Chapter Text
The dark stone walls of Courtroom Ten were dimly lit by multiple torches adorning them. Long benches, filled with Ministry employees, sat designated to each department sector, rising on either side of the vast stage below. Positioned in the middle was a podium, with a magical projector similar to the one Snape used during his tenure as a substitute Professor for Remus Lupin, situated a few steps beside it.
Ahead, in the highest benches of all, sat members of the Wizengamot. In the low light, they resembled more shadowy figures, reminiscent of those Harry had watched moving across the bedroom ceiling while Hermione rested on his chest, their hearts beating steadily in sync.
There was nothing heart-warming and loving about these figures.
They had been talking in low voices, but as the door swung closed behind Harry and Hermione, an ominous silence fell upon the courtroom. Kingsley strode to his place at the designated to the Chief Warlock seat, and as soon as he settled in, all eyes turned toward Hermione as she walked with purposeful steps. The sound of her heels on the stone floor echoed through the room like the approach of a distant tempest.
Taking his seat quietly in the Auror row, Harry hoped that Hermione would captivate everyone just as she had taken him by storm.
He shifted his gaze from Hermione to the people seated at the Wizengamot benches. There were about fifty of them, all wearing plum-coloured robes with an elaborately worked silver “W” on the left-hand side of the chest, and all staring down their noses at Hermione, some with very austere expressions, others with curiosity.
She looked so small and exposed down there, in the open space, surrounded by the scrutinizing gaze of everyone else in the room.
He must have looked just like that, Harry thought. After the Battle of Gringotts: barely a year ‘of age’ and already standing before the court, recounting the events of June 30th, and solemnly swearing that he hadn't resorted to Unforgivable Curses to break into Gringotts; that it wasn’t his spell that made the Bank wall fall on the heads of wizards and witches in Diagon Alley; but admitting that it was his hands that dug into the face of Barty Crouch Junior, causing his body to burn and crumble into ashes, it was his fingers that clutched the sword which pierced the bodiless shadow of Voldemort…
All the while keeping silent about the Horcruxes.
At the very heart of the front row, two chairs were set aside for the leaders of Wizengamot. These seats had once belonged to Winky's former master, but now they were claimed by her current one.
At the far end of the bench, a Court Scribe, a young-looking wizard with parchment and quill poised, sat ready to take notes.
"Just a few more minutes, and we would release the Wizengamot members, Head Granger," Mr. Brown's voice rang across the courtroom. He sounded casual but firm.
"My apologies," Hermione responded calmly, though Harry sensed a slight tremor in her voice. "I arrived as soon as I learned of the time change."
"This isn't the Wizengamot's fault," he retorted. "A work note was sent to you earlier today."
"That would be my doing, along with Auror John Dawlish, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, I'm afraid," Kingsley interjected calmly. "We've decided to reroute all correspondence addressed to Head Granger for the past seven days for security reasons. Nothing would reach her until the Department of Mysteries completes a full inspection."
"Ah, I see. It's reassuring to know that our Minister maintains very intimate contact with certain department heads," Mr. Brown remarked, casting a pointed glance at Hermione and tightening his lips. A few subdued chuckles rippled through those seated behind him. Harry felt his fingers clenching into fists.
"Let's begin the hearing to prevent any further misuse of our esteemed members' time, shall we?" Mr. Brown added, with a hint of irritation. "Please, Head Granger, take your place."
Harry dropped his gaze to the podium at the centre of the room. He watched as Hermione placed the thick grey folder she carried on the dedicated flat top in front of her. He noticed her chest expand with a deep inhale she took.
"The hearing for the proposition presented by the Head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Miss Hermione Jean Granger, has commenced," Kingsley announced, prompting the Court Scribe to begin taking notes immediately. "The floor is yours," the Minister gestured towards the podium, giving Hermione a small nod.
She acknowledged it with a faint movement of her head and then glanced at Harry, who smiled reassuringly, before redirecting her attention to the members of the Wizengamot. Harry watched as her posture straightened, and she drew in another deep breath.
"Respected Wizards and Witches of the Wizengamot, esteemed colleagues, and Ministry of Magic employees," Hermione began. "I stand before you today to present a proposal that I believe is long overdue for consideration."
Harry observed as she opened the grey folder, her long, delicate fingers causing the yellow parchments inside to quiver at her touch. Hermione cleared her throat before proceeding: “The wizarding world has long harboured fears of Muggle innovations, yet we consistently integrate them into our practices," she stated, tapping her wand on the projector for emphasis. "Take, for instance, this devise – a Muggle invention – which has been utilized in every hearing since the day I joined the Ministry. Not to mention its use in certain classes at Hogwarts." She glanced around the audience. "Why not explore other aspects of Muggle life that have proven effective?"
A murmur rippled through the room, and Harry thought he caught someone whispering, "She makes a valid point."
Hermione's back tensed ever so slightly as she extracted a slide with diagrams and approached the projector. Inserting it, a magnified image appeared on the wall behind her.
"The Muggle research–"
"Did she just mention 'Muggle research'?" another voice murmured, seemingly from somewhere above.
"The Muggle research," Hermione reiterated, her voice stronger. "As illustrated by this diagram, indicates that crime rates significantly decrease and quality of life improves when support is provided for individuals with chronic illnesses and disabilities.”
The murmur intensified, and a stream of muffled “Where is she going with this?”, “That sounds logical,” and “We're not Muggles, why does this matter?” filled the courtroom.
Hermione replaced the diagram slide with another document before continuing: "For decades, Muggles afflicted with the condition known as HIV have fought for acceptance in society," she placed another file on top of it. "However, times have changed. People are no longer afraid to disclose it; they can secure employment, form relationships, and even have children who don't inherit it. They are finally able to lead fulfilling lives they deserve.”
The murmur persisted, with remarks such as “Do we need to fear that condition?” and “Good for Muggles,” growing louder. "What's H four? I missed what she said," someone else questioned, adding to the confusion.
Hermione pointed to the magnified image on the wall with her wand: “I believe there is a lot that we can learn from them. And with this in mind…” She replaced the document with the parchment, which bore the stamp of the Ministry of Magic of New Zealand and the Oceania region, and a few surprised gasps erupted from the audience before Hermione continued: “May I present to you the addition to the Wizarding Equality Rights Act, which focuses on helping children with lycanthropy to integrate into Wizarding society, along with assisting adults with lycanthropy in restoring their wizarding rights.”
The shatter of the ink bottle of the Court Scribe was the only sound that echoed through the room for a long minute.
The entire world seemed to shrink to the small podium, where Hermione's voice became muffled, her words now difficult for Harry to discern. He could still make out the magnified images on the stone wall, the members of the Wizengamot, a few of which were pointing fingers—some at Hermione, some at the projection. Their expressions ranged from grimaces to wide-open mouths, though whether in anger or encouragement remained unclear. Amidst it all, Harry's mind was consumed by fragments from the past week. Small pieces floated in his consciousness, connecting with one another, forming a single, now glaringly obvious revelation...
Werewolves. It's all been about the werewolves.
And something big and warm rose in his chest, so close to bursting out, that his ribs hurt.
"Order! Order!" Kingsley's voice boomed, snapping Harry back to reality. The explosion of voices, screams, and shouts threatened to overwhelm him, almost driving him to cover his ears. But Harry forced himself to concentrate on Hermione's voice, determined to stay present amidst the chaos.
"Look at Magical Australia's original proposal from eight years ago,” Hermione declared, pointing at the projection behind her. “It includes the full outline of the integration process," she stated. "It took our overseas colleagues only three years to get the whole system running smoothly. Utilizing their experience, I believe we can expedite the process even further – within a year and a half, according to my prognosis. They have established an exemplary system that enables individuals with lycanthropy to coexist safely within a wizarding society. It's something our community, with its history of mistreating certain members, can certainly learn from."
“Are you suggesting we haven’t done enough for our people?” Mr. Brown leaned closer from his seat and narrowed his eyes.
“As a massive advocate for equality, I suggest that every member of wizarding Britain should be treated fairly," Hermione raised her chin defiantly. “And I am not the only one who thinks so.”
She replaced the image with a letter bearing the official seal of St. Mungo’s, prompting another wave of murmuring throughout the benches.
“The Chairman of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries Board has pledged full support for this program,” Hermione pointed to the new projection. “This includes providing free supplies of Wolfsbane Potion, as well as confidential support groups for individuals who are not ready to disclose their condition and for those who are suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder after an attack.”
Hermione then replaced the letter with another one, this time bearing the official seal of the Muggle Embassy.
"Justin Finch-Fletchley, the Muggle Ambassador, has generously offered assistance not only with paperwork for individuals with lycanthropy – in both the wizarding and Muggle worlds – but also to provide, free of charge, a magically protected location that could serve as a temporary sanctuary for those in need."
All of a sudden, Harry felt a massive wave of gratitude towards Justin.
"But most importantly," she began, withdrawing the letter and pausing before replacing it with the last one. Harry noticed how her hand trembled as she positioned the parchment under the bright light. When the magnified image appeared, a few loud gasps echoed through the walls – the letter was adorned with the Hogwarts seal. "A guaranteed admission to Hogwarts. I've collected statements from Headmistress McGonagall and all the professors currently employed at Hogwarts regarding their cooperation."
The Court Scribe appeared to have broken his ink bottle again, when another explosion of voices, screams, and shouts erupted from the Wizengamot benches. Amidst the chaos, Harry could only discern a few – the loudest ones among the cacophony: “Is she out of her mind?", “After what happened during the attack?!", "So many additional protected measures were put in place because of them!"
"Admission to Hogwarts for werewolves?" Somebody coughed. "What next? House-elf liberation?" Laughter broke out among the audience.
"Just imagine how many great and talented wizards magical Britain could gain if we allow children with lycanthropy to study magic!" Hermione interjected loudly amidst the muttering and exclamations.
The explosion of noise only grew louder and more intense.
Hermione stood tall, her face displaying a determined expression, and spoke in a loud and clear voice: "Remus John Lupin – a veteran of the Second Wizarding War – is a prime example of this."
A sudden silence descended. It felt oddly louder than the muttering and exclamations before.
“I seem to have struck a nerve by mentioning his name, as I finally gained your full attention,” Hermione's eyes gleamed unusually bright as she spoke. "Remus Lupin was allowed to attend Hogwarts as a child, and his talent and achievements not only led him to become a Prefect but later in life, a Professor, teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. I was in my third year when Remus Lupin taught us, and I can say without a doubt that he was the best teacher anyone could ask for." She glanced at Harry before turning her gaze to Kingsley. "And a friend anyone could only wish for."
“Was it a flower she's talking about?” an old, squeaky voice called out, but someone quickly shushed it.
"If all the achievements I mentioned sound familiar to you – they should. The exact words were spoken by our current Minister for Magic, an Auror at that time, in this very courtroom during a closed hearing a few years ago. He pointed out that Remus Lupin played a crucial part in the war against Voldemort," another set of loud gasps filled the courtroom. Hermione ignored them. "-and that he died like a true hero. And yet, all of you voted against the proposal to honour Remus John Lupin with the Order of Merlin posthumously.”
For a long moment, the only sounds present in the space were the Court Scribe’s quill scribbling over the parchment and Harry’s racing heart beating against his ribcage.
"Help me clarify some things, Miss Granger," a wizard seated behind Mr. Brown leaned forward. "You've been speaking about heroism with such passion, but weren't you one of the many Muggle-borns who fled the country at the first opportunity, just at the beginning of the war? And you only returned when life became safe again?"
“Are you going to bring up reasons why so many pure-blood families fled as well?” Hermione retorted immediately. “Or perhaps those who stayed and joined the other side?”
"And what about all those who died after the werewolf attack on Hogwarts? Are you going to overlook Fenrir Greyback after he slaughtered so many innocents?" Mr. Brown addressed the question.
"A crime is a crime, regardless of who committed it," Hermione stated firmly, and murmurs erupted once more.
“But you are suggesting creating conditions that allow for the commission of crimes,” a woman's voice cut through the murmur. Harry scanned the rows of Wizengamot members and spotted Mrs. Brown peering down at Hermione. "Exposing students to even the possibility of harm by those afflicted, when all normal children deserve is to enjoy their peaceful time at Hogwarts. Those beasts need to be fixed, not supported. After hearing your proposal today, I'd think you are not fit to be the Head of the Department, especially since you were attacked by three werewolves just a few days ago," Mrs. Brown sounded casual, but Hermione stared at her with her mouth agape.
Of-bloody-f*cking-course.
Harry felt as if he was falling, as if the ground beneath the bench had erupted, and he was plummeting into the depths of a foggy memory in a Pensieve.
"It was you who sent them…" Hermione uttered, her voice hoarse. But before the words could settle, the courtroom door swung open with a resounding thud, and Cedric and Tonks burst in, wands at the ready, aimed at Mrs. Brown. Confusion clouded her husband's expression, his eyes flickering between her and the Aurors below.
Kingsley rose from his seat, his gaze fixed on Mrs. Brown's pale face as Dawlish emerged from behind Cedric and Tonks.
"I think you'd better come with us, Mrs. Brown," the Head Auror declared in a commanding tone.
The Court Scribe’s ink bottle broke for the third time.
Located on the same level, the holding cell in the Ministry dungeons was just a short walk from Courtroom Ten. It was a much smaller space with a small desk and a single chair in the middle. Metal cuffs, attached to a long chain, clung to the handles, and when Mrs. Brown lowered herself onto it, they didn’t wrap around her wrists or body; they just shimmered, reminding everyone of their presence
Tonks's hair turned fiery red as she crossed her arms over her chest. She stood against the iron railing door of the cell, effectively blocking the exit, while Kingsley leaned on one elbow in the corner opposite where Harry and Hermione had stationed themselves.
Mr. Brown was leaning against one of the walls, as if it were the only thing keeping his slightly crooked legs from giving out beneath him onto the cold stone floor. Winky stood by his side, her large brown eyes fixed on her mistress in the chair. As Mr. Brown summoned her at Dawlish's insistent request and the house-elf appeared with a loud pop, Harry noticed John and Cedric exchanging a knowing look.
"That explains the untraced break-in," John remarked, shifting his gaze from Cedric to the house-elf. Winky suddenly appeared much smaller, her bat-shaped ears flapping as she hurried to hide behind her mistress in the chair. "Perhaps we should entertain another theory," Dawlish suggested, nodding towards Cedric once more. The latter retrieved a familiar plastic container from one of his scarlet Auror robes' enlarged pockets and placed it on a desk in front of Mrs. Brown.
Her eyes remained cold as she locked onto the beans.
"While applying protective charms on Tuesday, one of our Aurors witnessed your house-elf passing the same container to Head Granger," Dawlish nodded to Cedric and then turned his focused gaze back to Mrs. Brown. "Upon inspection, we discovered a significant dose of The Draught of Living Death within it."
“What?” Mr. Brown frowned, looking astonished, and Harry’s eyebrows shot up. He caught Hermione’s shocked gaze, and only then did he realize that every time he ate the beans, he would sleep in late. Even half of the content of that plastic container was enough to knock him out for much longer than Harry usually allowed himself to rest. Harry didn’t dare to think what would happen to Hermione if she managed to consume the whole thing.
Winky was visibly shaking, her big brown eyes pleadingly piercing her mistress, lips vigorously quivering. Mrs. Brown didn’t respond to Dawlish's words but gently trailed her hand over the house-elf's bald head.
“I told you becoming a master of a freed elf was a mistake,” Mr. Brown said in a stiff voice. “She served a corrupted Auror, disobeyed orders, and look to what it led us!” He raised his voice on the last words.
Mrs. Brown ignored her husband, continuing to silently soothe the trembling Winky, who gazed at her mistress with pure unabashed adoration. Mr. Brown’s face grimaced in disgust as he spoke again: “You've become too attached to this house-elf. Placing her in Lavender’s bedroom, dressing her in our daughter’s pillowcase… As if you've found a substitute and completely forgotten about her!”
“FORGOTTEN?!” Mrs. Brown snapped her head up to her husband and screamed. “Our little girl was torn... shredded to chunks of meat by filthy werewolves!” She pierced him with her angry eyes. “How can anyone possibly forget something like this?! How can anyone move forward after seeing the one you loved more than anything in this world lying dead?! How am I supposed to go and live my life until those animals and all who defend them feel the same pain as I do?!” Mrs. Brown shifted her gaze to Hermione and narrowed her eyes. “Especially the Muggle-born who only need to spread her legs for the Minister to get places.”
Hermione gasped, tears streaming down her face.
"Enough!" Kingsley roared, his gaze filled with anger. "I will not tolerate such accusations."
Harry reached out to Hermione, gently taking her hand in his and running his thumb over her soft skin. A warm squeeze was her reply.
“Is this your confession, Mrs. Brown? Were you behind all the recent attacks on Head Granger?" Dawlish folded his arms across his chest, but an unusual sound drew his attention to Winky. She was convulsing, her tiny thin arms slapping her face, head, and small chest as her mouth slowly parted, while some invisible force seemed to try to keep them glued together. When the gap became wide enough to show her teeth, a chilling, painful wail reverberated through the cell.
"MISTRESS, NO!" Winky cried, her voice even higher-pitched than Dobby's. "It was all Winky! All Winky!"
Everyone gaped at the house-elf, who threw herself at her mistress's long legs, tears streaming down her tomato-sized nose and landing on Mrs. Brown's polished shoes. She clutched at her pillowcase on her chest with trembling fingers, her knuckles white.
"Winky did everything! Everything!” she cried. “The poisoned letter, the powder, the potion, the beans, the werewolves! Winky followed and watched from the shadows!"
Hermione released a shuddered sob, tracing her fingers over the sensitive skin of her forearm. When Harry looked at her, he realized she was thinking the same thing. The shadows on the ceiling, the ones that formed the shape of the elf with bat-shaped ears.
“Winky didn’t want to, but Winky had to disobey one order, just one small order – not to speak! But only so the Mistress won’t get into trouble!" Winky's sobs echoed around them. "Winky is a good, obedient elf! Winky always follows her master's orders! No more clothes! Please, no more clothes!"
“She... can talk,” Mr. Brown gasped after a moment, looking mortified.
“That’s not her talking,” Hermione whispered in a hoarse voice. “But the wizards she served for years.”
Mr. Brown moved his gaze to his wife and murmured, “Merlin, what have you done?”
Hermione lifted her hand and covered her mouth, tears silently falling down her cheeks. It didn’t take long for the torrent of confessions pouring from the uncontrollable Winky to confirm all of Dawlish’s suspicions.
Harry watched as Mrs. Brown was escorted out of the holding cell by Cedric and Tonks, her arms magically bound behind her back. Mr. Brown stood in the same spot, seemingly rooted to it, his gaze void of emotion piercing into the empty space.
As Mrs. Brown disappeared from view, Winky cautiously shifted toward him, her long, thin arm raised as she carefully took hold of his large hand. Mr. Brown jolted but didn’t withdraw it. He shifted his gaze to Winky’s big, brown bloodshot eyes, her small free hand clutching the pillowcase, and something crossed his features. His fingers wrapped around hers, and Mr. Brown walked out of the cell on his slightly crooked legs, with Winky trailing beside him, her big, bald head leaning into his arm.
As they both slowly returned to Courtroom Ten in the dim light of the Ministry dungeons hallway, Winky looked just like a little child.
Harry tore his eyes away from them when Kingsley passed him, his arm draped over Hermione’s shaking frame.
“We can postpone the hearing, I’m sure the members of the Wizengamot will understand,” Harry overheard the Minister saying.
“No,” Hermione responded firmly. “I need to do it. I've waited long enough.”
“As you wish,” Kingsley nodded and released her.
Harry moved to follow her, but a firm hand on his shoulder halted him. “The Auror department needs you more right now,” Dawlish stated, flicking his wand. A dash of red flecks appeared from its tip, vanishing in the air within seconds.
Harry hesitated as he watched Hermione disappear behind the door of Courtroom Ten, but then he noticed Kingsley's peculiar expression as he glanced at him, and turned to follow Dawlish.
The one who was behind the attacks was captured, and Hermione was no longer in danger. Although it wasn’t 5 pm yet, Harry knew that his job as her bodyguard was now over.
The next hour passed as if in a haze. Harry could only vaguely register Cedric’s excited face proudly sharing something in the middle of the Auror Headquarters; his mind barely captured Tonks patting Diggory on the back as Harry’s own arm mechanically repeated the motion; he debated whether he truly saw Ron tossing two galleons to Cedric or if it was just a figment of his imagination. And all the while these images floated around him, Harry couldn’t even utter a word.
It was only after receiving a charmed paper plane-shaped note, prompting him and Dawlish to dash inside the Minister’s office, that Harry regained the ability to talk and think clearly.
“What will happen to her?” Harry asked Dawlish, who opened a bottle of his favourite Ogden's Old Firewhisky and poured it into three glasses with ice cubes, conjured beforehand. The frozen pieces crackled as the liquid covered their cold surface. Dawlish offered one glass to Harry and another to Kingsley, who sat in his chair.
“Sent to Azkaban, awaiting trial,” Dawlish drummed his fingers on his glass, then took a small sip and hissed. “Not sure there's enough to build a case for the abuse of the magical creature—”
“Being,” Harry interjected, observing the dark brown liquid in the glass in his hand, before setting it on the Minister's desk. “They are magical beings.”
Dawlish took another sip from his glass, exchanging a meaningful look with Kingsley. A smirk played on his lips as he lowered it from his face, mirroring the one on the Minister’s, as if they were having a silent conversation. Harry had a feeling he knew exactly what it was about.
“Well, no matter how you call them, I don’t think there's enough evidence to build a case about the abuse of the elf, considering her eagerness to comply with the orders,” Dawlish grunted with a chuckle and took another sip of his whiskey.
“But Mrs. Brown's fate seems rather clear to me - she orchestrated the attack. Granted, it was only to give Hermione a scare and, as Dawlish believes, in the hope that the incident would be noticed and reported in the Daily Prophet or on the Wireless, stirring public outcry. Maybe even prompting some protests,” Kingsley swirled the glass in his hand, sniffed the drink, and took a measured sip.
“Not to mention spiking the food. Head Granger could’ve been in serious danger if she had taken a Sleeping potion in the past three months or so,” Dawlish pointed out to the Minister with his glass. “Sounds like grievous bodily harm, with or without intent. Not sufficient for the Dementor's Kiss, of course, but more than enough for a few years in one of the cells in Azkaban. Pick your poison, which one is worse.”
Harry felt something cold settling in his stomach. Kingsley hummed thoughtfully and furrowed his brow before taking a sip from his glass. Dawlish finished his own with the last sip.
“Well, Potter,” John placed his empty glass aside and made it disappear with a flick of his wand. “I won't sugar-coat it—I had my reservations when Kingsley insisted on assigning you for this.”
“Reservations is putting it lightly,” Kingsley cleared his throat before finishing his drink and making his glass vanish as well.
“I had my reasons,” Dawlish glanced at Kingsley before turning to Harry. “Vanquishing one dark wizard, no matter how murderous he was, is not enough proof to be built for the responsibilities this job demands. As you saw for yourself today, there are things, if abused, that can be more powerful and dangerous.” He stepped closer and outstretched his arm. “Hope you are prepared for those.”
Kingsley watched them intently. Harry looked at Dawlish’s offered hand and felt his brows draw together.
“Who did you originally think of?” Harry blurted out.
Kingsley clasped his hands on his desk, appearing somewhat amused. Dawlish withdrew his arm and raised his eyebrows. “If you must know, Cedric Diggory was my first choice. He’s diligent, a Triwizard Champion with stellar marks from the Auror training course, consistently outstanding in the field, highly skilled with charms, and quick-thinking on his feet. He demonstrated his dedication and expertise today especially. It was his idea to bring in the goblin, which is quite a complex task on its own, and despite me taking charge of the interrogation, it was he who solved the case. Diggory has all the potential and qualities to become a great Head one day.”
Harry nodded, feeling the corners of his lips curve up. “He certainly does.”
Dawlish exchanged another long look with Kingsley, who shook his head in amusem*nt.
“Are you sure?” Kingsley regarded Harry, not appearing surprised at all.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this level of stress,” Harry echoed the sentiment he had heard earlier. “I was done with fighting when I was seventeen. I believe I’ve overstayed my welcome in this department.”
Dawlish let out a bark of laughter and nodded in agreement. “What's your plan then?”
“I'm eager to find out,” Harry shrugged.
Dawlish pointed a finger at him, shaking his head lightly, then picked up his open bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky and headed towards the grand doors of the Minister for Magic's office. Harry watched as his figure disappeared, feeling for the first time that his work shirt wasn’t so tight to breathe or move in.
As the doors closed shut behind Dawlish on their own, Kingsley cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention back to the Minister.
“What was the decision in the end?” Harry leaned in closer to the desk.
“It wasn’t an easy one,” Kingsley sighed, his thumb tapping lightly atop his interlocked fingers. “It seems we are all still bound by connections, titles, and blood. We knew making a change would be difficult. We just didn’t realize how extensive it would be.”
Harry watched him patiently as the Minister seemed to briefly get lost in his thoughts before continuing: “The silver lining, I suppose, was the life example in front of the whole Wizengamot of what prejudice can lead to. I feel it reminded them how in our society, not only Muggle-borns needed support. If we turn a blind eye to all the issues that Hermione brought up today, how does it make us different from the pureblood supremacists we fought against during the war?” He paused. “So, 23 voted in favour of implementing the Australian system, and 4 abstained. Including Mr. Brown,” Kingsley clicked his tongue. “But all of them voted against the Hogwarts admission. They felt it’s just too soon. Shame. Hermione invested the most effort into that one.”
Harry nodded in understanding and took a deep breath as hearing her name made his hand dig into the small inner pocket, retrieving the charmed galleon.
“You knew, didn’t you?” Harry placed the golden coin on the desk in front of Kingsley, who glanced at it. “This is the galleon Remus always rolled between his fingers, isn’t it? This is what you were angry about, the day we departed for Northern Ireland to destroy the locket.”
Kingsley sighed before leisurely picking it up and running his thumb over the ridge, as Harry continued: “This is how he knew the answers to Dumbledore’s tricky puzzles? This is where all the lucky guesses came from? And the reason why we hit a dead end right after he died?” He paused and released a shaky exhale. “It was her. All this time.”
Kingsley remained silent, rolling the coin between his fingers.
“Why keep it from me?” Harry sounded defeated.
“Because that’s what Remus wanted,” Kingsley finally spoke, setting the galleon on the desk and giving it a spin before meeting Harry's gaze. “The letter, his last wish. Hermione didn’t have anyone else to rely on in Wizarding Britain. He asked me to look after her.”
“If I had followed Dumbledore's instructions and kept everything about the Horcruxes from you and Remus, we’d all be dead,” Harry shook his head, the realization slowly dawning on him. “It wasn’t the only reason, was it?”
“He mentioned you didn’t get along, with some strong opinions that seemed difficult to change,” Kingsley sighed and looked conflicted for a moment before he continued. “When I first discovered about their connection, I assumed…” He cleared his throat. “And I assumed wrongly. I didn’t even hear him out and called him a disappointment.” Kingsley pursed his lips. “It appears most of us are still quick to jump to conclusions.”
He lifted his eyes from the coin, but Harry averted his gaze.
“It wasn’t until the letter, until I actually met her even, that I realized how wrong I was. And I despised myself for those thoughts,” Kingsley spoke again, and Harry looked back at him. “And after we started talking and then working together on this proposal, I finally understood why their friendship was so deep.” His face softened. “You and her are so much alike, Harry.”
The galleon slowed down its spinning until dropping on one of the sides with the characteristic sound. For a moment, the only noise in the room was its brief vibration on the top of the hardwood desk surface. And suddenly Harry understood.
“You assigned me to be her bodyguard, not because you thought I was the best for the job,” Harry breathed out. “You wanted me to get to know her, didn’t you?”
Kingsley’s lips curved into a small smile, reminiscent of the ones he used to offer during the good days back at 12 Grimmauld Place, filled with jokes, pats on the back, and heart-to-heart conversations.
“You were like a son to him, and she was like a daughter,” Kingsley said carefully. “But watching you both at the Ministry, it seemed to me you would do whatever it takes to avoid each other. So when the opportunity came-,” he waved his hand in front of him. “I hoped the close proximity would make you truly see her. That she could be like a sister to you.”
“Like a sister?” Harry laughed, feeling some wetness in the corners of his eyes as his lips stretched into a wide grin. “Merlin, Kingsley. You have no idea how unlike a sister she is to me.”
Harry didn’t pay much attention to Kingsley’s arched eyebrows and puzzled expression as he turned on his heels and practically sprinted out of the Minister’s office, rushing to the one whose company he craved the most.
She wasn’t here.
Hermione’s office lay dim and deserted.
As the Ministry workers were slowly leaving their places likely headed for much-needed pints, Harry couldn’t shake the feeling that the pub was the last place he wanted to be. Standing before the open door, the darkness within beckoning, panting from his rushed takeover of flight after flight of stairs until his shirt was torn and soaked with sweat, Harry felt like a complete fool.
She wasn’t here.
The charmed Galleon.
Harry’s hand instinctively reached into the small pocket of his robes, but his fingers found only the handkerchief.
Of-f*ckin-bloody-course.
He'd forgotten it on Kingsley's desk in his haste to leave, racing through the empty Ministry corridors, pounding the call button of the lift, only to abandon it for the stairs, trusting his legs more than his own magic to reach her office as fast as possible. Only to find that…
…she wasn’t here.
Harry felt his pulse rushing through his veins and almost headed back to Kingsley, even though it would probably make him look like a tosser, but a sudden pang in his chest forced him to stop. There was something she said. A safe place that can be used as a sanctuary, for those in need.
She wasn’t here. But she could be there.
So Harry ran. He dashed through the Ministry hallways, the stairs, the empty spaces, to the Atrium, to the fireplace hearths. He only needed to get outside to Apparate close enough.
And when he did, he ran again.
Past the white-pillared facade of houses 23 and 24, up the few steps to the heavy front door, whose lock stubbornly stayed in place until tapped with the wand.
It was still warm inside, and at first glance, it appeared exactly as they had left it that morning: dark, gloomy, deserted, as if nothing had ever happened within its secure walls.
Harry crossed the dingy hallway, turned the doorknob of his bedroom, and pushed the door open.
He caught a brief glimpse of the dim, cramped, high-ceilinged room, with the double-sized bed barely fitting in the cramped space, wedged in the corner along with a bedside table. Then there was a loud twittering, followed by an even louder shriek, and his vision was completely obscured by a large quantity of very bushy hair. Hermione had thrown herself onto him in a hug that nearly knocked him flat. His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, still holding her in his arms, with yellow birds circling around them like an animated halo.
“HARRY! You're here,” she cried, fingers clutching at the parted sides of his scarlet robes. “You haven’t responded via coin. I thought-“ Hermione halted and buried her face into his chest, his shirt quickly becoming damp beneath her eyes.
Cradling her on the floor, he noticed that the linen on his bed was wrinkled, the pillow squished in the middle, as if it had been pressed between arms for a while.
“The brightest witch of her age, yet so stupid sometimes,” Harry breathed out.
Hermione released a half laugh, half sob into his chest.
“They voted-“
“I know. Kingsley told me,” Harry interrupted. “You were amazing, Hermione – coming up with all those comebacks when they were attacking you like that…”
“Years of conversing with you didn’t go to waste after all,” she murmured into his shirt. Harry laughed and kissed the top of her head, and Hermione tightened her hold on him. “I thought if I- If they approve it, there will be no more pain. That when it’s done, I could just… live,” Hermione released a sharp exhale. “But it’s still there. It’s still there…”
“It takes a long time to learn to live with it,” Harry said, and she pulled away just slightly. “It doesn’t go away, not really. But slowly it grows into a reminder that… the people we love live inside us. As long as we remember them.” He tucked a curl behind her ear. “And Remus would be so proud of you.”
“You think so?” Her fingers shifted from his robes to trace the side of his face.
“I know so,” Harry gave her a small smile. “You are more Gryffindor than the Sorting Hat gave you credit for.”
Hermione lifted her radiant face to him, and her shoulders visibly relaxed, as if a massive weight had just been lifted from them. She looked at him with her rich brown eyes – wide, bright, and sincere, the hint of green shining at the edges. This look, more than anything, brought Harry peace.
“I should’ve figured it out the moment you pressed your wand underneath my jaw,” he chuckled. “It also somewhat explains your gentle side when it comes to duelling,” Harry quipped with a smirk.
Hermione blushed. “I- I wanted to be prepared if he didn’t get access to his potion,” she managed. “I hired him as a private tutor in my fifth year. We had O.W.L.s, and with Umbridge, it was-“
She couldn’t continue as his lips were in the way.
“I convinced him to train the whole bunch of us,” Harry laughed through ragged breathing after their lips broke apart.
“How did it go past me? I was a Prefect!” Hermione looked at him with a mixture of astonishment and adoration.
He could spend the rest of his life doing anything to earn that look from her, he thought.
“I think,” Harry cleared his throat, breathing heavily. “I’d like to know everything, if you want to- When you are ready, I’ll listen. Whatever you need, whatever you want. You can count on me. It helps, you know – spilling it all out,” he smiled when the words, once coming from his best friend, left his own mouth.
Hermione seized his hand in both of hers and pressed it to her chest. His fingers felt the rapid beating as she squeezed them tightly, trembling.
“I know I’m not perfect. I tend to jump into action first before thinking, I’m jobless – don’t look at me like that Hermione, you heard me right – and I’m still figuring out what I want in my life. I’m also apparently arrogant, according to my best friend and the majority of people in my year at Hogwarts, it seems,” she laughed at these words. “But, Merlin, since the day you saved my arse and stormed through the Safe House, I started to get better.”
Hermione’s cheeks were still wet, and her eyes were full of tears as she pressed her lips to his, kissing his grin that was getting wider and wider.
“Your turn,” Harry said after she pulled away. “I’m a massive advocate for equality, you know.” Hermione burst into laughter, tossing her head back and covering her eyes with her hands. When she finally regained her composure, she looked at him with a radiant smile.
“I’m not perfect either. I overanalyse things before even attempting to consider which one to go for. And there are so many, that sometimes I think I need to get a hold of a Time-Turner again – don’t look at me like that Harry, you heard me right. I’m also apparently a cold-blooded and the most annoying witch, according to you, no less,” he laughed at these words. “I used to think that something inside me was broken. But the last few days. With you… God, Harry, I’ve never felt more alive.”
Harry’s grin became even wider as he searched her features.
“I still have to see my therapist,” she added with a watery smile, and he chuckled, their heads pressing together.
“I wrestle with nightmares that often keep me awake,” Harry whispered.
“I often linger late at the Ministry because I find purpose in my work,” Hermione breathed near his lips.
“Hopefully not every day, as I hope to take you out on a date sometime,” he teased, and Hermione pulled back just a bit, looking at him with that special expression – eyes wide, bright, and sincere. “If you’d like to go out with me, that is.”
“I’d like- I’d like to,” she smiled. “If that’s alright with you. If… you’d like to have me too,” Hermione whispered, her cheeks tinting a lovely shade of pink. The colour tasted wonderful on his lips.
“It probably won’t be easy,” Harry murmured against her skin. “But if you want this… If you want to give this a try… I’m yours.” He swallowed hard. “Merlin, Hermione, I’ve been… I’ve been for a while now.”
She released a half-sob, half-cry, her fingers trailing along the side of his face.
“We can figure out the rest along the way. Let’s just take it slow,” he whispered. “One day at a time.”
“One day at a time?” She whispered back. “Considering how quickly things were moving for us, it sounds like a challenge.”
“I happen to love challenges,” Harry muttered against her lips.
“Is that so, Potter?” Hermione murmured.
“You’ve no idea, Granger…” and the rest was lost as their lips found each other again.
And again.
And again.
And again.
