Pomona did not go to stay at the Grand Trianon.
Though everything that was meant to happen had happened, she still had no intention of living there. She was now staying at an estate near Versailles, spending every day among a group of country women.
They were very warm and always refused to let her do work that required strength. Pomona kept recalling what it felt like to have a wand. If they saw it, they would surely be startled by her power.
She did not know what was wrong with her either. If she wanted to compete with Muggles intellectually, then she had to learn Muggle methods of mental control.
Some people possessed a charisma like magic, making others want to submit and surrender. Napoleon was that sort of person. She did not know what she had been thinking then, not taking the chance to escape while the Scourers went after Severus, but instead standing stupidly in the meeting room and waiting for them to shackle her.
Tobias had made rules for Eileen, forbidding her from using a wand, but Napoleon had not. Of course she could have used magic to resist him.
Surrendering in her heart was worse than surrendering in reality. Fortunately, she was not the kind of woman who expected a man to take responsibility after sleeping with her once.
His curiosity had been satisfied. She had not grown anything extra compared to other women; if she had, she would have been a monster.
She was just an ordinary woman. There was no need for him to be so obsessed with her, so utterly besotted. It was truly ridiculous.
She had kindly invited him on a picnic, only for it to end like this. It made her feel chilled to the bone. She had originally wanted