Mudblood Heart with Royal Veins

Hermione Jean Granger. Her name stared back at her almost mockingly, written in beautiful delicate calligraphy that gave no warning to the life altering effect it would have. 

She had to admit, the high quality parchment of the letter did make her swoon a little-  A little. The slightly rough feeling of it under her fingertips, the weight it held- which felt appropriate with the heavy message it contained, but most of all the smell. It smelt like opening an old book, musty and sweet blending perfectly with the crisp smell of fresh ink. 

She only admired it because she was used to the more cheap quality of supplies, she justified to herself, as her fingers lightly traced her name for the hundredth time. Her parchment had always smelt slightly of chemicals and plastic.

 A ginger ball of fur suddenly appeared on her lap, angrily demanding the attention that he felt had been denied from him for too long. 

Hermione smiled and stroked the cat appeasingly, she felt herself calm with the familiar action and her breathing felt lighter. However, her head did not feel any clearer and she dropped it onto her hands with a worn out sigh.

“What are we going to do, Crookshanks?”                                 

The cat let out a sound of recognition at his name, but burrowed deeper into her jumper rather than offering any helpful advice. 

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” she replied, petting him again affectionately. 

The letter had arrived three days ago. She was on summer break and enjoying her free time by reading and preparing for her 6th year at Hogwarts, when a burly, brown, grumpy looking Eagle had demanded to be let in her bedroom window. She had figured one of her friends had bought him, or had borrowed him from a post office, but the official looking envelope stamped with a regal looking seal she did not recognise, told her otherwise. 

She wished she had never opened it, in fact she wished she had never received it. A headache was building up behind her eyes and she let out another groan. 

“Why me?”

There was no reply. Which made sense as there was no one there to answer her. She had yet to discuss this with her mum, as much as she wanted to get some answers to make her head stop spinning, the thought filled her with trepidation, as if talking about it would make the whole thing real. 

The idea of it being some kind of prank, perhaps by bored classmates, had crossed her mind, but something in her rejected the idea immediately, a gut-feeling demanding that she know this is real, that this was happening. 

But come on. The idea of bushy haired, bookworm, nerdy Hermione Granger being a princess ? Scoffable, laughable, inconceivable. And yet, that is what was happening. Even the name of the title had always sounded absurd to Hermione, it was something for children and fairy tales.

High pitched laughter filled the room and it took Hermione a few moments to realise that the sound had come from her. There was a chance she was in shock, Hermione reasoned, as she continued to laugh. It apparently was too much jostling for Crookshank and he jumped off her lap in a huff. That just made her laugh more, with tears starting to stream from her eyes, until the laughter turned into crying and the beautiful parchment was getting tear stained. 

She must have been louder than she had thought as the sound of hurried footsteps running up the stairs followed a few minutes later. Her door swung open- her mother had never been a fan of knocking- and a warm hug quickly engulfed her. 

“Oh darling, what’s the matter?” 

Rose Granger had dark brown hair like her daughter, but with grey starting to proudly show itself. Her eyes were a matching soft grey, usually filled with an unreplicable warmth and they were currently locked on Hermione, filled with concern.  

“Hermione?” She asked again, the worry becoming more evident. 

Wordlessly Hermione picked up the slightly damp letter and passed it to her.

She was careful to watch her reaction closely, which meant she noticed the immediate widening of her eyes as panic flooded them after just looking at the crest edged into the top of the parchment. Rose turned away, hiding her face, as she continued to read but she could not hide the tremble in her hands and shoulders. Another damning reaction, another confirmation to Hermione’s burgeoning hypothesis. 

“You knew.” She hadn’t even meant to say it, but there was a relief when she did. It was a weight she didn’t realise she was carrying slipping away. Yes, the consequences were still going to happen, but the domino had been pushed and there was no going back now. 

Everything could be out in the open, finally, as it seemed Hermione had been living a lie for her whole 16 years. 

“How could they do this now? How did they find you? Oh god- I can’t- we don’t-” Rose Granger was doing something Hermione hadn’t seen before. She was rambling. Clearly her panic was enough to rival Hermione’s, but it was still a shock when she turned around suddenly, grasping Hermione’s shoulders hard .

“We have to go. We have to go now.” Grey eyes stopped boring into hers as she hastily grabbed Hermione’s wooden trunk from her wardrobe and started stuffing Hermione's things into it. 

Seeing a book get hazardly chucked on the growing pile, pages bending unnaturally, was enough to snap her out of the daze she had found her in. 

“Mother, that’s Hogwarts A History, please treat it with some respect. You can’t just throw it like that.”       

Her mum stared at her disbelievingly, then fondly shook her head, “Of course that is what you choose to focus on right now.” 

Hermione felt herself growing defensive, as was her natural response to her books.

“It’s a first edition, signed. Do you know how rare that is? Harry must have spent a fortune to get it for me-”

She trailed to a stop when Rose heavily sat down on Hermione’s bed, slumping,with a defeated look.. 

“Mum, is this really happening?” She felt like a child again, needing her mother's assurance, needed her to gently put a plaster on her cut knee. 

She patted the space next to her, and Hermione begrudgingly went over leaning into her mum, willing to take any comfort offered.

“This is not something I thought I would have to explain to you, I thought you were hidden. Obviously I was naive-”

Hermione pulled her mother's sleeve pointedly, seeing her get off track in explaining and instead just creating a million new questions. 

“Right, sorry. From the start then I suppose. My maiden name is Rosaline Elizabeth Mountbatten, daughter of Minerva McGonagall Mountbatten, Queen of England.” She paused, perhaps to take a moment herself, or to let her daughter process what she had just been told. 

And boy, did Hermione need the moment. 

She continued before Hermione could think of anything to say, as stunned as she was. Of course she read the letter, but hearing it from her own mother's lips was just another level of surreal.                                             

“I left just before I was sixteen, there were a lot of reasons, but overall I was not approved to be the heir and the pressures of upholding certain images was just too much for me to cope with.”

“You ran away.” Hermione summarised. 

Rose raised one shoulder in a shrug, and she took that as confirmation. 

“So, you ran away from being the next in line to the throne of England and now they are, what, headhunting me for the position?” Hermione let the words settle and then shook her head rapidly. 

“Do you know how insane this is? Am I in a tv show? Is this some magically warped reality?”

Her mum tried to run a soothing hand down her back, but Hermione shook it off, suddenly angry. 

“You had every opportunity to tell me, to prepare me, to warn me. Anything. I have never thought of you as a coward, ever. But from where I am standing, that is what you are.” 

Rose’s eyes flashed, “I know your world has just been turned upside down, and that is why I will let that pass. But do not presume to call me a coward when you do not know the whole story, when you do not know how difficult it was for me.” 

Hermione knew continuing to argue would get her no answers, and whilst she still felt fury banked in her, she forced herself to be calm. She needed all the information she could get. 

“Why did they write to me, not you? And why now?” 

“I am sorry this is happening darling, I thought after all this time that we had escaped. As I mentioned, I was not a viable heir, but you are. I suppose they also knew I would move us immediately, if the letter was sent to me.”

Rose frowned suddenly, “The letter did not mention a meeting right?” She looked to Hermione for confirmation.

“No, why?” 

It was at that moment that a loud crack filled the room and three people appeared in Hermione's already cramped attic bedroom. She could only imagine fate, if she believed in such a thing, laughing at the ridiculously on point timing. She really was in a tv show, probably a drama. She wondered if there was an audience clapping somewhere, or a fake laugh track playing. She was dissociating from what was happening, she knew that, but knowing it frustratingly did not stop it from happening.

She saw her mum move to stand in front of her in a protective stance, eyes locked onto the people who had so rudely apparated in, more specifically, they were unwaveringly locked onto the middle witch.

Hermione focused her attention on said witch, she had grey hair neatly pinned up into a tight bun and she held herself in a way that extruded confidence. Her stern, no-nonsense expression reminded Hermione of a strict teacher (Her favourite kind), but it was her eyes that caught her attention the most. They were a steely grey, the exact same eyes that she had seen her whole life, in her mother. 

She of course recognised her from; magazines, television, books, even chocolate frog cards, but seeing her up close was an entirely different experience. 

Queen Minerva undeniably cut an intimidating figure. The fact that she was now also Hermione’s grandmother did nothing to sway that impression. 

For a first meeting she would have preferred to not have been in her pajamas, but at least they were matching, with a Gryffindor Lion roaring on the red top and complimentary gold shorts. She still felt highly insecure, especially when it became clear she was being evaluated by the strangers (she fell short judging by their pinched expressions).

On the Queen's left was a wizard in a professional looking suit, he had smooth dark skin and a slightly shiny, bald head. On the right, was an auburn haired witch in a matching suit. Hermione could only assume that they were bodyguards, likely auror trained. 

She almost jumped as the silence was finally broken, by the Queen herself.

“Do put that thing down dear. You are making my companions rather on edge.” 

That is when she was aware of the comforting weight of her wand in her hand, grip holding it ready for a defensive spell. She had drawn her wand without realising, probably as soon as she had heard the loud crack. She dutifully lowered it, but not without hesitance. 

A small smile appeared on Queen Minerva’s face and she nodded. “Good.” 

The figures flanking her relaxed ever so slightly, but her mother still had not moved from her position blocking most of Hermione from their view.

“It seems we have a lot to discuss. Shall we go somewhere more-” a pause as she surveyed the small bedroom -”comfortable?” The Queen suggested, diplomatically.

Rose straightened and Hermione could the resignation in her voice as she spoke. 

“I suppose we have to get this over and done with. But, only with the condition that Hermione does not leave my sight.” 

“As you wish Rosaline. Shall we?” She reached out a gloved hand, a clear offering. 

Her mother looked at it in distaste but gingerly reached out to hold it, as her other hand grabbed hold of Hermione, who was rather confused and concerned about the whole thing.     

She looked to her mum in askance and got a slight, strained, smile in response. 

“We’re going to be apparating. Then all your questions will be answered and we can sort this mess out.” 

Hermione felt like a passenger in her own life, this was happening whether she wanted it to or not. She wondered if this is how Harry felt most of the time and felt a new level of empathy for her friend. 

 --

It was not the first time she had side apparated but the dizziness and nausea still hit her hard and she needed a couple of minutes to recover. Her mother suffered even worse, not having magic herself and she had gone very pale with her head in her knees. The other three looked unaffected, and were clearly waiting for them. 

She helped her mum get to her feet and they wore identical frowns of confusion as they looked at where they were. 

It was a flower shop, combined with a small cafe. It was relatively small in size, but beautiful. Its ceiling was glass, letting the sun flood in and give the place a light, airy feel. Hermione let herself breathe in the fresh scent of hundreds of flowers and just bask in all the different colours, shapes and beauty being thrown at her senses. 

The shop was empty, apart from the young woman behind the counter. She had short dark hair, styled to frame her face, and beautiful slanted cat-like eyes. She waved at the group who had suddenly appeared in her shop, seeming unconcerned. 

“Good morning your Majesty,” She called out casually, like having the Queen of England in her shop was a normal occurrence. 

“Good morning Nimera,” The stern woman replied, with a friendly tone of voice. So apparently it was a normal thing. Hermione was not sure why she found that so perplexing. The image of a Queen in a rather modest establishment, flanked by two stoic bodyguards, just was not adding up properly. 

They moved to the back of the store, Hermione following dubiously, where a large leafy plant with pointed red thorns growled at them. They had not covered this one in Herbology, she made a mental note to ask Professor Spout about it.

Hermione felt her eyes widen even more, when the Queen actually reached out and tickled the plant, under its chin. She could see its head now, or a plant version of a head, it had no eyes, but its mouth had opened to reveal horrifying looking teeth, as red as its petals. 

“Just me Frank. Would you be a dear and let us in?” 

The plant practically swooned, and the thick stalk that held it up split into vines, letting it walk away, revealing a passageway. 

Hermione’s mother blinked. “This is a new one.” 

The Queen had a satisfied smile, “Yes, you thought you knew all the secrets didn’t you?”

The pathway reminded her of the one at Hogwarts that led to Honeydukes. It was dark, but that was easily fixed by a quick lumos, performed by the dark skinned wizard who was first into the corridor. 

Counter-intuitively, this tight corridor going into the unknown, actually made Hermione feel more settled. She could easily imagine Harry and Ron by her side, as they went to yet another forbidden place. It was a lot easier to visualise this, than the reality she was facing. 

Somewhere along the way she had ended up holding hands with her mum, who was in front of her, Hermione hastily let go when the group slowed to a halt. She was not even fully consciously sure why, other than that she did not want to appear weak in front of these strangers. 

They passed through the exit of the tunnel and Hermione could feel the magic pulsating around the arched doorway. A shiver violently ran through her, as she was practically probed by it, it felt like it was searching for something.

She figured it was some kind of ward, but it was not one she had felt before. Perhaps it was some kind of intention checker, to stop people with dark purposes from entering. Fascinating. She wanted to pull out her wand and examine each strand of the magic, to turn it inside out to see how it was created.

Hermione broke out of her musing to see how far behind she had fallen and she was so focused on running to catch up to the group that she had not noticed her new surroundings. Her footsteps were now echoing loudly, an effect of the marble flooring and high ceilings she was surrounded by. More details started to sink into her awareness as she got closer to the others. 

The marbled floor was beautiful, white with blue and gold veins going through it, and so polished that she could almost see her reflection. The high ceiling had a stained glass top with designs so intricate that they could have been from the Sainte-Chapelle itself. 

Hermione stopped in her tracks. 

Really. 

She should have known where they were headed, it made perfect sense considering, but it still felt nothing short of ridiculous, because Hermione Granger was inside Buckingham Palace. 

She had to admit that she had never followed the Royal Family too closely. With her studies, constant research and whatever troubles she and her friends found themselves in, she only had a side eye on the political scene, mostly from what she read in The Daily Prophet. 

She knew that muggles only saw a fraction of the real Royal Family, to them it was just an icon with no real power, but was still held up in the spotlight, bringing in tourists and attention to the country. Being in the wizarding world, Hermione knew that they were highly respected and exalted. They were one of the last pureblood families and were meant to hold a very extraordinary kind of magic. They had a lot of sway with The Ministry and final word in the more important laws. 

Maybe most importantly, they were key in international relationships. They liaise with other countries, creating treaties and strong cultural bonds. Whilst arranged marriages were not so common as they once were, they still happened and were seen important in cultivating good ties-

-Oh. If they thought she would roped in an arranged marriage, then they had another thing coming.

It was quickly becoming apparent that she needed to learn as much about the Royal Family and surrounding politics, and fast. The urge to find the nearest library was already making her skin crawl uncomfortably, an itch that was demanding to be scratched.

When Hermione blinked back into the present, they were in a modest sized room with a circular table in the centre. (When did they get here?). One chair was slightly larger and more intricate than the others, with detailed carvings etched into it. Naturally the Queen sat there.

 The bodyguards stayed outside the room, one on each side of the door, and it closed ominously. This left Hermione and her mum to take a seat next to each other, they made eye contact as they did so and she felt comforted in knowing she was completely alone here. 

The sudden silence felt constricting, with a palpable tension in the air. It was, of course, at that moment that Hermione realised she was still in her Gryffindor pajamas. She could not bring herself to feel embarrassed though, considering how rudely she had been coerced out of her comfortable, warm, lovely bedroom that she missed so much already. Not that she had put up much of a fight really. Should she have? Was she allowed to? Is that legal?

McGonagall coughed lightly (Hermione felt it appropriate to drop the title in her head at this point), and she smiled tightly when the two women looked at her expectantly.

“It recently came to my attention that Hermione here is my granddaughter.” Cutting straight to the chase then, Hermione was actually grateful for it. 

“Of course it would have been nice to know sixteen years ago-” Her mother received a side-eye that Hermione was very relieved she wasn’t on the receiving end of- “But the circumstances cannot be changed now, one supposes.” 

“Maybe if I had not been driven out-” Rose stopped mid sentence. Hermione was left with the distinct feeling that they were about to go down a very high cliff, free-fall style. 

She took a deep breath and started again. “What will happen to Hermione?”

Hermione snapped into a new level of awareness at this. The question that had been on her mind since getting that bloody letter, the reason she had let this go on for so long, so passively. 

What was going to happen to her now? 

“The blood contract is binding. She is the heir and will be the next Queen. So the first step will be getting her ready for that role. I have heard she is quite adept at learning, so hopefully she will take to it quick, so we can present her soon.” 

Hermione blinked. 

Then said, voice low and hard, “What blood contract?”

Rose’s eyes would not meet hers, and she shifted in her seat, it screamed of guilt. She turned to her newly imposed Grandmother instead.                                

“You have really been told nothing about this haven’t you?” She sounded almost sympathetic. 

Hermione spread her hands out, letting the ‘duh,’ reply speak for itself. 

“This is unprecedented, there has never been an incident like this.” Mcgnogall looked almost as frustrated as Hermione felt, almost. 

“The blood contract is a piece of very old, very powerful magic. We are not quite sure when it was created, only that we do not have a recorded time of The Royal Family without it. Every direct descendent of the throne is on there. It appears on their sixteenth birthday.”

“That is why you found me now,” Hermione said with growing realisation.

McGonagall nodded. “As soon as we saw your name appear, we were searching. It is actually quite impressive that it took as long as it did and quite surprising that you were in England, we assumed you would be on the other side of the world, I guess that was the point.” 

Rose didn’t say anything in response, it was the first time she had seen her mum so quiet, they often had arguments based on her talking too much when Hermione was trying to read or concentrate, basically at any inopportune time.

“What does the contract mean exactly?” Hermione asked, already dreading the answer. 

“In short, if it becomes your time to sit on the throne and rule, you must. Think of it akin to the unbreakable vow, the consequences for not doing as it states are dire to say the least.” 

Hermione frowned, “Why exactly is mum exempt from this?”

This is where she saw the older woman hesitate and glance at her daughter, sadly, Regretfully? It was a heavy glance either way.  

“I am sure you are aware that your mother does not have magic of her own, she is for a lack of a better term, a squib. Therefore the contract does not recognise her.” 

“That’s archaic!” Hermione exploded, far more loudly than she had meant to, but she didn’t let that phase her and continued. “This whole thing is. Where is consent in all of this? Why are the laws of hundreds, or thousands of years ago in charge?” 

“It is what it is and we do what we must. To try and control what is impossible is a pointless task, so one must do what they can to take advantage of the situation given to them.” It was recited like it had been said a million times before, a tired acceptance in the words. 

Hermione scoffed.

“I might be a sucker for rules, but not if I don’t believe in them. Then I fight.” 

“You are free to look for a loophole if you so wish, but for now you must play the part. You will start to feel the bindings of the contract very soon and we need to present our heir. The country has been in a perilous state without one, at least think of that before you try something foolish.” 

Hermione thought that the constricting feeling that had been getting tighter was a symptom of her life breaking at the foundations, not of some magical bind that quite frankly sounded evil. But perhaps that’s what it was. The idea made her feel claustrophobic, and suddenly she could not get enough air to her lungs.                  

She felt her breathing get shallower and quicker, panic clawing at her throat. At the corner of her vision she saw her mum talking to her, looking concerned, but Hermione couldn’t focus on the words. 

Her vision started to blur, and everything she had felt over the last three days came boiling over; fear, confusion, frustration, betrayal.

The door came into focus and she was sprinting towards it before even telling her legs to move.

It slammed behind her, turning off the alarmed shouts, and with a spinning head, she just kept running. 

In Buckingham Palace.

As the Heir to the Queen of England.

Oh god. 

A broken gasp fell from her throat, just as she went spiraling around a corner- and her breath was leaving her for another reason.

Dazed and on the floor, she looked for what she had collided with through her tear blurred vision. 

She didn’t have to search long before she saw angry blue eyes staring back at her.

Merlin's soggy beard. Just when she thought this day couldn’t have gotten worse.