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So there it was, Draco Malfoy was minister of magic. After 13 months of heavy campaigning, assuring people that he no longer held the ideals of the Deatheaters, informing the voters that he really was the best man for the job, and charming donators with both his personality and good looks, he was finally behind the desk. Bagman had been none to happy to hand it over, but there it was.
It was pouring outside and thunder crackled in the distance. It had been raining since his win and refused to stop. Draco walked over to the cabinet that now held all his liquor. He pulled out his bottle of scotch and took a long swig. He wiped his mouth with the back of his tailored sleeve. He put the bottle down and unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie. The race had been exhausting, even more exhausting since death of his mother and the subsequent pressure from his father. Apparently, Draco's political success was an outlet for Lucius's pent up frustration and self-hate. That was Draco's opinion, anyway.
Of course, Lucius's obsession might also have had something to do with Draco's opponent. Arthur Weasley's and Lucius Malfoy's animosity toward each other was widely known. In fact, Weasley's derogatory statements and mutterings towards Mr. Weasley that often frequented the papers had most likely convinced most voters to vote for Draco. Many of them weren't particularly nice. And Draco, was nothing but nice (now).
Now, Draco had an entire wizarding world under his control and not the least idea of what to do with it. He supposed he should do something good with it, perhaps he should help the underprivileged, or, maybe, he should help himself.
Suddenly, green flames erupted in the fireplace and blond, imposing, man strode into the room.
"Settling into your new office, I see," he glanced around the room and pointedly looked at the open scotch bottle.
"It's not like you wouldn't drink after what I just went through, either," said Draco wearily sitting down in the high backed chair by the fireplace.
"True enough, I suppose."
"Is there something you want?" asked Draco, unkindly.
"I just came to make sure you hadn't done anything rash."
"Like what? Killed myself?" said Draco, nastily.
"Precisely."
"Why on earth would I want to kill myself? I finally got here, I wouldn't ruin it now."
"No, no…"
"Then what?"
"There's something I need you to do for me."
Draco laughed, "Yes?" he drawled.
"You will protect somebody for me."
"Oh will I?" he raised an eyebrow, a sarcastic smile still dancing on her face.
"If you still wish to be the sole recipient of my fortune."
"This is a crude form blackmail. I think you've lost your touch."
"I will cut you off."
"I'm the fucking minister of magic! I don't need your money anymore!" He cried.
"When the next election rolls around where will you be? You will have no financial backers, I could possibly release some, shall we say, less than wonderful information about you, and you will be left without any family-a man who can't keep a family certainly can't run a world."
Draco turned his head to the side, unwilling to meet his father's eyes. He knew what Lucius said was right, he had done some terrible things in the past and his father had seamlessly and quietly covered them up. If that information was to leak to the public, well, he'd be out of a job, and most likely out on his ass in exile.
"Who is it?" his voice defiant and angry, though he knew he had no leg to stand on.
"Your aunt."
"Louise? I thought your sister was dead."
"Idiot boy!" growled Lucius, "I mean Lestrange."
"Bellatrix? Bellatrix Lestrange. You want me to release her from Azkaban, hide her in some remote corner of the world, and protect her from the media and the thousands of people seeking revenge?"
"Yes," said Lucius simply.
"No, no way. Can't be done."
"It can and you will."
"She's mad."
"Yes."
Draco held his head in his hand. He sat that way for at least 10 minutes.
"Why, at least?"
"So you will do it?"
"Yes…"
Lucius walked into the fireplace and disappeared. Draco stood up and flung a nearby candlestick at the wall.
...
"Arthur! Arthur! Please, calm down," Mrs. Weasley's voice came shrieking through the newly refurbished burrow. A bolt of lighting ran through the sky in time with Molly's scream.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione all sat at the kitchen table, none of them looking at each other and each of them shifting nervously in their chairs.
"There's always next time," Harry ventured, still looking at his apparently intriguing shoelaces. Hermione nodded affirmatively.
"Yeah, but you know they're not going to look at it like that," muttered Ron, grimly.
"Your mum seems to be okay with it…"
"Not really, you can tell by the screaming and shouting and stomping around, you know."
"Yeah, but it'll get better mate, you know that."
"I suppose." The now 35 year old, redheaded man stood up and stalked out of the kitchen. Both Harry and Hermione let out large sighs and guiltily looked at each other.
"Is it so wrong that we think it's a good thing?" asked Hermione, quietly.
"No, but I mean…did it have to be Malfoy? I seriously thought that Johnson was going to win. She had everyone behind her!"
"Everybody except Lucius Malfoy's business partners."
"Yeah…"
"But Arthur wouldn't have able to handle it! Really! He just sort of took it as his right…what with Ron being friends with you and a member of the golden trio…oy I hate that nickname."
"Skeeter?'
"Who else?"
"I hope he doesn't run again."
"He can't possibly, not after this failure."
"Yeah…but you never know."
"You think Ron would?"
"No, no…never! He doesn't even like his department job! He hates being trapped in the ministry all the time."
"He proposed?" Said Harry, looking dubiously at the large diamond ring on Hermione's finger.
"Yeah…last night. At the ball…there were pictures."
"You happy?" asked Harry, knowingly.
"Of course," and Hermione grinned up at him, her smile radiant.
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5 Years Later
The last few years had been increasingly eventful. Hermione and Ron had been married in a publisized and extravagant (too extravagant, in Hermione's opinion) ceremony. Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass had also married in the same fashion as the Weasleys. Harry, though, remained the bachelor he was destined to be. Molly Weasley had passed away not long after her husband's loss and since than Arthur had become a bitter and spiteful man.
Now, the Golden Trio as the press so liked to call them, were at a ball to celebrate the beginning of the race for minister. Hermione stood in a darkened corner of the ballroom with a glass of champagne in one hand and a scotch in the other. She took quick, fervent sips from each and her eyes quickly darted across the room. It was no secret that she was unhappy with the current proceedings.
"Ron! I'm home," called Hermione as she shut the front door. When she had put her stuff down in the dining room and had still not been greated by her husband smiling face she went off in search of it. "Ron?" she knocked on the door of his study.
"Come in!" She walked into the room to find him sitting with none other than Rita Skeeter. She was taken aback but grimaced all the same.
"Miss Skeeter," she nodded and then went to rub Ron's shoulders.
"Mrs. Weasely, your husband was just having a few words with me about his plan!"
"His plan?" asked Hermione stupidly, her fingers still squeezing his shoulders.
"To run for minister, of course," Hermione fingers now clawed his shoulders, "Quite a brilliant if I do say so myself. His current work at the ministry has been marvelous and his new ideas about muggle/wizard relations are ingenious."
"Indeed they are Miss. Skeeter. And, as much as I appreciate your kind thoughts I am afraid I'm going to have to ask you to leave. It's almost time to leave for our friends party," Ron turned around in his seat to look at her curiously, as he knew there was no such party but Hermione firmly twisted him back around.
"Oh, of course! Sorry for imposing, I'll see myself out. Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley," and she left. Ron wrenched himself from Hermione grip and turned to face her, grinning sheepishly.
"I know I didn't talk to you before darling, but I wanted to surprise you!" Hermione shook her head at him and remained eerily silent. "I mean! This is what we've wanted for so long, right? I'll finally be able to do something! Something important! We need a Weasley in command!"
"Apparently, Ronald," said Hermione delicately, holding back her fury, "There is no we." And she stormed from the room slamming both the study door and the front door behind her. She camped out at Harry's for a few days until he convinced her to forgive Ron. She had done it grudgingly and let him know, that in no uncertain terms, that she did not support this move but would outwardly appear to back him.
And now she was hiding at a party. Well, not technically hiding, more like avoiding people. But she supposed she would have to get used to this sort of thing, there were definitely going to be a lot more of them. But, Hermione had always hated the limelight; she detested being photographed and interviews. She always avoided press conferences after her court appearances and consciously ducked out before people had the chance to assault Ron with pointless questions. Ron enjoyed those questions immensely and took them in stride. He posed for pictures and even initiated his own interviews-his favorite reporter? Rita Skeeter. They had had her over for dinner at least 5 times in the last months and it had taken all of Hermione's will power not to jump over the table and strangle her until her head popped off.
"Hiding, Granger?" the sound of her maiden name snapped Hermione out of her thoughts.
"Malfoy," she snarled. She took a step back and looked him up and down. As much as she hated to admit it, he looked good. He had managed to stay in shape despite his age and he had apparently learned about what a good suit was. His hair was perfectly parted and Hermione sniggered at the thought of him standing for hours in front of a mirror. He seemed to notice her appraisal of him and she quickly inquired, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"It is a ball to celebrate the race, is it not?"
"Yeah, I know you're running again. I just meant what are you doing here. Annoying me?"
"Oh, I am not here to annoy you, but your husband. I know how closely you two are connected," he wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
"Get the fuck away from me," growled Hermione and she stalked past him, dumping her drinks on his expensive suit along the way. He grunted in anger and turned to confront her but she had disappeared.
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AN: so this is a new idea I've come up with, I think I'm a bit more serious about it than some of my others, so please review!