The Missing Link

Signals

Hermione still hadn't had time to recover from her Quidditch experience. She'd enjoyed it immensely, but hoped that she'd soon.

Her lessons were postponed once again for a ball they were hosting soon. All the Royal Wizarding families from all over the world were attending, and they will be introduced to as the newest heirs to the throne. The ball will also serve as the re-emergence of Britain's royal family, after the reign of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

Hermione, of course, being the lady of the house, was to oversee the preparations (which she found exceedingly boring, and looked forward instead to learning new things). This was especially difficult as their exams were also upon them.

"How are you surviving?" Ginny asked on one of the rare times Hermione had the chance to have breakfast with them.

She shrugged and grunted in reply. Of course, she was not okay. It was obvious that she was fatigued with the bags under her eyes.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Harry asked, watching her pile food on her plate.

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "Tired, is all. Planning."

"Planning?" Ginny asked. "For what?"

"A ball," Hermione scoffed. "For the reintroduction of the Royal House of Black."

"Are we on the list?" Harry asked.

"Likely."

Harry and Ron groaned.

"I'm out of clothes," Harry complained.

"Please, all your money in Gringotts could buy you clothes enough for three lifetimes," Ron replied.

Hermione just sat while her friends bickered, thankful for this little slice of normalcy.

The ball was scheduled after their term exams, so Harry, Ron and the rest of the team were actually thankful for a chance to relax.

Relaxing, however, was the last word Hermione would use to describe the ball. In the morning of the ball she had to see if the venue was being prepared and if the guest list was finished; in the afternoon she had to check if the food staff had arrived and if all allergies have been accounted for. In the evening, she had to prepare herself.

"You look stunning, milady," Regina proclaimed after two hours of Hermione being very nearly strapped to the chair. She stood up and wobbled, trying to get used to the four-inch heels she was wearing. One knock on the door told her that Draco was waiting outside.

"You look good," Draco said with a smile and a nod of approval.

"Thanks," Hermione replied with a small smile. He took his arms and stood in front of the ballroom's door.

The music and chatter died down as a voice from inside announced their arrival.

"Ladies and gentlemen, His Royal Highness, Prince Draco Abraxas Black Malfoy and Her Royal Highness, Princess Hermione Jean Black Malfoy."

Hermione twitched a little at her new last name. The door opened and as they walked, people parted and curtsied. It was a small room, but the idea of people staring at her made her skin crawl. The party resumed. Hermione (rather, Draco—she was only attached to his arm) was dragged every which way and she was not enjoying being in heels. She was introduced to royals from places unknown (which she enjoyed) and was asked more than a dozen times who she was wearing (which she hated).

The crowd and photographers gathered at the door while Hermione was talking to the Czarina of Russia. Hermione was whisked away by Draco so that they could meet their guest. Hermione became nervous; she didn't who they were meeting.