Chapter Text
Minister Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley stands at the edge of the pavement with the other early morning commuters waiting for the traffic light to turn green. There is nothing unusual about her pencil skirt and the turtleneck blouse tucked inside, the paper cup in her hand is identical to the one the man on her left is holding. To the people around her she is merely another face they encounter in passing and never think about again. Only if there are any regulars who wait at this traffic light between twenty to seven and a quarter to seven every day, they might recognise her as the woman who waits with them from time to time, always holding a cup of black coffee from that place at the other end of the street, always with that small beaded bag over her shoulder, always with the curls framing her face in an orderly fashion despite the different weather conditions. Today is no different, although Hermione has forgone her black coat since the sun has finally decided to make an appearance after the cruel April Fools joke it had decided to play on them at the end of last week, hiding behind thick clouds which had marked the beginning of the month with a heavy downpour.
Hermione had gone to work on foot that day as well, armed with an umbrella, not minding the rain one bit. A simple flick of the wand upon arriving at the office had cleared any trace of water off her clothes and hair. In the evening she had left that part out on her way inside the house, much to the amusement of her son. Hugo had giggled madly at her arriving soaked and it had been worth it to see him like that for a minute before his father also came out into the corridor to tell him to go and get ready for his Uncles’ birthday dinner. Ron had merely shaken his head at Hermione’s antics with a stony expression on his face before following their son upstairs to get changed as well. Hermione is happy Rose had already begun her education in Hogwarts, however much she misses seeing her daughter every day. Rose had always been quite sensitive and Hermione fears she had picked up on more than a couple of fights between her and Ron.
Her husband’s attitude is precisely the reason for Hermione’s morning walks to the office on some days which happen to occur more often than not as of late. It’s the one where he seems to close off from her upon being unable to find something to jab at her for, perhaps knowing he can’t complain about her working too much because it’s her salary that has paid for their house and is covering a large part of their expenses now. During these episodes Ron reverts back to his old self – skulky, cranky, prone to insults, simply for the sake of retaliating against what he feels is a regular and very foul attack on his ego. Despite meeting that behaviour with patience throughout the years, especially in the early stage of their marriage when she had felt like her own conflicting feelings may be bringing about for the rift between them, Hermione refuses to have Hugo – and before, Rose as well – witness those moments. She sneaks out of the house for work early before Ron has even heard his alarm clock go off. She only prepares breakfast before she leaves, taking a moment to go inside Hugo’s room and kiss him goodbye even though it’s too early for him to get up for school and he doesn’t even realise she’s there.
Hermione doesn’t mind rain, or even snow, but sunny days like these in the early spring are her favourite when she can take a stroll in the park if she leaves the house early enough, and soak in the rising sun for a while before visiting the coffee place when it opens. At some point last year the owner had begun surprising her sometimes by having her order ready to go. Hermione should probably be worried about a complete stranger predicting when she might have an argument with her husband, but she simply accepts the coffee, leaving a generous tip, and sets off down the street towards the traffic light.
Some people enter the large glass building after crossing the street, others, like her, continue on straight, getting lost in the web of alleys in the centre of London. Hermione walks along the pavement until she’s parted with everyone from the first traffic light and joined another group of people navigating their way to work. She takes two lefts and a right before having Whitehall in sight. She makes her way over to the building, losing the last of her travel companions when she turns into the alley behind Whitehall and walks purposefully towards the old telephone box that’s still standing there covered in graffiti and sporting holes in the glass. Sometimes a polite passer-by would tell Hermione that the telephone isn’t working; she would always smile and say there’s no loss in trying. Today there is no one around, and Hermione can peacefully slide into the telephone box and close the door. She reaches for the receiver and dials ‘62442’ rather hurriedly before anyone has a chance of walking by, although Muggles never really notice anything.
“Welcome to the Ministry of Magic” the cool female voice sounds out. “Please state your name and business.”
“Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic” Hermione answers timidly despite knowing there is no reason to be like this. She would certainly never allow herself to sound unsure in front of her subordinates, some of whom she is certain are waiting to prey on such a moment of weakness she may be foolish enough to allow herself. In private, she still struggles to fully accept she is deserving of her post. This is a piece of information not even her closest friends are privy to.
“Thank you” the female voice says and the telephone box sinks into the ground. Hermione finishes her coffee in the temporary darkness and Banishes the cup to the bins she had seen up on the street. She smooths down her hair and adjusts the beaded bag on her shoulder just in time for the light to appear at her feet and gradually ride up her body as she descends into the Atrium.
“The Ministry of Magic wishes you a pleasant day” the female voice signals the end of the ride. Hermione pushes the door open and exits the telephone box, her heels clacking on the floor as she makes her way towards the lifts. The usual Monday flurry of activity is in full swing already, and Hermione answers at least three dozens of good morning greetings from colleagues. There are even a couple of reporters lurking in the corner, who jump forward at the opportunity to have a word with the Minister, but Hermione turns her back on them to throw a Galleon into the Fountain of Magical Brethren, as has become her custom since the first morning she arrived through the visitors’ entrance. Hermione looks at the renovated fountain fondly. The figures are now depicted to be closer in height in hopes of blurring the differences between them, and carved from marble which is not as excessively elaborate as gold though still beautiful in her opinion. It had been the first change she had made after receiving the keys to the Minister’s office. The new sculpture around the fountain consists of a wizard down on one knee, holding a witch’s hand and gazing at her fondly while she holds a wand in her other hand showing it to the Goblin and the House-Elf, while the Centaur also listens with his head bowed. It certainly exudes more warmth and unity, the things Hermione had fought for during her years in the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and continues to support now.
“Good morning, Minister” the security wizard greets her cheerfully when she walks past.
“Here again, Isaac?” Hermione stops to inquire. “Sofia hasn’t gone into labour yet, then?”
“Not yet, no, ma’am” the young man shakes his head.
“Well, you’re out of here the moment she does” Hermione declares. “And I don’t want to see your face for at least a week afterwards.”
“And have old Eric cover for me? I could never!”
“Don’t make me force you to take a break, Mister!” Hermione walks off, smiling. She enters a nearly full lift with a bright ‘Good morning!’ and waits patiently for it to stop at every floor so the employees may go start on their work. When the last woman finally walks out on level two to kickstart the Aurors’ day with the undoubtedly thick file of assignments that have accumulated over the weekend Hermione presses the button for level one and the ride ends with the usual announcement from the female voice.
“Level one: Minister for Magic and Support Staff.”
The way to the offices on this level is through a solid oak door with no handle. Hermione lifts a hand and the door opens to let her pass, closing after her softly. Her footsteps are muffled on the carpeted floor. Two people are already in the outer office. Her assistant, Claius Yarlow, and her Senior Undersecretary, Demelza Robins. Both are storing some food in the fridge Hermione had placed there. They look up when Hermione enters, promptly springing apart from one another.
“Good morning, Minister!” Demelza clears her throat.
“Good morning indeed” Hermione chuckles and walks past them into the inner space of the offices. Her office is through a door exactly opposite her. On its left there are two other doors, bearing golden plaques with Claius and Demelza’s names and positions written with black letters. Hermione gazes longingly at the door to the right of her office. It’s firmly closed as it has been for nearly two weeks already. Two long weeks which feel like two months in the absence of the third and last member of her team. ‘Draco Malfoy, Advisor to the Minister’ reads the plaque on the door.
Appointing the man two years ago hadn’t been a hard decision, or any kind of decision at all. It had been gratitude for his support during her campaign and all the advice he had given her on how to (legally) sway some of the senior Ministry officials who hadn’t seemed to find a young woman such as herself fit for the post she had been aiming for. It had also been the last olive branch extended to Draco, signalling the official end of their teenage rivalry that had been followed by a rocky reunion for an eighth year in Hogwarts after the war. Ever since graduating and getting together with Astoria Greengrass, however, Draco had finally let go of his old ways, ceasing to copy his father, and working his own way up the ranks in the Ministry. Hermione had decided it was worth it to let go of her own resentment as well, and now she could proudly admit to Draco being a confidante of sorts and a reliable helping hand in her day-to-day dealings with tricky political matters and opinions. Only now, Draco’s office has been empty ever since his birthday two weeks ago, on the eve of which Hermione had received a letter containing a profuse apology for his sudden need for sick leave. She had promptly granted his request with a postscript wishing him a speedy recovery. It’s not that she is obsessed with keeping the man at work as much as possible. It’s the simple fact that things run a lot more smoothly with Draco there to deal with matters that don’t require her immediate attention, which ultimately turn out to not require her attention at all.
She raises her hand again and the door to her office opens to let her through and closes behind her soundlessly. The Minister’s office is a mystery to most Ministry officials who haven’t been privy to its interior ever since Hermione was elected to follow Kingsley’s stay here. Her new policies dictating that the Minister shall conduct most meetings in the outer office invite rumours to swirl around the whole building and even reach the Prophet as well. What is Hermione Granger-Weasley doing in her office that is so secretive seldom anyone is invited inside? Draco had dealt with releasing a statement about the understandable need for security after two wars and the Minister’s own need for privacy where she may put her brains to work undisturbed. Brightest Witch of Her Age, Golden Girl, and whatnot, Hermione couldn’t have worded it better herself and she had thanked Draco by leaving a box of Acid Pops, which she had found out he’s downright addicted to, on his desk.
In truth, her office is nothing out of the ordinary. Hexagonal room, carpeted floor, cabinets lining the three walls opposite the door. A bookshelf to the left, a picture of the newly-renovated Hogwarts castle to the right. The latter had been a gift from the school’s Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, and Hermione had immediately replaced Kingsley’s old blueprint of the Ministry building hanging on the wall. This way she could look up in the middle of a particularly taxing day and remember where she had begun and how far she had come. The privacy the office allows her is why Hermione had chosen to keep it out of reach and only allow certain individuals inside to discuss matters of too delicate a nature to be flaunted in the outer office. She only ever chooses her office to house a frivolous conversation where the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is concerned. Harry often visits under the pretence of reporting a rogue Boggart or some other magical creature terrorising Muggles, but really he just swings by when he’s found five minutes in the midst of his enormous workload and wants to ensure Hermione takes a little break as well. They usually make plans to visit one another for dinner or bring the children together for a play date over the weekend.
Hermione crosses the room and hangs her beaded bag on the coat hanger in the corner before sitting down at the desk. The comfortable high-backed chair is the one thing Hermione hasn’t changed in the office. Upon hearing that, Kingsley had laughed admitting that the chair dates back to Fudge. To this day it’s a private joke between them that this is the only thing they agree upon with their mutual predecessor. The tottering pile of documents on her desk is a bitter reminder of the work she has to go through before her noon meeting with the Department of Magical Transportation officials to oversee their decision about International Portkey taxes. Pulling the first piece of parchment towards her, Hermione gets to reading carefully through it before making the necessary changes and sending it zooming out of her office as a memo to Idacius Bogden down in the Department of Mysteries. The sun gradually rises and bathes the room in warm light through the windows by her Hogwarts picture. Hermione had charmed them herself, dissociating her office from the work of Magical Maintenance. She had placed enchantments to copy the weather outside and found it a lot more relaxing to know what kind of weather she’s coming in to.
Most of the day goes by calmly with only a minor disturbance Claius alerts her for: Kaleina Malick from the Department of International Magical Cooperation is requesting entrance into the outer office to come in and see Draco Malfoy. Hermione rolls her eyes and tells Claius to inform Ms Malick that her Advisor is currently busy advising her. She had known Draco’s prolonged sick leave would raise questions when people stopped seeing him striding up and down the corridors, but she has no intention of discussing any of her team members’ personal lives and needs outside of the office, least of all with Kaleina Malick. She conducts one other meeting in the afternoon and has just managed to sit at her desk and reorganise all the papers again, trying to decide which to tick off as non-urgent and leave for tomorrow, when there is a knock on her door.
“Yes?” Hermione calls out, already puzzling over what way to get Claius to throw off what is undoubtedly another uninvited visitor. To her surprise, it’s Demelza who pokes her head inside. “What is it, Demelza?”
“Sorry to bother you, Minister” Demelza steps inside. “It’s just that a letter came for you… or so I thought.”
Hermione raises an eyebrow at the scroll of parchment in Demelza’s hand.
“It’s got your name on it,” the woman explains, “but it’s blank.”
Hermione’s confusion persists for another moment before a sudden thought pierces her mind. Blank parchment, secret letters, no signature. She closes her eyes against the onslaught of memories. It has been years. Fifteen years. This is impossible.
“Er – Minister?”
Hermione fights to open her eyes, to calm the tornado of emotions inside her. One of her hands drops down to grip the edge of her seat underneath the desk.
“Who brought it?” Hermione asks, willing her eyes to open and her voice to not tremble. She isn’t certain how well she manages to mask her distress even though Demelza chooses not to comment.
“It appeared in front of the office like a memo” Demelza answers. “Would you like me to have someone from Law Enforcement take a look?”
“Don’t be ridiculous, Demelza, I have complete trust in you to recognise a Curse.”
Her Senior Undersecretary smiles faintly at the praise. Hermione does trust her implicitly, the same way she trusts Claius and Draco. Part of the reason why her team is so small in numbers yet one hundred percent efficient.
“Leave it on my desk, please, and thank you, Demelza.”
The woman does as she’s told and leaves the room without another word. If she had noticed anything, Hermione rests assured that she wouldn’t bring it up outside of these walls. The scroll of parchment is indeed bearing her name. The letters look as if they had been typed out with a typewriter; no handwriting is given away.
She lets the supposed letter sit at the edge of the desk while her focus returns to the document she’s currently reading. The Serbian Ministry of Magic is sending delegates to the International Confederation of Wizards for the conference in London this summer. Oof, that better not be left for tomorrow. She looks into the numbers and checks to see what establishment she can offer the Serbians for their stay. She has heard good things about the new hotel on the other side of Diagon Alley, The Phoenix. She should ask Draco what he knows about it. Hermione groans as she remembers she can’t exactly ask him now. Her eyes fall on the blank piece of parchment briefly, but she returns them to the one in her hand. Answer the Serbians first. She prepares herself to write a letter and dips her quill in ink.
Dear Minister,
I am delighted I will be able to welcome you into my country.
She pauses as she contemplates what to write next. Her eyes move from the parchment in front of her again, sweeping over the office and landing on the scroll Demelza had brought in. This is preposterous. She has actual work to do and this is probably a joke someone had decided to play. She wouldn’t put it past Harry if he had enough free time. Back to the task at hand then. Oh no!
Her quill had been dripping ink onto her response to the Serbian Minister for Magic. The blotch makes the parchment tear when she accidentally stabs at it with the quill. Merlin! She throws a disdainful look at the scroll on the edge of the desk. There is no reason for her hands to tremble or her mind to be going a mile a minute trying to guess its contents. She sets down her quill and pulls out her wand. Enough is enough.
“Specialis Revelio!”
It sits still, blank, save for the typed out name facing her. Hermione frowns. Her heart pounds in her chest for no apparent reason. The sensation from a few minutes ago overwhelms her once more. She waves her wand and the Serbian Minister’s letter disappears from her desk along with her failed attempt at a reply. Hermione reaches out almost against her will and her fingers brush the smooth surface of the parchment. She has no right to feel like this, she reminds herself again, unrolling the scroll. She thinks of Rose and Hugo as her hand touches the top of the parchment and drags down.
Words begin to appear and for a moment Hermione’s breath hitches, her mind mulling over the elegant cursive and trying to make sense of the impossibility of the situation. Bella is lying in a bed in St Mungo’s, she reminds herself and a stabbing pain pierces her chest. Then, Hermione notices the softer slant of the letters and a disappointed sigh sneaks through her lips before she begins to pay attention to the words themselves.
Minister,
I am perfectly aware that your workload is enormous without having extracurricular activities added to your busy day. It would also be inadvisable for a person of your standing to be caught in secret communication with the likes of me – especially bearing the implications that this letter does. With that in mind, I am not writing this letter to the Minister for Magic however much I admire you for getting to where you are. I am writing instead to an old acquaintance, I like to believe, who might consider sparing a troubled mother a minute of their time.
My son is sick, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, and I know he has written to tell you as much as any employer should know, but I imagine you must be wondering why it is taking him so long to recover. I am too, and it pains me to admit to myself and you that I have no idea. Normally I wouldn’t hesitate to reach out to a Healer in St Mungo’s instead, but I find my son’s condition liable to cause distress among society. For safety reasons I cannot divulge anymore information in a letter.
I would be forever grateful if you agreed to come and give me some advice, if nothing else, seeing as I find I have no one else to turn to after Andromeda’s knowledge of healing has also been exhausted. I would understand, of course, if you can’t make it for one reason or another.
My address is 49 Flagstone Street, London.
Yours sincerely
The signature is missing but Hermione has no need for it. As soon as her eyes slide over the last lines of the letter, the words disappear again and the parchment begins to fold itself, ending up as a Narcissus flower lying innocently on her desk. Hermione stares at the distantly familiar creases in the parchment. The last such flower she had seen had been sent to her with another plea fifteen years ago.
1998
Hermione reads and rereads Andy’s letter, her eyes welling up with tears at its contents. Bella is alive, Bella is going to be alright, Bella has been hit with nothing more than a variation of Dolohov’s Curse. Hermione wonders how Molly Weasley knows of it, but it doesn’t matter at all now. It had been non-verbal and Hermione knows that, despite the recovery being long and painful, it is possible for one to recover. Hermione had done it, and Bella is so much stronger than her. And Madam Pomfrey had cured her. She knows the Curse and knows how to deal with it. Hermione is certain Madam Pomfrey is going to help.
So she goes to St Mungo’s despite some of her friends’ skepticism and open disagreement. She meets Andy down in the reception area and follows her up to the fourth floor for Spell Damage. The number of stairs they climb and portraits they walk past is lost to Hermione, their destination having her undivided attention. Andy leads her straight past the doors to the Janus Thickey ward and into the Horace Hamwort one. Impermanent Spell Damage. Reversible Curses, Hexes, and Jinxes. Thank Merlin.
Madam Pomfrey and Narcissa are already inside the room. Hermione tries not to let Bella’s pale complexion and the shallow breaths discourage her. Madame Pomfrey is going to fix it.
“Are you all ready?”
“Get on with it, Poppy, please” Andy prompts. She sounds about as ready to get this over with as Hermione herself feels. Hermione steps forward when Madam Pomfrey raises her wand. Any second now those eyes are going to open, and the red lips are going to twist into a smirk; Bella is going to shake her head at them worrying about her.
“Suscitate Spiritu!”
A ray of blue light shoots from Madam Pomfrey’s wand and embeds itself straight into Bella’s chest where Molly’s Curse had struck. For a moment Bella’s whole body is illuminated, then the light fades and she remains still as before. Hermione cannot believe her eyes when Madam Pomfrey drops her wand with a dejected expression on her face. She has never seen the matron fail. Apparently such is the case with Andy and Narcissa as well. Andy’s shoulders sag as she faces away from everyone to lean against the wall. Narcissa releases a choked sob. Bella’s chest continues to rise and fall with even breaths, however shallow, but her eyes remain closed and the smile Hermione had dreamed of seeing never comes to be.
Narcissa’s letter comes a few days later, inquiring whether Hermione is amenable to help her and Andromeda look for ways to wake up Bella. Hermione reads through it in a hurry, her nose already buried in ‘Uncommon Curses and How to Break Them’.