Chapter 19: Facing the Mistake
I finally updated! Thank you for al your reviews. There is still a couple of chapters left (five more, I think) and the tension is going to last for a while. Again, thank you for the reviews and compliments, especially for that nomination. It is really an honour. I am going to ask you to please be patient because graduation is three weeks away, so I am going to be very rushed with research papers and tests from this point on. But please do not hesitate to review; I always read them even if I do not always respond to them. Enjoy!
"I am sorry."
That night was eternal hell for Hermione, and the worst was yet to come.
She slipped into the coldness of her sister's bed, empty at the moment, for she could not bring herself to look at Harry for another minute.
She had hurt him, deeply, put him through something that he did not deserve.
So she just ran out of the room before Harry was even able to open his mouth. She had not even bothered to pick-up her own clothes; instead, she got out of her own chamber with just hunter green sheets covering her body.
It was nearly dawn when she reached her sister's pillow. Fleur had not bothered to come back from Oliver's room, leaving Hermione the chamber all to herself.
Hermione lay down, tears wetting the satin linen sheets. Her wavy hair covered her dampened face as her eyelids closed in deep sorrow. It was her fault. She had no one to blame, but herself.
****
Harry did not sleep that night and when the sun had finally risen from the deep horizon, his body also got up, aching in protest from the lack of rest. He had gone to his chamber once Hermione had left; silently hoping, although he would not admit it, that she was there, silently hoping for there to be some kind of mistake.
But she was not there and although he ultimately sighed in defeat and got into his bed, his mind was too busy thinking about how blind and careless he had been for him to get any rest.
As soon as he got up, he took a warm bath, his head still throbbing with confusion and anger.
She was engaged? She had been all this time? Why had she not told him? Why had she
allowed him to…fall for her?
He hit the tub in frustration. Perhaps his aunt was right. Perhaps the Spartans were just whores, without any feelings at all. And just what had he expected from the daughter of Helen? The biggest whore of all?
But as his mind concluded this, his heart and body expressed their deepest disagreements.
Even after her admission, he still remembered how she felt whenever she was just his. Her kisses, caresses, and
response to his passion were just as heated as his own. She had never refused him, no. She had
practically begged him to take her, to make her his. Her responses had never been cold, but filled with
desire, maybe…love?
His body still trembled with arousal as he remembered how she felt under him, so full of passion…
But she was not his! No matter how much she had given him, she still belonged to somebody
else. The question was who was he? Harry could not even begin to imagine. And rest assured, he
did not want to.
****
Hermione stirred on Fleur's bed as the door creaked open. Although the sun was already shining,
her room was only dimly illuminated, courtesy of the heavy curtains. She sighed in her sleep as the
paces got even closer to her bed.
Hermione gasped as her eyes opened. She wanted to scream, but she could not find her voice.
There was a red headed bastard seated on her bed, very close to her body frame, mind you, and he was
reaching to touch her untamed curls. She instinctively backed away as the scream was finally able to
escape from her mouth.
"Oh come on Hermione. Is that any proper way to greet your fiancée?"
Prick.
"Get out of the room, now!" Her voice came out in shrieking shouts, as she suddenly became aware
that she was still wrapped around Harry's sheets and that Ron's eyes were trying to pierce through her
angrily trembling body.
How had he found her anyway? This was not the room that she had been assigned to after all.
It did not matter now however. Right now, she just wanted to get the first garment that she could get her hands on and get out of there.
"Oh, you do not really want that, do you? I know you want me."
"Get out!" she commanded, knowing there was no point in arguing with him.
"If you wanted me to go, then you should not have put such a sensual cover to your body. Now I am
ready to claim my prize." He tried to steal a kiss from her, but all he got was a face slap.
"You will not lay a hand on me. Am I clear?"
"You presume to tell me what to do Hermione? You are mine and you are going to have to get used to
it," Ron clarified, his voice no longer gentle.
Hermione immediately got out of bed, But she was not able to open the door, for somebody else did it
for her.
"What is the scandal here?" Agamemnon's voice pierced through Hermione's ears like a cold steel knife.
This was all she needed right now.
Her body instinctively backed away while her hands tightened the Harry scented sheets
around her. But even after doing so, Agamemnon's eyes would not tear away from her body.
To Hermione's relief, for the moment anyway, Ron spoke, intending to catch Agamemnon's attention.
"Good morning Agamemnon, Sir." He sprung forward to shake hands with the high king of Mycenae.
"Oh, Ronald, I see you have found your fiancée. How are you Hermione?" Her uncle tried to take
possession of her hand, but she grasped it away, gesture that got a wide and indignant expression from him.
"Bit hasty today I see, though that makes you even more beautiful."
If Agamemnon had expected a gratitude for his compliment, he was gravely mistaken. Hermione's lips
were pursed while her nutshell eyes fought desperately to keep the tears inside. Tears of anger; hurt, and mostly guilt about the pain she had caused to the man she loved.
"Did you not hear your uncle talking to you Hermione?"
All that Ron's rough voice could do was get more rage out of her.
Hermione looked at him, ready to slap him, but decided against it. She would not give him power over
her. She would not make a spectacle like this while still in Troy, nor anywhere else for that matter.
"I…would like privacy to dress if you two do not mind."
That request was all that Hermione could muster in a quiet, but firm voice.
"I certainly do not," Ron replied arrogantly, giving her body another approving stare before Hermione literally
opened the door and got them out.
She collapsed against the closed door, tears covering her face.
When did life had suddenly become a curse again? She had forgotten the pain, the pain that her birthright entitled her to. That pain which had deserted her heart the moment Harry had pressed his lips against hers.
Now, it was back and with it, the guilt that came from hurting the very person who had attempted, and had briefly succeeded, to take it all away.
She had hurt…Harry.
****
"Oliver, we are going to be late for the morning meal!" Fleur giggled as the prince of Ithaca attacked
her neck, finalising with her lips.
In an instant, Fleur's thoughts about breakfast were forgotten. The only thought occupying her mind
was Oliver's lips against hers. He tasted so good…but it was still time for breakfast.
"Master Oliver! Breakfast time!" His nanny's voice interrupted the delightful moment.
And privacy was postponed…
Oliver sighed and went to open the door, attempting to put his garment back on. .
"Hi Pookie." Oliver leaned against the door, still catching his breath.
"Good morning Master Oliver. Did you have a nice night?" His nanny's eyes beamed with curiosity.
"Extremely nice." Oliver grinned.
"Very well. I will be sure to inform your mother. Now, you Sir best hurry up. We have visitors-"
"Oliver dear! There you are!" Oliver's mother, Penelope, stopped by her son's chamber.
"Good morning mother."
"I have been worried sick! It is almost past-breakfast and there are visitors! You never-"
Penelope's statement was cut short when Fleur stepped forward in order to take her leave.
"Oliver, I am…Oh, hi Mrs. Odysseus and…Oliver's nanny," Fleur's lips curled up in a polite smile.
"I see. " Penelope drew her conclusions. "Do call me Penelope dear," she cooed, "And this is Pookie."
She pointed to Oliver's nanny. "She used to sew all of Oliver's stuffed animals, you know."
"Mother!" Oliver's face turned a deep tomato color while Fleur had to stifle her laughter.
"Is that so?"
"Oh, he would cry if he did not have a stuffed animal next to him," Penelope affirmed.
"Mother!"
"Come on Oliver. If I am going to Ithaca with you, then I had better know as much about you as I
possibly can; but I cannot sew," Fleur intervened.
Oliver smiled at his fiancée while Pookie and Penelope brought their hands to their mouths in
astonishment.
"She is going with us?" Penelope asked, surprise evident in her voice. Fleur just nodded as Oliver
squeezed her hand lightly.
"Oh! What makes my Olli happy makes me happy!" Penelope enveloped Fleur into another hug; which
she returned lovingly.
"Mother, please!" Oliver protested once more as Penelope tried to hug him afterward.
"Oh stop it Olli! You may have a bride to be, but you are still my little baby!" She got her way.
"Breakfast?" Pookie offered, and after Penelope's embrace, they all followed her.
****
"Harry honey, are you ill?" Cassandra asked, fake concern along with satisfaction playing in her
voice, for she was gladly aware of Hermione's pressing commitment.
"What do you want?" Harry asked dryly while sipping his tea. The word "concern" was not in his
aunt's vocabulary and he knew it.
Cassandra gasped.
"Harry! It hurts me that you think such things of me! I was merely worried about my nephew, You
do not seem like yourself today."
"Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answers Cassandra? Drop the act before I
gag, all right?" Harry gave her a cold stare.
"Harry!"
"Why do you not tell me what you want and get it over with?"
"Well, now that you ask, I would like you to receive and be nice to the Spartan visitors. They are
finally getting that whore out of this place!"
"I thought I told you never to address Hermione in that manner!" Harry stood up angrily.
It baffled even him that even when he was angry at her betrayal, he would not cease to defend her.
"I will address her anyway I want since-"
"Ahem! Your majesty?" One of Cassandra's personal servants cut through the argument, making his presence known in the throne-room.
"What do you want?" Cassandra growled. She hated when her matters, personal or otherwise, were interrupted while she was dealing with them.
"The Spartans are here," the servant replied.
Suffice to say, Cassandra's eyes lit up.
"Perfect! Have them come in! Have they had breakfast yet?"
"I do not think so, your majesty, since they were led them directly to Miss Hermione's bedroom."
"My, my, how quick can they be?" Cassandra commented, glancing at Harry. This was obviously
making him uncomfortable.
But nothing could have prepared Harry for what he was going to see next…
"Greetings, beautiful queen of the east."
Harry's emerald pupils dilated as the familiar feelings of disgust and rage swam over his body.
Ronald, son of Achilles, had come in, followed by Agamemnon, high king of Mycenae.
Wait a minute!
That meant…he could not be…
"Ah, Sir Ronald. Were you able to find your fiancée in good health?" Cassandra greeted back with an unusually sweet voice.
"Very good." Ron grinned as Harry's hands almost broke the chair he was seated on, right next to the throne.
This was all he needed right now. Ronald of Thessaly was Hermione's fiancé. The son of the man who
had killed his father once upon a time.
"Good. So I trust-"
Harry's train of thought was broken by Cassandra's diplomatic gestures. His patience however, was running short. And it certainly was not going to make it through more diplomacy.
"When will you be leaving?" he interrupted his aunt.
"What? Harry, you-" Cassandra tried to make her nephew shut up. It was not diplomatically wise to throw guests out of the castle when they had just gotten there.
"When-will-you-leave?" Harry asked again. At this point, he was beyond diplomatic niceties, especially when he had found out that the woman he loved was unavailable and engaged to the son of his father's murderer.
No. He was not about to play the diplomacy game and the look he gave his aunt made it pretty clear that he was not going to retract his question.
"Well, we should be leaving..."Agamemnon proceeded to answer the question, as it was polite, before his eyes bore suddenly into Harry's, a look of pure bewilderment crossing his features. "Hector?"
"You wish," Harry replied with venom.
"Oh my goodness! I do not believe you have met! This is my nephew Harry, heir to the throne," Cassandra tried to regain control of the conversation, in vain.
By now, Harry and Agamemnon were shooting daggers at each other.
"No, we have not. So, son of Hector are you? I did not figure Hector was the marrying type. But then again, he was the oldest, so he would have done anything for the throne-"
"And I did not know that the position of high king gave you the right of forcing yourself onto your
brother's woman," Harry stated, now positively furious.
Otherwise, he would have realized that he was antagonizing Tory's biggest enemy.
Agamemnon's expression reached its peak of enragement, but the high king decided not to give Harry the gusto.
Still, he still was going to answer, although diplomacy would have dictated keeping his mouth shut and act like a gentleman.
"You are saying that like she did not enjoy it. I know she did," Agamemnon stated smugly.
Ron's face was puzzled as Harry almost launched at Agamemnon.
"You son of a-"
"Harry!" Cassandra tried to restrain his nephew, but Harry's fist was already dangerously close to
Agamemnon's nose.
Agamemnon's face, and Troy for that matter, for the moment anyway, was saved by a door creak. Harry's hands immediately halted as he took sight of Princess Hermione of Sparta making her way in.
"Hermione love, there you are!"
Hermione regretted ever entering as Ron made his way toward her. She tried to get away, but Ron's
arms grabbed her tightly, planting a slobbery kiss on her neck and directing her further into the throne-
room.
Her gaze passed instantly and automatically to Harry, whose dark green eyes pierced through
her like an iced knife, before shifting them away. Hermione chose the floor to look at instead,
blinking away sour tears that threatened to dampen her eyes.
"Hermione, how are you sweetheart?" The queen got Hermione's gaze off the floor.
Hermione gulped and continued staring at the floor, until an iced hand lifted her chin.
For obvious reasons, she did not feel like addressing the queen and knew the reason that the queen was addressing her: diplomatic niceties. Otherwise, Cassandra would not have bothered to even look at her.
She would have succeeded, if Ron had not meddled in.
"Quite introverted today, are we not love?" Ron asked. Hermione avoided further touch and got away
from him.
If she did not keep her distance, Achilles's kin or not, Ronald would probably not survive to see tomorrow, damned the consequences.
"I am sure her mood will improve once we get home," Agamemnon intervened.
"Do not get too used to having her around though. I am taking her to Thessaly with me once the wedding has taken place," Ron stated.
Harry could have swore that Agamemnon gave Ron a menacing look.
But it did not match Hermione's fiery eyes, which could literally have killed Ron when she glared at him.
What am I doing thinking about her again? Harry mentally hit himself.
He had to forget her. She was leaving, and he would not have her. But he was kidding himself if he thought his heart would comply with his head's command.
"Well, in that case we must be on our way. We have a long trail to take." Agamemnon's voice interrupted
Harry's thoughts.
"Oh, stay for breakfast, I insist," Cassandra pleaded, "That way you can get to know the future king
properly."
Suffice to say all the eyes in the room became fixed on Harry.
"So, Hector's son is taking the throne?" Agamemnon asked, amusement in his voice.
In that precise moment, Hermione's eyes bore into Harry's, whose eyes were locked on hers for the
briefest of seconds. Her eyes were filled with sadness, but deep inside, he could detect a glimmer of hope.
"Yes, I believe I will."
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