Extra Ordinary

If there was one part of being royal that Viktor had never understood, it was the way people reacted to him. He had a crown; his father had a throne, and somehow, that made everyone around them either bow down or flock to be seen. His brothers loved and languished in the attention while Viktor simply stood by his father’s side and glowered at the display. In just a few weeks, he would be thrust into the spotlight for the commemoration ceremony to be held in the main square in Surtse. Tonight, he was meant to have his eye caught by a glittering dress or sharply cut suit and give hope to the entirety of Surtse somehow. He would rather not step foot in the spotlight a moment sooner than he had to.

“You will not dance?” Stanislav asked and looked up before laughing at his youngest son’s expression. “Dear, Vitya… you will scare them away with that scowl.”

“Perhaps for the best,” he replied, “What was mother thinking when she came up with this idea?”

He snorted, “That I am dying, her sons need brides before I did, you almost died, and the kingdom could use a bit of cheer to get over the war.”

Viktor winced. Leave it to his father to answer an obviously rhetorical question, “Thanks for that, tatko.”

His father laughed, “Go Vitya, you cannot stand guard over me all night. Death is not so kind as to be visceral.”

Viktor opened his mouth to protest, and his father raised a hand, “Besides, your mother and my mother would have my head if I did not at least attempt to persuade you to humor them. For me, Vitya?”

Viktor sighed and nodded. Bowing, he took his leave. He could feel his father watch him walk down the steps. He would do this for his father. It was such a simple thing and the least he could do for scaring him and his mother all this time. With a scan of the room , he found a young woman to approach. She was in line to dance with one of his brothers. She was near the back in a plain gown, one of the constituents of the kingdom without title or wealth for sure. She seemed surprised, but eager as he bowed, kissed her hand, and ushered her onto the dance floor. The women near her murmured between themselves in shock as he led her away and gave her a smile as she blushed.

Viktor knew his brothers had a very different approach: they let the servants of the royal house escort their dance partners on and off the floor, preferring to dance with only the woman who had the finest gowns. While impersonal and efficient, Viktor thought it was rather disrespectful, so he led his partners one by one from the group, choosing literally at random for the most part. It didn’t matter to him who he asked as he’d already scouted the entire hall and found that his mysterious mage was not there. Until she arrived, this was all for his parents and grandmother’s sake. He tried to speak with them as they danced, asked for their names, gave them his attention as much as possible while stealing glances up to his mother and grandmother who seemed more than just overjoyed to see him on the floor.

*

“We did well, Stani’,” Ekaterina said squeezing his shoulder.

“Yes, we did, love.”

He smiled and forced himself to stand, “You would dance with your old Knight?”

Her jaw trembled and she nodded, taking his hands and letting him lead her in waltzing circles around the throne. She swallowed as she felt the tension in his shoulders. She recognized it as the pain of his illness that he wouldn’t acknowledge. He smiled at her as sweetly and in love as ever.

She was going to lose him.

“Shh, mila,” Stanislav said evenly, keeping the pain out of his voice, “I love you.”

She cried softly into his shoulder, clinging to him and begging the gods for some reprieve. She had already lost so much. They had already lost so much. She couldn’t lose him too.

“Stani’, I…” she said thickly, trembling, “Please.”

“We all must go sweet,” he said, “It is only a matter of when.”

But why now?

*

Viktor forced himself to look away to try and focus on his dance partner, but it seemed that just the sight of them was too much. As a child, he’d watched his parents dance through the great hall. He’s watched their last dance just before he went to join their army. It had given him hope, stoked his dreams that he would find someone to love him as much as his parents loved one another.

It gave him hope that he’d find his dragonheart.

He laughed at the thought. Dragonhearts were extremely rare. The term came from an old story of Surtse about the dragon who had bestowed magic onto a couple so that they might connect better without their different languages getting in the way. There was a lot of details he couldn’t remember about it, but he knew that it involved a conflict of sometime coming to an end with their union. Now, it was just a wizarding phenomenon of two people who’s magics were so similar and so in harmony, that they could feel one another. Muggles called it being soulmates.

His parents were dragonhearts. His grandparents on his father’s side had been as well. His grandmother told him once what it had felt like to lose Viktorius, how she’d known and how she kept going on. He didn’t want that for his mother. He escorted his partner back to her seat and escaped to get something to drink when he heard the music stutter to a stop and a gasp through the hall.

He turned to see what the commotion was and saw her there at the top of the grand staircase. The door closed behind her as she reached for the railing and began to descend the staircase. No introduction was made, though he doubted she needed an introduction clothed in a night sky breaking into dawn and looking around with a wicked smile that made his heart stutter. Her hair was fashion up and off her neck with a wreath of gold flowers and warm light to match the glimmering of her gown, her eyes, and the warm brown of her skin. Viktor couldn’t help but notice that her gown was of a warm dawn rather than the distant misty pictures in the hall. A breathtaking sight of golden light and passion with clouds moving slowly to allow light and dark to mingle and exhale across her form like a lover's sigh. Her long gloves were made of a gorgeous lace that made her arms seem to glow golden.

She was beautiful, heart stopping, and more than he’d ever imagined appearing in the hall.

She descended the stairs and greeted everyone kindly, unmindful of the minor uproar she’d cause with her entrance. From his place by the refreshments, he watched her float through the crowd. She’d seemed to have selected the first person to speak to because he was closest to the door. A man in the middle of a group of men. She curtsied politely and opened her mouth to speak to the man. What she said, he couldn’t know from the distance, but the man’s eyes lit up in joy, and he responded. Viktor recognized him as the diplomat from Italy. The men around him were his colleagues and heads of foreign trade.  Surtse’s executor of trade and his wife seemed to be simply examining her gown as she spoke.

Viktor finished his drink quickly and walked towards the mysterious young woman.

*

“Who made your gown? I have never seen work like this before,” the executor of trade asked eyeing her gown as his wife gawked.

Hermione would have smiled smugly, but she retained her composure. The woman wouldn’t recognize her behind the glamor, but she was the same young woman delivering cases of food, hair potions, and more to the woman’s door who she sneered down her nose

“Madame Malkin’s here in Surtse,” she said easily, “The true Madame Malkin has entered into an agreement with Granger Enterprises.”

She nodded her head, bade the group goodbye and walked on through the room. She couldn’t make out what was being said in the whispers that followed her, but she could bet that it wouldn’t take long for that little tidbit to get around.  She saw Harry and Ginny across the room conversing with Bill and a few other unfamiliar faces across the room and smiled. No doubt they’d been working the room since before she arrived.

“Her shoes are lovely,” she heard to her left, “What are they?”

“Jewels?”

“Crystal?”

Good, she thought. She walked purposefully to allow their glow to spill across the floor with every step and cause the clouds on her dress to move as if she walked across the night sky into dawn.

“Excuse me,” Hermione stopped to see the Duc of France behind her. An older man who was not quite going gray and representing his entire country tonight. This particular Duc had such a hand in the court that he’d been at the top of her list to speak to. She knew that he had daughters who would be intrigued, at the least, by her gown, but she didn’t see them with him.

“Your Grace,” she greeted kindly with a curtsy, “It is an honor to meet you.”

He bowed, “I assure you the honor is mine. If it is not so much to ask, my youngest daughter was sick and could not attend tonight. She is such a purveyor of fashion that she would have pictures of all the gowns of tonight. She would throttle me if I did not get a picture yours.”

She smiled, “Well, I would never stand in the way of a father and daughter bond, by all means.”

He offered her his arm and he led her to a photographer who had apparently been tasked with taking the photos for the night. She sat on the bench allowing her shoes to become visible as the photographer took the photos.

“Madame Malkin here in Surtse  is where I ordered my gown from,” she said, “She’s quite a wonder. Partnered with Granger Enterprise, she will be quite a force to be reckoned with.”

He nodded in thought, “Your shoes…”

“They are from Granger Enterprises,” she said, “A young mage under Madame Malkin’s advisement.”

She smiled warmly at him even as she wanted to laugh. Advisement wasn’t accurate. It was a desperate last minute application of the glass mix she was developing for her greenhouse. It was stronger than steel and contained magic like a liquid.

“I’ve… never seen anything like it,” he said in awe staring at her feet,“What sort of crystal is that?”

“It isn’t,” she said. “They’re made of a special glass and filled with pure magic.”

He seemed shocked as she tapped her toes together and a burst of light rippled over them, seeming to reverse the time on her gown so that it was closer to a midnight sky than breaking dawn.

“They help keep my dress clean, remain clean themselves, and have the added bonus of manipulating my gown’s colors. Truly a marvelous job.”

He nodded and asked her to meet the daughters he’d brought with him, a few other ambassadors that he knew who also had daughters and wives, and generals regarding the military application of forms of pure magic who she gladly spoke to about anything they wished. It took no time to instill in them the fact hat Granger Enterprises was a company with an eclectic repertoire of services which was all she wanted.

After all, she was not at the ball to dance or to catch a prince. Her invitation was strictly as a merchant, and as a merchant, she would act.

When Viktor finally reached her, she was speaking with the Malfoys. Narcissa addressed her as “your Highness”, and Draco had even managed to kiss her lace covered hand before they began to try and convince her about transferring her financial management to Malfoy Expeditions. She hadn’t spoken at all about who she managed her finances through, but she supposed that her appearance and glamor was doing exactly what she needed it to do if they were so keen to get her business.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Hermione said loftily, putting on the full air of the station they assumed she had. “My family has never changed out financial management. Why would I? As for trade needs, I have trusted the Granger name and their ethics just as my parents did. They have done nothing but treat me well.”

“A muggle company could not hope to fully comprehend the intricacies of magic, your Highness,” Narcissa said, “They may have wizards in their employ, but surely you can agree that wizarding knowledge of the highest quality is held by wizarding families.”

She hummed, “From what I know of the heir, what I’ve heard from others who have done business with her, she is well-versed in many things. And while her father was a muggle, he was not a fool in the ways of magic. The Estate was well warded to my memory. The Grangers have always hired the best. She has several wizards of several distinguished families in her employ as well as Mistress McGonagall. I was told that the owner of Granger Enterprises should be here tonight.”

“That would be me,” Narcissa said, “Granger Enterprises was the endeavor of my late husband and will be passed on to me in a few months time.”

Hermione smiled, “It’s so very nice to meet you, Hermione.”

Narcissa went pale, “My name in Narcissa.”

Hermione’s smile dropped, and she frowned as she pulling out the letter, “I was certain that this letter came from Granger Enterprises, the heir, one Hermione Granger, daughter of William Granger. Is she quite alright?”

She showed the letter embossed with the Granger symbol, sealed by her own hand, only showing the word “Contract” rather than the contents. She’d brought it with her to show prospects and make copies. It was a blank contract, but Narcissa need not know that.

She would hand it to the snake of a woman, she kept her composure and there was only a flicker of something like a sick pleasure that crossed her eyes.

“She is my step-daughter. Would you mind perhaps sharing with me the contract’s termsas a back-up—”

“You would already have a copy, would not? If you are tutoring her in the way of business?” she asked tucking the contract away.

Narcissa opened her mouth, “It is quite often that she will sign contracts without my knowledge.”

Hermione shook her head, “It seems that there is more to be wary of at this even than too much alcohol. It would seem that you are not tutoring Hermione in much of anything if she can sign contracts without your consent…”

Narcissa stammered, “I—“

“I do hope you have not implied that Granger Enterprises is your company to anyone else tonight, or I would be forced to embarrass you, Lady Malfoy.”

“O-Of course, your highness. I would never do something so unbecoming…If you would excuse us.”

“Of course,” she said, “Lady Malfoy.”

Hermione almost wanted to laugh, but as she turned, and her eyes met Viktor’s, she couldn’t. His dark eyes looked at her like a mirror and she felt as though he could see through her glamor.

Of course he can, she thought. He was a trained mage.

“It is you…”

She smiled at him and looked at him as openly as he looked at her. Clean shaven, his hair was cut, the grime of the road and war cleared away to reveal a startlingly handsome young man.

“Hello, sir knight,” she greeted.

“You said you worked, yet I did not think you meant as a diplomat.”

She looked him over and frowned. The quality of his suit spoke to a great wealth and class, the coloring and--

“You’re a noble,” she gasped.

Her eyes widened as a twist of panic went through her.

Viktor smile and bowed offering his hand, “Would you grant me the privilege of leading you through the next dance?”

She swallowed and placed a hands in his allowing him to lead her past Harry and Ginny. They smiled at her knowingly, but knowing something that she didn’t and it unsettled her even more. They stepped onto the dance floor, and he placed a hand around her waist. Lifting her gloved hand under his own, he gently to led her into the first steps of the Surtsean waltz.

“You have surprised me,” he said, “I  worried that you would not come.”

“Royal order,” she said, “And I owe the maker of my gown a great deal of debt for such lovely work.”

“You are beautiful,” he said spinning her around and clasping her gloved hand.

“Thank you, sir knight.”

Her eyes looked around to see the congregation surrounding them, no one else danced with them.

“Everyone is staring at you.”

He smirked, “No, mila, everyone is staring at you.”

She looked up at him.

“It is too  bad for them that I stole you to the floor first.”

She laughed as he lifted her high and set her down turning into a spin, “A tragedy for sure.”

“For them,” he said pulling her close, “Will you sit with me?”

“Depends on where you’re sitting.”

Viktor’s seat was with muggles of London.. He explained that he had been marked as the diplomatic one by his commanders, but with Hermione at the table,  he doesn’t need to do much. She sat down, complemented the English Prime Minister on her gown and listened to her less about politics and trade and more about fashion before carrying the conversation towards such things. It was obvious that the rest of the table aside from Viktor was waiting for the notoriously cold woman to shut Hermione down. Thankfully, Hermione had been doing her research on who would be there and how to approach them. It’s a refreshingly light conversation that marks the table as the center of the party.

When the woman laughs loudly, it shocked the men with her, and Hermione counted it as a victory for Granger Enterprises.  Eventually, Viktor managed to steal Hermione away from the people who seemed to adore her to ask for a moment alone with her.

“Of course, your Highness,” a baron said with a nod shocking Hermione. Viktor escorted her out of the ballroom, down the hall and into another parlor that closed where only a single guard, paintings, and couches remained.

“You’re the prince,” she said in horror.

This was so much worse than she first imagined. What was she to do? The prince of all people? She would be lucky if they didn’t murder her for blood treason.

He would be furious.

He chuckled, “Well, I’m actually one of eight, so just a  prince.”

“You said you were a knight, more importantly you’re Prince Viktor: war hero, accomplished mage-- for all intents and purposes, you are the prince.”

He smiled at her, “I concede that point and raise you a contention. I am a knight; I fought in the war--”

“As a commander, good sir.”

“Such a title does not change the fact that I am a knight of Surtse.”

She glowered at his amused and teasing eyes.

“You did not say you were noble either,” he said. “Is that not the nature of meeting on the road?”

She sighed, “I suppose so.”

Yet, she was not a noble by any means, and at the end of their exchanges, it would not be him who could end up on the chopping block.

Keep your head, Hermione, she said, You have to make it clear.

“I am sorry. I… did not want to be noticed, to be treated differently.”

She worried her lip and nodded. It wasn’t a sentiment and looked at him. Regardless of how careful she had to be, she placed a gloved hand on his shoulder, “How is your father?”

He swallowed looping their arms together and leading her out the door, down the hall and outside to the garden’s overlook from which they could see the front of the palace. She can see her carriage glimmering as they walk the path.

“I have never seen a carriage like that,” he said watching it hover and the marble horses whiny at them across the distance. She smiled as a bit of pride made her lift her chin.

She wasn’t royal or noble. She was just a muggleborn, but she was damn brilliant.

“It’s a protoype,” Hermione told him as they passed the Granger emblem on the back, “ A new spell Granger Enterprises is developing.”

“You are very close to the heir I take it?”

“Kindred spirits, you could say,” she grinned at the words, “You haven’t answered me, Viktor. How is your father?”

Viktor shook his head, “In great pain… They think he will not see the end of the year.”

They followed the path back towards the castle and passed by the door they’d exited towards the entrance of a grand garden maze. They stopped at the first sphinx statue as it activated and blocked their path. Viktor smiled at her and allowed her to answer the riddle. It made her head spin at how fascinating it was, but she answered every riddle easily until they arrived in the center of the garden.

“I have never made it to the middle alone,” Viktor said with a sheepish smile under the moonlight, “I fear I am not the best at riddles.”

Hermione smiled as they came upon the small pond glowing from the bottom. She rounded it to look down into it and crouched down to get a better look. She couldn’t figure out what made it glow.

“You have yet to tell me your name,” he said.

She hesitated and turned to him, “There’s a good reason for that.”

“Good reason?” He repeated with a skeptical expression.

Hermione sighed and looked at him, “I’m… not a royal.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not a noble either.”

He tilted his head and smirked, “Is your next statement along the lines of you’re not a woman either?”

She stood up and glowered at him, “Really? That’s your best guess?”

“Your tone implies that I should be shocked, but I’m not.”

Hermione sighed, “You--”

Viktor took her hands and helped her to her feet and closer.

“I’m not shocked,” Viktor said, “And I don’t care.”

“But…”

It’s the warmth of his hand was the only warning she got. It moved slowly across her cheek and slowly he leaned in. The shock of his hand seemed to shoot through her and back into him so quickly that they had barely caught their breath from it before she knows it’s too late.

Don’t...

Their eyes meet; Hermione knows that she wasn’t the only one who felt it. There’s a hesitance, a confusion, and terror in his brown eyes that makes her forget herself and every reason why this is not a good idea. It’s a siren’s call in the wind filling his eyes and bowing his spine so that their lips met in a shuddering kiss that rocked her every sense of reality. Lightning and the everlasting shot through her. His lips are warm; his grip was firm, and she isn’t expecting the shock of something she’d never known. It’s desire, longing, and something else starting from that simple touch of her face.

He gasped, a needy little thing into her mouth before his hands slid over her bare shoulders and sent another wave of something extraordinary through her. She felt him, felt everything she was feeling as an echo of his experience and hers until she couldn’t tell who was feeling what.

A spike of panic went through her as she felt giddy, heady, and her magic felt intoxicated and drawn to wherever their bodies pressed together.

“Viktor,” she gasped.

His bare hands on her her bare shoulders, her hands around his neck muted through the lace gloves, but frantic, his tongue in her mouth as he whirled them around and walked them back to the garden wall. Pinning her against the vine covered stone, he kissed her deeply. She moaned softly. Panting and drawing him closer to chase the taste of him as he pinned her to the garden wall, happy to hold her there, she couldn’t heed the warning signs of panic. This couldn’t be. Shaking to get more contact, sliding his hands up her neck to cup her face and taste her or her to taste him-- them: together.

They hardly know what the heady all-consume feeling was as they pulled apart and sucked in a shared breath.

“We are dragon hearts,” he exhaled. His lips smiled at her, and she felt his joy, relief, and excitement as he looked down at her, kissing her nose, her cheek, dragging his lips over her cheek just to feel their magic twining.

“I--”

He hushed her, pulling her lips back to his, “Beautiful, wonderful…”

Hermione clasped his wrists near her throat and tried to pull back from the maddening depths they were converging in.

“Wait,” she said and felt him freeze and pull back immediately, startling her and making her look up into his flushed and magic drunk face. She felt his panic then, maybe as a result of her words or the feeling of absolute terror in her.

He was a mage and prince of Surtse…

How could the gods be so cruel?

“What is it…”

“I…--”

A light caught her gaze as a bright burst shot into the sky from the direction where her carriage was. Fireworks: a warning signal, and she froze. The Malfoys were leaving.

“I have to go,” she said looking at him briefly before rushing away from him.

Dragonhearts, mages, muggleborns, blood treason and all the rest would have to wait.

He caught her hand, “Wait! I don't even know your name. Please?”

“I can’t,” she said turning and tugging, but he didn’t release her.

“How am I supposed to find you?”

She gave him a look and felt his heart turning in pain as if it were her own, maybe it was because she had daydreamed of that kiss in her office. She had thought of getting to know that valiant knight, but it was not meant to be.

“You aren’t,” she whispered. He blinked in confusion; his brow furrowed and he lifted his other hand to his chest as if he’d been shot through his chest. It certainly felt that way for her, “Thank you Viktor, for being such a dream, but there are things I can’t explain to you. Won’t ever be able to explain to you. I have to go.”

His grip slipped long enough for her to run, and she forced herself to no matter how much his pain struck through her. She waved a hand to cast a magical ward around his leg to get a running head start and ran.

“Wait!”

Hermione felt her eyes burn at the desperation in his voice. The sound of his voice clawed through her chest like a wolf, and she stumbled at the pain. She lifted her head and forced herself to keep moving along the fastest path out of the maze. She couldn’t perform any distance jumping within the palace walls, but damn it she could run like hell.

“Please!”

She turned back down the pathway leading back into the palace to avoid the row of knights who would see her running and assume danger. She heard Viktor running behind her, calling after her, but she paid him no heed as she went through the back parlor, through the halls and back through the ballroom. She walked quickly, bidding those she’d spoken to a good night and hurrying up the staircase.

She felt the presence and stopped hard before bumping into the couple who looked at her strangely. She froze recognizing the two as King Stanislave and Queen Ekaterina, Viktor’s parents. Seeing the man up close, she had to agree that he did not have much time left.

“Your Majesties,” she greeted with a curtsy, “Forgive me, I didn't mean to run into you.”

“It is quite alright, my dear,” Stanislav said with a warm, but pained smile, “I was hoping dear, Vitya would introduce us, but no matter.”

He kissed her hand in greeting, “It is my pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“As is mine, I have never seen Viktor so taken before.”

She smiled, “And I as well. Unfortunately, in this lifetime, such niceties can not be observed. I fear that I will never see you or your son again. Good evening.”

She swept aside and stopped turning back to the stunned couple. She had lost her parents to illness long before she was ready. She knew too well what it could do to someone. Just back from the war, it could destroy Viktor to lose his father. Surely, she could sacrifice this one thing?

She pulled a gold sprig out of the wreath that held her hair aloft and drew magic to her hands so that it pulsed with light. The sprig grew and flourished into a gleaming golden flower, and she held it out to them.

“Your son is the most noble man I have ever met,” she said thickly. Her eyes were wet with tears that neither of them could or would ever understand,  “I hope you both know how much he loves you… so very much. Pray you take this to your physician, your majesty. If she is worth her salt, she will know what to do with it.”

She gave him the fully bloomed flower that seemed to glow with a light that no one could explain and curtsied once more before turning to rush away as Viktor came running up the steps after her begging her to stop. Hermione cried out in pain as she tripped down the stairs, but scrambled to her feet. Removing her shoes, she kept running down the stairs towards the carriage out of the sight of anyone but the guards.

“Stop her!” Viktor screamed at the guards who raised their staves to cast stunning spells as she rushed down the steps.

She dodged one of them and deflected another before raising a barrier on all sides of her and a thick boundary behind her.

She felt a shoe slip from her hand as she nearly fell and turned back to see it just behind the boundary, Viktor running down the stairs and into the boundary. Crying out in pain as he looked at her, his hands pressed against the invisible wall.

“Please,” he begged, “Please don’t do this.”

“I’m sorry! I can’t!”

He walked the edge of the barrier as she turned to run and cast another barrier between her and the knight that had come running clearing a path for her carriage as she climbed in. She climbed into coach and whipped her hand so the horses charged out of the courtyard through the path she’d created.

Herthat held them all at bay, held the castle gate up vanished and Viktor stood staring after her, his heart clenching painfully, he felt sick. The carriage was faster than any had the right to be, even without that her being able to distance jump it all meant she could have ended up anywhere....

”Your Highness?”

“Da,” he said thickly, wetly, he turned to see Vladimir there, holding up a glowing shoe and he could only laugh.

“What the hell is that?”

*

Hermione collapsed in the gown she’d quickly changed back into in the Malfoy cellar. A prisoner, successful in her endeavor and sobbing. Her heart hurt, but no amount of beating against her chest, rocking, or hugging herself would stop it. Even across the distance, she could feel his panic and his sorrow. She curled up tight on the ground trying to console herself, but her heart would not yield its sorrow. Her magic ran rampant beneath her skin reaching across the distance that was too far to cross and screaming to find Viktor even as her head told her what her heart already knew. She and Viktor could never be together--would never be together. She would be lucky if they decided not to kill her. The kingdom, while victorious, needed assurances. The wizards needed to know that they and their way of life was safe. The nobles needed to know that their wealth and status were safe. The people needed to know that they were finally free of the war. They needed the assurances that best came with marriages--a princess for every prince and the best princess for the prized war hero.

She was just the daughter of a merchant, in debt, striving to restore her family name and a muggleborn at worse. Currently trapped in the Malfoy’s cellar and perhaps a tad too tired to hope any longer, she just sobbed through the night and screamed in frustration.

Blood treason, she thought. It was the gravest offense anyone could commit against the royal family.

Sobbing, curled up, dirty, tired, and grief-stricken is how Narcissa’s goons find her in the morning. While it suited her purposes, it didn’t make her feel any better. It’s Draco who has the pleasure of kicking her out of the estate and dumping her somewhere in the middle of town as if she’d asked to be taken. She doesn’t even bother to say anything to him once she was pushed out of the carriage. She landed hard on the ground and forced herself up as he closed the door behind her. It takes a while to force herself to get up and return to the Granger estate. Once she was far enough out of the town, she distance jumped to her front door and walked in.

“Hey ‘Mione,” Harry greeted. “You look… aweful.”

“Well Harry, that’s what happens when you spend the night in a cellar,” she said offering him a smile. “I’m going to bathe, eat, and then sleep.”

“Then you’ll tell us all about the uproar of Prince Viktor chasing you, right?”

She felt her lips twitched, “Yeah, I will.”