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Chapter Text

Tower of London,

England

July 7th, 1576 AD

the Execution of the treasonous King

Perhaps it was how the sun did not shine that day, when the newly minted and crowned King of the British Crown, Abraxas Malfoy II sat to watch this moment.

Perhaps it was how her red taloned hands had glinted, like cherries... or blood.

Or maybe, how his young 4 years old son, the Prince of Wales, Lucius Malfoy I, had cried...

That was all on the good King's mind on this blistering hot summer morning at 7 am.

She would pay later for this,

And the treasonous King who he had called brother would pay dearly.

Heads will roll, King Abraxas II thought to himself. Bitterly.

Bitter was the wine that he had drunk the night before.

The stale bread, that could crack a tooth,

The vaunted look of a four year old...

How does England continue like this? King Abraxas II peered to his loyal subjects.. What will they think? When they know all of this?

The Executioner would bring out his brother,

Deserter.

Traitor.

Executed.

And yet... Abraxas Malfoy without the weight of the Crown, he would weep in private... for the lose of a brother - a King and friend.

He cast his eyes downwards.

The Royal Guard brought forth the prisoner.

Prisoner,

He spat at me.

I do not know my own blood any more than I could trust the woman who sit beside me now... Abraxas was on edge, they were being watched.

Not just by the Crown, or England's peoples... but by the world, too.

As his brother, Nicolas Armand Malfoy, the once great King of England - now a traitor the very crown, 22 year old Abraxas wears upon his head, was brought out in tattered garbs..

It was not so much the sight of his brother, it was the words that would follow.

Before the platform would fall out,

Before his brother's neck snapped in the gallows.

When Nicolas looked to the new King of England.

His brother,

His blood,

Abraxas... 

And said:

Regret, I have none.

God Save the King.

and the floor fell beneath Nicolas' feet.

The Dead do speak,

Are we listening?

Hanged by 7:32 am on July 7th 1576 AD.

'Nicolas Armand Malfoy - traitor to the Crown.'

He will not have a burial in Westminster Abbey,

Instead,

the very dirty ground,

He had sullied their Name Malfoy in.

Goodbye... Brother.

And may God have mercy on your soul.

and the King Abraxas II would make them all pay.

If it were the last thing he did.

Chapter Text

3 years after his brother was hanged by the neck until dead - the Good King Abraxas II was to visit the Vatican on a monarch visit to the Holy See and 3 of God's chosen shepherds.

Priests.

Not a Catholic man himself, if he chose a faith... he would call himself a Puritan.

Amongst them, was a half-blood and the later cardinal who would become instrumental for House Malfoy of England's reigning monarchy... one who just could not keep himself out of the Current. The paper that gave news to England... 

His name was Tom.

Father Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr, to be precise.

As the King and his now, 7 year old son, Prince Lucius, departed from the magical carriage... they were equally breathless as they took in the sights of the Vatican City.

'Papa, St Peter's Square is far too... wide... too boring... it is not like the Manor in Wiltshire,' Prince Lucius complained. The King's son, indeed. Up to that haughtiness and arrogance... King Abraxas II would have to keep that in check, pride suffers fools and his son was not to be foolish.

Not if he is to be the future King of England.

'Watch yourself, boy. Pride in this place... is unwise.' King Abraxas II sternness sent a chill down Prince Lucius' spine. 

The two royals ventured into Vatican City... marveling quietly the iconography and the holiness of such a place.

'Father?' Piped up Prince Lucius, who had been dutifully silent in St Mary's Chapel, 'why are wizards fearful of God.. if God is not hateful of us?' 

The question hung in the air... the Good King looked upon his son as if lightning struck destiny...

He knelt to his son's eye level, sincere and contrite now. As he incanted words long forgotten by their kind.

'For mankind feared the light, and this Light was light of the whole human race,' King Abraxas quoted John. 

As Lucius pondered that,

Voices broke the earnest silence,

One belonging to the current Cardinal of Rome... the Holy See's own advisor, Cardinal Gregory Goyle, 

Who stated:

Do we choose destiny, or is God above still omnipotent?

The eyes of the young prince Lucius grew comically wide... and he looked up at the sky as if it contained the answers to life's biggest questions.

With a sturdy breath, the Prince of England said confidently... "He is still God,"

And that gave pause to even the Cardinal himself.

But there was some clapping, then.

Fr Tom Riddle Jr stepped from the shadows where he seemed to linger constantly,

'You are indeed a Prince of England, your highness. And to have childlike faith as a child that you are - I wonder... will that remain as time goes forwards?' Fr. Tom intoned, a game..

But Prince Lucius remained strong, all 7 years of him - puffed his chest out as he declared this,

I will serve none but God and Magic,

For they alone control thine own destiny,

The ripples of magicks unseen,

As if accepting the young prince's vow...

But the Good King Abraxas II went ashen,

the priests and the cardinal shared a look amongst themselves.

What, child is this?

they would not know that another royal... a little princess... somewhere far beyond the borders of both Rome and that of the UK had been praying for God's Kingdom to reign in England.

And that little pureblood witch - princess' name is;

Mary Hermione of Spain,

But to all,

She is just...

Hermione.

For now.

Chapter Text

Barcelona, Spain.

Parkinson Ridge Estate,

the House of Nobles

October 2, 1585, AD

 7: 45 am

Princess Mary Hermione Parkinson of La Granga Estate awoke to her infernal sister in all things but blood. Her eyes narrowing to dangerous slits of defiant love and true affection as she took in her sister's form and silk bedclothes.

'Pansy,' Mary Hermione groaned, as if the sun being out was a sin against all good things. 

But Pansy paid no heed to her sister as she twirled about like a lovestruck fool. "OH, Mary! I am giddy, so giddy this morrow!" Pansy sang sweetly... Hermione's hand twitched for her wand, a silencing charm was needed already at it was not even 8 am,

"What, dear sister, has thee giddy this morrow at... 45 past 7 in the morning?" Mary Hermione grumbled, swinging her tanned legs out of the bed,

Pansy laughed. Bright and tinkling laughter. Like bells, or chimes.

Or an omen,

When Hermione would look back to these days of bows, frills and innocence... as she would sit on a throne, she did not ask for - but did so to keep peace.

Peace that would shatter.

But not yet,

She was but a girl of almost 11, 

War was not on her mind,

Nor the betrayal of a sister in all but blood... loomed in a darker, further and distant horizon.

Instead, she would entertain her sister -

"Oh, it is so lovely, dear heart!" Pansy cooed, always one to avoid the actual question in some form of a Shakespearean tragedy -

Finally.

Pansy halted in front of the base board of bed in which the Spanish Princess Mary Hermione Parkinson of La Granga Estate, surged forwards... and embraced Hermione.. who hugged back, squeezing tightly - not wishing to lose her 8 year old sister ever.

"Mother says," Pansy started, 

"We are meeting a future King!'

His name is Prince Lucius of Malfoy, Hermione... and from what the ladies in England say,

He is dreamy for a teen Prince,'

Hermione froze entirely.

Because of course,

Of course, their mother would send them both to England.

And for what? To pursue a prince of England... hardly,

But one look at her little sister, and Mary Hermione stiffened her upper lip.

Defiance - a trait for the daughters of Parkinson,

Mary Hermione would protect her little sister, Pansy, with her very life.

No Prince,

No King,

NO man would ever take her sister from her.

And they dressed in the finest silks from Asia,

donned their hair like the Spanish princesses they are and ought to be.

Heading to the magical carriage... Pansy was a chatterbox, whereas Mary Hermione was solemn.

This was their life,

As princesses.

Meeting princes and kings of foreign lands.

Still, Hermione's resolve to keep Pansy safe was unmatched in her fervor of Devotion to God Almighty.

Mary Hermione would pray many a rosary in the next several years.

But never...

Did she believe,

The Prince's eyes would be for her and her alone,

And never, ever, never...

Would she have believed that it would the other Parkinson girl,

Who would destroy so much...

And that by Mary Hermione's word -

these violent delights,

have violent ends, Sister.

the words would scar, they would break her.

Yet.

Nothing scared her more than the King's Consort Mistress Cordelia Nott Malfoy, the wife of the Good King Abraxas II and mother... to the Prince of England, Lucius Malfoy I.

Her future was not in Spain,

It was here.

In England.

And the all the fires of Hell, the spells cast, the violence and war that would come;

Would put Princess Mary Hermione Parkinson of La Granga Estate's very faith and her pureblood magic to the limits.

May the odds be ever in Her Majesty's favor,