Chapter 2
Hermione:
1 week before:
Hermione furiously paced the floor of her study. Her practical black heels made a resounding “click click click” through the otherwise silent room. Her mind was elsewhere, yet she avoided the piles deftly, by habit. A stack of books on the history of merpeople here, a pile of legislative drafts on setting the minimum wage of the newly freed house elves there. All of them had their place. She glanced nervously at the door every couple of paces. Why hadn’t they called her in yet?
As she cast her (now 5th) cooling charm over herself a bright white stag pranced through her door and danced around her. Harry’s detached voice echoed from the stag, “We’re ready for you now”.
A pang of fear shot through her. She took a deep breath, smoothed the already flawlessly pressed black dress robes, and cast her 6th cooling charm before heading down to the atrium to stand in front of the Wizengamot.
The air in the magical lift was cool (thank Godrick), but slightly damp, and smelled of parchment and magical ink. From her office in The Department for the Care and Regulation of Magical Creatures and Beings, the ride was around 5 minutes. Far too long of a ride for Hermione's mind to be still. She raced back through her memories with the Wizengamot. Cormac's uncle “Lord McLaggen” held a powerful position. The head of the Department of Magical Transportation was the only person she had personally offended. Not even on purpose, mind you. It was not her fault that his slimy nephew couldn’t keep his hands to himself after one too many fire whiskey. It was also not her fault that she was gifted with a very accurate right hook.
As she wondered if she could bring up the Ministries severely lacking HR policies on workplace harassment, the lift stopped suddenly, throwing her off balance.
As the doors opened she clutched the thick stack of parchment in her hands a little harder. She was over-prepared, really, but the physical notes helped ease her anxiety either way.
The atrium that housed the Wizengamot was large, and this was an understatement. She stood on the floor of the atrium and the half circles of seating went on and up as high as she could see. It made a person feel very small. Probably designed for that very purpose.
She quickly closed the distance between herself and the ornate podium that stood directly in front of the Chief Warlock himself, Kingsley Shacklebolt.
He smiled down at her from his plush purple velvet chair, and she took a deep breath to begin her speech.
“I stand before you all today, humbled. I thank you all in advance for the time you’re investing here today and..”
“While I have no doubt that your speech will be brilliant,” interrupted Shaklebolt “I think you’d like to hear what we have to say first.” The older wizard gestured to the witch sitting to his right. She stood, unravelling a scroll.
“We are pleased to announce that Hermione Jean Granger has secured an absolute majority of votes in this nomination process. This outcome reflects the trust and confidence that our community places in her leadership abilities.As such, Hermione Jean Granger is now an official candidate for the next Minister for Magic."
As thunderous applause broke throughout the room Hermione stood stunned, staring at Kingsley. He beamed at her as he stood with the rest of the Wizengamot and applauded. Then, in a wave of motion, witches and wizards descended upon her, shaking her hand and patting her on the back and giving their congratulations and best wishes. It wasn’t until Harry appeared before her with a beaming smile on his face that she broke into tears.