It had been a chilly night when Hermione had returned to her comfortable cottage. After extensive checks she apparated from Bulgaria to Bath in the blink of an eye, appearing in her chilly back garden. The cold nipped her fingers uncomfortably as she reached for the doorknob, twisting it and forcing the door open. Though the cottage looked modest, she stepped inside a kitchen large enough to house the Wizarding population. This was the place she had come to call home in the past ten years. Considering her husband had amassed a vast array of wealth, she could probably do better, but this was a pen of memories and aspirations.

She and Ron had moved there after Hermione had completed her NEWTS. It was originally small, but attained wealth and a lot of complicated magic ensured that it had at least twenty bedrooms. Thus she strode is, slinging her bag over the rack which she had done every day after work for the past two years. Considering she had been away for two days, she had missed home a lot, and as she strode past wooden island counters she recounted all the memories the kitchen alone brung: scraping for morsels of food with Ron when they were poor, reading news of her promotions, announcing to Harry and Ginny that she was expecting children, having Rose and Hugo bouncing into the room and crying with delight upon discovering that they weren't squibs and that James Potter had lied.

Little did she know she would be creating a new memory.

Ron was there, as usual. He held the Daily Prophet in his hands, reading articles about the demise of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Hermione glanced at Kingsley's aged features smiling triumphantly whilst she tried to repress a sigh. Only three weeks ago he had passed away from Magickal Neurodegenerative Disease - it was common in old age. After losing the ability to cast magic, death was pretty inevitable. Kingsley was a powerful and respectable Wizard, so had managed to hide such a condition from those closest to him bar his immediate family. Hermione had worked extremely closely with Kingsley - he had even appointed her the head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement almost a decade ago.

"Alright Hermione," Ron greeted her with a smile.

Hermione tried to smile back. Their relationship had been cordial for the past decade or so - it wasn't loveless, as some conjectured, but the throngs of passion that had brought them together during the strife of the Second Wizarding War had eventually waned. Hermione never admitted it, but had it not been for the Wizarding War she doubted she and Ron would have ever married. But she was glad it happened, even after reflection Hermione knew there was no-one better to spend her life with.

"I still can't get over it," she sighed, waving her wand and watching ingredients bounce out of numerous cupboards and align themselves. She sat next to Ron, pressing her cold hands onto his shoulder. "Kingsley and I were incredibly close. He was a great man. We destroyed prejudiced laws together, we helped liberate the thousands of oppressed magical creatures." She leant forward, trying to not hear her voice break. "And he didn't once tell me that he was suffering. I wish I had time to prepare for this..."

"You'll be okay," Ron leaned into her, kissing her cheeks lightly. After his lips tentatively brushed against her, the balding Wizard kissed her again more confidently as she tried to hold back tears. "We know that it'll be okay."

"The Ministry's diplomats are so strained they had to send me to Bulgaria," Hermione sniffled, though Ron already knew that. She kept repeating the same things over and over again, hoping that their occurrence would make the situation seem more real (though she didn't dare mention the friendly meeting she had Viktor Krum). "All these countries surrounding us knew what a great man we had at our helm. But their condolences mean nothing," she sighed. "I shook the Bulgarian Ministers' hand, I should have been privileged... But considering the circumstances..."

She burst into tears, throwing her head into Ron's robe. His hands brushed the back of her windswept hair. For five minutes she allowed herself to be vulnerable and cry in the security of her own home. Then she withdrew, sniffling and trying to keep composed when she looked at Ron.

"Maybe it's time for you to resign," Ron said to her, smiling. Hermione shook her head tearfully as she stroke her cheek. "You know me and George have been running the Weasley Empire well - we've expanded our confectionary range to Brazil with the help of Hugo and Leo. We make more than enough money to be comfortable. You've been working too hard for others, Hermione. I think you need to take time to focus on yourself," Hermione paused and he held her hands tightly, trying to keep the resentment out of his tone as he spoke his next sentence: "For us."

"I-I don't know," Hermione mumbled tentatively. "Maybe," trying to morph the conversation into a less awkward one, she jerked her head towards the abandoned Prophet. "What have they said about Kingsley now? I hope Astra Scarleta hasn't been slandering him again," Rita Skeeter may have died fifteen years ago - but Hermione still distrusted the Prophet's integrity.

"No, no," Ron said defensively, snatching it and showing it for her to see. Hermione saw the headline and her heart lurched:

Ministry in turmoil as a divided Wizengamot votes.

"Oh..."

"Is it true?" Ron pressed. Bar the very basics, Hermione did not delve deeply into the details of the Ministry. Not that Ron didn't deserve to know; she had spent his fair share of time working as a prominent Auror. He just seldom inquired.

"It's been sensationalised a little bit," Hermione smiled. "Lana McDermot is a high ranking member of the Wizengamot and is known for being an exceptionally talented witch. But she is a little..." Hermione chose her words carefully. "Selfish. She is proposing she become Minister for Magic because it is well known that despite her abilities she is little more than a Career politician," Hermione tried to keep the contempt out of her voice and lazily flicked her wand, watching multiple ingredients throw themselves into a conjured pot in very measured amounts. "The rest of the Wizengamot propose Auralius Fudge become Minister," that earned a skeptical look from Ron. "Don't underestimate him because of his father! He has quite the resumé. Order of Merlin, First class, Auror, Head Unspeakable and the Deputy Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement... Well, he probably won't be working for me anymore!"

Ron smiled. "And you like him?"

"Well, working with him has always been a pleasure..." Hermione's voice trailed off. "But I have never forgotten who my past opponents were. When he worked in the Wizengamot twenty-years ago, he tried to oppose the reform that your father, Kingsley and I proposed, the legislature that ensured Muggle Borns were equals in Wizarding society."

"Prick," was all Ron had to say.

Hermione did not reply. She glanced at the Prophet article once again and stood up, deciding to attend to her soup more manually. With a mumbled incantation water filled the pot of soup and she put it on to boil. It had beef and carrots - Ron's favourite. She stirred the soup whilst on auto-pilot, but her mind was on everything. On the events that had taken her to where she now was; the successes and the failures; the memories she had - especially with Kingsley.

His tenure saw political reform which she had played a massive part in. It saw a quick recovery from the Second Wizarding War. It saw the creation of a politically neutral board that ensured Hogwarts was once the haven it had been. It saw an era where Dark Wizards were the extremely weak minority who had crumbled in the wake of Voldemort's death.

It was a moment of peace, allowing Hermione to feel as if her children had a secure future. And they did: Their youngest daughter Willow was doing well in her third year of Hogwarts and Hugo had helped bring immense wealth to the Weasley Empire and was definitely bound to inherit it along with George's eldest son, Leo. However, Rose's future was regrettably not quite as secure, but she was a much brighter witch than even Hermione could hope to be, and once worked in the Department of Mysteries.

... Had things gone differently all those years ago, had the Ministry not had the calm yet firm guidance of Kingsley, Hermione knew her children could be secure to develop as much as possible. Now she hoped that this stability endured, for the sake of future generations...

"Hugo is a genius," Ron said triumphantly to himself.

"Hm?"

"He has secured those Shanghain Dragon Scales for the Weasley's ultimate flametazzling fireworks," Ron announced, shifting another letter - the disgruntled look on his face told Hermione that it was a hefty bill from the Muggle authorities. He flicked through another letter and smiled a little bit more. "Oh, brilliant. Ginny has agreed to come here for Christmas. Wouldn't want her and the kids spending Christmas alone after You-Know-Who ruined their lives."

Hermione didn't say anything. And You-Know-Who didn't mean Voldemort; it meant Harry Potter himself.

"I told the Herbology Weekly I wanted to cancel my subscription," Ron grumbled. He tore open a final letter, opening it boredly. It was purple with a green signature, indicating that it was from the Ministry, which meant that it could be about anything. But Ron's expression told Hermione that the letter had something shocking. Whether positive or negative, she could not wager a guess.

"Ron?"

Hermione turned around to face him as his fair skin grew even paler. He struggled to keep his grip on the letter. Hermione tried to remain calm, and repeated her spouse's name once again.

Finally, he announced the news.

"It's from the Wizengamot Hermione," he said tentatively as he used to many years ago. He turned the parchment aside, showing her a rather long letter. "I-I think you better read it. They've voted you Minister for Magic."