Chapter Text
Chapter XXII
Sillage
si·luhj
Noun: the scent that lingers in the air, the trace of someone’s scent
Song: Breakfast in Bed by Stephanie Poetri & gnash
October 31, 1998
When Hermione first awoke, a gentle warmth spread through her, feeling his solid form beneath her. She was half-draped over Draco, her head resting on his chest as she listened to his deep, steady breathing. With sleepy eyes, she looked up and propped her chin on her hand, letting a wave of admiration wash over her as she took in his features. His hair was a mess, cascading in different directions, making him look effortlessly charming.
She sighed contentedly and laid back down, pressing her ear against his chest to listen to the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. The steady drumming lulled her back to sleep, where she dreamt of nothing but peace.
The second time she woke, she felt herself being gently jostled. Opening her eyes, she saw Draco trying to extricate himself from her without waking her, the dawn light filtering through the window of her room. He was moving as if solving a complex equation, considering every possible outcome. It was amusing to watch, and she couldn't help but smile at his efforts.
As he noticed her awake, his expression turned sheepish. "How long ago did I wake you?" he asked, his deep morning voice rasping in the quiet room.
"Just a few moments ago. I wanted to see how you'd work it out," she replied, feigning innocence.
Draco huffed, a mischievous smile spreading across his face. "You thought my struggles were hilarious, didn't you?"
Hermione giggled, and her laughter only grew as he flipped them over, tangling them further in the sheets. "For that, you will pay, Hermione," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers.
He then began to tickle her, and her laughter cut through their kiss, making her breathless as she tried to fend off his playful attack. Draco laughed at her feeble attempts until she finally gave in, gasping, "I apologize, I apologize!"
"Good. Next time, you should be helpful instead of gawking at my struggles," Draco said with mock seriousness, making her laugh again.
"What if I just wanted to keep you a little longer?" she retorted, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
His features softened with adoration. "I am yours to keep, Hermione." He leaned down and kissed her again, and she wrapped her limbs around him.
Draco sighed reluctantly. "If we don’t want to alert our parents to our activities, I must return to my room."
"I know," Hermione replied, a hint of sadness in her voice. "But I'll see you in a few hours before we head to Knockturn Alley."
They had planned a trip to search for a volume on Morgana’s history, having exhausted every other text within the Malfoy Library and the restricted section at Hogwarts. With their departure to Beauxbatons imminent, they decided to take advantage of their freedom to use the Floo Network that weekend.
Draco nodded and kissed her once more before making his silent retreat from her room, carrying his wand and book. Leaving behind his scent of the intoxicating scent of his cologne.
Wandering through the dark, dank alleyways of Knockturn Alley, Hermione and Draco kept their cloaks pulled tight around them. Their hair was instantly recognizable—something they couldn't afford in this shadowy part of the wizarding world. Every shop they entered, Draco discreetly deposited a few galleons to ensure the shopkeepers’ silence. It wouldn’t bode well for either of them if their whereabouts or even the knowledge of what they were seeking were leaked.
So far, their search had turned up nothing of substance. Hermione wanted to try one more place, but Draco refused to risk it. He knew the dangers of lingering in Knockturn Alley and the potential fallout if their presence were reported.
Despite his insistence, Hermione was reluctant to leave, never one to waste an opportunity. Draco grabbed her arm, trying to steer her toward the apparition point, his urgency palpable. "Hermione, let's go. You never know what dangerous people are about."
With a swift, practiced movement, Hermione twisted his arm backward, forcing him to his knees. "Be careful, darling. You never know when you might run into someone dangerous," she said, her tone playful yet commanding.
Draco's eyes widened, taken aback by her assertiveness. Her flirty dominance was intoxicating, and he felt a rush of excitement. He had always admired her intelligence and determination, but this new side of her was thrilling and enticing.
"Eager to get me out of trouble, are you?" she purred into his ear, her grip firm yet soft. "But darling, you forget, I happen to enjoy a little danger now and then.”
Draco's heart pounded in his chest as he looked up at her from his kneeling position. The mischievous glint in her eyes sent shivers down his spine, and he couldn't resist playing along. "Oh, I see," he replied, smirking. "In that case..." He stood up, scanning their immediate surroundings.
Hermione chuckled, leaning in closer, her breath warm against his face. "Careful now," she teased, her voice low and alluring. "You never know what kind of trouble I might lead you into."
Draco swallowed hard, the intensity of the moment electrifying his senses. "I'm more than willing to find out," he said, his voice husky. He would follow her headfirst into any adventure if it meant being by her side.
After a few stolen kisses, Hermione finally relented. Draco held her close, and with a final glance at the shadowy alley, they disapparated back to the Manor.
Upon their return, one of the house elves promptly informed Hermione that Lucius wanted to meet with her at her earliest convenience. Draco looked perturbed by the unusual request. She reassured him multiple times that she could handle herself, having already dealt with his father before.
Draco escorted her to Lucius’s study, kissed her once, and made her promise to find him after the conversation.
Entering the grand study, Hermione couldn’t decide if the room spoke of the man behind the large dark desk or if it was entirely a facade. The dark wood panels exuded an aura of authority and intimidation, while the multitude of limited edition volumes lining the walls showcased a wealth of knowledge and history. The portraits of past Malfoys, their eyes following her every move, added to the sense of legacy and expectation.
She walked past a luxurious sitting area, her footsteps muted by the rich Persian rug that covered the wooden floor, and approached one of the chairs in front of Lucius’s desk. He hadn't acknowledged her presence, his quill busily scribbling on the parchment in front of him.
She sat down, her posture straight and composed. Crossing one leg behind her ankle, she smoothed out her skirt and clasped her hands together, waiting patiently.
As she waited, Hermione took in the finer details of the study. Small, ornate frames lined a nearby shelf, each capturing moments of Draco’s life. One showed him as a young boy, his hair a little messier but his face already set with determination. Another depicted Narcissa on their wedding day, radiant and elegant. There was even a photo of Lucius and Narcissa in their early days at Hogwarts, looking surprisingly carefree.
Hermione’s eyes wandered to the intricate carvings on the fireplace mantel, depicting serpents intertwined with delicate roses, a testament to the complex nature of the Malfoy family. A decanter of what looked like an aged whiskey sat on a side table, beside a set of finely crafted crystal glasses. The faint scent of leather and aged parchment filled the room, mingling with the subtle, smoky aroma of a recently extinguished fire.
Lucius finally looked up, his piercing eyes meeting hers. He set his quill down deliberately, the silence stretching out as if to test her resolve. "Hermione," he said, his voice smooth yet carrying an undercurrent of authority, "thank you for coming on such short notice."
Hermione inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. “Lucius," she replied, her voice steady, "how can I assist you?"
Lucius leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers as he regarded her. "A little lesson regarding the deal we struck a few months ago," he began, his tone unreadable. "One that I believe we need to follow through on now more than ever.”
Hermione's mind whirled back to their earlier agreement, made before Draco’s trial. She maintained her composure, waiting for him to continue. The portraits seemed to lean in closer, as if even the painted Malfoys were interested in this unexpected conversation between her and the imposing man before her.
Lucius waited for her to speak first.
“As I remember, the conditions have been met, have they not? My correspondence with Narcissa hasn’t faltered. I’ll admit that I retain it not out of obligation to our original deal.” Which was true—Narcissa had become a wonderful mentor and confidant, and given her relationship with Draco, it made sense to maintain a connection with his mother as well.
"Which is well and good, and I agree. However, a connection between our families is nothing if you have nothing to offer." He paused, noticing her huff at his remark. "Now, now, Hermione, do not take this personally. You do offer a great deal to my family. I meant that as you gain your own status internationally, your own platform, and a separation from your association with Potter and Weasley, you must go about it differently. Especially if you wish to be Minister of Magic. It will not do you well to misstep now.”
She regarded him curiously, slightly lowering her defensiveness. "How do you propose I do that?”
“You have the framework already established, evident in how you negotiated with me. However, it could use a little finesse, shall we say.” He stood up, walking around his grand desk before joining her in the chair beside her. “When you’re thinking about how to get someone to do what you want, what is the kind of framework you utilize? What do you default to?”
She sat for a moment, puzzled, before hesitantly answering. “Well, the first way is to ensure there is little to no discrepancy in how it’s executed. By stating what you want clearly, you leave little room for misinterpretation. The second way is to anticipate that they might do the opposite of what you ask, so you plan for that. The third is to form an alliance, despite how challenging it may be, for the ends must justify the means, so to speak.”
He sat back in his chair again, a smug, proud expression crossing his features. “Good, good. Now I want you to add some more tact. Firstly, silence. Silence is the best start; you need to understand what they want. The biggest mistake people make is they talk too much. If you’re doing all the talking and they’re doing all the listening, what does that do?” Lucius asked curiously.
“It puts me at a disadvantage,” she replied confidently.
“Yes, exactly. They are learning everything about you—what you care about, your values, your belief systems. They learn your tells and tics; they get a good read on you before you know anything about them.”
“But isn’t it that if you’re controlling the conversation, then you direct where it goes?” she asked, pondering previous interactions where she tended to ramble.
“False, entirely a myth. They have the power. Your goal is to understand their motivational mindset. What are they motivated by? Everyone is motivated by something different.”
“So, in order to understand what motivates them, I need to pay attention to them.”
Lucius confirmed her statement, “Yes, but go beyond that,” he implored. “Once you calculate what motivates them, then you can utilize that motivation for your own gain. Most of the individuals you encounter tonight will be motivated by what, Hermione?”
“Love, family, maybe even their own desires and goals.”
“There are three things that will motivate the people you interact with tonight: power, status, and duty. Power and influence give any of these people authority and control. The status that comes with these positions can be highly motivating; take that away, and they have less power. A sense of civic duty and responsibility to represent and serve the public faithfully can also motivate them, but the more time they spend in these roles, the less it matters. It becomes a duty to themselves and their desires. Those who aren’t corrupted by this still maintain a duty to their family or to the people actually holding the power over them.”
Hermione sat silently, absorbing the surplus of information Lucius had just given her. The weight of his words settled on her, making her realize the depth of the political game she was stepping into.
“You said that silence was the first tactic. What’s the second?” she asked, her voice steady. Lucius looked impressed. She had to constantly remind herself of who this man was, though she wondered if her perception of him was congruent with his true self.
“Perception,” Lucius replied, leaning forward slightly. “How individuals perceive you is entirely within your control. In a world where you may not be seen as the powerful woman you know yourself to be, you must sometimes confirm their misguided notions to get on the inside.”
She swallowed her indignation, acutely aware of how the wizarding world viewed Muggle-borns, especially Muggle-born witches. “Despite how precious anything appears, there is often a deadliness to it. Utilize the innocence with which you are viewed to your advantage. Older individuals are often blinded by their perception of you. By the time they realize their mistake, it will be too late to stop you.”
Hermione nodded, thinking about her time at Hogwarts. There, she was seen as the Head Girl, part of the Golden Trio, or just an older student. Now, the scales were flipped. She wouldn’t have the same visibility and authority, especially internationally.
"The perception you create," Lucius continued, his voice softer but no less intense, "can be utilized in two ways. You can confirm their biases, allowing them to believe they are mentoring or leading a naive girl who wants to change the world. Simultaneously, you can build your name into a widely recognized one, granting you status, influence, and mobility within the wizarding world. The press alone will ensure that.”
Hermione’s mind raced with possibilities. She could play into their perceptions while subtly manipulating the narrative to her advantage. It was a delicate balance, but she had navigated complex social dynamics before.
Lucius watched her thoughtfully. "You see, Hermione, politics is as much about the game as it is about genuine conviction. You must understand the motivations and perceptions of those around you and use them to your advantage."
She met his gaze, her determination solidifying. “I understand. It’s about striking a balance between what they see and what I truly am. It’s about using their own expectations against them.”
“Exactly,” Lucius said, a small, approving smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “And never forget, those who underestimate you will always be at a disadvantage.”
Hermione felt a surge of determination. She was stepping into a complex world, but she had the intelligence and cunning to navigate it. “Thank you, Lucius. I will apply your lesson appropriately, lest I lose my ability to offer something to the Malfoy name,” she joked lightly.
He inclined his head slightly, chuckling to himself. “I have no doubt you will offer more than anticipated. Now, go and tamp down my son’s unnecessary anxiousness.”
She stood, smoothing her skirt, and walked towards the door. As she left the study, she felt the weight of the portraits' gazes on her back. This time, however, a few of them seemed to look at her with a newfound appreciation. She heard a murmur from one of the late Malfoys, “Is she really all you believe her to be capable of, Lucius?”
“That and more,” he responded, his soft whispered voice filled with a rare warmth and pride.
Hermione couldn't help but smile to herself as she stepped out into the hallway. The game was afoot, and she was ready to play.
Top: Hermione & Draco , Pansy & Pierre, Cho & Theo
Bottom: Ginny & Harry, Daphne & Blaise
Hermione felt overwhelmed. Despite all the preparations for the International Confederation of Wizards Summit, she had not anticipated the sheer amount of personal preparation it would entail. Thankfully, Pansy had gotten permission to Floo to Malfoy Manor, a blessing Hermione hadn’t anticipated.
Between her own mum and Narcissa, she wasn’t sure who was more detail-oriented. Pansy had intervened countless times, especially when Narcissa thought Hermione needed a tiara of all things. Even her mum agreed until Hermione finally shut that idea down before Narcissa could go to the vaults to retrieve an array of tiaras to choose from.
The gown they had settled on was a long, strapless creation, fitted at the top and transitioning into a voluminous skirt made of platinum duch*esse satin. It was simple, though “simple” hardly seemed adequate given the gown’s extravagance.
Her mum and Narcissa left to wait with the men downstairs while Pansy went to a guest room to change into her own gown for the evening. Hermione was adjusting the Morganna clips in her hair when a knock at the door pulled her away from the vanity. Her dress swished back and forth as she made her way to the door.
Lucius stood outside, holding a box she recognized, though slightly larger than the one Draco had given her. “As I said before, perception is everything,” he said, presenting the box to her. She was about to protest, but his critical look advised against it.
“Thank you,” she said as he walked away. When he turned back to nod in acknowledgment, she could have sworn he was blushing slightly.
She laughed as she shut the door, but her laughter stopped abruptly when she opened the box. Inside was a necklace, its design similar to her hair clips, though the emeralds were much larger. Admiringly, she took the necklace out of its velvet case and returned to the vanity to fasten it around her neck. It glistened in the candlelight, casting green shimmers across the walls.
She hurriedly grabbed her small clutch and made her way out into the hall, where she saw Pansy flicking her wand to fix a minor detail on her exquisite black gown. When Pansy finished, she looked up, staring at Hermione in proud awe.
Hermione did a spin to show off her finished look, and Pansy did one of her own in turn. They met by the stairs.
“I’m a tad nervous, Granger,” Pansy stated as they descended the stairs arm in arm.
“Honestly, you and me both.” Hermione tried to take a deep breath to relax her nerves, but who was she kidding? No one could possibly take a deep breath in this bloody dress.
Pansy looked affronted. “But you have Draco. Why would you be nervous?”
Confused, Hermione tried to understand why Pansy was nervous. “I’m nervous about the summit and the mission. Fill me in, Parkinson, why are you nervous? I think we have different reasons.”
Pansy stopped on the stairs, halting Hermione too. “I’m nervous because I might meet Pierre tonight. I don’t want to do anything that might lessen my chance of being the next Rivette. First impressions are everything!”
Initially, Hermione and even Draco had dismissed this as one of Pansy’s whims. However, seeing her best friend now, Hermione realized how serious this was for her. Pansy, whose parents were locked away, leaving her the home she didn’t love, in a world where a witch could be nothing or something. Pansy would be something, whether that meant being a princess of France or holding any other title that gave her power.
Pansy had lost enough in life to recognize an opportunity when she saw it. This was Pansy’s out.
Hermione took both of her friend’s trembling hands. “Pansy, you are going to make a stunning first impression if given the opportunity. If not tonight, remind yourself that he would be lucky to have you. France will be lucky to have you, not the other way around. We have a few months for you to make more impressions on Pierre, and if that doesn’t sway him, then I say you try any other French boy worthy of your notice.” She spoke fiercely, because Pansy Parkinson should damn well know what a formidable force she was.
Pansy’s eyes shone with gratitude and determination. “Thank you, Hermione. I needed that.”
“Anytime,” Hermione replied, smiling. Together, they continued down the stairs, ready to face whatever the evening had in store for them.
Draco, please stop pacing. You'll wear out the rug," his mother admonished gently, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation.
Draco looked up, his anxiety momentarily overshadowed by the sight of the Grangers stifling their laughs. His father, smirked by the floo, a rare expression of amusem*nt softening his usually stern features. They were set to leave for the Ministry in two minutes, after which they would travel with Ministry officials to the International Wizarding Confederation Summit hosted by the Australian Ministry.
"Where in Merlin's name are they?" he muttered under his breath. The anxiety gnawing at him about the mission was relentless, a constant companion that refused to be ignored. He tugged at his robes, which were charmed to remain immaculate throughout the evening. Pushing his anxiety to the recesses of his mind proved more challenging with each tick of the grandfather clock in the parlor. It was easier to ignore when Hermione was around, when they were just being themselves. But now? Now, he wanted to cancel the whole thing.
Hermione had reminded him countless times that there was nothing dangerous about what they were doing. It was a public event, people talked. If they made a connection, great. If not, it didn't mean they were done trying. Her reassurances had always been his anchor, but tonight, the weight of his responsibility felt overwhelming.
Ignoring his mother’s orders, he began to pace again, the rug beneath his feet showing the first signs of wear. He was startled by a sudden hush in the room. His steps faltered, his mind cleared, and his heart stopped.
Hermione stood in the doorway, a vision of ethereal beauty. She wore a flowing gown that shimmered like moonlight, each step she took sending ripples of light cascading down the fabric. Around her neck, the Morganna necklace from the vaults glittered, its protective charm subtle but significant. Her hair was elegantly styled, the enchanted hairpins he'd given her glinting softly.
She was a goddess among mortals.
Draco knew this to be true, but when the goddess deigned him worthy enough to smile at him, his heart finally restarted. "Hermione, you—I..." he stammered, at a loss for words.
Pansy laughed as she entered the parlor behind Hermione, breaking the spell. Draco sent a glare in her direction before refocusing on the divine being in front of him. Hermione gracefully walked forward, her hands resting lightly on his chest, admiring his robes. "Yes, Draco, you look wonderful too," she joked in response.
"You look exquisite, Hermione," her father said from the side, his voice filled with paternal pride.
"Thanks, Dad," she replied kindly. As she looked over at him, the light perfectly caught the necklace adorning her neck.
"Lucius, is that the..." his mother began, her voice trailing off in awe. She was undoubtedly referring to the Morganna necklace. It didn't have the same enchantments as the hairpins Draco had gifted Hermione, but it still had a protective charm placed upon it. If Draco didn't know better, he would say his father definitely approved and perhaps even liked Hermione.
Pansy huffed impatiently, "I think it's time for us to go," she said, standing by the floo with her arms crossed.
Draco took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his anxiety lift slightly at Hermione's touch. "Yes, right, of course. Shall we?" He offered her his arm, his nerves settling into a manageable hum.
The grandeur of the Australian Ministry of Magic was overwhelming as Draco, Pansy, and the rest of the group stepped through the international floo network. They had left the familiar confines of the British Ministry and now stood amidst the bustling activity of the summit's host. Photographers, journalists, and Ministry officials swarmed the area, their excitement palpable, creating an electric atmosphere.
As they arrived, Helena Hexton, the Australian Minister of Magic, approached them with a warm smile. She was just as kind as Hermione remembered, exuding an aura of genuine warmth and hospitality. Helena's presence brought a sense of familiarity and comfort amid the chaos.
"Welcome, welcome!" Minister Hexton greeted them, enveloping Hermione in a warm hug. Hermione reciprocated, feeling a surge of gratitude and relief.
“Minister Hexton, thank you again for this amazing opportunity to be your guests.
It is a complete honor,” Hermione said, her voice steady despite the flashes of cameras and the murmurs of the crowd.
“The honor is all mine, Miss Granger,” Helena replied, her smile broad and sincere. The witch's demeanor was infectious, and Hermione felt her nerves ease.
Just then, Hermione sensed Draco's presence before he came into her peripheral vision. There was an energy about him that she had come to recognize instantly. She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his.
“Minister Hexton, I would like to introduce my intended, Lord Draco Malfoy. Draco, this is Helena Hexton, the Australian Minister of Magic who aided me while I was recovering my parents.”
A few gasps echoed around them before the sound of cameras flashing intensified. She meant what she told Draco. He was hers.
Draco stepped forward with the grace and poise expected of his station. She could sense his anxiety, though still present, was now masked by a practiced calm. He extended his hand to Helena, his movements fluid and confident.
“Minister Hexton, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” Draco said, his voice smooth and respectful.
Helena took his hand with a firm but gentle grip. “Lord Malfoy, the pleasure is mine. Your reputation precedes you.”
Draco nodded, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Thank you, Minister. I must say, the work you have done, especially for Hermione and her family, is admirable.”
Helena glanced at Hermione, her eyes twinkling with pride. “Indeed, it was. Hermione’s efforts were instrumental in many ways, especially in the health world. She has revolutionized an entire new study. I would love to introduce you to the people in charge, Hermione. They have many questions for you.”
Hermione could have sworn she heard Theo and Harry making comments behind her, but she dared not to admonish the two boys. She hoped Ginny or Cho would handle them if things got disorderly.
The exchange of pleasantries continued as Helena introduced them to other key figures present. Hermione couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Lucius’s lessons on navigating high-stakes social settings echoed in her mind, reminding her of the power of appearances and the importance of making the most of this opportunity. She slid her hand around Draco's arm and proceeded to follow Helena.
Draco’s earlier anxiety seemed to melt away in the presence of her confidence.
Photographers snapped away, capturing the moment. Hermione’s smile was genuine as she glanced at Draco, his presence a steadying force beside her. They were here, together.
French Royal Family:
Queen Mother Élisabeth Marie de Valois Rivette,
King Auguste Louis Philippe de Valois Rivette
Crown Prince Pierre Aidoneus Henri de Valois Rivette
Queen Celine Marguerite Isabelle de Valois Rivette
Song: Lessons by Sinead Harnett
The summit buzzed with activity, an intricate dance of dignitaries, officials, and esteemed guests from around the world. Pansy, her mind sharp and her intentions clear, floated through the grand hall of the Australian Ministry of Magic. Her mission was twofold: gather crucial information from the French Minister, Julien Fontaine, and subtly position herself for a potential marriage into the French royal family.
As she navigated the crowd, Pansy's eyes scanned for her target. She bumped, quite by accident, into the wife of the French Minister. Instantly, her plan adapted.
"Oh, Madame Fontaine, your dress is simply exquisite," Pansy began, her French flawless and warm. She watched as Madame Fontaine’s expression shifted from mild irritation to pleasure, recognizing the flattery. "And your grasp of fashion is unparalleled, truly befitting someone of your stature.”
Madame Fontaine glanced over her black gown, a quizzical eye taking in the details Pansy added. “As is yours, might I ask who designed your gown for the evening? I have yet to see anyone mesh together such modern elements within wizarding fashion.”
“I did, actually. This is my own creation, as is the gown my best friend Hermione Granger is wearing tonight.”
“Quite impressive indeed, my dear.”
When the conversation seemed to stall, Pansy played her trump card. "Forgive me, I must introduce myself properly. I am Viscountess Pansy Parkinson of the British wizarding aristocracy."
The title did its magic. Madame Fontaine's demeanor transformed entirely, and she responded with the respect Pansy knew she was owed. "Ah, Lady Parkinson, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you care to join me? I feel like we have much in common.”
Pansy accepted and walked with her through the grand ballroom. Maintaining a conversation about the trip, her academics, and fashion ideas. Madame Fontaine was instantly enamored, further proven when she laced their arms together.
She was then introduced to Julien Fontaine, the French Minister of Magic. His demeanor was reserved but polite, and Pansy deftly steered the conversation towards topics of she knew he held of interest. However, their discussion was soon interrupted by the arrival of King Auguste Rivette and his charming wife, Queen Celine.
Pansy dipped into a graceful curtsy, her heart pounding with anticipation. "Your Majesties, it is an honor," she said, her voice steady and respectful. The King acknowledged her with a polite nod, but Queen Celine's cool gaze and curt nod were unmistakable snubs. Pansy secretly hoped their son would join them soon.
"Viscountess Parkinson will be attending Beauxbatons in the upcoming weeks for the magical academic events," Madame Fontaine added.
The King looked slightly interested. "Oh, very well. And what institution do you attend?" he asked.
"I attend Hogwarts, Your Majesty. I will be performing in Charms and Transfiguration."
"Celine was very adept at Charms as well, rightfully so, since she charmed her way into my heart." He looked over at his wife, his eyes kind and full of love. Though the Queen smiled in turn, she obviously did not like the comparison made between them.
Getting in with the future in-laws was going to be challenging. In England, navigating aristocracy was simpler without the weight of an active monarchy. Here, it was a clear and rigid hierarchy.
As Pansy maintained her composure, she felt the frustration simmering beneath the surface. The Queen's snubs were an all-too-familiar reminder of the obstacles she faced. Pansy knew that to survive in this world, she had to be more than just charming or intelligent; she had to be resilient.
"And what are your current aspirations beyond your education?" Minister Fontaine inquired, his curiosity piqued.
"International policy," Pansy replied, her voice measured. She knew she needed to convey ambition while remaining approachable. Each interaction, each seemingly innocuous conversation, was a piece of the puzzle she was assembling.
The Minister raised an eyebrow. "Ambitious. What draws you to that field?"
Pansy smiled. "I believe in the power of diplomacy and the importance of fostering strong international relations. It's a path where I can make a significant impact.” Pansy Parkinson knew her worth, and soon enough, so would the rest of the world.
Except for the Queen, who had reached a new level of disinterest as she sipped her drink.
Pansy was more than aware of how the world viewed women like her with a mix of admiration and suspicion. She was conscious of the whispers behind her back, the judgmental glances. But she had learned early on to use those assumptions to her advantage. She could play the part expected of her while plotting her own course. The world might see her as just another pretty face, but Pansy Parkinson was far more than that. She was a strategist, a survivor, and she would carve out her own destiny, no matter the cost.
The group conversed, and Pansy carefully listened, her ears attuned to any valuable tidbits of information. The topics remained mostly neutral—about the summit, the people they had encountered, the splendor of the evening. Blah, blah, blah.
It wasn't until a few moments into her conversation with the Queen and Minister's wife that she heard a whisper when King Auguste turned to Minister Fontaine, his voice low but distinct. "Minister Fontaine, I am concerned about the reports from Germany. The Death Eaters' resurgence there and in England are troubling. We must ensure they do not find a foothold within our borders."
Fontaine nodded gravely. "Indeed, Your Majesty. We have received intelligence that they are regrouping, not only there but in other countries as well. They are apparently still using old connections to rebuild their network. It's imperative we cut off their support and monitor their activities closely."
Pansy's mind raced. This was the pivotal information she was after. She needed to relay this to Daphne immediately.
Feigning a polite smile, Pansy made her excuses to leave the group. "Your Majesties, Minister Fontaine, Madame Fontaine, it has been a pleasure. I look forward to learning more about your beautiful country in the upcoming weeks at Beauxbatons. Please excuse me, I must attend to another matter.”
“Yes, of course. Please stay in touch during your visit here. I feel like we have much to discuss, Lady Parkinson.” Madame Fontaine clasped Pansy's hands within her own, giving her a conspiring wink.
“Yes, of course, Madame Fontaine.” Pansy winked back.
"Good. I'll have my office message you later in the week." Madame Fontaine's tone was one of genuine interest, and Pansy knew this connection could be pivotal.
As Pansy walked away, the sting of Queen Celine's snub still burned, but she had gained an ally in Madame Fontaine. Her mind raced with the possibilities this new relationship could bring. She had learned valuable information and secured a connection with the French Minister.
Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself of the bigger picture. The summit was still in full swing, and there were other opportunities to capitalize on. With renewed determination, she set her sights on the next target, ready to weave through the complex web of politics and alliances that defined the wizarding world.
After warning Pansy and Blaise before they began their talks with the Chancellor of Germany, she grabbed a drink off a nearby floating tray and stepped aside from all the chaos. She still couldn’t quell her frustration with Queen Celine, replaying the scene over in her mind, trying to figure out what she had done wrong.
Walking out of the ballroom into the hallway, she purposefully turned right, and then she heard the Queen’s irritated voice and her attendant’s echoing down the hall she had just turned. Taking the nearest opportunity, she slid behind the first open door. She pressed her back to the closed door, shutting her eyes and waiting for them to pass. Once they did, she opened her eyes, let out a deep breath, and took a sip of her drink, letting it quiet the beating of her heart.
She was in an empty office, sparsely decorated, with a lamp turned on the desk. Curiously, she walked over to the desk, wondering if the person whose office this was had just been here and planned to return. The desk chair was slightly askew; she placed the back of her hand on the lamp to see if it was warm. She quickly removed her hand; it was scalding hot, as if it had been on for some time, most likely forgotten.
She turned to leave, yet the volume of her skirt knocked an ink pot off the desk onto the floor with a thud, rolling under the desk.
"Merde." With a sigh, Pansy placed her drink on the desk and knelt to pick up the rolling pot of ink. Then she heard a gasp and a scuff against the marble flooring of the office. She startled.
She looked around to see who was also in the office with her. Not seeing anyone, she further looked under the desk to find a small shoe and puffs of ruffles. She stood and went behind the desk again, pulling the chair out to discover a slightly frightened girl, probably around the age of ten.
Pansy squatted down, presenting her hand. "Hello, my name is Pansy. I’m sorry to have intruded on your hiding spot. What’s your name?" The girl looked curiously at her hand before accepting it.
"Joséphine," she said in a French accent.
“Ah, bonjour Joséphine, c'est un plaisir de vous rencontrer.”
The girl smiled at her use of French but remained where she was. “Vos parents savent-ils où vous êtes?”
Joséphine shook her head, her brunette hair moving back and forth. "Non, ils ne savent pas où je suis. C'est le but de se cacher.”
Pansy softly laughed at Joséphine’s response. "Would you like to come out? We can hide together?"
Joséphine hesitated but then nodded, slowly crawling out from under the desk. Pansy took her hand and led her to a small settee in the corner of the room.
"You know," Pansy began, sitting beside her, "sometimes adults can be overwhelming, and it's nice to find a quiet place, isn't it?"
Joséphine nodded, her eyes wide and trusting. "Oui. I don't like all the noise.”
Pansy smiled warmly. She could tell there was more to this poor girl; it was one thing to escape the noise, but also another to avoid someone. “Neither do I. Besides all the noise, what’s the other reason you’re hiding?”
Joséphine looked slightly put out, caught in an act. “Ma mère is a lot to handle right now.”
She looked at Joséphine, seeing a bit of her younger self in the girl's need to escape the overwhelming expectations of her own mother. For now, they could both find solace in each other's company, hidden away from the chaos outside.
“I understand. My mother used to be the same way. It can be a lot to take on, especially at society events. I could use some non-judgmental company.”
Joséphine grinned, her initial fear melting away. "D'accord, Pansy. Why are you hiding?”
“I may have made an error with the Queen of France. I don’t think she likes me very much.”
Joséphine contemplated Pansy for a moment, looking at her. “Why wouldn’t she like you? You’re so pretty and kind.”
“Merci beaucoup, Joséphine, tout comme vous.” The girl smiled broadly. “I wish she liked me; it would make everything so much easier.” Pansy sighed, letting her composure fall as she slumped into the settee. Joséphine followed her actions.
“I like you plenty,” Joséphine responded.
Pansy smiled to herself, enjoying this precious moment. “Je t'aime aussi.”
Joséphine had begun to tell her about all the amazing things at Beauxbatons, having just started her first year. Pansy explained she would be joining her there in a few hours. The girl looked elated as she began to further list all the things they could do together.
Joséphine stopped mid-sentence, looking seriously at her. “Pansy, would you like to be friends?”
Pansy had only seen two girls in her life look so lonely before—herself and Hermione. Hermione had friends, of course, as did she. But a girl friend? Amongst all the boys? One you could just be yourself around?
Pansy nodded, “Absolument Joséphine, ce serait un plaisir pour moi d'être votre amie.”
The knob to the office began to slowly open, and Joséphine’s look of panic turned to pleading. Pansy nodded as the young girl ran back toward the desk. Pansy didn’t know what came over her, but if she could provide this little girl a moment of reprieve that she wished she had as a child, she would do it.
She rushed to the door to obscure the new intruder's vision as Joséphine hid from view. A young man stepped into the office, almost shocked to see Pansy.
She put on her mask of indifference. “Can I help you, sir?”
“Oh, pardon me, I didn’t know this office was occupied.” Another Frenchman. Heaven forbid she meet anyone other than someone French tonight. She was beginning to dread the accent, even from someone so handsome.
“Yes, it is,” Pansy replied coolly. “I was just taking a moment to gather my thoughts.”
The young man’s eyes flickered with curiosity. “I apologize for the intrusion. My sister, Joséphine, seems to have wandered off. Have you seen her?”
Pansy’s heart skipped a beat, but she maintained her composure. “I’m afraid I haven’t. There are a few children about tonight, aren’t there?”
He sighed, looking slightly distressed. “Indeed. It seems she’s always getting into some mischief.”
At that moment, Joséphine, unable to bear the secrecy any longer, emerged from behind the desk. “Pierre!” she exclaimed, running to her brother and hugging him tightly.
Pansy watched as the pieces fell into place. This was no ordinary young man. Pierre was the crown prince. She internally panicked. Firstly, it could have looked like she had kidnapped the princess. Secondly, she was breaking every single protocol right now. She would pretend not to know who he was. If he remained casual and informal, she had a better in. Right?
Pierre looked at Pansy. “Thank you for watching over my sister,” he said, his tone appreciative.
“It was my pleasure,” Pansy replied, “Joséphine and I were just having a quiet moment amongst friends.” She winked at the girl.
Joséphine’s smile dimpled in response before she stood before Pansy. “Thank you, Pansy, for hiding with me.”
Squatting down in her dress to get closer to eye level, Pansy took her new friend’s hands. “Always, Joséphine. You say the word, and we will hide together.”
Joséphine leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her in a hug. Pansy didn’t let go until Joséphine did. Honestly, she couldn’t care anymore about rules, the plan, or decorum, because she got to have this moment with a little girl who was so kind and pure and needed a friend.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then? At school?” Joséphine asked, uncertainty sketched across her features.
“Yes, I believe we will arrive in the evening, just in time for dinner. I can introduce you to my best friend Hermione, and you can give us a tour of your school?”
“Oh oui, vous allez absolument adorer Beauxbatons, j'ai hâte de vous le montrer !” Joséphine excitedly bounced on her feet.
Pansy stood to her full height, turning back to Pierre, who smiled, a mixture of relief and gratitude in his eyes. “You have my thanks, Lady...?” He cut himself off, trying to get her full name. Pansy looked at him dubiously; subtlety was apparently not his forte because his ploy was so obvious.
“Just Pansy.” She extended her hand, to which he bowed and reached for it, kissing the top of her knuckles. The contact sent a searing heat throughout her entire body.
“Then I am just Pierre,” he said, looking up at her through his long dark lashes, his hazel eyes ever so captivating. “If you ever need anything during your stay at Beauxbatons, please do not hesitate to ask. A friend of Joséphine is a friend of mine.”
Joséphine looked a little too mischievous and a little too self-satisfied for Pansy’s liking. Maybe subtlety wasn’t lost on the youngest royal. Pansy’s mind raced with the implications, but she simply smiled. “Of course. Thank you, Pierre.”
Pierre led Joséphine out of the room, but not before looking back at her. Pansy’s breath was nonexistent in that lingering moment before he closed the door.
Princess Joséphine Amélie Charlotte de Valois Rivette
Prince Pierre Aidoneus Henri de Valois Rivette
Viscountess Pansy Persephone Parkinson
She shook herself, trying to take a deep breath, her heart still pounding. She had inadvertently stumbled upon a connection that could change everything. The evening had taken an unexpected turn, and Pansy knew she needed to navigate these new waters carefully. She would have to play her cards right, but for now, she allowed herself a moment of satisfaction. The night was still young, and her destiny was still within reach.
Out in the hallway, Hermione looked perfectly composed, though Pansy noticed she looked a little frazzled as she fidgeted with her necklace. Upon closer inspection, she saw it—the frantic and feral look in her eyes—telling Pansy there was nothing perfect or composed about her friend at this moment. Pansy sped walked, as fast as the copious layers of fabric in her dress and her heels would allow, to reach Hermione.
She plastered on a broad smile when she reached Hermione, hoping her dear friend could fake it a little longer.
“Hermione, I need to find a lavatory. Come with?” Pansy asked sweetly, eyeing the people who were now looking at them. She took Hermione's cold and trembling hand, hoping to settle her.
Hermione still looked shaken but managed to plaster on a fake smile. “Yes, of course.”
They walked arm in arm as they navigated the halls until they found a lavatory. A few lesser-known dignitaries were finishing up before they left. Once they did, Hermione’s hair glowed ferociously bright, forcing Pansy to shield her eyes.
Then, glass shards exploded around her. Pansy shrieked, throwing her arms around her head, hoping to avoid whatever blast went off.
She hesitantly opened her eyes, a shiver running through her body. The entire space was inhumanely cold; it wasn’t glass that had exploded—it was ice. Spikes of ice radiated around them, shards of icicles scattered across the floor. Pansy looked back at her friend, who was trembling again.
“Hermione…” she began, unsure of what to do next.
Hermione’s eyes were wide with fear and terror. She let out a deep breath, the cloud of vapor floated ominously between them, her voice barely a whisper. “She’s returned.”
“Who’s returned Hermione?"
“Bellatrix.”
Pansy’s heart stopped. one of the darkest witches in history, was back?
“How?” Pansy asked, her voice shaking. “How is that possible?”
Song: Foolish by AJ Mitchell
Photographers snapped away, capturing the moment. Hermione’s smile was genuine as she glanced at Draco, his presence a steadying force beside her. They were here, together, navigating the intricate dance of diplomacy.
Minister Hexton introduced them both to Minister Tane Rangiwhenua of New Zealand. He was a kind man, and evidently a good friend of the Australian minister. He talked at length about nothing of import. Even Hexton seemed ready for a change in conversation, expertly maneuvering Tane into another person’s direction.
“I apologize, Tane is a good man, but extremely talkative. He tends to get even more so when drunk,” she told them as they moved to speak to Kingsley, who was already standing with Harry and Ginny among a plethora of individuals.
As their approach became noticed, Hermione thought about how odd this whole thing was. Kingsley and Hexton greeted each other, before Draco and she did the same. Glancing at Harry, who gave her a secret look of annoyance, she noted the next person introduced to their group.
Moments flowed in a similar rhythm: someone would approach, exchange pleasantries, request an introduction, ask a few questions, and then leave to gossip. Hermione kept her answers vague, reciprocated with her own questions, and learned as much as she could about their characters before they left. Occasionally, she even performed a little Legilimency on individuals who were too intoxicated to notice the intrusion into their minds.
She began to categorize the people who greeted her: those genuinely interested in knowing her, those familiar with Draco, and those eager to meet the Boy Who Lived. The final group consisted of those clueless about who they were but curious about the buzz in the ballroom.
She stifled a laugh with a cough and a sip of champagne when Harry gave her a quizzical look. If it weren’t for their present company, she would have shared her thoughts with him, knowing he’d find it amusing.
"Hermione," Becket began, his eyes shining with excitement, "when you first shared your theory with us, we were admittedly skeptical. Your method seemed redundant. However, after extensive testing, we discovered that your unique combination of spells and potions was the exact solution we needed."
Hermione blushed slightly. "I appreciate that, Amon. But can you explain how it all came together?"
Clara Vanhanen stepped forward, her voice calm and reassuring. "Your theory on the interplay between the Obscuratus Charm and the Memoriae Elixir was revolutionary. Using Legilimency to draw their memories forward and make them more concrete? Brilliant. Your hypothesis that gradually reintroducing memory fragments, buffered by a Stabilizing Potion, could safely reintegrate lost memories was simply ingenious."
Amon nodded enthusiastically. "Yes! We found that your method not only restored memories but also minimized the risk of mental trauma. It's a groundbreaking approach to mind healing."
Hermione's eyes sparkled with a mixture of pride and curiosity. "That's incredible! So, it worked similarly with my parents?"
“Yes, exactly!” Clara confirmed with a warm smile. "And not just for them. We've successfully used your method on other patients as well. Your research has opened up new possibilities in the field of mind healing."
Becket chimed in, "In honor of your contribution, we have named our foundation after you. The Granger Foundation for Mind Healing."
Hermione gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. "You named it after me?”
Ginny’s eyes volleyed back and forth during the discussion, wide with excitement when Hermione glanced at her. Harry had a proud look on his face.
Clara laughed gently. "Of course, Hermione. Without your innovative thinking and relentless pursuit of a solution, none of this would have been possible."
Hermione felt tears of joy welling up. "Thank you both so much. This means the world to me."
Amon placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "No, Hermione. Thank you. You've given countless people hope and a chance to reclaim their lives.”
Becket and Vanhanen praised her again, promising to update her on their developments before making their excuses and leaving.
Draco leaned in, his lips softly brushing against her ear. “You are forever immortalized as a swot, darling."
The awe in his eyes and the slight uptick of his mouth showed how utterly proud of her he was. Instead of crying, she playfully smacked his chest.
Periodically, Hermione looked around the room to check on her friends. She saw Pansy with the French Minister and what were unmistakably the French Royals. Pansy seemed to be handling herself well, though it looked as if she was holding her tongue, which meant she would definitely implode later.
Hermione brought her attention back to the present, focusing on the Somalian dignitaries who were talking with Hexton and Kingsley. She felt Draco’s hand at the small of her back, tapping three times. That was the signal that one of the groups had revealed some valuable information.
His eyes were now on Daphne, Blaise, and Pansy, who was walking out of the ballroom. After a moment of perfunctory time had lapsed, he made their excuses, guiding them over to Daphne and Blaise.
“What did you learn?” Draco asked once they were sequestered in a corner.
“Pansy just heard the French Minister and King Auguste discussing that the Death Eaters are regrouping in Germany and might attempt to reconnect with their network in France soon,” Blaise stated fluidly behind her glass of champagne to mask the words.
“That’s good. Have you talked or heard anything from the German Chancellor yet?” Hermione asked softly, leaning in as if to admire Daphne’s navy blue gown.
Daphne smiled sweetly, as if just complimented. “Not yet. We will let Theo and Cho know what we find.”
They nodded and said their goodbyes before splitting off again.
Back in the crowded ballroom, Hermione navigated her way through the throng of guests, Draco's presence a constant reassurance. The gravity of the information about the Death Eaters weighed heavily on her mind, but she maintained her poised exterior. As they mingled, Hermione’s eyes constantly scanned the room, looking for any signs of trouble or familiar faces that might offer more intelligence.
After what felt like an eternity of polite conversation, Hermione spotted Theo and Cho standing near the ornate fireplace, engaged in what appeared to be a serious discussion with several foreign dignitaries. She subtly caught Theo's eye, and with a slight nod, signaled for him to join her when possible.
Draco, noticing the exchange, leaned in. “Shall we dance?”
Hermione nodded, her thoughts racing. He led her to the dance floor just before another song began. As they glided across the floor, their movements were smooth and synchronized. Soon, Theo and Cho joined the dance floor, seamlessly blending into the crowd. When the music called for a swap of partners, Theo and Draco switched expertly.
Theo took Hermione's hand, guiding her with practiced ease. As they danced, he leaned in close, speaking softly. “The German Chancellor, Helga Eisenfaust, revealed to Daphne and Blaise that most of the rumors about the Death Eaters regrouping in Germany were actually being perpetrated by the Bulgarians and Russians to fend off any suspicion.”
Hermione’s eyes widened slightly, but she maintained her composure. “So it’s a diversion?”
“Yes,” Theo confirmed, spinning her gracefully. “And it gets worse. MACUSA President Leopold Frost is doing deals with both countries, most likely funding the Death Eater factions.”
Hermione frowned. “Because war is more profitable than peace.”
Theo nodded, a grim look on his face. “Exactly. You and Draco need to act fast. You should speak with the President of Bulgaria, see if there’s anything more concrete. Draco should handle the President of Russia. Dimitri can be a right bastard, especially when drunk. Be safe.”
Hermione’s mind was a whirlwind of plans and strategies. “Understood. We’ll move quickly. You too, Theo.”
The music signaled another partner swap, and Theo smoothly guided Hermione back to Draco. Cho moved in to dance with Theo, whispering urgently as they spun away.
Draco took Hermione’s hand, pulling her close. “Cho had some interesting news. The President of China, Lian Shenlong, and the Emperor of Japan, Haruki Kurogami, both believe that the Death Eaters are plotting an all-out war in Russia and Bulgaria. This was confirmed by MACUSA Vice President Elowen Starling.”
Hermione’s heart sank. “Daphne and Blaise found that they’re projecting suspicion onto Germany. MACUSA seems to be profiting no matter who wins or loses.”
“Yes,” Draco said, his eyes serious. “We need to act quickly and decisively. After this dance, go find Krum so he can introduce you to Draganov. Dimitri won’t look favorably on you.”
They continued to dance, their movements a facade of elegance and grace, while their minds raced with the weight of the revelations. As the song ended, Draco and Hermione exchanged a determined look.
Breaking away from the dance floor, they navigated through the crowd with purpose. Hermione spotted Viktor among a group that most likely encased the Bulgarian President. Sure enough, as she closed in, she saw Kalina Draganov speaking with a group of diplomats. She took a deep breath, squaring her shoulders.
Viktor saw her and smiled broadly before stepping away to greet her. “Hermione, you look absolutely breathtaking.”
Viktor had grown possibly two more inches, his training making his jaw more defined and his stature imposing. She often thought of him as a big brown bear—cuddly and sometimes threateningly large.
“Thank you, Viktor. It is so good to see you.” She leaned in before quietly adding, “Thank you again for agreeing to help us.”
"Of course, Hermione. I would do anything for you and your friends and to better our world." He took her arm to introduce her to Kalina Draganov.
“Madame President, may I introduce Hermione Granger,” Viktor said with a respectful nod.
Kalina Draganov turned, her eyes assessing Hermione with sharp intelligence. “Miss Granger, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard much about your work.”
Hermione offered a polite smile. “Thank you, Madame President. I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me. There are some urgent matters we need to discuss.”
Kalina’s expression grew serious. “Of course. Let’s find a quieter place to talk.” She signaled to her guards he flanked her sides.
As Viktor led them to a more secluded area outside of the ballroom, Hermione caught Draco’s eye across the room. He was already engaged in conversation with Dimitri Volkovitch, his demeanor calm and assertive. She felt a surge of determination. They were a team, and together, they could handle this.
Once they were settled in a quiet office within the long hallway, Kalina wasted no time in excusing Viktor. “What is this urgent matter, Miss Granger?”
Hermione took a deep breath, careful not to reveal too much too soon. “Madame President, I’ve been hearing troubling things about potential unrest in Europe. It seems there are many rumors swirling around.”
Kalina’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Rumors, Miss Granger, are often based on partial truths or complete fabrications. Which ones are you referring to?”
Hermione smiled diplomatically, taking a step closer as if to share a secret. “I’ve heard whispers about the Death Eaters regrouping, but I’ve also heard that the real threats lie elsewhere, possibly in Russia or Bulgaria. It’s all very confusing. I thought you might have some clarity on the matter.”
Kalina’s expression tightened just a fraction, but she maintained her composure. “Such rumors are dangerous, especially when they lack substantial evidence.”
Hermione nodded, pretending to be slightly flustered. “I agree completely. It’s why I came to you. With your expertise and connections, I was hoping you could shed some light on what’s truly happening. It’s so difficult to separate fact from fiction these days.”
As Hermione spoke, she noticed two of Kalina's men subtly positioning themselves by the door, their stances alert. They were blocking her exit. She also observed the slight tension in Kalina’s posture, a hint that she was being cautious.
Kalina gave a small, calculated smile. “I appreciate your trust in me, Miss Granger. The situation is indeed complex. There have been movements, yes, but it’s not as widespread as some might think. Certain factions are indeed stirring trouble, possibly to distract from their real intentions.”
Hermione leaned in slightly, her eyes wide with feigned curiosity. “That makes sense. But why would they choose now to act? What could they possibly gain?”
Kalina hesitated, the flicker of distrust in her eyes growing stronger. “Power, Miss Granger. Power and control. The usual motivations. It’s a dangerous game, and many are willing to play it.”
Hermione nodded thoughtfully. “I see. And do you think MACUSA has any role in this? Their actions seem... ambiguous.”
Kalina’s eyes flashed with something darker. “MACUSA has always been unpredictable. Their involvement would not surprise me, though it would be concerning. We must all be vigilant.”
Sensing that she was pushing the limits of Kalina’s patience, Hermione decided to change tactics. “I appreciate your insights, Madame President. It’s clear that you have a deep understanding of these issues. I hope we can work together to ensure peace and stability.”
Kalina’s smile was tight. “Of course, Miss Granger. Collaboration is key in these uncertain times.”
Suddenly, one of Kalina’s men stepped forward, his expression stern. “Madame President, is there a problem?” he asked, his hand hovering near his wand.
Kalina’s gaze hardened. “Miss Granger should stay here. We need to ensure her safety while I verify this information.”
Hermione’s heart pounded as the men flanked her, their grips firm but not yet aggressive. She maintained her calm facade. “Is this really necessary?” she asked, injecting a hint of confusion into her voice.
“For your protection,” Kalina said with a cold smile. “We wouldn’t want anything to happen to you while I sort this out.”
Kalina left the room, the two guards stood on either side of her, unrelenting in their hold. She stared forward at the mirror on the wall, trying to gauge her options. They were physically stronger, taller, and more aggressive than her.
Hermione made to move out of their grasp. The guard on her left tightened his grip on her shoulder, his hand brushing against her neck in the action. Instinctively, her magic surged.
The guard was suddenly flying through the air, hitting the opposite wall with a sickening thud, as if blasted by an invisible force. The impact cracked the plaster, dust and debris cascading to the floor. The other guard was momentarily startled, his grip loosening just enough for Hermione to twist free.
When she attempted to escape, the second guard growled, yanking her back with brute force. Her thoughts focused on ice, and his hand began to freeze over, frost creeping up his wrist. He screamed in pain, wrenching his hand away as shards of ice splintered off, allowing Hermione to dart towards the door. She was almost there when he lunged, catching her by the waist and dragging her down.
She stumbled to the ground, her palms scraping against the cold marble. The guard taunted her, his voice a low, menacing growl. But Hermione couldn’t hear him over the rising hum in her ears. The sound grew louder, drowning out everything else, as if the very air around her vibrated with energy. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, summoning her magic.
When she opened her eyes again, she noticed the guard’s boots inches from her face. More importantly, she noticed the dull light beginning to emanate from her skin. She channeled her magic further until the light grew brighter, her hair glowing with an ethereal intensity.
The guard, confused and unnerved by the sight before him, pointed his wand at her. Hermione stood, the wand tracking her every movement. She felt a powerful shift within her, the raw magic coursing through her veins. She began to rise, her feet lifting off the ground as if gravity had released its hold on her.
The other guard, still dazed from his collision with the wall, stumbled to his feet and pointed his wand at her. Hermione’s eyes locked onto him, and with a flick of her wrist, she conjured a spear of ice, launching it from her palm. The icy projectile flew across the room, impaling the man’s heart. He crumpled to the floor, his life extinguished.
Hermione turned her gaze to the remaining guard, who was trembling, his wand shaking in his hand. “Who is behind the Death Eaters’ resurgence?” Her voice echoed around the office, strong and unyielding.
“I don’t know, I only hear whispers,” the man stammered, backing away in fear.
“Tell me!” she yelled, the air around her swirling violently. Loose papers lifted into the air, circling her like a cyclone. The curtains were torn from their rods, whipping around in the magical tempest.
“Bellatrix Le—” The guard was cut off abruptly as a sharp shard of ice pierced his head, blood splattering back. Painting the front of her gown. Marking her as a killer. Hermione dropped to the ground, her knees buckling under the strain of her exertion. The light around her dimmed as her magic settled.
She took a moment to steady herself, her breathing heavy. The room was a scene of chaos—shattered glass, scattered papers, and the lifeless bodies of the guards. Her surroundings returned to stillness, the room now eerily quiet except for her own ragged breaths.
Hermione glanced at her hands, still trembling from the raw power she had unleashed. The destruction she had caused in mere moments was staggering. She felt a mix of horror and awe at her own capabilities. Quickly, she vanished the bodies, attempting to return the room to its normal mundaneness. Her magic faltered, becoming erratic. She rustled through the layers of her dress to find the pocket where her wand was stashed. Finally, she channeled her normal magic to restore the office to its original state.
She didn't know what was happening. When she looked in the mirror, she saw her ferocity reflected back at her. The intensity in her eyes, the glow of her hair—it all spoke of the raw power she had tapped into.
Taking a deep breath, she fixed her hair, makeup, and the blood splattering her dress before pocketing her wand and stepping into the hallway.
Her mind raced with the implications of what she had just learned. Bellatrix was back. She retraced her thoughts, trying to pinpoint the signs she had missed.
Then she remembered. Back in August, at the Ministry of Magic, when she received her Order of Merlin awards. In the hallway, after confronting Ron for his ignorance.
August 15, 1998:
“Your hair. It’s glowing again.” Malfoy's voice was soft, almost in awe at the image she must have presented him with.
She looked at the free curl in front of her face. It was indeed a soft glow in the dark hallway. Breathing in a final time she tried to gather herself. Lifting her hand to her face she muttered a charm to freshen her face and eyes. Finally ready, she faced Malfoy in the dark hall, “Escort me back?”
“Of course.” He proffered his arm for her to take.
Taking ahold of his arm she was escorted back to the ballroom. They both stopped midway when a silent cackle echoed down the hallway. It was a familiar cackle, one from her nightmares. Her hair shown bright. Checking behind her and in front of her hastily she couldn’t discern where the cackle echoed from. In the brightened space she looked at Malfoy who looked equally stricken.
His eyes darkened in contrast to the brightness of her hair. “ Let’s get back.” He said his voice void of any infliction.
She was there. Bellatrix had always been there.
Taking a final deep breath, Hermione tried to gather herself. Her hair still glowed softly, a reminder of the immense power within her.
She faked a serene smile as the people around her took her in. She looked for a familiar face. Anyone. Then Pansy appeared around the corner, blushing and looking slightly perturbed. Her face grew serious when she saw Hermione. Whatever Pansy saw, it compelled her to walk purposefully through the hall.
She looked like a queen; people moved for her without questioning themselves. Pansy’s long black hair swished behind her, the black gown she wore flowed outward, forcing people out of her way.
“Hermione, I need to find a lavatory. Come with?” Pansy asked her sweetly. When Pansy took her hands, Hermione's body trembled at the scalding warmth in contrast to her cold.
Hermione managed to plaster on another smile. “Yes, of course.”
They walked arm in arm as they navigated the halls until they found a lavatory.
As they walked, the familiar, haunting cackle echoed down the hallway again. Hermione’s heart pounded, her hands felt cold. She checked behind her and in front, but the source of the cackle remained elusive. In the brightened space, she looked at Pansy, who was steadfast in getting her out of the public eye.
A few women were finishing up in the lavatory. Once they left, Hermione couldn’t contain it any longer and broke.
The rage inside her released in a torrent. The frustration, the devastation she knew was to come—it was all too much. When she looked around her all she could see was her chaos. The shards of ice radiating around them.
“She’s returned.”
“Who’s returned Hermione?” Pansy implored.
Hermione looked at the witch, “Bellatrix.”
“How?” Pansy’s eyes widened, her voice shaking. “How is that possible?”
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Kalina’s men tried to detain me. They were talking about the Death Eaters regrouping, and Bellatrix’s name came up. She’s behind it all.”
Pansy’s face grew even more serious. “We need to regroup with the others.”
Hermione nodded, her hands still trembling. “I know. But it’s so hard to keep it together.”
Pansy placed a reassuring hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “You’re stronger than you think. We’ve faced dark times before, and we’ve come through. We’ll do it again.”
Pansy stepped away before turning towards the door, which was iced over. “Hermione, would you mind unfreezing this?”
Hermione lifted her palm and focused her magic, defrosting all the ice. “Lock the door behind me. Don’t let anyone in until I give three knocks. I’m gathering everyone, and we’re going home.”
Hermione tried to compartmentalize, to occlude the images of the men she had just impaled with ice, but she couldn’t do it. The vivid memories haunted her thoughts, making it hard to focus. She was broken out of her concentration when she heard three sharp raps against the lavatory door. She magically unlocked it.
Draco swarmed in, grasping her in his arms. The warmth of his embrace was comforting.
She melted into him, leaning back as he grasped her face within his hands. “Darling, are you okay?”
She nodded solemnly. “I will be.”
Viktor had looked crestfallen, “Hermione if I had known I would not have left you there alone I am so—”
“I’m okay Viktor, don’t worry about it. It’s— handled now. Keep an eye on Kalina? Don’t let her suspect you too.”
“Yes anything Hermione, again I am sorry.” Viktor bowed and exited the lavatory.
Before she knew it Harry joined the hug, followed by Ginny, Theo, Pansy, Blaise, Daphne, and Cho. A cluster of her people surrounded her, providing a protective cocoon.
As they dismantled the group hug, Draco's embrace lingered, his concern etched deeply in his eyes. Hermione took a deep breath, steeling herself to share everything she had learned. She glossed over the part about killing the two guards, unable to voice that detail just yet. Draco's eyes searched hers, sensing there was more, but he didn’t press.
“We need to make our excuses and leave,” Hermione said, her voice steady despite the turmoil roiling inside her.
Pansy nodded, her expression resolute. “I’ll handle it. Everyone, stick together and be ready to move.”
The group moved with purpose, heading back to the ballroom. Hermione felt a sense of resolve solidifying within her. Bellatrix was back, and the threat was real, but they were not alone.
The opulent ballroom, filled with laughter and light, seemed oblivious to the darkness looming. The Bulgarian president looked surprised to see her standing there. Cold dread snaked through Hermione’s body.
Draco's grip on her arm tightened, his gaze fiery as he glared at Kalina, who returned his look with a malicious smile before turning away.
Draco's body tensed beside her, and he began to move. “Draco, don’t. Not here. We need to leave. It’s not safe, and we can’t draw unwanted attention without all the information. We regroup, restart, and calculate the best line of action.”
He acquiesced, thankfully, but Hermione silently agreed with his unspoken vow of revenge.
Pansy gracefully took the lead, her demeanor commanding respect and attention. She spoke with key figures, making polite but firm excuses about returning home before their trip to France in the morning. The rest of the group stayed close, ready to leave at a moment's notice.
Helena gave Hermione another embrace, inviting her to another conference later in the year. Hermione internally wanted to decline the invitation. However, she knew that one moment could not dictate her abilities, her future, and the people who relied on her.
She accepted, as did Draco.
Draco kept a protective arm around Hermione, his presence a steadying force. “We’ll get through this,” he whispered, his breath warm against her ear. “Together.”
Hermione nodded, feeling the strength of their bond. As they exited the ballroom and made a hasty retreat back to English soil, she glanced around at her friends. Each one of them had faced their own battles, and they would continue to do so.
The stifling air of the Australian Ministry now felt suffocating and thick, a stark contrast to the excitement and determination she had felt upon their arrival a few hours earlier. They moved swiftly, shadows flitting past the grand architecture of the ministry. The sense of urgency propelled them forward, each step echoing their resolve to face the unknown of a future they had not anticipated.
Magical World Leaders
