Harry, Hermione [2010]
September 2010
"It doesn't suit me at all, Dad!" Their eldest daughter's voice emanated from the envelope, high with emotion. "Yellow?! It's even worse than if I'd been placed in Gryffindor and would’ve had to wear red!"
There were a few moments of silence as both parents took the time to decipher the implications of Alsephina's words, before Harry burst into bright, airy peals of laughter.
"A Hufflepuff!" He yelled, grinning as he nudged his husband, who was staring at the envelope which was still projecting their daughter's complaints with widened eyes. "That's a first, isn't it?" Harry cheekily added, snickering. “Your Slytherin genes didn’t work this time!”
Every other child of Thomas’ had gone into Slytherin. Every. Single. One. Apart from their eldest daughter, it seems.
Harry had thought at one point that Alexus would go into Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, and Amelia into the latter or Hufflepuff. But both had subverted his expectations and entered Slytherin. Alexus had actually been distraught, complaining that he had wanted to be a Gryffindor like Harry.
Alsie's howler (how had she been able to obtain one of them?) continued to yell in the background.
“-Delphina laughed at me! She said that Father would be disappointed and would kick me out, so I turned her hair into feathers and the Headmistress has sent you a letter, but don't blame me, Dad! She deserved it!” Their daughter rushed out in one long tangent, sounding a mixture of proud and hesitant.
Harry couldn't help but to press his face into his hands, snorting. “Thomas.” He wheezed, patting at his husband's arm.
His husband shifted, groaning in exasperation. “I should have known. Merlin, it's only the first week, and I already have to go to that blasted castle!”
Harry pitied him, he really did, but that didn't quell his laughter at the thought that his daughter was turning her siblings into chickens already. He’d always warned Thomas that Alsephina being her Grandfathers’ favourite would have consequences one day.
October 2010
"Your Royal Highness," Hermione bowed deeply as she greeted the Emperor Consort, straightening when he waved an impatient hand.
"Minister Granger." The man acknowledged, his expression blank as he stared at her, green eyes focused impersonally on hers. "Thank you for arriving so swiftly. I did not manage to catch you at the last meeting."
Hermione tugged on the lapel of her robes, feeling self-conscious under his assessing gaze, smiling politely, an action mirrored by him.
She felt… incredibly awkward to be stood before Harry, when she had been surreptitiously avoiding him for so long.
Harry had been the one to continue reaching out the first few years, especially when he had gained more of the Emperor's favour. He had sent her letters, gifts on her birthdays, and had written letters of recommendation when he grew bolder in his power. That was how Hermione had found herself rising up through the Ministry so quickly.
However, when he had come to greet her when she won the election for Minister of Magic aged twenty-six, a baby on his hip that looked just like the Emperor and a young child that was identical to himself at his side, Hermione had turned him away. She regretted it now, spitting at him that she didn't want to be accused of fraudulence, using her connection to the Emperor Consort to further her power and win the election.
It was the truth, after all. A disgusting truth that she did not wish to acknowledge.
That had been the last time Hermione called him Harry. Thereafter, the boy she had grown up with insisted she was formal to him, as the Minister should be towards the Emperor's husband.
Hermione had swiftly agreed, thinking it to be the best decision at that time. People knew they had a relationship, but if they saw that it was now strictly formal, hopefully, the whispers that she got her position due to connections would die down. And they did. But, new ones started.
People took notice that the new Minister was greeted cordially, but coldly by the man she once called her dearest friend, especially when her visits to the Court began to decrease, no longer called upon for chats and advice.
And Hermione had thought she was fine with that. She had everything she had ever dreamed of. She was Minister, she was regarded as one of the most powerful witches of the age, she was the figurehead for all the Muggle-borns and girls who were told they wouldn't go far, and the accusations had decreased. That was until she realised how lonely power truly was, as all her friends left her for their own lives, getting married, and starting families. And Hermione was blindsided by how much this affected her, having believed that she was content with her job.
She had tried reaching out again, but realised too late that those bridges had been burned.
She now stood in front of her friend, Harry, who had sat with her on the train and reassured her that he would stand up for her if anyone said anything nasty. Harry, who had smiled down at her, who was newly dressed in robes adorned with red, from the stool with the sorting hat upon his head, shaking it as their eyes met, mouthing 'Gryffindor', his robes mirroring hers a moment later. The boy who she had once called her brother in the heat of the moment, who had smiled fondly and nodded his head with enthusiasm, stating that he had always dreamed of having a sister.
Hermione swallowed back the words that wanted to burst out, the strain painful, as was the knowing look within the Emperor Consort's eyes.
But they were both too stubborn, and it wasn't the time yet to take back the words they had said.
Harry's smile became just that little bit more artificial.
Hermione regretted much, but losing her best friend was her most grievous mistake of all.