. . .

Chapter 12 – The Sorting

. . .

13 June 1456

8:34 am

Hermione hadn't gotten any sleep last night.

There were too many concerns floating around the forefront of her mind and every time she tried to close her eyes and force herself into dreamless, necessary sleep, her brain sparked and buzzed with worry.

Some aspects, were of course, out of her hand, and therefore she tried to focus on the little fire that she had some control in defusing. Firstly, would be the upheaval and complete rearrangement of the Great Hall.

Four long tables spanning the entire length of the room were brought in and set up for the incoming wizards and witches who accepted the muggle queen's invitation to the event of the century. That event would be the Sorting Ceremony.

It was the first large gathering of muggles that would be subject to the magical powers of the Sorting Hat (in the past the children of those in the muggle kingdom who showed signs of magic were taken to the Hat to be sorted and given the option to pursue their magical destiny, however, it has been nearly a century since the intermingling of the kingdoms and thus there was no telling what happened to those bloodlines of who among them now had magical blood). The Sorting Hat would determine if any of them were of magical blood, and then of which magical blood they possessed.

The Sorting Hat was sentient and could detect nascent qualities in order to place an apparent witch or wizard in the House that would challenge them and put their character to test, but it was said (from what Draco told to Hermione during one of her many questionnaire sessions prior to that day) to take the person's wishes into account.

Draco was explicit while describing the Sorting to Hermione that simply because someone was placed in one House that it did not mean that they could not display characteristics of other Houses.

Each House was a separate entity within the magical kingdom over which Draco now ruled; the House of Gryffindor existed in the grasslands on the western side of Hermione's kingdom and the House of Hufflepuff in an island just off the northern shore of her kingdom, the House of Ravenclaw situated in the mountain range to the eastern edge, and the House of Slytherin to the immediate south of her palace.

There were some rivalries between the four Houses, which is to be expected with their sorting being due to character qualities, however they were united in that they each recognized that every House had their virtues and flaws and that their monarchy and government were responsible for keeping them all in check.

The monarchy had been held by Draco's family, the royal House of Malfoy, while the Ministry – their government and version of her Council – were made up of any and all members of the four Houses with the coveted position of Minister of Magic rotating between the four Houses. It currently was held by Albus Dumbledore, a Gryffindor.

Hermione had spent several sleepless nights leading up to this day thinking of the four Houses and which she might imagine herself in should she prove to be of magical blood after all.

Would she be sorted into Hufflepuff because she reflected their hard work and dedication in her daily duties as queen of a thriving kingdom? It was unlikely seeing as, from what Draco told her of his connections in the House of Hufflepuff, Hermione did not think herself kind enough. It was a sad realization, and perhaps a terrible one for the leader of a nation, but Hermione was remarkably self-aware, and thus did not find this outcome likely.

Would she be sorted into Slytherin because she mirrored Draco in his ambition and resourcefulness? Hermione believed her Amalgam Act alone would be a winning point toward this outcome, but then she thought of how even Draco had warned her that her being sorted into Slytherin was probably an unlikely outcome. He had told her that he didn't mean it personally and that it was more of a compliment in that he didn't believe her to be cunning enough for his House. Fair enough, she'd thought.

Would she be sorted into Ravenclaw because she valued their intelligence and wit and spent most of her time as queen trying to make sure every decision that she made was backed up by plenty of research? Her countless hours spent in her extensive library with Crookshanks curled in her lap would prove this outcome likely, but she secretly hoped she fit into an entirely different House.

Hermione wanted more than anything to be sorted into the House of Gryffindor. Its reputation of receiving the bold and the brave and the chivalrous of all the wizards and witches was impressive and Hermione wanted it. She wanted to embody its passion and its fire and – hell, they're House colors were even the same as those of the royal House of Granger.

There was a soft cough, a clearing of one's throat, sounding on her left and immediately Hermione woke from her internal reverie. Daphne took the gold platter from her hands and set it down on the table – this particular one was for the Gryffindor guests (Hermione had ordered that each table be decorated in their House colors to make them feel more welcome in a strange, muggle palace) – and Hermione smiled absently at her friend.

"Thank you," she murmured when Minerva was out of ear shot. "How are you feeling?"

"Nervous," Daphne replied with a choking laugh. "How about you?"

Hermione exhaled sharply and shook her head at the marvelously decorated room. It had taken all morning and even though she'd been scolded for helping the staff, she had done so anyway as a way to give her anxious hands something to do to help kill the time.

"It'll be alright," Daphne reassured her.

"I know. I mostly just want it to be over with now."

Daphne sighed, "Me too."

"Your Majesty," Minerva greeted especially formally, paired with a solemn nod. "It's time to welcome the guests and the courtiers. You must take your place at your throne now."

"Yes. Very well."

The courtiers filed in first and took their seats at the undecorated tables along the walls. Since this ceremony was against typical royal decorum, Pansy and Daphne were among those in her kingdom who had volunteered to partake; they were easily identifiable to Hermione and she gave them a quick smile as they took their seats. Harry sauntered in towards the back of the group of her people, but he was called over by Daphne with a gentle smile and had no choice but to take the saved seat beside her; Hermione frowned inwardly at his cold shoulder to Pansy.

Once everyone who had volunteered to attend the Sorting Ceremony – including her entire Council and anybody living in the palace as dictated by a clause in her Amalgam Act – then the wizarding kingdom guests began to enter the Great Hall.

In the front of their assembly was Draco; he stood tall and regal with his finest golden vest shining as brilliantly as his hair and the unmistakably massive crown atop his head. She beamed at him and he smiled back. They were both thrilled to be involved in the day's festivities as much as they were delighted to spend time together in public view. It only helped her case that he was a benevolent and charming king, worthy of wedding their beloved queen.

He strode up to the dais confidently and Hermione rose from her throne to greet him. She offered him her hand, which he dutifully knelt to kiss. "Your Majesty," he breathed.

Hermione nodded formally with a small smile lingering on her lips. "Your Majesty," she returned. His eyes shifted to the silver diadem gleaming from her between her curls; he'd dutifully replaced the one he'd destroyed that contained dark magic with an exact replica so that no one would notice the difference.

When he stood and let go of her hand, she quickly tightened her grip and beckoned him to follow her up onto the dais.

"What are you doing?" He whispered, eyes darting nervously around at her people watching their interaction like a hawk.

"I would like you to sit beside me during the ceremony," she dimpled. "If that is alright with Your Majesty?"

He blinked, "Yes, of course, but I thought - "

"My Council has no say in the events that take place in this room as of today. It is per an addendum of the act, and if I should choose to take that opportunity to showcase the King of Magic and spend the day conversing with him as my people realize their fate, then so be it."

She met his eye as they stood before the two thrones of her kingdom, one fit for a queen and the other for a king.

"Really?" He asked, eying the throne to her right.

"Really," she assured him, taking her own seat and gesturing for him to follow. When he did, she smiled outwardly so that everyone in the room could see how happy she was. "If what you said it true about the sorting process, then it is inevitable that we will share the dais like this in the future. Everyone might as well get used to seeing both of us on the thrones together."

He laughed, beaming at her. "I wish I could kiss you right now."

She flushed, averting her gaze briefly. "Me too," then she cleared her throat. "Can you explain the – the err – Commandments, again?"

He nodded. "Of course,"

Hermione noticed out of the corner of her eye that the rest of the wizards and witches that would be attending to welcome their new Housemates take their respective seats at their tables, but her then her focus shifted back to Draco. As it always did.

"According to Mary's First Commandment of Magic, there is a chance that half of the people in your kingdom will have magical blood, and then following Mary's Second Commandment of Magic, the distribution will be relatively even among the Houses." Draco told her.

"Interesting," Hermione mused.

"Hm," Draco agreed; there was a sparkle in his eyes as the silver hue caught a ray of sunlight shining in. "Very."

Part of the Amalgam Act that Hermione had to redefine once the Sorting Ceremony had been introduced – it had been brought to her attention by Draco and his Minister as their only demand for the joining of the two kingdoms – was the order in which the Sorting would happen.

Her Council decided (whether it was for their own avoidance or genuine concern) that the Sorting should begin with the lower class and work its way up the stature hierarchy. At first, Hermione felt affronted that she would have to go last according to their rule, but then Draco had pointed out two very important facts which eased her mind.

Mainly in that her status as queen and the leader of her people and great nation would hold a massive influence over her people's opinion on the Sorting.

If she were to go early on and it be decided that she was not magic, then her Council and any members strictly against uniting the kingdoms would end up rallying against the rest of the ceremony in so-called support of their queen. If it were decided that she was magic early on, likely it would sway her people into strongly supporting just that House and so on.

Conversely, if she were to go early on and it be decided that she was magic, then her people would immediately discuss her and her apparent House and nothing else. The entire Sorting Ceremony would likely be in upheaval and any other decisions made by the Hat would not be given the respect and attention they deserved.

"It's a sound rule," Draco had summarized, rarely supporting her Council's decision on something. "I don't think they thought of either of those outcomes when they presented it to you, but nonetheless…"

She'd laughed and given in, sagging into his arms in their hideaway in his Manor at the time. Now, staring at the hoard of people in her Great Hall, Hermione wished for nothing more than to curl up in his strong arms and run her hands through his silky hair.

But, alas, that was not on the schedule for today.

Hermione stood to address the occupants, both wizarding and non-wizarding, in a welcome speech and short explanation of what was to come during the Sorting Ceremony. She told them what was going to be asked of them and what their possible outcomes would be. Before taking her seat again, she introduced the Minister of Magic, Albus Dumbledore, and the Sorting Hat itself.

Then, it began.

The first person to step up to the stool and have the Sorting Hat placed on their head was none other than Pansy's handmaiden, Millie. Hermione pondered if her being the first among the lower class to go was a result of Pansy bullying her or if she volunteered on her own volition. Either way, the Hat sat on her head for approximately two minutes – seemingly in discussion with her thought no one else could hear anything – and then it boasted, "SLYTHERIN,"

There was applause from the Slytherin table as well as from Draco; he slid Hermione a gentle smirk over the newest recruit of his own House.

The next person to take sit was also declared a Slytherin.

"I feel like you're entirely too smug," Hermione noted. "Are you absolutely sure this Sorting is going to be evenly split? It seems particularly one-sided so far."

Draco arched a single silver brow at her, "Oh, is that so? I'm entirely certain of the magical laws of the universe, Your Majesty," he mocked. "But if you're doubting my expertise, then perhaps you are willing to put your money where your mouth is?"

She frowned, "I thought you said our gold was useless to you?"

"Hm, yes, we do use different currency, but I didn't mean that literally." His lips twitched upwards slightly. "I meant would you be willing to bet on the outcome – the even distribution of your people among the Houses?"

Hermione scoffed and averted her gaze, but then she felt a competitive spark ignite in her and she abruptly turned to him. "You know what, Your Majesty? Perhaps, I would like to bet."

The Sorting Hat is placed on one of the lower courtiers, Hannah Abbott, and after a moment to consider, booms, "MUGGLE,"

"Wonderful," Draco remarked. "If I win – which I will, my love – then I request you seriously consider learning to ride a broom."

"That's barbaric," Hermione sharply inhaled. "You know how I loathe that thing."

"Hm, well, all is fair in love and war as they say," he shrugged. "If you're too scared to do it, then we can just call off the bet and - "

"One week." She said, cutting him off.

"What?" He asked, swiveling back around from the Sorting Ceremony to face her.

By then, the Sorting has moved on to the higher-ranking people of Hermione's kingdom, and at the current moment of their bickering, a famous author perches on the stool; he crosses his legs in a dramatic flair and wears an incredibly charming smile.

The Hat, however, is barely placed atop his perfectly waved auburn hair before it shouts out, "MUGGLE,"

"One week," Hermione repeats. "I want you to go without your precious magic for one week and live like us muggles. When I win the bet, that is,"

He shook his head and responds in a hushed tone, "I'm the literal King of Magic, Hermione, I can't very well go without using it for an entire week. That's ridiculous."

"Well," she dimpled triumphantly, "If you're afraid, Draco, then maybe you would like to reconsider the bet?"

Draco narrowed his eyes at her, "Never." His face turned back towards the Hat – it sat atop Susan Bones' head and pronounced her, "HUFFLEPUFF," – as he tried to hide a grimace from her.

Hermione laughed at his discontent and slid her gaze away from him.

. . .

13 June 1456

11:41 am

Daphne hid her hands beneath a decorative handkerchief in her lap so that Pansy wouldn't scold her outright for nervously twiddling her fingers. She had already hissed in her ear not to let her anxiety show in case the rest of the courtiers decided to use their apprehensiveness as a tactic against Hermione's decision to implicate the Sorting Ceremony.

Still.

She was anxious about it and therefore it was near impossible to school her habits in submission. How Pansy managed to do it for endless hours of endless days under constant watch was truly remarkable.

Daphne, not being a titled lady despite being one of the queen's ladies, would take the Sorting long before Lady Four-Names beside her. She and Minerva were two of the most recognizable faces in the palace, but they were still not officially noble and thus would be soon to be called to the Sorting Hat.

It would be a matter of time since Cedric was up next.

"Good luck," she murmured to him, squeezing his hand tightly and giving him a reassuring smile.

"You too," Cedric whispered. "See you on the other side,"

He returned the grin readily and a pang in her chest rudely reminded her how much she did not deserve his affection and kindness. He had no idea how terribly she wronged him. She had not told him of her kiss with Theo – for obvious reasons – and although she'd told Theo that she would break things off with Cedric, she had not quite figured out how to do it yet.

Was there ever a good time for that sort of thing?

The 'we need to talk' conversation was one of the worst, she thought. For both ends, arguably, but most definitely for the recipient. Poor Cedric.

Daphne wished that she could care for him or, at the very least, see herself growing to care for him. But she didn't. Ever since Theo bloody Nott came into her life, it was like her entire world revolved around him and seeing him again and making him smile and kissing his stupidly perfect lips.

She watched Cedric sit on the stool; his expression was blank as the Hat was placed on his head, but Daphne could see his nervous tick in action. His hands were always his giveaway for how he was feeling.

Whenever he was relaxed, usually on their long walks around the castle grounds, they would be clasped loosely behind his back. Whenever he was feeling affectionate, they would be flexed on his thigh, gripping it slightly to refrain from touching her in public (as they were still not technically courting each other or engaged). Whenever he was lost in thought, usually when he was attending his horses, his fingers would tap in perfect harmony to one of his favorite symphonies.

At the moment they were clenching and unclenching repeatedly at his side, which meant that he was especially tense – worried without a doubt.

The Hat finally spoke up for the entirety of the Great Hall to hear. It bellowed, "HUFFLEPUFF," and Cedric immediately beamed as he dismounted and traipsed off to the table closest to Daphne.

He met her eye and winked, which she thought was remarkably out of character for his usually – and at times vexing – polite personality.

Daphne didn't have time to address that particular interaction though because the Minister of Magic was calling out her name next.

She glided across the Great Hall in her beautiful baby blue summer dress to sit on the stool. Her hair, falling in large blonde waves down her back – unlike her usual updo – had been left down to accommodate the Hat currently being placed on her head.

Hello, it said in her head.

Daphne's eyes bulged at the magic of the hat, then she felt it chuckle at her with the sound of its amusement bouncing around inside her head.

You can speak to me, you know, and no one else will hear it. Part of the magic.

"Oh," she remarked in quiet astonishment. "That's marvelous."

If you say so… Well…?

"I don't know," Daphne sighed. "I haven't thought about it much really. I mean I suppose I don't think it really matters anymore seeing as both of the men in my life are magical so either way it won't affect me too much."

Hm…

"It's not as if my parents will approve of either." She sighed again. Then lamented, "If I were magic that would solve my problem but then I'm not entirely sure which House I would even fit into. Then there's my sister and parents to think of… where would they be Sorted if they're also magical? It's all just… a lot."

Naturally…

"Well?" She pressed, ready to get it over with. Whatever the outcome, she would be fine. It would be fine. Everything would be fine – or, at least, no worse than it currently was.

"WELL," the Sorting Hat said aloud and with a deeply resonating voice. "MUGGLE,"

Daphne stepped off the stool, painted a polite smile on her face and returned to her seat between Harry and Pansy. She vehemently avoided Cedric's glances and instead turned to Harry and Pansy with a tight-lipped and very strained expression of gratitude.

"I'm happy," she told them unconvincingly. "Really. I don't think I would have been well suited for magic so it's nice to know I won't have to relearn how to be a proper lady in their terms."

"Mhm," Pansy noted with narrowed eyes.

Daphne had noticed she and Harry had been fervently avoiding looking at each other and had painstakingly failed at conjuring small talk between the three of them during the Ceremony.

Harry, conversely, openly looked at her with pity. It was exactly the same look she'd been trying to avoid from Cedric and something in her snapped; the entire dam she'd tried to maintain since receiving her sentence broke open and flooded anew.

Whatever had happened between Harry and Pansy was not her responsibility to fix so Daphne felt no remorse at leaving them alone as she excused herself.

Daphne strode out of the Great Hall and fled toward the nearest exit in the east wing; she stopped to catch her breath by the green houses and decided to go in and let the scent of fresh roses and gardenias soothe her.

. . .

13 June 1456

11:53 am

Theo watched from the farthest end of the Slytherin table as each person went through the Sorting Ceremony, but he only had eyes for one and by the time it was her turn he could hardly sit still. His legs shook uncontrollably underneath the table to the point where Blaise turned to him with his most reprimanding expression and expressly told him to, "Stop bloody fidgeting Nott or I swear I will cast an immobolus on you."

"Can't help it," he muttered in response.

"You're a wizard," Blaise replied. "Find a way to help it."

Then Blaise turned his attention back to the front of the Great Hall as did Theo. His eyes never left her tall, slim form as she made her way up to the stool and nodded along to what the raggedy old hat was saying to her.

He tapped his fingers repeatedly against the wood table and avoided Blaise's exasperated and dramatic sighs as he did so. The Hat declared her a muggle and he felt his heart sink as she gracefully returned to her original seat.

Bloody hell.

Theo had hoped, dreamed, that Miss Daphne Greengrass would be of magical blood so that way she would have no conceivable reason not to let him court her or whatever it was the muggles did these days. He didn't keep up with their outdated social customs. So very 11th century of them.

He was so caught up in reimagining his dream of their future with her as a muggle instead of a witch that he almost caught her slipping out of the Hall in a rush. Theo stayed just long enough to hear Minerva McGonagall – or Minnie as he preferred when they were bantering about nonsense together – declared a muggle as well before he slid out of his seat at the end of the bench and ran after Daphne.

There was a flash of gold as her figure ducked into one of the enormous greenhouses and he swiftly followed; there were bushes upon bushes of flowers in this one, and he could make out a large willow tree growing in the center of the greenhouse that created a large canopy over most of the glass building.

She was sitting at the bottom of the tree, her skirts at high-risk for getting all dirty though he suspected that was probably the last thing on her mind at the moment.

"Hey," Theo said cautiously as he came up to her.

Daphne blinked up at him, "Theo?"

"How are you?" He asked, gingerly taking a seat on the small grass mound surrounding the tree trunk. "I take it you didn't want to be a muggle?"

"No," she replied. "That's not it." Then after a breath, she added, "You didn't want me to be a muggle, did you? I bet you would have liked to see the Sorting Hat place me in Slytherin."

He shrugged, "Personally, I think you would have made a great match for Slytherin." Better, he thought, to admit that small truth rather than tell her he had rather hoped she would be a witch and not a muggle. She was – as he was learning – incredibly sensitive to his opinions of her.

"I don't think so," she scoffed.

"Why not?" He countered. "You're exceptionally resourceful, just think about Hermione's coronation gown. Then, there's the millions of other times you dressed her perfectly. Not to mention your ambition to marry well."

He had meant all of it genuinely, though if he were being honest that last part was a not-so-subtle reminder that she still could accomplish that goal if she were to say… oh, he didn't know… marry him?

Daphne shook her head at him, a small frown forming on her lips. "I hardly think dressing Hermione is qualifying enough to be placed in Slytherin, and besides, it's my parents who are ambitious. My sister, too. If anyone were to be placed in Slytherin it would be them. As it were, none of us are magical so…"

"Well, it doesn't matter," Theo stated. "Slytherin is missing out, but just because you're not a witch doesn't mean you don't possess any of the traits of the Houses."

She shrugged wordlessly.

Theo went on, "I just want you to know, Miss Daphne Greengrass, that it doesn't matter if you have titles or magical blood or whatever… you are loved, and you are valued."

"Oh?" She remarked, her golden brows lifting in opposition. "By you, I presume? Certainly not by my family. They're furious at me for spending so much time with Cedric. They don't think he's good enough."

"Yes, by me." Theo replied instantly. Then he averted his gaze from her imploring green eyes to the ground, plucking absently at the blades of grass. "I'm starting to think that your parents don't think anyone is good enough for you."

"That's… half true." She admitted. "I think they would approve of you, if you were an ordinary, plain-old muggle like the rest of them."

He caught her teasing smile and chuckled under his breath, "You are not ordinary, Daph," he sighed, "or plain."

That, he was happy to see, pulled a full smile from her. "Thank you, Theo," she murmured.

"About Cedric…" He began, steering the conversation back to one they'd already had (it had been unfortunately cut off after they'd kissed because Draco had needed him to discuss the new horcrux he'd found).

"Theo," she sighed, turning toward him with a particular sag in her shoulders that let him know he was about to be rejected.

"No," he breathed, backing away from her.

"Wait," she called out, pulling him back down to sit beside her. She kept her hand in his as she went on, and his heart pounded murderously in his chest. "I'm going to call things off with him. I am. I do want to be with you it's just… I need time. I've been – well – close with Cedric for nearly nine months now."

He blinked.

"It's not easy and – well, with all of the societal rules – there's just so much at stake – really, I'm never going to live it down anyway once word spreads that I'm involved with you and – Oh! - "

She broke off abruptly, staring into space.

"Daph?" He said, trying to coax her back to their conversation. Though he wasn't entirely sure it could be called that; more of a semi-comprehensible rant on her part.

"Oh, sorry," she said quickly, turning back to him with a soft frown. "I just don't see how any of this is going to go over well for me, but at the very least, when I break it off with Cedric, we are going to have to be very careful and secretive about us."

He grimaced, "Why?"

"It's – well, I suppose it's a muggle thing but – Hogwarts would spread rampant with rumours if we are too open too soon after Cedric and I aren't together anymore." Daphne told him delicately.

"I thought you said you two weren't together as far as your muggle customs go," he pointed out.

She bit her lip momentarily before disregarding the bad habit. "Yes. Still… there's been a lot of talk of us and a lot of courtiers' eyes on us the last nine months. If I were to suddenly drop him and walk around on your arm…"

He sighed, "Yes, I suppose I can understand that." Theo looked at her with his lips pressed into a thin line. He curled his fingers around hers and then gently slid them up her bare arm, playing with the pretty blue lace she wore. "I still think it's complete rubbish that you care what they think about us, but I'll play along. For you."

Her lips quirked into a smile, bright enough to show her teeth and he felt his heart wrench. God damn Daphne Greengrass; she would be the death of him, surely.

Theo, admittedly, was used to holding the role of a ladies' man.

He grew up alongside Draco who had been too obsessed with the muggle world and too defiant to his parents to be very interested in witches even if they were practically throwing themselves at him with the off chance that might deign to give them enough attention to convince his father into marrying him off to one of them thus securing their position in the royal bloodline. He also grew up alongside Blaise who had been just as successful in turning witches' heads just from his looks alone but had been primarily interested in wizards to give them the proper time of day.

Thus, it fell to Theo.

He was neither singularly sought out nor gorgeous enough to maintain their interests should he manage to capture their attention with his charms and flirts. Theo was profusely titled and extremely wealthy, but he knew both of those aspects would not matter to the right woman. And while he was used to courting – or whatever the muggles call it – plenty of women, none of them were Daphne Greengrass.

Other than the fact that she was the most beautiful person Theo has ever seen in his entire life, she was also the only person who made him feel alive. She brought out something in him that no one else ever could (except Draco but that would be in a purely platonic way). He had no control over himself around her; anything she asked of him, anything she wanted from him at all, and he was ready to give it to her no matter the cost.

She wanted to take her time breaking off with whomever she was currently entertaining? Sure – she could have as long as she wanted. He would kiss her and taste him on her lips in the meantime. It really didn't matter to him.

She wanted to keep their relationship or whatever she wanted it to be a secret? Absolutely – he would do it without question and for however long she had in mind because he knew she was his endgame.

The fact of the matter – the absolute bloody fucking truth of the situation – was that Miss Daphne Greengrass, ethereal muggle and maneater, had Lord Theodore Nott, Jr., ordinary wizard with a gravitation for trouble, in the palm of her hands.

Theo figured she probably didn't even know she had him wrapped around her finger; in fact, he theorized she had no idea she also had Cedric Diggory in the same predicament. Perhaps that was why Theo got along so well with the bloke, but never mind that. It was unfortunate for him, absolutely, but what he and Daphne had was different. It was bigger than either of them, he was sure of it.

Whatever argument he had going into it would be lost in the wind the minute her green eyes met his blue ones and her ridiculously pink lips said his name – or said anything for that matter. The sound of her voice alone was enough to undo him.

She told him a week ago that she would break it off with Cedric.

For some reason, Theo didn't believe it would be over any time soon even with their talk about it; but he didn't mind. He would wait for her. No matter how long.

Any excuse she could give him, the worse the better, he would tell himself it was good enough. That whatever it was she said would be reason enough for him to stay. Theo would rather have Daphne walk all over him, step on his heart over and over, than walk away. He wanted her – he loved her – and she could give him the worst of her and he would willingly accept it.

All Theo saw was her.

He had it that bad.

. . .

13 June 1456

1:19 pm

"I thought you said the Grindelwald army was still mostly unanswered for?" Draco asked Hermione.

She nodded, following his gaze. "Yes, they are. My High Constable believes they are not threat enough to require most of my best men guarding them. We still have a company watching them on the eastern border but since they would need to cross the mountain range to even get close to the castle well… I gave permission for those who wanted to partake in the Sorting Ceremony to return."

Commanders Moody and Fletcher had both returned for that very thing with the former being sorted into Ravenclaw and readily conversing with Lady Lovegood while the latter had been pronounced muggle and returned to stand along the walls with the other knights.

Next in line were Hermione's own close guards and close friends, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Unsurprisingly to her, both of them were sorted into Gryffindor – Sir Finnigan, Seamus' father and Hermione's High Constable, had also been sorted into Gryffindor. The two boys greeted the Weasleys with beaming grins before returning to their posts along the wall closest to their queen – ever the most dedicated knights.

She gave them her best adoring expression hoping that for the time being – while she could not express to them in words – it told them how proud she was of them. Dean nodded loyally back while Seamus sprang her a cheeky thumbs-up.

Hermione laughed as she refocused her attention on Draco.

"I believe I'm losing this bet," she mused.

He smirked, "As I told you that you would, my radiating queen."

"Careful," Hermione warned tenderly. "You don't want your Minister to overhear you saying that."

He laughed outright and several heads nearby turned to see him looking warmly upon Hermione who equally glowed with delight.

"Oh, hell yes I do." He told her. "I very much want him to see me all but worship at your feet."

Hermione flushed. "Stop," she chastised.

Draco winked at her before turning his attention back to the next person to be sorted.

They were now moving into the true nobility and it was about to get very, very intense in the Great Hall. The entire Council would be subject to the Sorting Hat's whims and would have to abide by its decision, thus swaying their vote at the end of the day on whether or not Hermione's precious Amalgam Act uniting the two kingdoms – and approving her future marriage to Draco – would pass.

She fervently hoped Draco was right whether or not it meant that she would lose their bet. How terrible would another ride really be?

So far it was about even. The Goyle family had all been sorted into the House of Slytherin while their close friends the Crabbe family had all been muggles; both families' fathers and sons were prominent Council members.

Lord Marcus Flint – and apparent love of Pansy though Hermione was glad that had been a lie – had been sorted into Slytherin as well (which after seeing so many Slytherin's back to back gave Hermione the perfect excuse to smirk at Draco and mouth, "Hope you're ready to give up your wand, love.").

Immediately after, though, Lord Zacharias Smith had been sorted into Hufflepuff (to which Draco turned to her and mouthed, "Get your riding gear ready, baby.").

Hermione was surprised that both of her former suitors, Lord Neville Longbottom and Lord Michael Corner (and their families) were all determined by the Sorting Hat to be, "MUGGLE," and without much hesitation.

"It's getting closer," Draco noted.

Hermione met his steady grey gaze, "I know."

"Are you nervous?" He asked her, searching her face for any hidden micro-expressions of worry.

She exhaled loudly – in the background the Sorting Hat loudly announced one of the Patil twins "RAVENCLAW," while proclaiming the other to be "GRYFFINDOR," which sparked a lot of hushed conversation in the Great Hall – and tapped her fingers against the glinted gold of the throne's elaborately decorated arm.

"I know you've thought about it – worked out every possible scenario to exhaustion," Draco added.

"Yes," Hermione agreed. "You know that better than anyone."

She'd meant it to be apologetic, having unburdened her enormous baggage of worry at his feet more than once since he told her of the Sorting Ceremony, but Draco had simply smirked and coughed to cover his laughter.

"Correction," he said once he was done. "I know you better than anyone."

"They aren't mutually exclusive. Both can be true." She reminded him.

He shrugged. "Sure. Whatever you say, Your Majesty," he winked.

"Incorrigible," she mouthed to him. Again, he winked.

Hermione flushed.

. . .

13 June 1456

2:58 pm

Pansy hadn't said a word to Harry since he took a seat on the other side of Daphne (whom had been the very traitor to invite him to sit with them in the first place though how could she very well know how badly Pansy had ruined things with him).

She hadn't so much as spared him a glance even though she could feel his emerald green eyes boring into her every few minutes with what she presumed was equal parts hatred and longing. Which, regrettably, she deeply understood.

Instead, Pansy kept her dark eyes trained on Draco and Hermione, barely paying attention to anyone who took to the Sorting Ceremony. It was important, sure, but she honestly didn't care what directly happened because of it. It would make no difference to her miserable life so, why should she care?

It would be Hermione who would have the most to gain or lose from this day after all, and look at her – she was glowing, practically radiating as if Draco was the god damn sun itself, and she had never looked happier.

Pansy sighed.

She had never wanted what Hermione had – the title and the power – but in that moment Pansy never wanted it more. The absolute freedom that she held in her ridiculously small, ringless hands was insane. That being said, if today went horribly sideways it would all be gone in an instant and Hermione could very well lose her pretty little head over her clear adoration in Draco (one long look at the two of them and it was quite obvious they were more than innocently interested in one another).

Yet, there she sat. With a radiant smile across her face and the apparent love of her life returning it with ease.

How Pansy wished she could be so fortunate as to have that be her fate. For all her talk of practical marriages and loveless alliances, she was a young romantic at heart. She wanted stolen kisses, dancing until her feet ached, someone to hold when the nights grew cold, and fuck it all she wanted a fucking wedding; a massive one with the white gown and the catholic veil and the white fucking carriage to take them away.

She wanted it all… and she wanted it with Harry.

When his name was called, Pansy's head finally snapped to look over at him. This time he didn't look at her. Pansy frowned momentarily before schooling her face into an apathetic expression.

There was a lull in the chatter as he took his seat and bent his head in an inaudible conversation with the Hat. Her heart thumped murderously in her chest and all she could hear was the roaring of her own blood coursing through her body before the Hat sprang excitedly up and yelled, "BETTER BE… GRYFFINDOR!"

Harry flushed and immediately took a seat next to the youngest Weasley brother. The two of them talked animatedly and Pansy felt her heart sink at how easily he left her. No, she amended to herself. She left him. It was only fair.

When Pansy's name was called not long after, she fought the urge to find his green eyes among the crowded Gryffindor table and failed. His eyes sparked as she made her way up to the dais, but when she turned swiftly to fan out her skirts and take a seat, he was no longer there.

Another quick scan across the room revealed his messy black hair ducking through the double doors of the Great Hall.

Pansy shut her eyes, fighting back the stinging tears pricking behind her eyes at his exit, willing herself not to think what his lack of care for her future meant and gritted her teeth. She was not going to let anyone see how upset she was; the thudding of her pulse in her ears was readily channeled from wounded to rage.

Pansy perched on the edge of the stool, let the Minister of Magic place the ugly tattered hat on her head, and coiled in on herself ready to unleash the bottled-up anger. The minute it touched her fine, expertly styled hair, she had a few choice words for it.

"Listen here, omnipotent overlord hat, I am none too pleased with you at the moment and though I very much detest the idea of ranting to a hat, I'm afraid it cannot be helped."

Hmm… Alright... Go on.

"Well, first off," Pansy began in a hushed shout. "You took my handmaiden from me! She's overjoyed with being a witch and now I will have to find and train a new one. Do you know how utterly tedious and draining that it? Do you? No. I don't think so. I mean, sure, half the fun in having a handmaiden is the training. I am particularly skilled at berating people into behaving as their stature demands, but still. It's quite time consuming and I haven't the patience for it so… how dare you."

Interesting… I see… Secondly?

"I could sit here and beg you to declare me magical to save me from having to go through that hardship. I could berate you and belittle you, stupid hat, until you give me what I want. I am also very good at that. I could – but I won't. And would you like to know why?" Pansy said.

Why? The hat answered, half-intrigued and half-irritated.

"Because I don't care. Honestly, I don't. You can use your so-called mind reading or soul-searching skills to see it for yourself. I don't care if I'm magic. But do you know what I am going to sit here and ask of you?"

Hmph… (definitely irritated now) What?

"Make my parents magic. My father specifically. That would be exceptionally beneficial to me. If he were magic, then he would have to retract his current political stand and support Hermione's Amalgam Act, and do you know what else? HM? He would have to eat his words about my wanting to marry Harry. If I were magic and my father wasn't – that would do me absolutely no good. But if he were magic it would not matter whether I was or not because there is nothing – nothing – he could say that would hold any weight in an argument against my marrying Harry." She huffed, her chest rising and falling rapidly after the hushed argument.

Are you quite done?

"Above all," Pansy added – Apparently not… The Hat mused – "He would hate it. He would absolutely hate himself. He loathes magic and I think him having to accept that he belonged to their world would be… well, it would be the best revenge a girl could ask for."

Is that all?

"For now," she sniffed. "That's it. Do whatever rubbish divination you must now."

"RIGHT THEN," the Sorting Hat said aloud for the entire Great Hall to hear, "SLYTHERIN!"

Pansy hissed at it, "What the fuck did I just say?"

Patience, child…

Pansy stepped down and nearly tripped over her skirts, quickly regaining her footing and striding forward to walk it off. At first, she headed toward the Slytherin table, sparing a glance toward Hermione and Draco – the former looked immensely proud while the latter smirked knowingly – but then just before she swept her skirts aside to take a seat beside Marcus, she blinked.

Something inherently clicked in the back of her mind.

She, Lady Pansy Parkinson Four-Names bestowed upon with titles and fortunes and circumstance, was magic.

Pansy stared at the space left for her at the Slytherin table and suddenly didn't feel the need to sit and stick around to see if the Hat would declare her parents to be magical as well. She picked up her skirts and headed for the exit as fast as ladylike manners and her uncomfortable heels would allow.

It took mere seconds to locate the roguish Duke and haul him into a nearby room (the War Room which seemed upsettingly fitting for them) and spun around to face Harry.

"Harry," she breathed.

"What do you want, Lady Parkinson?" He said, clenching his jaw.

Pansy swallowed the reflex to flinch at his harsh tone and held her ground. "Why did you leave?" She asked him.

He scoffed, "I had to check on something. I don't see why you should care about my whereabouts though," – again, Pansy tried not to flinch – "Or is that why you dragged me in here? To yell at me for missing out on your moment in the Sorting Ceremony. Leave me alone," he spat.

Her nose scrunched despite her best effort to remain calm and collected.

"Fuck you, Harry," Pansy snapped. "I didn't mean now. I meant why did you leave?" She huffed, pressing her palms against his velvet vest and shoving him backwards. "Why did you leave me?"

"I - " He stopped, blinking. His eyes transitioned from narrowed and cold to open and confused in an instant. "You told me to."

"I know," she said. "But why did you listen? Why did you fucking listen, hm? You never listen, especially not to me, so why did you? What changed?"

He gritted his teeth, a spark of anger flaring back up again. "You said you didn't love me. That I was just sex to you. Always was."

"You stupid, stupid boy!" Pansy wailed, shoving him again so that he stumbled back against a bust. "Why did you believe me?"

"I - " Harry paused. "What?"

She groaned, "I lied!"

He took a moment to process this – her words, her frustration and her sudden pull of him into the secluded room – then responded with, "Why now? What changed?"

Pansy could have laughed at her own words being flung back at her. She wanted to laugh, and she thought maybe it would be a better release for her emotional overflow than what she was currently doing. But she couldn't quite manage a laugh because he was right.

He was right to question her.

She had blown things way out of proportion with them; firstly, by pretending it didn't matter the entire time, then by pushing him away every time he dared to hold her closer, and lastly by lying to him. She had told him that she never loved him – that he never meant anything to her more than sex.

But the truth is that Pansy had loved him for a very long time and had been too afraid to admit it even to herself. Now, she wasn't afraid anymore. What was there for her to be afraid of? The Hat had been a key factor in her recognizing this herself, though at the time he told her she belonged to Slytherin, Pansy hadn't fully grasped what it had done for her yet.

Now, she did.

Now, she knew, that it didn't matter whether or not her parents were magic because she was. She was. She was magic and there was nothing anyone could say or do to stop her from learning to yield this power she had deep inside of her, to unleash to potential that she had for greatness, and to be free to make her own choices.

Including whom she wanted to love.

So fucking what if her father wanted to have a stroke and disown her for choosing to love Harry and to marry him? So what? What could he possibly do or say to her now that would hold any weight in her future?

Pansy had not realized of course that while she had been explaining all this to the Hat via her reasons for wanting her father to be of magical blood, she had already been giving herself enough of a reason to own her own future.

Harry had been wrongfully accused; his hands had been pinned behind his back because of something he didn't do.

He had always loved her, cared for her, and seen through her guarded mask at the woman she was, not the one she pretended to be. If he made her soft it was because she wanted to be better for him, with him.

Harry had never forced into anything. Ever.

Not the first night they met when he wanted to dance with her. She'd said no and turned her nose up at him and while that hadn't stopped him following her around all night, trying to get her attention, he still hadn't forced her into sharing a dance with him.

Not a few nights later when he had asked for her hand in marriage, when he'd gotten down on one knee and begged her to see how perfect for each other they were. He hadn't taken her refusal too seriously either and kept close to her ever since.

Not after the many times they fell into each other's arms in between the sheets. He may have been rough with her sometimes, but there was always a question in his movements and in his eyes especially. Can I touch you here? How about there? Do you like this?

Even when he wanted her to fuck-all and runaway with him after her father blatantly disrespected her – and him – in the middle of the bloody corridor, he still pleaded with her. He never played her games and he never mandated any part of their fucked-up relationship.

And what had she done?

She had explicitly told him what they had was nothing and that she wouldn't even let him refer to it as a relationship.

Pansy knew she fucked up big time with him.

She sighed.

"I lied," she said again, softer. Her eyes wilted as they searched his face for some sign of understanding, willing him to give her another chance. To hear her out. "I lied about everything before. The letters," she went on tentatively, "they were about you. All of them. It was never just sex."

Pansy took a deep breath, lifting her hands to placed them on his arms, letting her fingertips brush against the smooth fabric of his coat.

"I lashed out on you because of my father and I know that's no excuse, how trapped and attacked he made me feel, and I know there's nothing I can say now to take back what I said then," she paused, exhaling, "but I want to try."

He blinked at her, then nodded slowly.

"Harry you and I are… Well, we complement each other perfectly and while most of the time that ends up in our favor, sometimes it backfires. I know how to get under your skin just as you know how to spike my temper. We're good for each other until it's too good and then - " Pansy sighed, "Then I fuck it all up because I'm terrified of how good it is."

He swallowed, "Go on."

"You scare the hell out of me," Pansy admitted softly. "You loved me, like really, truly, loved me. I don't know why I'm so fucked up – why my first instinct is to break something that I love – but I can see it," she said, her eyes flickering over his tight-lipped mouth. "I can see it on your face, that I can't make it right. I know I'm to blame for it, for everything, but…"

Pansy raised one of her hands, brushing her thumb across his cheek and cupping it when he leaned instinctively into her touch.

"I just wanted you to know that." She said. "That I know I'm to blame for us, and that I'm the one burned us down but it's not – it's not what I wanted, you have to know that – I didn't want to do this to you. I didn't want to hurt you, Harry. I love you."

He closed his eyes, then opened them again and stared down on her with a resolutely softer expression than he previously had.

"I love you," Pansy said again. "I love you and I don't want to lose you."

She held her breath.

Then, his hand lifted to cover hers and he bent his head to touch his forehead against hers.

"Pans," he murmured delicately.

She let out something between a sob and a laugh, stepping onto the balls of her feet to press her lips against his. "I love you, Harry," she whispered against his mouth. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He kissed her back, wrapping his arms around her thin waist and holding her tightly against his chest. She hooked her arms behind his neck and put everything she had into the kiss, hoping to take back every horrible thing he suffered at her disposal; every mean name, every belittling of their relationship and every lie that broke his heart.

"I'm sorry," she said again and again against his lips. "I love you,"

Harry cupped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, pulling away to look at her. His emerald green eyes capturing her attention as they always did. "I love you, Lady Pansy Parkinson, and you are not losing me. Ever."

She closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath she hadn't even been aware that she had been holding.

The air in the room shifted as his hands floated around to the back of her gown, tugging at the ribbon. She slid her fingers down his vest, unbuttoning it with skill and dexterity, then running her fingertips up his rigid abdomen as she rid him of his chemise as well.

His lips were hot against her throat, placing kisses down it and sucking on the fragile skin spread over her clavicle. There would be a mark in the morning, she was sure of it.

Pansy's gasps were uneven as his hands slid around to pull her loose corset and dress from her shoulders, then replaced his hands on her breasts with his mouth. Her nipple rolled between his tongue and then his teeth.

She let out a sharp hiss and something in her fluttered, low and wanting.

"Tell me that we'll be just fine," Pansy choked. By then Harry's hands had wound up her skirts and navigated through them to her slit. His thumb expertly rubbing against her clit through the fabric, effectively soaking her petticoats before pushing them down her legs and bending to replace his fingers once again with his sinful mouth.

"Harry," she moaned, knotting her fingers in his dark hair. He pushed her legs further apart with his shoulders, throwing a leg over one of them and returning to pleasure her. "Tell me that you're still mine, even when I lose my mind."

His tongue dove into her and then flicked mercilessly against her clit before running along her opening. His palm took its place, rubbing against her and creating a friction so tormenting and so good that she had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from screaming out in pure agony.

His finger pressed against her clit, building the pressure inside of her and she was so close – so fucking close – that she cried out his name. "Harry," she said again, pleading, begging.

"Yes," he finally said, meeting her eyes and smiling up at her. "I am yours, Pansy, and you, you are fucking insane, but you are mine."

As he said that, his grin turned devilishly into a smirk. The fucking bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. She considered shouting a stream of obscenities, but all that came out was a moan as his mouth was hot against her clit again.

Pansy came hard, and with a blinding release of euphoria.

. . .

13 June 1456

5:01 pm

Hermione let her fingers fall off the arm of the throne, brushing them experimentally against Draco's; his head didn't turn in her direction, but he nudged her back. It was an almost indiscernible movement. Then he did it again, sliding his fingertips between hers in the poorest and yet most adoring attempt to interlace their hands.

He gave her a single, reassuring squeeze before letting go of her and clasping his hands tightly in his lap.

This was the moment the two of them had been waiting for after what felt like ages; the four most prominent members of her Council were about to be sorted.

The rest of her Council had been sorted and split – predictably according to Draco – evenly between wizard and non-wizard and then again between the four Houses. It was somewhat reassuring to Hermione that while she still loathed the ambition and old mindset of her Council members, their opinions were not all one-minded; she was relieved to see just as many Hufflepuffs as Ravenclaws and just as many Gryffindors as Slytherins.

It was foreboding that the last four of her Council members fates weighed so heavily. They were crucial to her act passing and for her future with not only the wizarding kingdom but with Draco as well.

Sir Finnigan had already been sorted into Gryffindor as he elected to take his sorting position with his charges, the Queen's guard, but dearest Uncle Colbert had yet to go. Despite not being one of the most prominent members of her Council – as the last three before Hermione to be sorted were – he still held a great deal of influence in his vote.

Hermione bit down on her inner cheek as her uncle sat on the stool before her. She couldn't make out his expressions since he faced the rest of the Great Hall, but the tension in his shoulders was evident. He was not pleased with whatever the Sorting Hat was saying.

She did not know for certain, but Hermione held a highly educated presumption that her father's side, the royal House of Granger bloodline, would not contain any magical blood. They had been ruling her kingdom for as long as it had been united and if there was any dalliance of magical kings or queens in the history, then it had surely been written over.

No, she thought, it was extremely unlikely that she would be magical from his bloodline.

However, Hermione feverishly hoped, her mother's side of the family might contain magical blood. Uncle Colbert was, after all, her mother's brother and not from the royal House of Granger.

Draco had warned her not to let bloodlines influence her too much as there would children born to magical parents that were not magical themselves all the time; he told her it was just as rare but equally as likely that there would be magical children born to muggle parents.

So, even though Hermione tried not to, she clung to the Sorting Hat's next words as if it was deciding her fate and not her uncle's.

"HMM, RIGHT," the Sorting Hat pronounced after a lengthy and inaudible conversation, "MUGGLE,"

Uncle Colbert rose gracefully and took his seat again with an air of swagger and a crooked smirk.

Hermione swallowed with great difficulty, avoiding Draco's sidelong glance. She couldn't meet his eyes just now, she couldn't. She knew what he'd told her about bloodlines, but it seemed so far out of reach now – How was she to be the first and only queen of her kingdom with magic in her blood? What was the chance?

The next three gentlemen were sorted in what seemed like a blur – as if time had sped up while Hermione had been lost in her spiraling thoughts of her future – and before she knew it the Minister of Magic was calling out her name.

"Her Majesty, Queen Hermione Granger," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "It is your turn to be sorted, Your Majesty," he added in a low voice, bowing slightly.

"I love you," Draco mouthed.

A genuine smile crept over her lips, "I love you, too," she mouthed back.

He beamed.

Hermione stood from her throne and inched down the three steps of marble toward the small wooden platform.

Unfortunately, the other three of her Council members had been sorted troublingly evenly; High Council Fudge was sorted into the House of Slytherin, her Master of Coin, Grand Master Gringott had been muggle, and her Hand, Grand Master Snape had also been sorted into Slytherin. Thus, Hermione's proclamation would almost certainly sway the overall vote of her act.

She took deep breaths as she fanned out her enormous, layered white skirts.

They were decorated with ivory silks and had hundreds of pearls sewn into them. Pansy had insisted that she remain neutral in her color palette so as not to greatly influence the pompous fortune-telling hack of a hat (her words) and though Daphne agreed with the decision, ultimately dressing her in this gown, she had offered a different insight in that it would appeal to her subjects more, especially since they held her in high regard.

There was silence in the Great Hall.

A pin dropping would echo through the vaulted ceilings.

Everyone in the room took a collective intake of breath as Hermione bent to perch on the edge of the seat.

Dumbledore stepped toward her with his boots clacking loudly against the marble in the absence of sound in the room and held the Sorting Hat above her head.

It hadn't even touched her crown or unruly curls before it bellowed out –

"MUGGLE."

A/N - A gentle reminder to please be conscious of other readers and TRY NOT TO LEAVE SPOILERS in the reviews. Thank you! Much more Dramione moments to come now xx