."
They are on the balcony outside of the King's tower. Hermione stands at the edge of the stone wall, overlooking the sea. The sun streaks the water with reds and purples. Familiar green dragons fly nearby but do not venture too close. They are the same group who once drew Kaida into the sky to fly with them.
Now they await her return.
Hermione cannot wait to see this happen.
Draco looks better each day than the one before. Seated in a chair, he is wearing a loose toga so as to not aggravate his healing scars. He is still so pale and moves gingerly, but his strength is returning.
"You are supposed to be resting."
"And you are not supposed to put yourself in danger," he argues.
Hermione turns to face him. "I am in danger regardless, but I could not sit by and do nothing. Besides, Vasades thought you would be fully recovered in days, which is why I set the trials and funerals for another fortnight. Also, I saw your plans for the grain price reduction. You intended to make those changes as winter comes."
"I did, but not as abruptly." Draco settles back in his chair. "Bending the Court and making rapid changes, even on a small scale, will invite trouble."
"Do you disagree with my actions?"
"I should, but no. I do not." He curls his finger in an invitation. Hermione accepts, drawing closer. The setting sun bathes them both in soft light. "I meant what I said before. My absence is the best time to test the loyalty of those around us."
"Do you still not trust all on your council?"
"I hardly trust anyone outside of those whose loyalty I have in blood, magic, or solid proof," Draco confesses. "Despite the need, I will not appoint anyone new to the council until I am ready."
"As you wish."
Draco parts his legs. Another look—like a man remade into liquid heat—makes Hermione step between them. Hands come to her hips as he looks up to her. "I will also not appoint anyone you do not approve of."
The gasp escapes before she can stifle it.
"Why are you surprised?" He tilts his head slightly, eyes dropping to the hand she brought to her chest in shock. "Are you not my ally?"
"I am."
His hands slide to her waist. Hers bury themselves in his hair. "My wife?"
"I am."
His voice lowers in possessive reverence. "My Queen?"
"I—" Hermione clears her throat, looks away. "You only say that to fluster me."
"You are easily riled, but tonight my words are merely a reminder." Draco turns her head back to him. "Answer me."
"I need not answer." Hermione dips her head. "My mind is open for you to see what you seek."
Draco's lips brush hers when he whispers, "I want you to answer me."
Her eyes flutter closed. "I am your Queen. Yours. And you are my King. Mine."
It is quick. He catches her lips in a heated kiss that makes her gasp. The taste sends her reeling before he pulls away, nipping her bottom lip. A moment passes as they stare at each other. Words build in her throat, but when she leans in for more, Draco shakes his head.
"Why do you doubt me?" he questions as he searches her face. "Have I not proven my trust in you? My love for you?"
"You have." Hermione runs a thumb over one of the many bits of reddened skin on his neck. One of his new scars. "You trust my decisions and me, but this ground we stand on is unprecedented."
"It is, but we will set our own course."
"Perhaps I also have quiet doubts in myself." She bites her lower lip, uncomfortable with her own honesty. "Unlike you, I am not as accustomed to having absolute authority."
"And like me, you do." Draco shifts with a stiff groan before exhaling. "I do not question your decisions as you make them on your altruistic high ground. I evaluate them from where I stand."
"Explain." Hermione steps back, allowing him to stand, but she does not go far.
"You lowered the cost of grain before winter, which is plentiful and takes up far too much space in the palace stores, even with magic." There is a smooth quality to his voice she cannot ignore. "Lowering the cost will incentivise people to purchase more, which will increase the revenue that will find its way back into the palace treasury."
At best, Draco's reasons are morally reprehensible.
At worst, selfish and motivated by economics.
More amused than annoyed, Hermione connects the dots of his logic with a better understanding of who he is as a man. It is not the why that matters when it comes to Draco's choices. Good or bad or somewhere in the shadows of both, as long as his actions benefit the people, it does not matter how he justifies them. It is a far cry from the person she was when she arrived in this city.
"And my decrease in taxes?"
Draco tilts her chin with a curled finger. "It will allow for more spending, which will not lessen the weight of the treasury."
"Flint—"
"I am already aware of the poison in your goblet that Leanne gave you. I am questioning your Ladies as we speak. My question is: how did you not notice?"
"I did not touch it, but Flint knew exactly what it was."
Draco frowns. "Does he—"
"Want my favour? Yes. There is something there I cannot name. He has done nothing overly treasonous, but I feel threatened by him. Do you?"
"Increasingly so for reasons I cannot explain. I have restricted all of his additional duties and yet he finds ways to be at your side."
"For now, I will keep my distance. Alicia will keep her eyes on him, as will Daphne. We will task the rest that we trust with watching him, as well." Draco agrees with a firm nod and Hermione notices how stiff he is. "It is time for your medicinal bath."
To reduce the swelling of his scars.
"So it is."
Returning inside, he passes Kaida with slow, ginger steps, pressing a hand to her back as if to ground himself with his sleeping familiar. After several moments, Hermione follows. She stands in the doorway of a bath that makes hers look small. With a snap of its fingers, an elf fills the tub with warm water. Oils and fresh herbs are added before he vanishes. She watches Draco wince while removing his toga.
New scars stand out from the old; raised, jagged skin.
"Do you agree with my decision to use the treasury's gold to remodel the public bathhouse?"
"Everyone needs a proper, functional bathhouse. Even you." Draco lowers himself into the steamy water, exhaling as he looks at the darkening sky above. Turning, his eyebrow rises, just like her interest. "The water is warm."
It is an invitation Hermione considers, as it has been days since they have properly touched. Draco is not yet well enough for what he looks to have in mind.
"You know we cannot—"
"Knowing this does not change my request." His eyes lower, drinking her in as he settles in the water, arms draped over the tub's sides. "Enough talk of Court. Join me. I will not ask again."
Hermione removes her crown, sheds her gown under his watchful eye, and does as her King wishes.
Trouble comes in waves.
An attempted prison break from the werewolves brings chaos to the palace. The attempt happens when her Ladies are out in the gardens and ends with several guards and wolves dead, a few scratched, and the first suggestion of allowing the dementors to guard the recaptured wolves and prisoners until their trials.
Hermione declines this.
Remus helps ease those scratched into their new life.
When Lavender comes to her in tears with an infected scratch on her neck, Hermione hugs her Lady for the first time.
"I am a monster. Will you banish me from being your Lady?" she asks through heaving sobs.
"You are no monster. And no, I will not banish you."
Lavender cries in relief until Remus arrives to take her with the others infected.
Hermione does not rest before Inferus are spotted in the lower town.
It is a reminder of the theories about the Resurrection Stone and confirms it is there.
Close.
Three days later, rumours from the Crouch Kingdom involving a regime change call for cautious attention.
Two days later, the King makes his first appearance at the funeral pyre of all the victims.
He lights Dumbledore's with his wand. For Snape's, he does it with a torch, waiting until the fire spreads before stepping back. The families of the victims light their pyres and everyone remains in respectful silence until the fires burn out. The meal following is sombre. Draco remains long enough to break bread before retreating to his tower. She sees a bit of blood on his tunic and knows he has set his healing back to honour the dead.
That night, Hermione patches his open wounds herself and holds him all night.
She thinks the waves have passed—at least until the trials begin—but she is wrong.
There is an attempted poisoning.
Easily thwarted by Vasades, who smells the danger before Hermione enters the hall, the incident leaves all close to them unsettled. With Draco hardly fit to protect her, should anything happen, her parents choose not to leave.
The members of the disbanded council request an audience.
Theo and Percy have warned Hermione. She is prepared. Pucey frowns when her Ladies do not leave the room, as is customary. He looks at Hermione. "You are free to dismiss them."
"Or do not." Flint steps forward. "This will take but a moment of your time."
Hermione allows them.
The room is warm and smells of rose petals and jasmine. It drowns out Flint's odd stench and makes Pucey sneeze.
Her Ladies knit silently while pretending not to eavesdrop. Leanne serves her tea, but Flint accidentally knocks it over, apologising profusely. Hermione is puzzled by his uncharacteristic clumsiness, but Theo and Percy are amused, Smith looks uncomfortable and Pucey looks ready to chew stone.
"Please do not hesitate to speak." She folds her hands in her lap.
"I am merely here for entertainment purposes," Sirius confesses, offering Elm—who glares at them all from the table—a doxy egg as large as she is. The bowtruckle accepts the gift, still giving suspicious looks as she rolls the egg across the table.
Hermione does everything imaginable not to laugh.
"Oh for goodness sake, Elm," Daphne says impatiently, picking up both the egg and her familiar.
"We are here to speak about what has transpired," Flint starts.
"If this is about security, trust that I do not leave without guards." Hermione gestures to the Knights—one of Draco's bedside requests. Goldstein and Goyle maintain posts inside the room. Hermione ignores the former's looks at Daphne, who terrorises her cloth with her sewing needle in irritation.
"This attempt is proof of discontent," Flint speaks calmly. "I would err on the side of caution."
"Is it really proof?" Alicia speaks out of turn, but her question holds weight.
"You are free to answer her inquiry, My Lord." Hermione inclines her head. "But I fail to see how an attempt on my life has any bearing on my approval. Word of the changes are spreading throughout the kingdom."
"Be that as it may, you are in danger." Flint cuts his eyes to her Ladies. "Some dangers are worse than death. They linger closer than you think."
The doors open before Hermione can inquire more and Astoria enters, stopping short upon seeing the additional faces.
"My apologies for the intrusion." She looks at Hermione. "Might we speak in private."
She clears the room and waits for Astoria to sit, but she does not.
Instead she pulls out a wand from her gown.
Hermione sits up straighter. Her own wand remains a weight she has not yet used outside battle. "I did not know you carried one."
"My husband is a liberal man. He does not abide by every antiquated rule of court." Astoria's dark blue dress catches the afternoon sun. "My wand was secured in secret after the attempted coup. Daphne knows I carry."
"And the King?"
"Who do you think sent me here?" Astoria levels her a slight grimace. The reason she is here is not one of her choosing. "Until Draco is healed, I am to spar with you."
They start at the following daybreak.
Unlike lessons on Court manners and etiquette, Hermione is a diligent dueller thanks to Draco's lessons and finds Astoria a competent opponent—at least now that they have found solid footing.
The first sparring session ends better than expected.
With them smiling in exhilaration rather than on the verge of an argument.
"How are you faring in Court?" Astoria asks as they walk to breakfast with Goldstein and Goyle on either side. "I know things have been chaotic, but if you need me, I offer my assistance."
"That is kind of you, but I—" Hermione changes her mind. "Actually, I could use your…"
A door slams far too loud.
"I am tired of waiting! The longer we wait, the closer she gets to finding out the truth." A familiar, angry female voice comes from around the corner.
Romilda?
There is something about the tone that makes Goldstein and Goyle stop abruptly. At the sound of approaching people, both draw their wands and cast Disillusionment charms on her, Astoria, and themselves.
They line the walls and wait with shallow breaths so as to not betray their presence.
It is not what any of them expect.
Pucey rounds the corner with two of her ladies, Leanne and… Romilda.
Hermione stops breathing when he hands the latter a vial. "This is the last potion. It has been difficult to procure. If this does not work, it will be months before we can try again."
"I understand, My Lord," Romilda replies.
"Now is not the time," he replies with great patience. "I suspect Flint is aware of our plan. He disposed of one goblet after Court and knocked over the Queen's tea today."
"Which is why we need to act. He seeks the Queen's favour. He will tell her what he suspects and we will never get the chance. The longer she is Queen—"
"Patience," Pucey hisses. "You will get your chance with the King, I assure you."
Hermione is more intrigued than angered.
"I am not certain if this is the right way," Leanne says nervously. "I—"
Pucey pulls out his wand and points it at her. "Imperio."
Her body goes rigid then relaxes.
Romilda looks amazed when Pucey seizes Leanne by the shoulders to draw her attention. "You failed the first two attempts, but you will spill this on the Queen when you help her change for dinner."
"I will spill this on the Queen when I help her change for dinner." Leanne's voice slurs.
Astoria's eyes are wide.
"Will it work without her ingesting it?" Romilda asks.
"Yes. It will sink into her skin and have the desired effect. What I seek will take more time, but I will win when the King returns to war with a new Queen in his ear—you."
Her Lady giggles, and Hermione holds her breath.
"Queen Romilda," she sighs wistfully.
Goldstein waits no longer, ending the charm to make them appear before their eyes. Romilda and Pucey barely have time to react before they are Stunned, surprise frozen to their faces.
He ends the curse on Leanne, who bursts into heaving sobs.
Astoria plucks the unbroken vial from Romilda's hand and gives the shaken Lady a dark look.
"Confess what all you know, now."
Draco's return to Court is too soon, but Hermione remains stoic at his side.
The three conspirators stand before them and before the court.
"You all stand charged with treason."
Their crimes do not involve taking Hermione's life, but what they wanted was something far worse. The potion they seized would have rendered her infertile. Had they succeeded…
Rage and sorrow pull Hermione in opposite directions. A burning need for justice ignites her from the inside and not even the fan of forgiveness can put out the flame. She feels she might tear at the seams. Combust. The moral dilemma makes her scream in private until her lungs hurt.
Her mood prompts Draco's return.
His quiet rage.
His brutal support.
Lord Pucey is quiet and defiant. His head hangs low, bruised and beaten, the information tortured out of him over the intervening days. Next is Leanne, who tells the truth to save her life. And then there is Romilda, who sobs and pleads for mercy. Lavender sits with the rest of the Court, frozen in horrified shock at the acts of her friends.
For all Lavender knows about the rumours in court, she did not know the plot beneath her nose.
They have proven her innocence—as well as the others—with Veritaserum.
The room awaits the King's verdict, but he turns to Hermione. "I will leave it to you."
The shocked murmurs fill the air. Her body feels heavy, but she does not question his decision.
Clemency. Exile. Imprisonment. Death.
These are her choices.
Each comes with consequences.
Three make her look weak; the last will taint her. They have confessed under Veritaserum. Ugly, vile things they said about her. And now they stand before her, begging for their lives, for mercy, for clemency.
Hermione knows their hearts.
She also knows that her own has changed.
Slowly standing, she delivers her verdict with the air of the Queen that she is.
"Lord Pucey, for your conspiracy against the kingdom for your personal gain, I sentence you to death."
Judging from the gasps, it is the last thing anyone expects.
"To you, Lady Leanne." Hermione stares at the woman on her knees, who cannot meet her eye. "You and your family will be exiled, and your memories will be modified."
A collective murmur grows.
"And to you, Lady Romilda. I grant you clemency and release you from my service." Before Romilda can sob and thank Hermione for sparing her life, she raises her hand. "I am not finished."
She looks to Draco, who awaits her judgement, just as everyone else does. "Is there more?"
"Yes, one condition." She looks at Romilda. "You must drink the very potion you wanted to use on me."
Hermione does not wait for the shock to wear off. Before she reaches the exit, the sound of wailing and the loud opinions of the court fill her ears. She hears words like cruel but kind, wise but deadly. A Queen befitting a merciless King. It does not sound like a compliment but perhaps it is.
Hermione leaves Draco to execute her rulings, secluding herself in her quarters.
She takes off her heavy crown.
Winky takes down her hair.
She bathes and Vasades comes to sit with her, providing her updates on Kaida's condition. Her closest Ladies keep her company until she is ready to go to bed. It is clear they all want to speak, want to help her process what has transpired, but Hermione cannot vocalise her thoughts.
Hermione lies awake after they leave, staring at the ceiling, remembering her responsibility not to feel guilty. She must clash metal to metal with decisiveness and objective judgement.
Not for the first time, Hermione understands Draco's role.
As well as its difficulties.
Kings cannot rule with their hearts—only their heads, power, and might.
It is late when Draco returns, later when he joins her under the covers.
"It is done."
Hermione takes several deep breaths to keep herself steady.
"When is the time to do something?"
The familiar question startles her into looking at him. Cold grey eyes attached to a man who waits for her response. A King who otherwise does not wait for anyone.
"Now."
Draco touches her, pulls her closer. Their legs entwine.
"What is the most important thing you should do?"
Hermione swallows thickly. "Be good to those under my rule."
"Which people should you listen to?"
"Myself." She inhales when he trails a finger down her spine. "I have to live with myself with every decision I make."
"Can you live with this?"
Truth settles her restive energy.
"I can."
Pyxis: The constellation represents the magnetic compass used by navigators and seamen.
Author's note: Hi, hello. I am alive. Busy as always, fresh off Eras tour night. Hope you all have been lovely. Also I did finally fix the links on 17.