A Public Flogging
Hermione (Present)
The amplified voice boomed across the Quidditch pitch, reverberating off the ancient stone stands packed with hundreds of expectant faces. "Hermione Granger!" it declared, silencing the excited murmurs. "You stand accused of assaulting the king and obstructing justice. For such grave offenses, the penalty is typically death. You should consider yourself fortunate that your life will be spared."
Hermione fought the urge to roll her eyes at the theatrics. Her gaze swept upwards to the royal box, where King Lucius, Queen Narcissa, and Prince Draco sat idly. Four other figures occupied the box, their faces unfamiliar. Lucius seemed to relish her predicament, a cruel smile playing on his lips. Narcissa, her expression carefully neutral, betrayed nothing.
But it was Draco who held her attention. His face was a mask of cold fury, his silver eyes burning into her with an intensity that made her shiver. He was dressed entirely in black, standing out against the vibrant colors of the crowd.
Just two hours prior, she had been pacing her room, anxiously replaying the events that had led to this moment. The abrupt intrusion of six royal guards and two unfamiliar elves had shattered her contemplation. The elves had yanked a brush through her tangled hair, plaiting it tightly down her back, and forced her into a flowing white gown. The dress, with its intricate tie between her shoulders, open back, square neckline, and loose, flowing sleeves, felt like a maiden’s costume, a mockery of her situation.
She had demanded answers from the guards, but they remained stoic, ignoring her protests. Once the elves deemed her presentable, they had dragged her through the corridors of the castle, the cool autumn air whipping at her face as they emerged into the open. The abrupt transition to the Quidditch pitch, courtesy of a guard's forceful grip and a dizzying apparition, left her disoriented. The frenzied roar of the crowd, seemingly drunk off anticipation and bloodlust, threatened to overwhelm her.
She had anticipated some form of punishment for her outburst the previous day, perhaps a public lashing. But this... this spectacle was beyond anything she could have imagined.
King Lucius's voice, amplified by magic, cut through the crowd. "In the spirit of competition," he announced, his tone deceptively jovial, "we have decided to make things... more interesting." He paused, savoring the crowd's rowdy reaction. "Given her background," he continued, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement, "we felt a public duel, as punishment, would be quite fitting."
Hermione's eyebrows shot up. A duel? He couldn't be serious. A hulking brute emerged from the shadows, and Hermione instinctively assessed him. He moved with a barely perceptible limp in his left leg, a weak knee perhaps? His left shoulder sat slightly lower than his right, suggesting another old injury. But his raw strength was undeniable. He was giant, this was hardly a fair fight, she knew if he got a hold of her, he would crush her bones. This was not a duel, it was an ambush, a public flogging. But, if she had the choice, she would take this over a lashing any day. He brandished a wicked looking spiked bat, raising it towards the roaring crowd, who responded with frenzied cheers.
The man began to circle her, his dark eyes alight with excitement.
"The fight will continue," Lucius declared, relishing every word, "until either she or one of her opponents are unable to continue."
Opponents? Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. Lucius, clearly enjoying her confusion, let out a low chuckle. She risked a glance at Draco. His anger seemed to have intensified, his jaw clenched so tightly that she could see the muscles working beneath his pale skin. He was gripping the arms of his chair with such force that his knuckles were white, the veins in his hands bulging. Was he upset that she had attacked his father? Her earlier conversation with Ginny suggested otherwise, but now she wasn't so sure.
A young wizard, perhaps Draco's age, with dark hair and startling blue eyes, sat beside him. He leaned over and gave Draco's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, his gaze fixed on Hermione with an unreadable expression.
Hermione tore her attention away from the royal box and focused on her opponent, her mind racing. Something over his shoulder caught her eye. Bloody hell. Three more men were emerging from the opposite side of the pitch, each radiating menace. This wasn't a fight; it was an execution. She would be outnumbered, overpowered, and likely unconscious within minutes. But she would make them work for it. She would give them a show they wouldn't forget.
The four men circled her like sharks. Their faces grim, their eyes hungry.
She lifted her chin and looked past them, towards the royal box where the king sat on his throne, a sneer playing on his lips. Draco leaned in to whisper in his father's ear. Lucius listened with an air of boredom, then, with a flick of his wrist, silenced his son.
"No weapons, if you please," he commanded, his voice echoing across the hushed arena. He raised a hand, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "And one at a time, gentlemen. Am I not a fair King?!" He shouted to the crowd.
A roar erupted from the crowd. They surged to their feet, clapping their hands wildly. The noise was like a pounding wave that crashed over her and made her head throb.
The four men exchanged glances and with visible reluctance, they tossed their weapons aside.
Lucius rose from his throne, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "And no magic!" he bellowed. He turned his attention to Hermione, a cruel smile twisting his lips. "Miss Granger, are you ready to begin?"
Hermione turned gracefully, the silken folds of her white gown rippling around her like water. The bizarre contrast between her delicate appearance and the brutal arena, the bloodthirsty crowd, and the looming threat of the four men, was not lost on her.
Meeting the king’s gaze with a smirk, she gathered the hem of her dress and sank into a deep, mocking curtsy.
"Begin!" Lucius roared, and the crowd erupted once more.
The first man charged toward her. He swung a fist the size of a ham, aiming for her head. She ducked, narrowly avoiding the blow that would have surely shattered her skull. Using his momentum against him, she drove her shoulder into his injured knee, sending him sprawling to the ground with a pained grunt. Before he could recover, she scrambled up his back and, with a swift kick to the base of his skull, knocked him unconscious.
The crowd, momentarily stunned into silence, erupted in a frenzy of shouts and jeers. Hermione, heart pounding, turned to face the next attacker. This one was leaner, quicker, his eyes glinting with amusement. He lunged, a flurry of punches and kicks that she barely managed to block. She danced back, narrowly avoiding a vicious kick aimed at her ribs. She parried a punch, ducked under another, and with a sharp jab to his throat, sent him gasping to his knees. A swift elbow to the back of his head finished him off.
Two down, two to go. But her breath was coming in ragged gasps, and her muscles burned. The remaining two men, sensing her fatigue, advanced. The larger of the two, a giant with arms thicker than tree trunks, charged like a bull. Hermione, anticipating his move, sidestepped and aimed a kick at his ankle. But he was faster than she expected. He caught her bare foot mid air, and with a brutal twist, sent her crashing to the ground. Pain shot through her ankle, and she cried out, struggling to free herself from his iron grip.
He roughly pulled her to her feet by her arm. She thrashed, kicking and biting, but he was too strong. He lifted her off the ground, his face contorted with rage. Hermione, desperate, brought her knee up with all her might, connecting with his groin. He roared in pain, his grip loosening for a moment. That was all she needed. She wrenched her arm free and, with a desperate lunge, sank her teeth into his shoulder.
He bellowed, flinging her away like she weighed nothing. She landed hard on the ground, the air knocked from her lungs, but she forced herself back to her feet. Before she could fully recover, the fourth man, the smallest but most agile of the group, was upon her. He moved like a viper, his attacks swift and precise. Hermione, dazed and exhausted, tried to defend herself, but her movements were sluggish, her reactions slow. He landed a punch to her stomach that sent her doubling over in pain. Another blow to her face sent her reeling. She stumbled back, her vision blurring, her legs threatening to give way.
He pressed his advantage, raining blows upon her. She raised her arms in a futile attempt to shield herself, but it was no use. He was relentless, his fists a blur of motion. A final blow, a vicious uppercut to her jaw, sent her crashing to the ground. Her vision was darkening at the corners, and she knew she was moments away from fainting. She could just lay her head down, concede, and this would all be over.
The crowd roared its approval. The king, a triumphant smirk on his face, rose from his throne. "It seems," he announced, his voice dripping with satisfaction, "that Miss Granger's luck has finally run out."
The roar of the crowd was a distant thunder in her ears. Darkness swirled around her, threatening to pull her under. But a stubborn ember of defiance still flickered within her. She rose slightly and turned her gaze to the royal box. Her vision blurred, each blink a struggle against the darkness, but she could just make out Draco. He was no longer lounging in his seat, but stood rigidly, his hands gripping the railing. His face was flushed, his mouth agape.
Beside him, Lucius’s eyebrows were raised, his lips slightly parted, and the ever present sneer had vanished. Hermione saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.
A slow, deliberate smile spread across her face.
With a groan, she pushed herself up onto her hands and knees, the taste of blood thick in her mouth. Her head spun, and her vision swam, but she forced herself to focus. The fourth man stood before her, his chest heaving, a triumphant smirk on his face. He clearly hadn't expected her to rise again.
He lunged, aiming a kick at her ribs. Anticipating the blow, she rolled aside, narrowly avoiding his foot. She scrambled to her feet, her body screaming in protest. Every muscle ached, every breath sent a searing pain through her ribs.
Adrenaline surged through her. She charged, launching herself at the man with a ferocity that surprised even herself. He stumbled back, caught off guard by her sudden attack. She pressed her advantage, her fists connecting with his face, his chest, his stomach. He grunted with each blow, his smirk fading into a grimace of pain.
But he was still stronger, still faster. He recovered quickly, blocking her next punch and retaliating with a brutal jab to her stomach. She gasped, the air knocked from her lungs again. He followed with a swift kick to her leg, sending her sprawling to the ground once more.
This time, there was no fight left in her. She lay on the cold, unforgiving ground, her body heavy, a dead weight. Every inch of her ached, every breath a struggle. She could taste blood, thick and metallic, and feel it trickling from a cut on her forehead.
The man stood over her, his chest heaving, his face contorted with fury. He raised his foot, ready to deliver the final, crushing blow. She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact, a single angry tear escaping and tracing a path through the grime on her cheek.
But the blow never came.
Instead, a sound pierced the tense silence of the arena – a loud, sharp CRACK that echoed like a whip, so loud it was almost like an approaching storm. It was followed by an eerie hush. The crowd was frozen, their bloodlust momentarily forgotten.
Hermione, with a monumental effort, forced her eyes open. Lucius Malfoy was no longer seated. He stood at the edge of the royal box, his gaze fixed on something behind her.
And then she saw him.
The prince stood directly behind her, his hand outstretched, his face pale but determined.
“She’s done!” He growled. “This fight is over.”
With the last of her strength, she reached for him, her fingers trembling. And as soon as their hands connected, a jolt, like a surge of raw magic, passed between them. The world dissolved as they disappeared from the arena.
*****
The world snapped back into focus with a jarring thud as they reappeared in her room. But before she could even register her surroundings, her legs gave way, and she crumpled, a heap of aching limbs and ragged breaths.
Strong arms caught her before she hit the ground. Draco lifted her with surprising gentleness and sat her on the edge of the bed. He crouched before her, his silver eyes darting between hers, searching for any sign of serious injury. His brow was furrowed with concern, his lips pressed into a thin line.
She was still breathing hard, the adrenaline from the fight still coursing through her veins. Her head throbbed, her vision blurred, and her body screamed in protest with every shallow breath.
Draco pulled out his wand and pointed it towards her face. She flinched, the movement sending a jolt of pain through her battered body.
He paused, sensing her fear. "I am going to heal you," he said, his voice calm and reassuring.
"No," she wheezed, her voice hoarse and strained.
He looked at her as if she were insane. "What do you mean, no?" His voice rose in anger, laced with a hint of panic.
"I don't need you to heal me," she rasped, each word a struggle.
His eyes darkened, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration. "Listen," he said, his voice low and urgent, "I can tell by the way you are talking and breathing that one of your lungs has collapsed. I am going to heal it. If I need to restrain you to do so, I will." His silver eyes bored into hers, unwavering. "I am also going to see if you are bleeding internally or have sustained a serious head injury."
Hermione wanted to scream, to kick him away, to refuse his help. But deep down, she knew it was no use. She was hurt, badly hurt, and she needed his magic. Tears of frustration and exhaustion pricked her eyes, and she angrily wiped them away before they could fall.
"Fine," she seethed, her voice thick with resentment.
The tip of his wand glowed a soft purple, and he pointed it at her chest. She felt that now familiar warm tingling sensation, and then a sudden rush of relief as her lungs expanded fully. He then cast a diagnostic spell, the same one Ginny had used, and quietly analyzed the results. His mouth parted slightly, and his forehead wrinkled.
The diagnostic chart vanished, and he rose to his feet. "I assume you won't allow me to heal your face or head?" he said, his voice a mixture of annoyance and exasperation.
"Your assumptions are correct," she spat, her defiance flickering back to life.
"Fine," he retorted, mirroring her tone.
"Fine," she echoed.
She pushed herself off the bed, determined to regain some semblance of control. But as soon as she stood, the blood rushed to her head, and the room tilted precariously. She swayed, her legs threatening to buckle. Strong arms caught her around the waist, preventing her from collapsing.
"What are you doing?" Draco hissed, his voice tight with concern.
"I am going to rinse off," she said, slowly peeling his arms away, trying not to make any sudden movements.
She walked slowly towards the bathroom, aware of Draco following closely behind. She stood on the cold tiles, fumbled with the strange knobs on the walls, and finally managed to turn on the water. She stepped under the spray, fully clothed, letting the warm water wash away the dirt and blood from her hair and face. It felt so good, so cleansing, that for a moment, she almost forgot the prince was there.
He pulled a wicker chair closer to the shower and settled into it, his gaze never leaving her. He sat there silently, his hands alternately rubbing his face and running through his already disheveled hair. He seemed lost in thought, his usual arrogance replaced by a deep frown.
Hermione ignored him, choosing to focus on the cleansing water. She lay there for a long time, letting the water run until it flowed clean into the drain, carrying away the dirt, the blood, and the lingering scent of the arena. As the water cleared, so did her mind. The adrenaline faded, leaving behind a bone deep exhaustion.
Finally, she slowly sat up, the thin, wet fabric of her dress clinging to her skin. The chill of the bathroom air sent a shiver down her spine, and she wrapped her arms around herself.
The silence in the bathroom stretched. The rhythmic drumming of the water against the tiles seemed to amplify the quiet. Finally, Draco broke the silence, his voice low and hesitant.
"Who's Pita?" he asked, without looking at her.
Hermione's head snapped up, her breath catching in her throat. "What?"
"Who is Pita?" he repeated, his silver eyes finally meeting hers.
"How do you—"
"The name is constantly echoing through your mind," he said, his voice flat.
She shuddered, a wave of fear washing over her. She had forgotten that he was a Legilimens. And a very powerful one if the rumors were true. There was no point in lying, no point in trying to hide anything from him.
"Pita is a little girl," she said, her voice choked with emotion. "Back in the seventh ring."
"And she is...important to you?" Draco edged, his voice carefully neutral.
"She is the only thing in this world that matters to me," she said firmly, her gaze unwavering.
"And you're worried about her safety?" he asked quietly, a flicker of understanding in his eyes.
"Yes," she breathed.
"I am sure you understand now, that there will be no returning to the seventh ring," he said flatly, the harsh reality of her situation settling between them.
"Yes, I am aware of that fact," she seethed, her voice laced with frustration.
A moment of silence passed. Then, Draco spoke again, his voice determined. "What can I do to ease your mind?"
Hermione steeled her resolve, her gaze hardening. "I want Pita to be brought to the first ring. To stay with Ginny Weasley."
"Done," the prince said without hesitation.
Her eyes shot to his, narrowed and suspicious. His quick agreement seemed too easy, too good to be true.
"And I suppose you are going to request something in return?" she asked, already knowing the answer.
"Yes," he responded shortly.
"And what might that be?" she said, her head cocking slightly, a challenge in her eyes.
"I want you to stay. I want you to compete in the Selection. I want you to actually try," he said, his eye contact unwavering, his gaze intense.
She mulled over his words, her mind racing. She supposed she didn't have much of a choice at this point. If what Ginny had told her was true, if she didn't win the Selection, Lucius would make her disappear. Staying and fighting, even if it meant playing by his rules, was her only option.
"Okay..." she finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Okay?" he repeated, a hint of surprise in his voice.
"I agree to your terms," she said hollowly, a sense of resignation washing over her.
His eyes darted across her face, searching for any hint of a lie, any sign of hesitation. After a moment, he seemed satisfied. He rose from the chair, his movements decisive.
"DOBBY!" he shouted toward the ceiling.
The elf appeared with a quiet 'Pop'. "Yes, your majesty?"
"Please help Hermione out of her wet clothes, and get her in bed," Draco ordered, his voice firm but gentle.
"Yes, of course, my prince," Dobby said with a bow, his eyes wide with concern as he took in Hermione's battered appearance.
After one last lingering look, the prince left the bathroom. Hermione shivered, not from the cold, but from a growing dread of the days to come. She was trapped, forced to play a game she didn't want to win, all for the sake of a little girl who needed her.
*******
Hermione leaned closer to Ginny, her lips brushing against her ear as she whispered, "Okay, one more time, explain the rings again?" Her voice was barely audible, a hushed murmur meant only for Ginny's ears. The fourth witch was finishing her introduction, her voice echoing slightly in the spacious sunroom.
The ten remaining girls sat in a large circle, a colorful array of silks and satins, their sponsors flanking them like watchful guardians. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the scene. But beneath the surface of polite smiles and courteous nods, Hermione sensed an underlying tension, a fierce competition simmering just below the surface.
Prince Draco and his council had made their first cut the night before, sending eighteen witches back to their respective rings. Hermione shuddered, remembering the distant sound of wails that had echoed through the castle as the dismissed girls were loaded into carriages and whisked away.
Ginny leaned closer, her voice a low murmur against Hermione's ear. "The first and second rings, until about a decade ago, were exclusively for pure-bloods. Now, half-bloods and Muggle-borns are allowed if they're married to a pure-blood, along with their half-blood children. The third and fourth rings are for half-bloods not married to pure-bloods, or those who've chosen to marry other half-bloods, and their children. The fifth, sixth, and seventh rings are for Muggle-borns and their children, with poverty and lack of resources increasing as you go further out. The seventh ring, the slums, is the most dangerous and the least desirable."
It was almost Hermione's turn to introduce herself. She was glad that she had allowed Ginny to heal her face this morning, but still, she felt utterly ridiculous in the elaborate dress she had chosen for her. It was a beautiful dress, she had to admit, a delicate sky blue. The fitted bodice, with its sweetheart neckline and delicate lace embellishments, hugged her curves. The sleeves puffed slightly at the shoulders before tapering to graceful points at her wrists, and the voluminous skirt, layers of silk and tulle, flowed almost to the floor. She was even wearing a corset, a contraption that made breathing a conscious effort. She wasn't sure which she would choose: having to wear one of these every day or returning to the arena for another fight.
The blonde witch to her right cleared her throat, drawing Hermione's attention.
"My name is Hannah Abbott, I am Muggle-born, before this, I resided in the fourth ring. This is my sponsor, Pansy Parkinson," the blonde said, gesturing to the scowling black-haired witch beside her. "I love to bake, to draw, and to sing," she finished with a bright smile.
All eyes turned to Hermione, their gazes expectant. "My name is Hermione Granger, Muggle-born, seventh ring," she paused, her mind suddenly blank. She had no idea what to say. What were her "passions"? She hardly had time to do anything but survive and take care of Pita. "And...I...like to read," she finally finished. It was true, at least. She didn't come across many books in the seventh ring, but when she did, she devoured them.
Brunch arrived shortly after the last of the girls had finished their introductions. Platters piled high with food appeared as if by magic, filling the long banquet tables with an array of mouth watering scents and colors. Hermione, her stomach growling in anticipation, was the first to stand and make her way towards the feast. She piled her plate high with eggs, sausages, pastries, and fruit. Ginny followed suit.
They found a quiet corner, away from the chattering crowd, and settled down to eat in comfortable silence. Hermione savored each bite, the flavors exploding on her tongue.
She was surprised by how quickly her friendship with Ginny had developed. In the short time they'd known each other, she had found herself laughing and smiling more than she had in years. As she looked around the room, observing the other competitors and their sponsors, she couldn't be more grateful that Ginny was hers. The other sponsors seemed cold, detached, their interactions with their charges strained and formal. Whether this was due to a lack of interest in the Selection process or their deeply ingrained prejudices, Hermione wasn't sure.
Lost in her observations, she was startled by a woman's voice cutting through her thoughts.
"Hello Ginny, Hermione, may we sit with you two?"
Astoria Greengrass, one of the sponsors, approached them with her competitor, Angelina Cole, in tow. Both witches were undeniably beautiful, but Astoria was truly breathtaking. Her long, dark brown hair cascaded down her back like a silken sheet, framing a face with delicate features and startlingly electric blue eyes. Angelina, with her warm brown skin, cascading curls, and a dazzling smile, possessed a vibrant beauty of her own.
"Of course," Ginny responded, barely looking up from her plate as she continued to devour her breakfast.
Hermione watched Angelina pick at her food, her brow furrowed, her gaze flitting nervously around the room.
"Have either of you heard when the next trial will take place, or what it might be?" Astoria asked, her voice cutting through the quiet chatter of the sunroom.
Ginny and Hermione shook their heads, both equally in the dark about the next stage of the competition.
"Have you heard anything?" Ginny asked, her curiosity piqued.
"I think the next few weeks are going to be focused more on the Prince spending one-on-one time with each of the competitors, getting to know them better," Astoria replied, a knowing look in her eyes.
Hermione cringed inwardly and set her plate down on the table beside her. The thought of spending extended periods of time alone with the prince filled her with dread.
"Everything okay, Hermione?" Angelina asked, her voice laced with concern. "Are you nervous to spend time with the prince? I would be lying if I said I wasn't...but I don't think you need to worry, it's obvious you have bewitched him already," she added with a reassuring smile.
“Do you think the prince will make an appearance today?” Ginny asked Astoria.
“I saw him leave the palace this morning, I’m not sure if he has returned yet.” Astoria responded.
Hermione didn't want to talk about the prince or the days that lay ahead. So, she abruptly changed the subject.
"What is the Order of the Phoenix?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.
Both Astoria and Ginny paused mid-bite, their gazes meeting across the table. A flicker of unease passed between them.
"It's a resistance movement," Ginny responded carefully, her voice low. "A group of witches and wizards that wish to dethrone the king and destroy the shield."
"Can the shield be destroyed?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued.
"Some believe that it can be, yes," Astoria whispered, her eyes darting around the room as if to ensure no one was listening. "But such talk is hardly appropriate."
Interesting ... Hermione thought to herself, filing the information away for later consideration.
After another hour or so of small talk, Hermione was relieved when Ginny announced that they would be leaving. They bid farewell to Astoria and Angelina and made their way out of the sunroom.
"Do you want to go for a walk? In the gardens? It's pretty nice outside..." Ginny asked as they slowly walked down the corridor back towards her room.
"Sure," Hermione said with a smile, eager to escape the confines of the palace walls.
The gardens were stunning, a riot of colors and scents. Flowers bloomed in every imaginable hue, their petals glistening with dew. Statues stood sentinel amongst the flowerbeds, their marble forms gleaming in the sunlight. Elaborate fountains splashed and gurgled, their water sparkling like diamonds. They strolled along the narrow stone paths, enjoying the fresh air and the relative peace.
"What's that over there?" Hermione asked, nodding her head towards the treeline where the manicured gardens gave way to a dense, shadowy forest.
"That's the forbidden forest," Ginny answered, her voice tinged with a hint of apprehension.
"Oh, I didn't realize it stretched so far. It's in the seventh ring as well," Hermione remarked, her gaze drawn to the familiar darkness.
"Yes, it's huge. It stretches through all the rings," Ginny confirmed.
"Wow, can we go in?" Hermione asked, the allure of the forest beckoning her.
Ginny's eyebrows shot up. "You want to go in there?"
"Back home, I actually live in the forest." Hermione explained.
"Honestly, it gives me the willies. I'm going to pass," Ginny said with a shiver. “But perhaps you can explore it on another day.”
"Can I do that? Leave my rooms to explore?" Hermione asked, surprised.
"Your door hasn't been locked for some time. You just need an escort. You could ask my brother to go with you sometime," Ginny explained. “He likes the forest too.”
Hermione hadn't checked her door for a while, just assuming that it was still locked and that it would remain that way for the entirety of the competition.
They rounded a corner, and Ginny almost collided with a tall, dark-haired man. Hermione immediately recognized him from the royal box during the fight – the wizard with the bright blue eyes who sat next to Draco.
"Theo!" Ginny yelped in surprise. "You startled me."
Theo stared at Ginny for a long moment, seemingly frozen in place. His eyes raked over her face, taking in every detail.
"Ginny, hello," he finally said, his voice strained. "It's so good to see you."
"Theo, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is Theo Nott," Ginny introduced them, her voice a little wobbly.
Hermione watched Ginny closely, sensing the tension in her body language, the sadness in her eyes.
"Nice to meet you, Hermione," Theo said politely, his gaze briefly flickering towards her before returning to Ginny.
"We were just headed back to the palace," Ginny blurted out, her voice betraying her nervousness.
"Can I walk you?" Theo offered, taking a hesitant step forward.
"No!" Ginny responded quickly, then seemingly recovered. "We don't want to inconvenience you."
He stared at her for a long moment, his hand clenching and unclenching at his side, before finally nodding. "Well, it was nice to see you, however briefly. Hermione, it was nice to finally meet you." With that, he turned on his heel and hurried away.
Ginny immediately turned in the opposite direction and began hurrying away from the scene, her pace quickening with every step. Hermione caught up with her and noticed her ragged breaths, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She gently reached for her elbow to slow her down.
"Ginny...what's wrong?"
Ginny finally stopped, her gaze fixed on her own feet.
"Nothing," she said through tears. "I just...it's hard to see him. I do my best to avoid him, but it's inevitable sometimes."
"Did he...hurt you?" Hermione asked, her blood simmering beneath her skin. She briefly contemplated going after Theo, but Ginny's next words stopped her.
"No, no. Nothing like that," Ginny said, wiping the tears from her eyes.
"I've known Theo since we were babies. We have always been friends, but two summers ago things changed between us. We started to develop stronger feelings for each other." Her voice cracked with emotion. "That continued for a long time, before we were caught and forced to end things...by his father. He's very serious about continuing his bloodline and said that we would never have his blessing to marry since we could never have children." Tears were rolling down her cheeks now, unchecked.
"I'm so sorry, Ginny...Do you think the curse will ever be broken?" Hermione asked curiously. She didn't know much about the curse, other than that Voldemort had cursed the magical world, rendering purebloods incapable of producing magical offspring, as he lay dying. Lucius, his second in command, has betrayed and ultimately slain him. The curse was Voldemort’s final act of vengeance against Lucius’s betrayal.
"King Lucius has been trying to break it for years. He's put the smartest, most powerful witches and wizards to work to find a way, but it has been fruitless thus far," Ginny sighed, her voice heavy with despair.
"What about you? Do you want children?" Hermione asked hesitantly.
"I want Theo more," she said sadly, her voice barely a whisper.
Hermione's heart ached for her friend. Seeing Ginny so heartbroken, so vulnerable, chipped away at the image of the strong, confident witch she had come to admire. Tears streamed down Ginny's face, her usual fiery spirit dimmed, replaced by a raw, exposed grief that made Hermione want to wrap her in a protective hug. It was a side of Ginny she hadn't seen before, a glimpse behind the brave facade, and it made her realize just how deeply this injustice had cut.
Hermione reached for Ginny's hand and squeezed it tightly. They walked back to her room, hands clasped, in a comfortable silence. At her door, Ginny bid her farewell, but lingered for a moment to chat with her brother, Ron, who was still standing guard, his expression a mixture of concern and awkwardness.
Hermione gave Ginny a grateful smile and nodded politely at Ron before quietly closing the door behind her. She walked to her bed and sank into it with a sigh, her body still sore, her mind awhirl. She realized she should have asked Ginny to help her remove the elaborate dress and constricting corset, but she figured Ginny probably wanted to get out of the palace as soon as possible after her emotional encounter with Theo.
Hermione rose and stood in front of the ornate mirror, turning this way and that to examine the dress, trying to figure out the best way to escape its clutches. That's when a shiny object on her nightstand caught her attention. She picked it up and turned it over in her hand. It was a beautiful, intricate locket, crafted from gleaming silver and adorned with delicate etchings. She wondered if Ginny might have accidentally left it behind.
She opened it carefully and peered inside, but it was empty. Suddenly, the silver lining of the locket began to warp and ripple like water, startling her so much that she almost dropped it. She stared at it, her curiosity piqued, as a face began to materialize within its depths. The air left her lungs with a whoosh when the small, beautiful face came into view.
"Pita?" Hermione gasped, her voice catching in her throat, her eyes widening in disbelief as she looked into the familiar brown eyes she loved so much.
"Hermione!" Pita squealed, her voice echoing from the locket, tinged with excitement. "Is it really you?" she said with a smile that split her face in two.
"Pita!" Hermione cried, her voice filled with a mixture of joy and relief. "What is this? Where are you? Are you safe?"
"It's a two-way communication device! So we can talk whenever we want!" Pita explained excitedly. "Yes, I am safe, I am with Molly! We are about to make cookies!"
"Molly?" Hermione asked, her confusion growing.
"Yeah! Molly Weasley! I am with her in the first ring...I thought you knew?" Pita said, her eyebrows crinkling slightly. "Draco brought me here this morning and gave me this locket..."
"Draco...The prince brought you himself?" Hermione asked, her mind whirling.
"Yes, he just showed up at the cottage this morning, alone, and told me he was your friend and that he would be taking me somewhere safe...so I went with him..."
Hermione's heart squeezed as she took in the image of her happy girl. Pita was practically glowing, her eyes sparkling with joy.
"Hermione, it's so nice here, and everyone has been so kind. The prince stayed here with Molly and me for hours...he wanted to stay with us to make cookies. I could tell he was sad he wouldn't get to taste them, but he had to head back to the palace. He promised he would come back to visit soon, though."
Hermione felt a little dizzy and had to sit down on the edge of the bed. The prince had personally escorted Pita to safety, had spent hours with her and Molly, had promised to visit again… It was an act of kindness so unexpected, that she could barely process it.
"Hermione...Molly is calling me, she needs my help with the cookies," Pita's voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Okay, my love. Can we talk again before you go to sleep?" Hermione asked.
"Yes!" Pita beamed.
"I love you so much, Pita," Hermione said, fighting back tears.
"Love you!" Pita said before her face vanished from the locket.
Hermione clutched the locket to her chest and took a deep, steadying breath. The prince had done as he promised, and he had gone himself. He had given her a way to communicate with Pita anytime she wanted. Her head was swimming, trying to process it all. But she also felt like she could finally breathe for the first time in three days.