Prologue
The witching hour was drawing nigh. Rain fell relentlessly from the jet-black sky as the tall, bald, black wizard paced pensively around his ornate desk, casting glances at the file that sat there. The walls were full of the portraits of preceding incumbents of the job; but Kingsley Shacklebolt, ex-Auror, ex-member of the Order of the Phoenix, disinclined Minister of Magic, had never felt more alone or more trapped. Before him lay the verbose proposal that Percy Weasley had handed him.
"Minister," Percy said as he entered the office. "Bosworth has completed the proposal. I thought you might wish to take a look at it now."
"Thank you, Percy. Are you heading to the Burrow this evening?"
"I am, Minister."
"Could you extend my apologies to Molly? I think I ought to at least try to make a start on this." Kingsley lifted the sheaf of paper from the desk. "I need to have at least an idea of what we're facing before confronting the lions in their den tomorrow morning; too many of the Wizengamot back Bosworth's idea."
Percy smiled weakly at his boss; he knew that the knives were out for Kingsley.
Kingsley stared at the Arithmantic equations that swam before his eyes, slipping through his brain without leaving a hint of meaning behind them. He knew that, before he managed to comprehend what the equations meant, his Floo would be activated, and the tartan-bedecked headmistress of Hogwarts would be coming through to visit him. Percy would have cracked under her scrutiny in mere seconds. Minerva would use her Scottish brogue to lull Kingsley into a false sense of security before she unleashed her opinion upon him whether he desired her input or not. The more Kingsley stared at the parchment the more clearly he could see the faces of those who conspired to oust him. The War against Voldemort might have been over for a year, but there were still wounds that failed to heal. He had his fair share of detractors who said he was not up to the job, that he had no backbone.
He shook their images from his mind as he tried to concentrate on the figures at the back of the document. They didn't look good. Magical births were in decline, and inbreeding was on the rise as the eldest pure-blood families still refused to bow to changing times. Traditions, they believed, were just that, and to turn one's back on tradition was to forget everything that made British wizarding culture what it was.
He turned over another page of the proposal and groaned. Before him swam yet more equations. Rubbing his tired eyes with the heels of his palms, he rose from his chair. With two strides, he covered the space between his desk and the window. Beneath the magical window, the pavement was lit with a pale light from the faltering street lamp. Muggles, bedecked in mackintoshes and carrying umbrellas, were making their way home. Kingsley rested his forehead against the cool window. The decision to move the Minister's office away from the hustle and bustle of the main Ministry had been a godsend. He had spent too many years working in the shadows and underground. If he had to be Minister, then he had been determined to make some changes. Staring out into the night, he wondered how the Muggles managed their birth rates. Was it just the Wizarding population that was facing declining numbers?
Kingsley's pondering was interrupted by the activation of his Floo connection.
"Are you there, Kingsley?" The Scottish burr shattered the silence of his office.
"Minerva, yes, I'm here. Are you coming through?"
"That I am. You and I need to have a little chat."
Kingsley sighed and turned to the small table beside the window. Picking up the crystal decanter, he filled two tumblers with a generous measure of Ogden's finest liquor and returned to his seat.
Minerva stepped through the green flames of the Floo and dusted herself down before taking the seat on the other side of Kingsley's ornate oak desk.
"So, Kingsley, tell me that Percy has got this Marriage Law proposal wrapped round his scrawny little neck. Tell me you aren't considering Bosworth's proposal. The man is a short-sighted nigaud on the lookout for a young and nubile witch to wed."
With a heavy sigh, Kingsley pushed the paperwork across the expanse between them.
"Read it for yourself, Minerva. The numbers don't lie. As much as I am loath to admit it, Magical births are on the decline. If we don't act now... well, you can see for yourself the predictions at the back. They don't make comfortable reading. I'm sure Bosworth's numbers will be matched by the record at Hogwarts of magical births. The Wizengamot are suggesting that we pass a law that encourages more mixing between classes and blood-status. They are frightened that the pure-bloods will close ranks further, and we all know where that may lead us. I, for one, am war weary."
"Come now, Kingsley, you are no fool. A law born of this will not improve the birth rate. All this will achieve is to drive brilliant young minds away from their homeland. They will seek work within other Wizarding communities. My contacts tell me that Miss Granger, for example, is ready to return home. Do you really think that such a brilliant mind will be willing to come home to a law which will bind her to someone who may not have the ability to understand her?"
Kingsley sighed, resting his weary head upon his arms. He took a moment to compose himself before lifting his head, squaring his shoulders and looking straight at Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts, Head of The Order of the Phoenix, Order of Merlin – First Class.
"My hands are tied. If I pass this, those I swore to protect will vilify me. If I reject these proposals, Lucius Malfoy will sweep into the fray and call for a vote of no confidence in my abilities to govern as Minister."
Kingsley watched as Minerva bristled in her chair; he knew that she'd never heard him sound so defeated. Even during the height of the war, he'd been determined to safeguard their way of life, no matter the individual's blood-status. To see him like this would be a shock.
"Now, you listen to me young man and you listen well to what I have to say," Minerva said. "You were born for this position. You excel in this position. You're a Slytherin for goodness sake, man! You can out-manoeuvre Lucius Malfoy if you desire. This is not you talking, Kingsley. You forget that I have witnessed you manipulate situations to suit you. Enough self-pity! Gird those loins of yours and face off your detractors. You can come up with a clause to dilute this idea."
Kingsley gave a sigh as he watch Minerva pace in front of his desk.
"There has to be a way to stall this law, Kingsley. I know you can find it," Minerva insisted as she took her seat once more.
oooOooo
Minerva stepped through the Floo and stared at the portraits around her office before sitting in the battered wing-back chair that stood beside the ornate fireplace. The leather was worn and faded, and the stuffing was escaping from small tears in the fabric, but she was loath to part with the chair. There were too many memories attached to it – too much history.
Resting her elbows on the arms of the chair, Minerva laid her head against her steepled fingers. For the first time since the last battle, Minerva felt despair wash over her, chilling her bones.
"I know you're not sleeping, Albus," she murmured as she looked across at the portrait of the former Headmaster.
Albus, feigning indifference to her tone, continued to softly snore. He would talk when he was ready and not before.
With a heavy sigh, Minerva rose from her chair and turned to face the small table upon which sat a cut-glass decanter of Firewhisky along with two matching tumblers. Pouring a generous nightcap, she returned to her battered sanctuary.
With a shuddering snore, Albus pretended to wake from his slumber.
"How was your evening, Minerva?"
"If you believe for one moment that I was going to fall for your feigned snoring, you have another thing coming. You were waiting for my return."
"What news do you have to share, then?"
"It's as we feared: Lucius is preparing to make a move. Kingsley is cornered by Bosworth's proposal. I fear that Miss Granger and others like her will fail to return home should Malfoy and Bosworth succeed with their plan."
"What about Severus? Will he be affected by the proposed decree?" Albus questioned.
"Severus is a broken man, Albus. Your memories may have saved him from Azkaban, but the lingering effects of Nagini's venom and the affect the delay in our retrieval has had on him mean that he still needs to reside here for the time being. Poppy refuses to allow him to leave the infirmary; she fears that he will have another blackout and that she will be unable to pull him back from the brink of the threatened depression." Minerva rose from her chair and began to pace. "He will be subject to the law just as surely as Miss Granger and her friends will be. I fear that he will leave us and seek refuge elsewhere. I know he has remained in touch with many of his fellow potioneers. We cannot afford to lose him, Albus. Who else has the knowledge, skill and ability to replace Horace? Who else can control a classroom as successfully as he can, instilling a healthy respect for the potential dangers associated with brewing?"
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore sat up straight in his chair. A twinkle glimmered in the corner of his eyes, as a small smile played across his dry lips.
"Then we have plans to formulate, Minerva. We cannot allow Miss Granger or Severus to fall foul of another Malfoy plot. Does Severus still hold a candle for Lily?"
"I'm not sure I'm going to like where you're planning to take this, Albus. Severus has been manipulated enough over the last twenty years."
"I always thought that Miss Granger and Lily Potter had a lot in common," Albus replied wistfully. "Miss Granger has a very... persuasive personality. I wonder if she would be able to challenge Severus enough to motivate him to heal."
"Albus," Minerva growled as she turned to face his portrait. "Miss Granger has her own wounds to heal. I'm not sure forcing her and Severus together would be a good idea."
"Nonsense. Miss Granger was far from lacking when she, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Potter were hunting the Horcruxes. She would be a good match for Severus."
Minerva stilled. Albus's idea was sound. However, it would take skill to entice Severus into accepting help from a former student. She would have to tread carefully when she broached the topic with him.
Nigaud – nitwit, oaf, simpleton.
This was written for Leni_Jess during the Summer 2010 SS-HG Exchange. Many thanks to my band of supportive alpha, beta and omega readers who helped make this story happen. Beffy, Scoffy, Dreamy, June, Subversa, Dynonugget and Tales of Snape, I couldn't have done this without your unfailing support, love and encouragement.
Original Prompt: Post-war, Severus rescues Hermione, possibly from some complication of the wizarding world that this Muggleborn hasn't cottoned on to yet [just, not how to fly]. And maybe she isn't all that grateful. How does he handle the realisation that he's free to develop attachment, and is attracted to her, and how does he cope with the need for courtship? (Yes, I'd like him to get there in the end.)