Chapter Text
The Lady Chamberlain Minerva McGonagall, clutching a scroll emblazoned with the royal seal, let herself into the Throne Room through a side door and strode towards the seat of power. The light chattering quickly died away as she positioned herself near its right arm and turned to look at the royal court.
The crowd was mostly made up of lower- and mid-ranked nobles, but at the front of them were Sir Harry Potter and his honored friends, Sir Ronald the Rat Killer of the High Noble Weasley Family and Lady Hermione of the High Noble Granger Family. Weasley was an old and powerful name in Britannia, the generational rulers of the province of Dumnonia. The other two were former peasants, only recently elevated for their gallant accomplishments during the war—very gallant accomplishments, for the High Noble Granger Family now held dominion over the province of Secunda. The three of them stared at Lady Minerva expectantly, stone-faced and seemingly unshakable as always. As a sixth son, Sir Ronald was a familiar face at the court, but Lady Hermione had traveled for nearly a week to be here in person for this occasion.
Lady Hermione was not alone in her efforts; also in attendance was Lord Draco of the High Noble Malfoy Family, rulers of Mercia, nervously running a hand through his blonde hair as his face turned even paler than it already was; Lady Daphne of the High Noble Greengrass Family, rulers of Maxima, glaring at Lady Minerva as if with a challenge; and Lady Fleur of the High Noble Delacour Family, rulers of Prima, who stared up with a blank but polite face, seemingly unconcerned. Watching anxiously from the side door were First Prince Albus and Second Prince Abertforth of the Most Noble Dumbledore family, rulers over all of Britannia.
That made for representatives from six out of the eight major noble families in total. The only ones missing were the High Noble Patil Family, rulers of Valentia, and the High Noble Longbottom Family, Rulers of Caledonia. Both were established too far north for their representatives to reach the royal palace in Anglia before the proclamation was made.
It was hard to guess what the contents of the scroll might be. All the royal attendants knew was that King Percival had penned it from his deathbed and ordered that only Lady Minerva may break the seal and only after he passed. Likely, he knew that she was not one to hem and haw or stand on ceremony about this type of thing.
Lady Minerva formally unrolled the scroll and cleared her throat. “‘By final decree of the late King Percival of the Most Noble Dumbledore Family, Princess Ariana is hereby named Queen Regnant over all of Britannia.’”
Interesting, she mused as startled whispers rippled through the crowd. If I were the king, I’d be worried about First Prince Albus’s ambitions, but to name Second Prince Aberforth my heir would be to invite another civil war. This works out nicely, for neither brother could bring himself to take up arms against the younger sister. Neatly done. She felt a growing respect for the late ruler.
“‘Commemorating this unique occasion,’” she continued, “‘The Throne further declares that heirship for all of the noble families of this generation shall be passed from the eldest child to the youngest, irrespective of gender or accomplishment.’”
The murmuring in the crowd swelled to jeering, and McGonagall hid a grimace. Never mind.
Lady Ginevra Weasley stood at the Weasley family archery range in the center of the small grove within their castle walls, staring blanky at the target. It had been a while since she practiced her archery, but still… to be at least eight inches off-center at the range she was at was rather embarrassing. The orange and red leaves in the trees rattled around a light wind, sounding sort of like sniggering, like they were mocking her.
She sighed and pulled another arrow from her quiver, nocked it, and prepared to draw the bow and adjust her aim. But then…
With a wry twist of her lips, she loosed the second arrow. It thwanged into the target about one finger-width below the first arrow, and she made a small noise of satisfaction. Maybe she couldn’t hit a bull’s eye whenever she wanted anymore, but at least she was consistent.
Knowing that it was a relatively pointless exercise, Ginny continued loosing arrows towards that spot eight inches off-center. As the cluster grew to five, she closed her eyes before drawing back and loosing the sixth. When she looked again, the arrow bristled from the target about three inches away from the cluster. She frowned.
What am I even doing…?
Sighing again, Ginny slung her bow over her shoulder and began walking over to the target to recollect her arrows. There was still a dozen more in her quiver, which was plenty to continue practicing, if she wanted, but… she didn’t really see the point anymore.
“Oi! Oi, Gin!”
Ginny whipped around in surprise to see Ron on horseback riding excitedly towards her. She smiled in amusement and changed course to meet him partway. Her surprise only grew as her older brother leaped out of his saddle and swept her into a hug that lifted her off her feet.
“Ron! Ron, what—” she cried out, laughing as he swung her around. “What are you doing here? You left court? What is it?”
Ron set her down and gestured wildly, seeming to practically vibrate with disbelief. “I’ve got some bloody insane news!”
“What happened? Did King Percival name you his heir?” Ginny asked, struggling to imagine what else could’ve gotten Ron in such a frenzy.
“What? Oh, no, no, Princess Ariana has been—well, I suppose I should say Queen Ariana has been given the throne.”
Ginny’s eyes widened. “Really? That is big news.”
“That’s not the half of it! King Percival has declared that all the youngest children of our generation will be heirs instead of the eldest!” Ron crowed. “Ginny—you’re the future head of the Weasley Family!”
Silence.
Ginny stared blankly at Ron, her mouth slightly open. He smiled warmly at her, waiting patiently.
After a long moment, she was able to blink a couple of times. “I… what…?”
Ron gently placed his hands on Ginny’s shoulders.
“Lady Ginevra, by royal proclamation, you are now heiress to the High Noble Weasley Family and future ruler of Dumnonia.”
Lady Ginevra.
Heiress.
Ruler.
The words echoed through Ginny’s head.
“I’m… the heiress?” she whispered.
She looked up sharply. “Does Gabrielle know?”
One year earlier…
“The Diggory family is lost,” Ginny panted. Her legs and her lungs burned in contrast to the brisk air rushing against her face. “If Sir Cedric dies, his parents will succumb to grief. If either of his parents die, he’ll get himself killed avenging them. Either way, the effect is the same. The Lovegood family has a chance. If Lady Luna dies, her parents will get themselves killed avenging her. But if her parents die, she will probably run from the battlefield and survive. She could be an ally.”
She jogged north alongside a carriage bumping a hasty pace up a dirt road surrounded by farmland, barren for the season. Half a dozen mounted riders ahead of and behind the carriage served as her escort to Hogwarts, the flagbearer proudly waving the Weasley sigil, an orange fire over a red field.
Before she departed from Dumnonia, Ginny had begged desperately to be allowed to join the campaign to confront the Dark Lord Voldemort. Her family had insisted that they would only be able bring their all in the battles to come if they knew that she was safe. When she realized they would not be convinced, she had adopted a suitably sulky demeanor and then started working on a plan to slip away from her party and head to the battlefield anyway.
Bill came and found her that very night, poring over maps of the routes from the halfway point in Valentia all the way back to Mercia where the rebellion was being staged, trying to memorize them. She had stuttered some weak excuse about how she was just checking out of curiosity, and Bill had fixed her with a very firm but empathic stare.
“I’m not worried about you, Ginny. I know you could handle it as well as the rest of us. The real reason I’ve agreed that you should go away,” he explained, “is because the High Noble Weasley Family needs a backup plan. In case we lose.”
“But—Bill!” Ginny had replied, abandoning all pretenses at that point. “That doesn’t make any sense! You should just let me fight Voldemort alongside of you! If he’s able to kill all of you, what chance do I have by myself?”
“That depends,” Bill said seriously, “on how much we manage to weaken Voldemort before we go down. And how much stronger you can become for if that day ever comes.”
Well, Bill. Fine then, Ginny thought as she ran, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she felt hot tears threatening. I’ll be ready. But please don’t die.
Lovegoods and Diggories done, she moved on to the Fawcetts, another vassal to the Weasleys, considering what use their family could offer after being weakened by a decisive defeat against Voldemort.
Two hours later, when the landscape had changed to a dry brown forest and her lungs burned with exhaustion, the officer leading their party raised an arm signaling that they would stop for the night, and Ginny fell to her hands and knees, gasping for breath as drool leaked out of her mouth.
She just barely heard the words, “Lady Ginevra, you must step off the road,” over the pounding of her heart. The officer sounded nervous. “I could carry—”
“I’m fine!” Ginny wheezed, and forced herself to her feet, stumbling into the brush to the side and promptly collapsing again. Not bothering to adjust her position, she simply held out an arm. “Water, please.”
She wasn’t an idiot. She well aware that if she overdid it, she’d end up damaging herself more than she increased her stamina. But now, she knew for sure that she could run fifty miles in a day.
The sound of the carriage door opening interrupted Ginny’s meditations.
“It’s alright! I’ll help.”
“But—my lady, you needn’t—”
“It’s nothing! You just go help our friends set up camp.
At the sound of that voice, Ginny dropped her arm and stubbornly turned her head away.
“I don’t need your help,” she grumbled.
“Don’t be silly,” Lady Gabrielle of the High Noble Delacour Family replied briskly, dragging Ginny up with a warm hand on her shoulder and pressing a waterskin to her lips, tossing her head to shake her silvery blonde hair out of her face.
Pride and thirst grappled for the barest of seconds, but then Ginny accepted the drink. She gulped down as much as she could before Gabrielle pulled the waterskin away and held it out of Ginny’s reach.
“You know that if you drink too quickly, you’ll get sick,” Gabrielle warned, her voice soft and gentle but stern.
Amidst her irritation, Ginny found some last reserve of energy, and she lunged to snatch the water back. Gabrielle evaded her rush easily.
“Godric’s sake—!” Ginny leaned away from Gabrielle and called out, “Podmore, get back over here!”
“Never mind, captain!” Gabrielle belied. She fixed that same stern look on Ginny through a pair of sparkling blue eyes. “You make them nervous, you know.”
Ginny scoffed. “Please. I’m perfectly polite, especially compared to some other nobles I’ve seen.”
“It’s not how you treat them,” Gabrielle replied. “It’s what you ask.” She thrust the waterskin back into Ginny’s lips. “They know that this is what you need—for someone to make sure you don’t kill yourself—but they’re too frightened of overstepping. Your determination is marvelous—really, it is—but you’re just going too hard.”
Finally feeling rested enough, Ginny pushed away from Gabrielle and managed to stand without falling back down. Balance assured, she turned to glare at Gabrielle.
“I’ll decide what’s too hard for me.”
Gabrielle just stared at her sadly, and Ginny found that even more infuriating as she sauntered over to the clearing where the soldiers were making camp.
Her party had joined with Lady Gabrielle’s three days into the journey, which made for about a week spent in the other girl’s company—a tedious, insufferable, overbearing week. It was quite funny to think that Ginny had thought her quiet and agreeable on the first day. Perhaps she was just shy. Whatever the case, she had very quickly made her disapproval of Ginny’s regimen quite clear as the week went on, a fact which was motivating in its own way. Indeed, when grit and determination failed her during her runs, Ginny had managed to push herself for an extra mile or three out of sheer spite on more than one occasion. And besides, it was better to be half-dead running alongside the carriage than subject to Lady Gabrielle’s incessant yet polite chatter from within. And perhaps she was a good conversationalist—but Ginny was trying to come up with plans for defeating Voldemort! She didn’t have time for chitchat!
“Podmore,” Ginny called over the campfire.
The captain immediately turned to her. “Yes, my lady?”
Ginny hesitated, remembering Gabrielle’s words. “I wish—that is to say, if you are not too busy with your duties, I would like to spend some time practicing the sword before we set out tomorrow. Th—thank you for taking the time to show me these past days.”
“Of course, my lady.”
Ginny frowned. Much as she hated to admit it, perhaps Gabrielle was right.
She sighed. “Actually, never mind. I—now that I think about it again, I could probably use a break.”
The captain looked over to her in surprise. “Ah—! Yes, my lady! And might I say, a very prudent choice!”
At that, Ginny restrained her scoff. Well, whatever. She had a pretty good idea of her limits at this point. There was no need to push herself quite so hard for the remainder of the journey.
She spent much of the rest of the evening in silence, listening to the soldiers speculate about the war with a watery bowl of stew in her lap. Gabrielle sat across from her at the campfire, similarly silent—only it was uncharacteristic for her. Her hair, parted on the left, hid half of her face in shadow. The other half was schooled into a neutral but contemplative expression, flickering in and out of view as the flames danced between them.
Once, she looked up and caught Ginny’s eye. And for a moment, they were just two girls with dull company, sitting in the cold around a too-small campfire, and sipping halfheartedly at bad stew while they worried about their families. Gabrielle smiled sympathetically.
Ginny felt her face warm, but she held Gabrielle’s gaze for a moment or so; and when she looked away, it was only to listen to a remark from the captain.
The Delacour Family has a chance. Lady Fleur and her parents may die in battle, but Lady Gabrielle will be safe far in the north. She may succumb to grief—but I will be in the north as well. I can help her as she has helped me.
Ginny glanced back at Gabrielle for a second.
If I ever have to fight Voldemort… I suppose you wouldn’t be the worst person to call an ally.
“Mauris elementum, orci eget rhoncus euismod, eros erat venenatis ligula, in vestibulum purus sem ut eros. Mauris imperdiet diam ex, in rutrum tellus consectetur id. Lorem ipsum avada kedavra,” Ginny recited carefully, her head bowed and her hands folded together.
“Nulla facilisi. Praesent consequat, ante in tempor scelerisque, enim dolor tempus velit, quis volutpat ante quam in eros. Curabitur vel mollis quam, eu faucibus justo. Lorem ipsum gemino maxima,” Gabrielle echoed.
“Very well,” Housemaster Snape pronounced, which seemed to be as close as he ever got to praise.
They were kneeling before him in a cold, dark room of grey bricks fitted jaggedly together, more like a dungeon than an office, nominally praying to the Founder Gods—Ginny to Godric Gryffindor and Gabrielle to Helga Hufflepuff. Privately, Ginny thought it a minor sacrilege to hold a religious ceremony—official or otherwise—so far from the light of day, but she figured it probably wasn’t her place to lecture the head of the Church of the Founders on proper worship.
They had completed their journey earlier that day. It had taken a little more than three weeks in total. Ginny had caved and spent most of her time in the carriage with Gabrielle, but she was able to console herself for the concession by pestering Gabrielle with questions about the Delacour Family and its vassals’ resources—if it was possible to pester someone as good-natured as Gabrielle.
Housemaster Snape pulled out his pocket watch. “Dinner starts in half an hour,” he announced. “Currently, you are the highest ranked of the acolytes attending Hogwarts, so you will sit at the head table amongst the priests.”
“Thank you,” Ginny replied quietly, and Gabrielle repeated the sentiment much more sincerely.
“You will also have your own rooms, of course—although, in these times, that is less because of your status and more because…” he spread his arms in an approximation of dry amusement, “we may as well use the space as long as we have it.”
Ginny nodded numbly, and she and Gabrielle collected themselves to find their rooms and change out of their travel clothes before dinner upon the housemaster’s dismissal.
Being at the Hogwarts Seminary was quite surreal. Every day, they were to rise at six to attend a service praising the Founders before a light breakfast. The mornings would be spent going over old texts to memorize other less well-known prayers. After a light lunch in the afternoon, the priests would lecture them regarding the various practices, ceremonies, and interpretations of their religion. There was another service following a hearty dinner, but after that, the evening was theirs.
Ginny had never expected to follow such an overtly religious path. She believed in the Founder Gods, of course—in some vague, foggy part of her mind. Every child in Britannia went through the Sorting Ceremony in the year of their eleventh birthday, and they all forever after prayed to their Founding God twice a day. But it was one thing to vaguely believe, and quite another to train to be a priest.
Her family had sent her to Hogwarts to keep her safe. The church hadn’t necessarily declared its support for King Percival—or for Lord Voldemort, for that matter—but neither faction would dare to anger the institution. The Church of the Founders managed the Founding Objects, four tools of unimaginable power—or perhaps more specifically, three tools and one weapon of unimaginable power. So long as that was true, there was no one alive who would risk the church’s wrath.
Traditionally, the four Founding Objects were used together to protect Britannia from outside attack. Their power practically guaranteed victory in military conflict. However, when Lord Voldemort kicked off his rebellion by seizing the Sword of Gryffindor and Slytherin’s Locket, pitting his Founding Objects against King Percival’s, it had thrust the country into thoroughly uncharted territory.
It was for that reason that First Prince Albus, charged with putting down the rebellion, had mobilized the entire kingdom to counter Voldemort. And it was for that reason that the halls of Hogwarts were so noticeably uncrowded. The High Noble Families of Delacour and Weasley were allowed to send one member each to the safety of the school, and only because they had other children to send in their place. Ginny understood that Astoria of the High Noble Greengrass Family was also somewhere in the school. Every other noble family was required to bring all of its members and resources to bear for the campaign. The only other acolytes walking the hallways were the children of noble families who were deemed too young to be of any use in war and what few commoners had managed to make the journey Hogwarts and impress the priests enough to be accepted to the Seminary.
“I believe this is where we will be parting ways, Lady Ginevra,” Gabrielle said quietly, jolting Ginny out of her contemplation (as was her oblivious tendency). She indicated a passageway that apparently led to her room.
“Oh—oh,” Ginny replied, startled. “Yes—I mean, of course, Lady Gabrielle.”
Gabrielle smiled warmly once again and gave her a curtsy, and Ginny felt a profound sense of disappointment. She supposed that while they had gotten over their initial disapproval for each other, it never exactly became clear that they were friends. Gabrielle certainly acted friendly and spoke freely around her—but then, Gabrielle was the type of person who probably did that around everyone.
They were only ever really traveling companions by necessity. It shouldn’t come as a surprise that she’d bid Ginny farewell as soon as they arrived at their destination.
Trying to hide her dismay, Ginny curtsied back. “I know it probably didn’t seem like it most of the time, or all of the time I suppose, but I do appreciate what you’ve done for me throughout our journey. And… I enjoyed your company as well.” She formally held her hand out to Gabrielle. “The High Noble Weasley Family hereby imparts upon the High Noble Delacour Family an offer of friendship, as it should’ve done weeks ago.”
Gabrielle raised an eyebrow. “The High Noble Delacour Family accepts the High Noble Weasley Family’s offer of friendship,” she said, taking Ginny’s hand, only to continue, “though, as a private aside, I would make a personal request of Lady Ginevra.”
Ginny was surprised by that, but she quickly nodded, replying, “What can I do for you?”
Gabrielle fingered one of her sleeves shyly. “Could we be friends as well?”
…
“Lady Gabrielle—call me Ginny.”
At Hogwarts, Lady Ginevra and Lady Gabrielle quickly became “Lady Ginevra and Lady Gabrielle.” They sat next to each other at the prayer services, during meals, and in lectures. After the priests dismissed them for the day, they would head out behind the school and Gabrielle would watch on in mock-scandalized disbelief as Ginny proceeded to spend two hours keeping her strength and stamina up and training with sword and bow. They would bathe, and then they would keep each other company until curfew or sometimes even later than that. Ginny concentrated on her religious studies with the dogged focus of one who could not afford to lose free time to punishments for low marks despite Gabrielle’s best efforts to steal her attention away from their lessons.
Life as an acolyte became surprisingly normal surprisingly quickly. The services became very repetitive, and the lectures were always boring. But Gabrielle was excellent company, and other students were too young and low-ranked to be anything other than politely intimidated by the pair they made—aside from Lady Astoria Greengrass, who remained aloof even when Gabrielle tried asking her to sit by them at meals.
One afternoon, the monotony of lessons was interrupted, and all the students and teachers were summoned to the Great Hall, where Housemaster Snape took up his position at the front of the crowd and very unceremoniously announced that Lady Nymphadora, Minister of the Right to King Percival, had been killed in battle.
Ginny felt herself go cold as the younger students erupted into whispers around them. She felt Gabrielle’s warm hand wrap around her wrist.
“Are you okay?” Gabrielle whispered. “You knew her, right?”
“We—we only met a few times,” Ginny replied. By this point, Gabrielle knew her well enough to make out the details from the tremor in her voice—that Ginny had only met her a few times, but that she enjoyed her company very much and always looked forward to her visits.
That night, Gabrielle ran laps with Ginny. The laps were just a warmup for Ginny, and Gabrielle had to tap out immediately after finishing them, but Ginny appreciated the gesture—as well as the unusually long hug that Gabrielle gave her before they went to bed that night.
A dark cloud hung over the seminary for the rest of the week, though both Ginny and Gabrielle were absent-mindedly confident that it would dispel eventually. After all, Lady Nymphadora was an important figure in King Percival’s faction, but she wasn’t exactly the highest-ranking member or anything. And indeed, Ginny was the only acolyte in the entire school who had known Nymphadora personally. It was only a matter of time before the tragedy became old news.
But then, Housemaster Snape made a second announcement about two weeks after the first. This time, the old general, Sir Alastor Moody had been killed. He was a veteran of many Britannian wars—higher-ranking than Lady Nymphadora, but more importantly, of far greater renown. The dark cloud quickly returned.
And then, before the dark cloud could even begin to fade, Housemaster Snape made another announcement the following week. And then another before that week was over. Soon, news of a new noble death in King Percival’s faction was coming every day or so, and the counterbalance of news of deaths in Lord Voldemort’s faction was not strong enough to lift the oppressive dread over the school.
Thankfully, no Weasleys were mentioned among the deaths, nor was Lady Fleur or her and Gabrielle’s parents. But with every death, Ginny had to rethink her calculations for potential allies she’d have if she ever had to face Voldemort. She became a lot more thoughtful, and soon, many of the evenings Ginny and Gabrielle spent together were spent in silence.
That all changed when Gabrielle asked Ginny a very frightening question.
“Ginny… do you think we’re going to lose the war?”
Ginny slowly turned to regard her friend, watching with a sort of painful helplessness as Gabrielle seemed to try to hide from her fear by covering her face with her parted hair.
But she knew that she loved this girl too much to be anything other than honest. “I believe it is a distinct possibility.”
Now that the reality of the situation was in the open, Gabrielle looked up to meet Ginny’s gaze. Perhaps it was easier for her to confront that particular truth than she had expected. “Sweet Helga…” she murmured. “So—that’s what you’re all about, then?”
“What do you mean, ‘what I’m all about’?”
“Your training,” Gabrielle replied simply. “The running and the fighting and the studying. If we lose—if Prince Albus is defeated by Lord Voldemort and our families are slaughtered, then what? You’re just going to pick up where they left off?”
Ginny hesitated. She had never really shared this part of herself with anyone. But then, this was Gabrielle. “It’s slightly more complicated than that, but yes, that’s the gist of it.”
Gabrielle laughed sort of hysterically. “How can you think like that?”
From anyone else, such a question would have made Ginny defensive. But Ginny knew that Gabrielle would never say it as an attack. From her tone, she seemed… genuinely bewildered.
So Ginny shrugged. “This is the duty that my oldest brother, the one who’s supposed to be the next head of my family, gave me. It’s not my place to question him. He told me to get ready, so I’m getting ready.”
“And… you think you’ll be able to do it? To beat Voldemort after they’ve failed?”
Ginny thought back to long hours spent pushing her body to its limit. She ran through a list of all the students at Hogwarts, of their families, and of the armies and resources available to them. She thought of all the times that Gabrielle had brought her a cool waterskin after a long run or doodled a silly face in the margins of her parchment during a difficult assignment. She smiled. “I believe that when the time comes, I’ll be equal to the task, yes.”
It was a bold declaration, and her simple confidence was clearly the last thing that Gabrielle had expected. The words hung in the air between them, Ginny basking in the sudden surge of intense conviction that flowed through her and Gabrielle torn between admiration and disbelief with her mouth hanging open.
“Ginny! Do you even realize what you’re saying right now?” she finally cried. “If King Percival’s faction is defeated, the kingdom will be crippled! All the greatest nobles will have joined Voldemort or been killed, and he’ll control all four Founding Objects! Britannia will be his!”
“And we’ll take it back!” Ginny insisted. “I’ll be ready, and so will you! Every child who walks these halls will be grown someday, and together, we will make this world into our own—or else, what’s the point of a second daughter or a fourth son?”
“But Voldemort—”
“Oh, come off it, Gabs! Voldemort can go hang! If he takes over, we’ll just have to deal with it, won’t we? First, we’ll steal the Founding Objects back. Then, we’ll work our way through his most dangerous followers—Peter the Rat, Bellatrix the Witch, Greyback the Wolf—we’ll take care of all of them! And then we’ll kill Voldemort himself! We’ll restore the Dumbledore Dynasty! And the ministerial positions—we’ll fill them ourselves! You and me, the Ministers of the Right and Left!” Ginny’s cheeks were flushed with passion, her eyes blazing with determination. “Gabrielle. We can do this.”
Gabrielle was speechless again.
“I—I—!” she sputtered (for a few moments, actually). And then: “I have, just, so many objections with everything you just said.”
“Try me,” Ginny challenged.
Gabrielle bristled at that. For all her sociability, she could be quite competitive. “Well! You think we can save King Percival? If Voldemort gets through Albus, what’s to stop him from executing the entire royal family?”
“What, and just make himself king? He has no claim to the throne,” Ginny replied easily. “He’s not the type to just take it by force.”
“And how can you know what type he is?!”
“Because he hasn’t done it already.” Ginny spread her arms. “The Sword of Gryffindor will kill any person specified by the Wielder within a certain radius—it’ll kill them dead with just a thought. And Slytherin’s Locket can detect anyone within an even larger radius. Used in tandem, they’d be impossible to counter. If Voldemort just wanted to take the kingdom by force, he could march into the throne room with the Gryffindor Wielder on his left and the Slytherin Wielder on his right. The Slytherin Wielder could detect any enemies, and the Gryffindor Wielder could kill them. Simple. But he didn’t do that.”
“Maybe he just never thought about it that way,” Gabrielle argued.
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Voldemort’s premise for rebelling in the first place is that First Prince Albus has subverted the monarchy and that he’s manipulating his father into doing his bidding. By doing things this way, Voldemort can defeat Albus on the battlefield and march into Anglia as a savior. But for that to work, he also needs King Percival alive afterwards for at least a little while—to use as a puppet.”
“And you suppose the king will just go along with that?”
“He will if Voldemort threatens the lives of Second Prince Aberforth and Princess Ariana—which will just make him all the more grateful when we save them,” Ginny replied easily. “I could do this all night.”
Gabrielle scowled—a rare display for her. “Ginny—what are you going to do if things don’t go like you say?”
“You think that’ll stop me?” Ginny stood up and closed the gap between the two of them. “I know it’s scary, Gabrielle. I understand. But no matter what, I can’t just do nothing—can’t even consider it, really, and I, I don’t know why. Call it a sense of responsibility. Call it determination, or force of will. Stubbornness, even. Call it whatever you want. This is what I was built for.”
She placed her hands on Gabrielle’s shoulders. Gabrielle held her gaze, scared obviously, but she held it, and Ginny stared back, transfixed. Somehow, she was intoxicating. “You get it, don’t you?”
For a moment, all was still—just Ginny watching Gabrielle with hungry eyes, Gabrielle flushed and breathing heavily, and the candlelight flickering around them.
Slowly, slowly, the worry lines in Gabrielle’s expression softened. She closed her mouth and tilted her head, regarding Ginny with a look of wonder.
“If anyone can do it, you can.” She whispered it, but there was a fierce quality to it, a fire behind her words hidden by the cool water in her eyes.
Ginny grinned. “Keep looking at me like that, and I promise I’ll find a way.”
Gabrielle blushed and pushed Ginny away, and Ginny laughed at her embarrassment.
“Honestly, must you fluster me so?” Gabrielle said, hiding her face behind the part of her hair again. “Shouldn’t you be—I dunno—coming up with some countermeasure to defeat the Grindelwaldian Empire or something?”
Ginny froze. “Oh shit, I never even thought about Grindelwald!”
Things were different after that night. Gabrielle started acting a bit more seriously—though, she wouldn’t be Gabrielle if she weren’t still tooth-achingly sweet about it. She studied just as hard as Ginny, but she bashfully confessed that she could only get the memorization bits down by putting them to music, which Ginny immediately demanded that she demonstrate. She followed along with the workouts as best she could (which wasn’t really all that great, for the most part), and less than a week in, produced matching sweat rags for her and Ginny that she must have embroidered herself, refusing to admit that it was a waste of artistry. And Ginny’s evenings of post-war contemplations quickly became evenings of post-war discussion, in which Gabrielle proved to be surprisingly insightful.
“Rallying the surviving nobles won’t be a problem,” Ginny said. “I stand to lose eight family members, and you stand to lose three. The nobles are going to be chomping at the bit to hit Voldemort back for revenge. If anything, it’ll be more difficult getting them to hold back until the right time. I am, however, concerned about the commoners. They have no reason to care about politics, and they won’t want to fight another war so soon after the first.”
“I disagree,” Gabrielle said. “They have more stake in it than you think.”
“When their family members die in battle, they won’t make the distinction of which flag they fought under,” Ginny argued. “They just come away thinking battles are pointless squabbles between lords.”
“They have a stake in it,” Gabrielle repeated firmly. “Have you heard of Scabior the Snatcher?”
Ginny hesitated. “…Right. I’ve heard rumors. He would kidnap children and stuff, wouldn’t he?”
“Yes,” Gabrielle replied quietly. “Commoner children. Mostly.”
“Did you…” Ginny swallowed. “Did you know some of them?”
Gabrielle drummed her fingers on Ginny’s desk. “I did know them.”
“Did they—?” Ginny stopped herself. Stupid question, really. “Sorry.”
Gabrielle turned to send her a sad smile and show no harm was done. “The commoners are smarter than you think. They will back a side. The right side, for them. You’ll see. We just have to make sure it’s us.”
Ginny nodded solemnly.
The days carried on like that, and days turned to weeks and weeks turned to months. And the war slowly but surely came to a head.
“I have been informed,” Housemaster Snape drawled lazily before the crowd of students and priests in the Great Hall, “that this is to be the decisive battle between the false Minister of the Left, Lord Voldemort, and First Prince Albus Dumbledore. It seems that we shall likely know the winner of the war within a week.”
That night, Gabrielle trained as hard as Ginny usually would, and Ginny trained even harder. Even so, when they went to bed exhausted, sleep did not find them. Gabrielle lay awake for about three hours before making her way to Ginny’s room, hardly bothering to sneak. She found Ginny’s door unlocked and let herself in to meet Ginny’s numb and obviously expectant gaze. They said nothing for a moment as silent meanings passed between them, and then Gabrielle climbed under the covers next to Ginny.
For another two hours, they lay there, staring at the ceiling.
Finally, mundane conversation found them.
“I am concerned about preventing Emperor Gellert from invading Britannia after we defeat Voldemort,” Ginny announced casually.
“I think you’ve skipped a few steps,” Gabrielle replied, and she made a brave attempt at a smile.
“He rules over a lot of people,” Ginny continued. “A lot of them probably hate him. But still, it’s an entire continent, several times bigger than Britannia. He could put together one helluva army.”
“After we defeat Voldemort, we’ll have the Founding Objects,” Gabrielle pointed out, playing along. “All we really need is Slytherin’s Locket to detect where he’s going to try to land his offensively large army. So long as we know that we’ll be able to repel him. Because—you know. Island nation things.”
“But—will we have the numbers to do even that much?” Ginny moaned. “Two wars. That—that could devastate our population. The Grindelwaldian Empire might actually have the numbers to just throw bodies at us until we literally can’t hold them back any longer. We—we may not be able to defend ourselves.”
Gabrielle looked at Ginny. “Are you serious?”
Ginny nodded. “I think we might be better served to go on the offensive.”
…
Gabrielle laughed. “You’re a real piece of work Ginny.”
Ginny startled and looked over at her, as if woken from a trance, and then she smiled too. “I’m serious! The Founding Objects are perfect for a modestly sized offensive. We can use Ravenclaw’s Diadem to communicate over long distances and Slytherin’s Locket to detect other armies and the Sword of Gryffindor to kill enemy commanders! And we’ll never want for provisions so long as we’ve got Hufflepuff’s Cup to nourish our soldiers! We could thrash any army with all that; it’s why Grindelwald has never dared to attack us before!”
“Right. We’ll invade Europa and beat them into submission. We’ll have Emperor Gellert begging for a truce, assuming he isn’t already on his knees before us,” Gabrielle murmured. “The whole world will know to respect and fear us in equal measure, the Weasley-Delacour Alliance.”
“We’ll have to come up with a better name for it than that,” Ginny replied.
“Welacour. Deasley. Weaslacour.” Gabrielle yawned. “Huh. I’m getting sleepy. Gabrinny. Ginnielle. Don’t worry, my darling, we’ll think of something.”
“The only issue is that the people might be worried about a strategy that emphasizes the Founding Objects,” Ginny whispered.
“Delaweasley’s not half-bad, actually…”
“Because this whole civil war is only possible since they got split up. The Slytherin and Gryffindor Wielders are the direct subordinates to the Minister of the Left, and the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff Wielders to the Minister of the Right. Even if we’re the ministers, and people know that we’re—you know. It might not be enough to convince them that we’d never fight each other. They could get worried about another civil war.”
“We’ll just have to make sure they know for sure,” Gabrielle said softly, her eyes closed.
“And how do you propose we do that?” Ginny asked, turning to look at where Gabrielle lay back on her pillow.
Gabrielle’s eyes fluttered open. “I suppose I have one idea.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“We could get married.”
Ginny blushed furiously and turned away. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I am, and so are you. This is all a dream.” Gabrielle pushed herself up and shifted so that she was sitting on her knees. She cautiously put her hand on the underside of Ginny’s chin and pulled her back to look her in the eyes. “I can give you a dozen political reasons for why it’s a good idea, but Gin, the truth is I just love you. I have no idea what’s going to happen tomorrow—whether my sister or my parents or your brothers or your parents are going to die. But that’s not why I’m saying it. I love you, Ginny. I want to marry you. Win or lose, war or peace, I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
For a long pause, the girls just sat there on the bed, staring at each other. The stress and the fear, the exhaustion and the terror, the hope and the longing—all their emotions jumbled together in a strange way that stripped the girls of any acts or facades. They sat there as their true selves, in the quiet, in the still, in the predawn light that leaked in through the bedroom window.
And then Ginny leaned forward and kissed Gabrielle.
After another moment like that, Ginny slowly pulled away and stared at Gabrielle with a love-drunk look on her face. “I… I think that’s a great idea.”
“W—what?” Gabrielle asked, barely moving her lips.
“The, erm, marriage proposal one. That is to say, I accept. I—I accept gladly, even.”
Gabrielle giggled, and for a moment, she was all just girlish joy. “Ah, Ginny! These past months, I feel as though you’ve set my heart aflame.”
And all at once, life made sense and all was right with the world, because—
"That's what we'll call it." Ginny clasped her hand with Gabrielle's where it was already curled around her crimson locks and maneuvered it between them. "Fire, like the Weasley sigil—and heart, like Delacour. The Flaming Heart Alliance."
Gabrielle smiled. "L'alliance du cœur ardent."
"L'alliance du cœur ardent," Ginny repeated, and she knew her accent was horrible for how Gabrielle laughed at her, and how could everything be so perfect?
“Heirs usually don't marry. It would be frowned upon for either of us to change last names. I suppose we'll have to hyphenate…”
“Are you sure we can’t both just be Delaweasleys?”
Three days passed. Lectures and memorization periods had been cancelled; prayer services were still held—and still considered mandatory—but even so, hardly anyone showed up to them or to meals. The first day, there was no news of the battle, and somehow, that seemed worse than news of overwhelming defeat. But then, the next day, word of the death of Sir Cedric Diggory, Wielder of Hufflepuff’s Cup reached Hogwarts, and everyone realized that, indeed, no news actually was better than bad news.
It was with a strong sense of dread that Ginny walked into the Great Hall on the third day, prepared for the worst. If nothing else, she would have Gabrielle by her side no matter what. If nothing else, she would have a future with Gabrielle. If nothing else, they would make Voldemort pay for whatever happened next.
They filed into line along with all the other students and waited on pins and needles for Housemaster Snape to once again saunter up to the podium and make his announcement. He took position and looked down at the crowd of students and priests as if noticing them for the first time.
“I have received major news of the battle to the south,” he began, as always. “It is my duty as the head of this institution to make you all aware of it.”
“Get on with it,” Ginny muttered nervously. Gabrielle, already holding her hand, squeezed it.
“Lord Ronald Weasley…” Snape said, and he paused as if for dramatic effect.
Ginny squeezed her eyes shut against tears.
So. Ron is the first to go.
“—has slain the war criminal known as Peter the Rat on the field of battle.”
Ginny’s eyes shot open. Gasps rippled through the crowd, and someone actually cried, “No way!”
“And Lady Molly Weasley has slain the war criminal known as Bellatrix the Witch.” Snape glanced around all of them without passion or concern. “It would seem that the battle is turning in the favor of King Percival’s faction.”
And then, all hell broke loose.
The awards ceremony was one month later—which was actually an incredibly quick turnaround, given that three weeks out of that were spent waiting for Ginny, Gabrielle, and the other noble children who didn’t actually want to join the priesthood (most of them) to travel from Hogwarts to the Palace in Anglia.
All of Ginny’s brothers were knighted, even Percy who had claimed months ago to have no interest in such things, and Ron and her mother received multiple treasures from the royal family in recognition of their particularly noble accomplishments. Only Fred had died, and Ginny already hated herself for thinking about it in those terms. Fleur also received a knighthood for killing Scabior the Snatcher (Ginny watched Gabrielle, but she didn’t seem surprised or anything other than appropriately pleased for her sister), though her mother and father were not recognized for any particular accomplishments. Besides all of them, the noble with the highest honor was Lord Neville, now known as the Serpent’s Death.
It turned out that Gabrielle was right for encouraging Ginny not to underestimate the commoners, because they seemed to have distinguished themselves far more than any of the nobles. There were over a hundred new knights, some gifted keeps and lands to go with their titles, a dozen new nobles, and even four new high nobles. It was the former commoner Sir Harry who had killed the False Minister Voldemort.
The ceremony lasted an entire day, with the weak King Percival or First Prince Albus awarding the various soldiers for their accomplishments on the battlefield while onlookers feasted and in a few special cases, toasted to the recipients.
All throughout it, Ginny was proud and amazed by her family and even many of the others who, before that day, were total strangers to her—but with each new deed, she felt a little sillier for her own plans for defeating Voldemort. Frequently, she met eyes with Gabrielle and knew that she felt the same.
The ceremony went late into the evening, and then there was more singing and dancing and feasting late into the night. After the festivities, it was time for all to rest, and the palace was an extravagant place, but it was not overlarge. Many of the knights and lesser nobles went out to camp on the royal lawn or stay at local inns, but Ginny and Gabrielle were given lodging by virtue of their High Noble status. Ginny felt like a fraud, lying there in her feather bed.
She went out to find Gabrielle.
They ended up sitting on the floor against the wall in some dark hallway, Ginny splayed out and slumped in on herself and Gabrielle hugging her knees.
“Is it… bad of us? To be… I don’t know,” Gabrielle muttered.
“We’re not disappointed,” Ginny insisted. “We’re not. All of this, it’s… glorious.”
“Glorious,” Gabrielle echoed.
“It just… doesn’t feel real,” Ginny murmured. “But then, neither do the days spent planning how we’ll rescue the royal family and invade the Grindelwaldian Empire. That all just feels even less real.”
“It would’ve been real,” Gabrielle insisted. “We could’ve done it. I’m serious Ginny, all of it. We would have found a way. We were ready to find a way. But now… well, fat chance of us becoming ministers, to say the least.”
“We have no chance to prove ourselves,” Ginny whispered. “No great ambitions, no lofty goals. Just… life now. Life, how it was before.”
They turned that over in their heads for a minute.
Gabrielle reached down and grabbed Ginny’s hand. “We have each other now, though. There’s that.”
Ginny glanced over at Gabrielle and managed a weak smile, leaning in to peck a kiss to her lips. “Yeah. You’re right about that.”
“We—we can still get married.” Gabrielle swallowed. “…right?”
Ginny hesitated. “Yes. We can still get married.” It just won’t mean anything anymore. The youngest siblings of two noble families being traded like horses. “I love you, Gabrielle.”
Gabrielle nodded slowly. “I love you too, Ginny.”
Ginny hesitated. “We’ll just keep it a secret for now, and then—” she cringed a little bit as she continued, “—ask our elders for permission—in a couple years, I’d say.”
Gabrielle tried quite valiantly to hold in her grimace. “…yes. That sounds right.”
A pause descended between them.
“It would’ve been special, though,” Gabrielle muttered wistfully. “Being ministers together.”
“Yeah. It would’ve.”
Present
“Lady Ginevra, by royal proclamation, you are heiress to the High Noble Weasley Family and future ruler of Dumnonia.”
Lady Ginevra.
Heiress.
Ruler.
The words echoed through Ginny’s head.
“I’m… the heiress?” she whispered.
She looked up sharply. “Does Gabrielle know?”
Ron grinned. “Lady Fleur departed from the palace at the same time and with the same haste as me, so I reckon Lady Gabrielle has probably heard by now, yeah.”
Ginny grinned back. “Excellent.”
Here’s that chance.
She pivoted on her heel, nocked an arrow, and loosed it at the target again. She was further away than before, and the angle was strange.
The arrowed whistled straight into the bull’s eye.
Our chance to prove ourselves.
That night, the Weasley family held a feast in Ginny’s honor. Bill and Charlie were abroad, exploring Europa, but all of Ginny’s other living brothers and her mother and father were there. And partway through the feast, Gabrielle arrived and celebrated with them.
That night, they both retired to Ginny’s room, genuine smiles on their faces like there hadn’t been in months.
“I must say, Lady Ginevra, you look positively radiant,” Gabrielle said courteously.
“You do as well,” Ginny replied quickly.
“No, no,” Gabrielle insisted. “It’s different on you. It’s like… the wind is back in your sails.”
Ginny grinned even wider. “I thought Percy was a surprisingly good sport about it, all things considered. Ron would’ve been livid before the war, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. Got a taste of leadership and decided it wasn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, I suppose. Even George managed a smile.”
“You should’ve seen Fleur,” Gabrielle giggled. “She’s so sweet, she cried. Although, I could tell she was secretly a little miffed, too.”
“About losing her heirship?” Ginny asked in surprise.
Gabrielle giggled again. “No. Because she knew that I was already done with her after a couple minutes and just wanted to come see you. But she understood well enough.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow at that. “Does she know about us?”
“Evidently, more than your family, at least,” Gabrielle replied, pointedly lifting the covers on Ginny’s bed to slide in next to her. “I’m sure Lady Molly would have made other arrangements if she had.”
Ginny laid down next to Gabrielle, their faces inches apart, and a pregnant pause rose between them, both girls suddenly tense with excitement.
Barely daring to whisper, Gabrielle breathed, “…Flaming Heart Alliance?”
Ginny felt her face glowing red. “Flaming Heart Alliance,” she confirmed.
“No need to avenge ourselves upon Voldemort or rescue the royal family, though,” Gabrielle noted.
“But we’re still aiming for the top,” Ginny replied firmly. “Become Ministers of the Right and Left. Marry, and consolidate the kingdom. Arrange for the Founding Objects to go to our loyal servants.”
“What about Grindelwald? He hasn’t attacked us or anything.”
“Everyone knows he wants to take over the world,” Ginny dismissed. “He’ll make a move eventually—but we’ll be ready.”
Gabrielle took a deep breath. “We’re doing this.”
Ginny leaned in a little closer. “Yes.” She pressed a kiss to Gabrielle’s lips.
“We’re doing this.”