Standoff With The Minister
She stared into the ornate gold mirror. Her face was bare minus a light coat of mascara and a lip tint that made her full lips slightly more pink. Hermione considered using her beauty charm to cover the smattering of freckles across her nose but decided she wanted Kingsley to look at her and see Hermione Granger, the girl he had met at 15. She left her hair down, curls fanning around her face. Over the years, her hair had become heavy enough to weigh down her natural curls, taming them in a way products never could. She wore a smart cream blouse tucked into dark blue trousers and settled light grey robes over her shoulders with a sticking charm, letting them billow out behind her like a cloak.
Kingsley had been putting off this meeting for months now. Today Hermione would not let him push it further back on the docket. Grimmauld Place and the children who now lived there deserved an advocate, and while Harry was wonderful with them, they needed someone willing to put their name on the line for them. Harry was too modest to use his influence from the war for something as trivial as money. It had taken Hermione and Andromeda Tonks more than a year to convince Harry that the Ministry of Magic should be caring for the bulk of the bill for The Second Home of Wayward Witches and Wizards. These were magical progeny that the Ministry or their parents had failed. She would have loved to have had half the resources Harry’s home provided. Even with Harry’s vast vaults, there was no way he could sustain caring for 16 children. He could provide a loving and safe home for the children, but financially it was a burden that was not sustainable without outside help.
Harry invited Andromeda and Teddy Lupin to move into Grimmauld four years ago under the guise of missing out on too much of Teddy’s growth. He had watched Andromeda struggle with losing her husband Ted but also Nymphadora and Remus. He had taken Teddy on overnights when Andromeda could not get out of bed for days. Soon those overnights turned into a week, then two. He told Hermoine how it felt like his chest was caving in as he witnessed her Patronus charm was a mere wisp after the war. Hermoine knew too many in the same state as Andromeda, so when Harry came to her to ask for advice on how to help her, she merely suggested he be there for them. She had meant to listen or whatever Mrs Tonks needed, but Harry had always been a man of action so she had not been surprised when the pair had their rooms at Grimmauld a month later.
There had been a thoughtless article in the Prophet about the arrangement. Skeeter insinuated that Andromeda and Harry had had a torrid affair during the war and were finally ready to make their love official now that ‘obstacles’ were out of the way. Hermione still cringed when she thought of how Andromeda had blasted an entire rose bush out of existence when the Prophet came that day. While it was often noted that Andromeda looked much like her sister Bellatrix, Hermione had always said that the two could not be any more different. Andromeda exudes warmth and compassion, but the morning the article appeared on the breakfast table, the witch in front of Hermione was terrifying. The crackling energy pouring off the witch was so reminiscent of Bellatrix that Hermione had gripped her wand instantaneously, adrenaline ripping through her. They had not seen the witch until supper time. No one dared question where she had spent her day, but when The Prophet had issued a retraction the following day, Hermione and Harry had exchanged a knowing look.
Hermione almost wished Andromeda was attending the Ministry meeting with her and Harry, but knew that no matter how many wards Harry had erected, there would be nothing to return to if Grimmauld and its inhabitants were left unsupervised for a full day.
Hermione was jolted out of her thoughts as Crookshanks yowled from the kitchen, spitting hisses echoing through to the sitting room. Pulling her wand, she quickly entered the kitchen to find Crookshank, bottlebrush tail fluffed fully out, by his food dish. The ginger beast had somehow predicted she was getting ready to leave without remembering his kibble. Hermione lowered her trembling hand and glared at the cat. “I thought there was an emergency!” She admonished him. “I have been in a war! You can’t just sound the alarm because you haven’t had breakfast.” Hermione breathed deeply, settling her heart rate as her mind healer had taught.
The half-kneazel blinked slowly in return before sniffing the small hole in the kibble that showed the bottom of the bowl. He looked back up at her, clearly indicating there was an emergency. The wand was still in hand as the exasperated witch summoned the box of cat food. She did not have time for this conversation. She left a purring cat face first into his dish as she flooed to the Ministry.
✧✧✧
She spotted him before she had even stepped from the stones. His black hair stood on end, as if he had just been running a nervous hand through it. Harry told her once about his father and the mannerisms he had noticed in Snape’s memories, Hermione always found it fascinating that one Potter messed up their hair for attention and the other ran their hands through it when they were getting attention. Hermione smiled as Harry used one hand to tug at the slightly frayed collar of his robes. Her eyes dropped to his other hand where it held a battered briefcase. Even from a distance, Hermione knew there would be an R and L engraved near the clasp of the briefcase. There was a pang in Hermione’s chest as she was reminded of whose shoes he was trying to fill. He may have been James’s son, but he was also Remus and Sirius’ as well.
“Hiya Hermione.” He flashed her a crooked smile as they moved towards the lifts, steps synced. As always, some whispers followed their arrival even though both witch and wizard spent ample time without the walls of the Ministry. Harry rolled his eyes at her and Hermione fought the urge to throw her middle and index fingers at them. One day the wizarding world would get over talking about The Boy Who Defeated The Darkest Wizard of Britain and his Golden Girl. Unfortunately, Hermione thought they would be dead by then.
Harry sidestepped several admirers as the pair moved past the crowd at the lifts.
“What no Future Missus in the masses there, mate?” The voice of Dean Thomas called out to Harry, making several of the witches turn crimson. Hermione watched as Harry narrowed his emerald eyes at his former dormmate, but Dean wrapped an arm around Harry and Hermione’s shoulders as he manoeuvred them down the Minister’s Hall. “A little bird may have mentioned your name was on the Minister’s docket today, Hermione. Just thought I would say hello. They won’t be impressed you brought this one along though. Talk is the Chosen One has been a nuisance with his owls recently.” He nodded his head towards Harry who grimaced in return.
The corridor to Kingsley’s office was lined with portraits from the previous Ministers. Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour’s frames were currently occupied and glaring. They were clearly holding onto past grudges. Several other paintings were empty but as the trio approached a middle-aged man standing silent sentry next to a shabby desk, Hermione was sure they had run ahead to inform him.
“Ah, heh, the under-secretary is already waiting to get you sorted. I will just be…” Dean lowered his voice and his head towards the pair. “Being seen with me will do you no good with Burke there. Unfortunately, he is not known for his muggleborn sympathies. Good luck,” Dean offered a farewell salute in farwell before quickly disappearing down the hall.
✧✧✧
Even with her name on the schedule, it took Hermione 15 minutes to have Burke announce their arrival. He finally handed a quill to Hermione to sign the ledger and when she handed it back, he casually cast a Scourgify as if she had dirtied it. Harry had opened his mouth to remark on the behaviour, but she gently placed a hand on his arm, shaking her head minutely. That was not going to be something they won. Even with banishing Voldemort, people like Burke would always exist. They would allow prejudice and ignorance to rule them and it was a waste of her time to attempt to educate them.
When Harry and Hermione were granted access to the Minister’s office, Kingsley Shaklebolt was standing by his large, overly crowded desk. He smiled tightly at the pair, his dark skin looking ashen as he gazed at them.
“Hermione, Harry. Always a pleasure to see you, however, something tells me this is not just a catch-up with an old war buddy type meeting like I was led to believe.” The minister motioned a hand towards the plush set of chairs by his desk. Sighing, Kingsley also sat and spent the next twenty minutes listening to Hermione as she angled to secure funding for Harry’s home. The more earnest her tone, the further Kingsley sank into his seat. Eventually, he raised a hand to stop Hermione, looking between the pair. There was a deep crease between his brows as he ran a hand down his face. Hermione had noticed that Kingsley had more grey hairs and deeper lines on his face. Stress as Minister must be catching up to him if he allowed his face to show how weary he was. Hermione had almost begun to feel a pang of sympathy until he started to speak.
“I know what this means to you, to you both. However, I have already told you, Harry. We just do not have the type of gold you are asking for. Too many departments are already being run close to red as it is. I cannot just hand over the keys to a Ministry vault to you to care for children who already have families who can provide for them, whether they want to or not, they are capable of doing so. Especially with my position here being up for a vote soon.” He ran a weathered hand across his face. Hermione felt that pang of empathy for the older man settle hard in her stomach. She had always thought of Kingsley as a mentor, but looking at him now, Hermione could see the position of Minister eating away at his youth.
“You cannot save everyone, Potter. I am sorry to tell you that not everything can be fixed with a little magic and the power of friendship and optimism.” Kingsley offered a sad smile to soften his insult, but his tone was anything but soft. Hermione was unimpressed by the insinuation that optimism is what won them the war. They had lost so much, including their childhood innocence long before the final battle had begun.
Harry’s face was scarlet as he slammed his hands down on the cluttered desk, papers and quills spilling to the floor. His heavy breaths and steely eyes startled Hermione, who was usually the more passionate of the duo.
“That's bullshit and you know it, Kings! Hermione had to use her Golden Girl status just to get past Umbridge Jr out there!” Spittle flew from his mouth. “We have been begging for this meeting for weeks and now that we are here your best answer is “Your hero complex isn’t going to save anyone this time”. This has nothing to do with me needing to save the entire wizarding world. Dumbledore took me out of Sirius’s hands and handed me to Hagrid with a bloody note threatening people who hated my parents to care for me. I was to be a sacrificial lamb raised by adults who were supposed to love and care for me and yet I was just a seven-year-old boy who had one blanket and a cupboard. I was half-starved and desperate for any shred of love. I was 14 and shoved into a fucking contest of death and not one adult protected me. I WAS 17 AND WALKED TO MY DEATH just to protect my family! TO PROTECT YOU AND YOUR ORDER!” Harry’s words tumbled from him as if he was unable to stop the vitriol.
“I refuse to be just another adult watching children suffer. I won't stand idly by and allow children to be used for a reelection campaign.” Hermione reached out a hand, but Harry shook her off. “No, Hermione, this needs to be said.”
“You asked why I was doing this? Where was my ‘little project’ going? I started as an Auror to protect magical kids, but every day I watched the system fail them. Over and over I was on a case where a child was the real victim but Robards or Smith would constantly tell me there was nothing to do. Dumbledore put me in the care of muggles who feared magic, muggles who tried to beat the magic out of me. Remus said he fought for me and drained his vaults to just have the opportunity to care for me. But no, it had to be these specific muggles to take me in. Dumble dore did not care. But I care! I was Teddy Lupin, terrified of who I was. I was Scarlett Callahan, a nine-year-old who came to Grimmauld with a face covered in bruises because she was a witch.” Harry’s emerald eyes shuttered for a moment before lighting with a fire. “I took so many cases as an Auror and saw the way wizarding children are still treated for simply existing. We have a kid in Sirius’ old room who was nearly bleeding out, left for dead on Manor marble for being a squib. I'll be damned if I allow more children, magical or not, to be raised as pawns for the adults in their life to use and abuse however they see fit.” Harry gulped down a quick breath before continuing. Kingsley’s face turned ashen the more he spoke.
“You are going to stand there and tell me the Ministry’s hands are tied? You're fucking useless. This whole damn place is. You couldn't save me. You couldn't save Malfoy or Nott. Fuck Kingsley, did you even try? Did anyone other than my parents’s best friends?” Harry's last sentence rang in the quiet of the chamber as two men stared at each other. The younger man’s shoulders heaved. Harry must have realised Kingsley had nothing to say because he shook his head and quietly moved towards the door.
“I used to admire you. I wanted to be you…so bad. I thought ‘Here is a man who stands by what he believes and would never use us to accomplish his goals, who would never ask us to do something he was not willing to do’ But now..” Harry choked out the words, “You're no better than Dumbledore, you’re not above using kids for your own ends, as long as you can’t place a face to them. I will drain my vaults before I turn to you for help again Shacklebolt. ” Hermione watched as the best wizard she had ever known, flung the thick door open, the echo of the door ringing down the corridor.
The large black man stood behind his cluttered desk, shoulders squared. He gave a hard look towards the door, too focused on Harry’s retreating back. The portraits in the room started to shout over one another but Hermione’s soft voice silenced them without meaning to.
“You're wrong you know.” Her voice drew his deep brown eyes from the doorway. Hermione’s chest hurt as she tried to find the words that were stuck in her throat. She smoothed a shaking hand down her blouse and raised her eyes to Kingsley.
“Harry never wanted this. He did not volunteer to save the world. Dumbledore thrust that on him. He left Harry with guardians who hated him and Albus Dumbledore exploited that fear. Harry had fought for every scrap of affection for 17 years before he was manipulated into sacrificing himself. Dumbledore knew this and used it. So when he stepped into that forest, he was prepared to die, as a martyr, not a hero. He did it for love. Love for his friends, his adoptive family, and even for the love he had for the magical world. And that's why he is still fighting. He is giving a home to 16 children who need it. And if it was only love and kindness that they needed, Harry would never step foot into this building again, but we both know that those things alone cannot fund a family. He has always done everything for the people he loves, what do you think he will do for those children?” She shook her head sadly, knowing it did not matter. If Harry's words did not affect the Minister, defending Harry's actions now would change nothing. “I hope your campaign is worth it, Kingsley. I really do.”