"Acting Minister"
Nothing stays the same. Kingsley remembered a good night's sleep, although it stood out as a distant memory. Did power really need to reside with those who did not ask for it? If this was the case, for this is what people said, he was in for a load of hurt because he had no idea, absolutely no idea, how to play this game. He placed his arm behind his neck and laid there thinking about a million things in the middle of the night.
What idiot volunteered to clean up a mess? Housemaids did this. They picked up a mop, wrung it out, dipped it in soapy water, and went to town. Eventually, in låike twenty minutes or so, the floor dried, and life got back to normal. An officer, a decorated Auror, had no business standing in political office, and part of him, the part apparently thriving off insomnia, understood this all too well. Hadn't Rufus Scrimgeour tried that? Security, naturally, would occur to an Auror first, and frankly, he really did need to clean house.
A woman lay beside him in bed. He'd married as a political move, or the papers, especially the tabloids, would read it this way. Never mind that he'd married a white woman, a pretty one with a brain and wealth. Despite the fact that they'd been engaged before the First Wizarding War once upon a time, a long, long time ago, it hardly mattered to the vultures. Rita Skeeter, for one, would lap this story up like a thirsty dog. People lived for a good scandal.
iWell/i, he though dully, iat least the race issue would be put to bed/i. Drowsy and delirious, Kingsley sighed as Patti woke up beside him when he turned on the light on the bedside table. She was a light sleeper and woke up at the slightest sound. Before he rectified his mistake and extinguished the candle, Patti climbed on top of him, barely awake, and they made love.
Kingsley turned his head, wondering if an Auror standing sentry outside the door heard them. A moan escaped him. When she finished, Patti collapsed on top of him, leaving her dressing gown open, and snuggled next to him. If she'd not left him the first time, the romance in the relationship might've died a long time ago.
"More of this, please," he said, kissing her on the forehead.
She played with the ring on her finger, rubbing her thumb against the band. They'd been married less than twenty-four hours. This was day one. Whilst the magical community had given Kingsley a mere week to get his head on straight after the Battle of Hogwarts, he floundered round like a fish out of water.
"They're going eat us alive," said Patti, resting her hand on his bare chest. An ex-Auror turned political strategist, Patti Strauss understood this intricate, never-ending game of chess almost too well. The alarm clock on the bedside table read three fifteen.
Kingsley took a wide guess, reaching up to take his earring out and setting it on the bedside table. He forgot to take it out before going to bed all the time. "For the marriage?"
"Oh, Kingsley, so pretty, so innocent," she said playfully, kissing him. Her face went blank. Patti picked up her wand and pointed it at the fireplace; flames erupted there. Even in the summertime, apparently, she enjoyed the comfort of the hearth, although the flames radiated no heat. Shadows danced on the walls. "No. You're at the mercy of the people, and the people have no idea what they're asking for. But they want it."
This made him sense whatsoever. "And you do?"
Kingsley closed his eyes when she hid under the covers and went for another go. He liked how she paired strategy with sex. He simply laid there, trying to solve the world's problems with zero experience. He'd never lived outside of the country, and the sheer weight of the mental to-do list made him cringe. His bride got crafty over their honeymoon, if whatever this was qualified as a honeymoon, but he needed a sounding board to bounce of his ideas. Even between yesterday's meetings, including the first of many funerals, she found time to unwind.
He waited for her. "Patti, if you were Minister for Magic, what would you do first? I don't know."
Patti climbed out of bed and slipped on one of Kingsley's dressing gowns. She opened the window, letting the cold air in. Known professionally as Patricia Strauss, this woman was magical in the political arena in the wizarding community. She wasn't a fixer, someone who made problems go away, but she lived by the idea that history repeated itself, and it was society's duty to live by this truth. A thinker, this woman probably strategized in her sleep. She'd helped elect President Elliot Whittler to office back in New York before she'd come back home a year ago.
"What happens when President Whittler steals you away from me?" he asked.
Patti stopped pacing. "There's something to be said when an English woman runs the American government."
Kingsley waved his hand, for this didn't surprise him at all. "Have you met yourself? If he'd still been around, you'd make Cornelius Fudge heel. That's if he'd listen to you."
And Kingsley had a strong inclination that Cornelius Fudge would've drowned in his false safety net. He'd had Delores Umbridge by his side a few years ago, a stupid move by all accounts, and she'd held no candle to Patricia Strauss. A false sense of security was dangerous. Kingsley, who knew nothing about nothing, knew this. He'd been wrong about Sirius Black. Although he'd rectified this mistake, that was on him until Kingsley headed to his grave.
"I want a baby," she said.
"You can't have any." Kingsley dismissed this idea automatically.
She'd heard this from some Healer in the States, before she got a second opinion, and they'd accepted this. Although they had stopped talking after she broke off their six-year engagement to "discover her own person", they'd kept a correspondence through owls. At first, it had been difficult. He kept all of her letters in a wooden box. Even if they wanted to adopt, and Kingsley didn't want to, the world scrutinized them under a microscope.
"He didn't say it was impossible," she said, repeating the advice she got from one of the Healers. She was in her mid-thirties, and Kingsley was nearing his fortieth birthday. In his opinion, it was damn near impossible.
"Patricia," he sighed, rolling onto his side because he didn't want to have this conversation. They'd been down this road before.
"You said you wanted a family."
"That was ten years ago! Maybe if you would've stuck around," he said, accidentally sidestepping a minefield and deciding to leave it there. His first meeting wasn't until eight. A couple hours of sleep would probably do nothing, but at least he could shut his eyes. He dropped the subject. "Come to bed."
Patti, apparently, did not. "What changed?"
iYou weren't there/i, thought Kingsley, knowing better than to voice his opinion. He'd travelled to New York after she'd left. It took him a good while because he refused to grovel and make her come home, but he'd seen her pushing a pram on Fifth Avenue. She'd been with a man, a man who Kingsley later found out was simply a reporter. On instinct, Kingsley had pegged this man as her lover, perhaps even her husband, for he'd watched them from a distance and invented this story and walked away. Last year, he learned the truth, kicking himself for making this mistake. He, Kingsley, would've happily had four or five kids with Patti Strauss. That was then.
"Patti, I don't want children," he said, tired of this conversation. When she frowned, he gave he an honest answer, his mind back on his timetable. He had to meet with the Minister of Muggles today, the Prime Minister, but he also had to attend his friends' funeral. Remus Lupin had been like a little brother to him, and Kingsley had worked alongside Nymphadora Tonks. "I get to bury my brother today and give my condolences to Andromeda Tonks. And then I have to break the news to Lyall Lupin, who is practically my second father. One day Remus's boy is going to come to me. That's my responsibility."
"I'm escorting you," she said. Two officers always broke the news to the next of kin. Remus wasn't an Auror, and Andromeda, of course, already knew, yet Kingsley decided to extend this to Remus Lupin as a curtesy.
"You're a political strategist." Kingsley politely pointed out, or so he hoped, that she hadn't been an Auror for over a decade. She'd never taken this duty. When she got back in bed, he decided to test what she knew about this protocol. "What do you do when you arrive at the house?"
Patti fired back with the right question. "What was her rank?" Remus, obviously, didn't have one.
"Captain," said Kingsley.
"When you lay an officer to rest, and she was enlisted," said Patti speaking slowly, the most unsure Kingsley had ever seen her. He'd done this time and time again because sometimes it felt right to even volunteer. Especially if he was friends with the fallen, if he didn't break the news, he attended the funeral. Kingsley nodded, waiting for her to continue. Patti frowned. "You keep your distance, giving just the facts because you don't want to deviate from the plan. After that, we hand the kin of the personal effects, give the usual line about honor, dedication, and service before giving our condolences. Was old was she?"
"Twenty-six," he said.
"Damn, that's young. Too young. I really didn't want to know. Hate to break to you babe, but you're not going back to sleep."
Kingsley rolled over and ignored her.
Patti got up and went to take a shower, hanging the house robe on the hook on the bathroom door like she'd done this every day for years. They'd been in this house for no more than a few days. Kingsley had signed off on his flat, an expensive place in the heart of London, the moment she'd taken his engagement ring back. A stupid move, given she had left him at the train station the last time he'd popped the question, but he took her on faith. He waited weeks, six weeks, to tie the knot instead of six years. Progress.
Kingsley closed his eyes and sighed when there was a knock on the door. It was better if he didn't know the hour. Kingsley took a moment to find some casual clothes buried in the cardboard boxes. As Minister of Magic, apparently morning started whenever it damned pleased. First plan? Once the dust settled and things got down to a somewhat sense of normalcy, he was taking his new house back. This place, his new prime real estate heart of London place, would not be an outpost of the Minister's office. A house deserved a shot at being a home.
"Minister?" a voice called.
"Yes?" Pulling on a grey undershirt and wrinkled slacks, Kingsley cleared his throat the second time whoever it was knocked.
Too happy for the first thing in the morning, bright eyed and bushy haired, Penelope Clearwater opened the door. As the newly appointed press secretary, handed the position by someone he didn't even know like most of his new, intimate inner circle, she lived on coffee and the news of the day. Minister. Kingsley needed to get used to hearing that. At the moment, he sat on the edge of his bed and polished his shoes. Penelope, who Kingsley guessed was the second most important woman in his life now, given she doubled as press secretary and chief of staff at the moment, glanced around the bedroom.
Kingsley, smiled, thinking she ought to get used to it.
"Morning, Minister," said Penelope, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and opening a folder. The girl hit the ground running. She opened the door wider, ushering in a timid looking, young house-elf in a crisp new pillowcase. She ran through the timetable at top speed. Kingsley might've actually caught some of it.
Patti come out in nothing more than a towel. She screamed, surprised to see they weren't alone anymore, and grabbed a few of her things in a hurry, although she lingered too long searching for something. Kingsley raised his eyebrows, already surrendering any foreseeable notions of privacy in his life, and snatched a black bra off the floor. Penelope flushed with color. Taking wild guess, Kingsley tossed the bra to Patti, and she caught it before retreating back into the bathroom. Minutes later, she came out dressed in grey slacks and a silk blouse, a white summer coat draped over her arm.
"Morning, ma'am. Congratulations on the marriage," said Penelope.
"Thank you," said Patti, stepping into her heels. When Penelope paused, watching her put on light makeup, Patti waved her hand, inviting her to continue. "I am not here, dear, because as the Minister's wife, or the Acting Minister's wife, I am merely ornamental. I'm the pretty girl on his arm or whatever."
Kingsley enjoyed this joke.
"Actually," said Penelope awkwardly, interrupting her on a beat, "It's you I'm here to see, Miss Strauss or Mrs. Shacklebolt."
Kingsley laughed, slipping his earring back in and getting to his feet. Before he went into the bathroom, he pecked Patti on the cheek. "So pretty, so smart."
"I hate you," she said, slipping on a watch.
He closed the bathroom door and locked it before she had a prayer of looping him into this mess. Kingsley wrapped things up in a hurry, and threw a tie over his neck. When he stepped back out into the bedroom, the house-elf had already busied itself with making the bed. Yesterday, in between engagements, he was with his wife, not Miss Strauss. A couple of years ago, they'd spent a weekend together in upstate New York in a four-star hotel. He'd needed a break from crafting the fake wild goose chase for Sirius Black, and she'd been his eager and willing distraction. During a long weekend, though he couldn't recall the federal holiday for the life of him, Kingsley remembered they'd made love like it was going out of style.
Kingsley wanted that Patti back.
"Pick one," said Patti, businesslike, turning to face Penelope.
Penelope, lost in her prepared spiel, faltered and flipped through her folder. "Ma'am?"
"It's either Miss Strauss or Mrs. Shacklebolt," said Patti, switching her tone at the drop of a hat. She walked over to Penelope and took the folder, a thing Kingsley felt sure was armed to the teeth. Sounding kinder, Patti fixed Penelope's collar. "I can be one or the other, but I can't be both, because you're going to confuse the hell out of the press. Not to mention the people. Do you want the public thinking the Minister has a thing on the side the day he takes office? And the day after he married, too! Shame. She must be awful in bed because they're cold and distant already. He should've stayed a bachelor."
Penelope gaped at her, amazed. "You're good."
"I was you in another life," said Patti, a smile relaxing her face.
It all depended on how they chose to spin the story. Kingsley had learned this from Patti over the years. She'd covered up an affair with a United States senator once and made the problem a little insignificant nothing in the blink of an eye. The press, mainly the papers in circulation, particularly the mainstream ones, force-fed the public whatever they opinions they imagined they thought of themselves, though a lot of them were too stupid, or too busy, or too ignorant to see this trickery for what it truly was.
Patti draped her leather handbag over her arm and followed Penelope into the sitting room. Come what may today, and Kingsley had no idea what to expect here, Patti would walk out of this thing unscathed. Him? He'd been lucky to remember his name. Patti rested her hand on the doorknob and smiled when she heard Penelope's choice, missing the important part of that statement.
"…about the miscarriage, Mrs. Shacklebolt."
Patti opened the front door. Flashing cameras and swarming reports greeted them a moment later. The Ministry of Magic car, feet away on the curb, seemed unreachable. Patti, Kingsley guessed, replaying whatever Penelope had just said, spun around to face her. The shock of her face, simply the first impression, might've been worth a thousand words. Patti raised her arms, blocking her face as they jostled through the crowd.
Kingsley grabbed her by the arm steering her towards the car, and he waved to the crowd. They weren't asking for him. There were cries of "Miss Strauss, Miss Strauss" everywhere. When they reached the car, Patti slid in first, cringing like a child. Kingsley pulled Penelope in after him, for press secretary or not, they'd devour that young woman as their first course.
"Drive," Kingsley demanded the driver, reaching over Penelope locking the door. When the reporters or the people, he didn't know which they were, stopped banging on the passenger windows and demanding a word, he took a breath. "Patricia."
Patti, gathering herself, snatched a copy of the iDaily Prophet/i off of the seat. It was just after seven in the morning, so this was hot off the presses. Her face was splayed on the front cover. She thrust it at Penelope. "What the hell is this?"
"Ma'am, I tried to tell you," said Penelope weakly.
Kingsley wanted to tell the poor woman she ought not to stop talking because she'd simply make it worse for herself, yet he couldn't go against his wife. Penelope trudged on when Patti stared her down. They didn't need to read the paper. Somehow, a story had leaked through the papers that Patricia had had an affair with an American aristocrat, some entrepreneur, and she ended up pregnant. She'd lost the child.
"He was in the stock market," said Penelope. As she was Muggle-born, she knew vaguely what this meant. Investors tossed their money around in a lot of pockets.
"He owned an art gallery, or so they say," said Kingsley, correcting her as he slipped his hand into his suit jacket.
When Penelope asked how he could possibility have known this, he took out his wallet and handed her a laminated identification card. According to this thing, and he also had a forged birth certificate to back this up, Kingsley was a thirty-five-year old man from Connecticut with a wife and two children who held partial shares in a nonexistent art gallery.
"You'll be wanting to be careful with giving out chances for that interview. I'm your Mr. Jacobs."
"Oh, my God." Penelope looked from Patricia, to Kingsley, and back again. Patti nodded, signaling to the driver to raise the partition, and asked him to take the scenic route. "Seriously?"
"No, he's lying to you," snapped Patti, lying, annoyed with her. "Of course not! He's a leader of the free world, Miss Clearwater, why would he not deny that?"
"Patti," said Kingsley calmly. When Patti covered her face in her hands, he gave the abbreviated version of the story. After getting Penelope's word that she'd forget this as soon as she heard it, he said, "She was engaged to a senator two years ago."
"I was never going to marry him," said Patti. "You had a fake wife, Kingsley, it wasn't an affair."
"Okay, fine. I never saw a ring," conceded Kingsley fairly, resting his hands in his lap. "The name doesn't matter. We spent the weekend together, which obviously led to other things, and she got pregnant whilst comparing for a campaign, and we lost it at seven months. End of story."
"I fell down three flights of stairs in the World Trade Center chasing after Senator Jackson, Speaker of the House," said Patti, speaking matter-of-factly. "The Minister almost had a child out of wedlock with a woman across the pond. I broke it off with the senator after I got him elected. There's your scoop. Are you happy?"
When the car stopped outside the visitors' entrance of the Ministry of Magic, Patti got out of the car first and slammed the car door. Kingsley got out, leaving Penelope alone. Penelope, speaking quickly, promised to handle this first hiccup. Kingsley, still rather amazed whoever had gotten their hands in this story had essentially gotten it right, took her word for it.
The driver, saluting him, put the car back in drive and the car disappeared, jumping ahead on the crowded street. Before she stepped into the red telephone box, he held her, patting her auburn hair. They said nothing. After a moment, she wiped her eyes, although there was nothing there, and pulled herself together.
They stepped into the telephone box and Kingsley took their badges out of the shoot. When they stepped into the Atrium, hand-in-hand, Kingsley took a deep breath. He didn't need his chief of staff and his press secretary quitting on him. Luckily, as they headed up to one of the main conference rooms. Penelope, laden with her folders, followed them. He got through the first press conference sweating bullets and allowed Penelope to take over after a short statement.
"I froze," he said, stepping off to the side.
"You were fine," said Patti, straightening his tie. When that failed, she took the thing off, cast a Color Changing Charm, switching to blue, and put it back on him and added a pin to his lapel. "Cue cards save lives, eh?"
"Yeah," said Kingsley, surrendering the prized index cards written in his wife's hand. "You know what I always say. You're caught in a tight corner? Get Patti Strauss on it."
"Or, you know, marry her," she said, smiling slightly, shaking when he pulled her back onto the stage. They held hands and raised their linked hands together. The photograph opportunity too more than a minute, and Penelope slipped into character. Patti rubbed his shoulders. "Downing Street? Round two."
Kingsley nodded, glad he wasn't alone. He needed to clear this up because the press secretary's first mistake ruined everything. "Patti? The leak? It's not Miss Clearwater's fault."
"I know." Patti continued prepping him for Downing Street.
Later that afternoon, after their meeting on Downing Street and the funeral, Kingsley spent about an hour in the rain cruising for street food with Patti. Neither of they had eaten all day, so they were running on fumes and starving. A world traveler, she liked for the local food market. The fresh stuff came out in the morning, and they'd clearly missed this with their slammed schedule. She kept offering him food as they jumped from station to station in London.
"Japanese taco," she said, careful with the paper wrappings, pouring soy sauce into a lettuce wrap. The vendor handed her some cheap wasabi. Kingsley said he'd never had fresh tuna or wasabi, and Patti, grinning offered him an experience. She liked frequenting sushi bars in New York, although he didn't prefer raw fish. "Try this."
Kingsley shook his head.
"One bite." She got one with imitation crabmeat, too, though she kept her hands on this one. As they left the market, Kingsley tried the one with tuna, merely to please her, and devoured the whole thing. She nodded, satisfied she'd won this argument. "I keep telling you there's food out there whilst you're hiding out on your little island."
"There are sushi bars here," he said, frowning at her.
"That's not authentic Japanese food," she said, shaking her head and wiping her mouth with a napkin. Patti took holidays whenever she got the time. With no family and a demanding career, she basically stuck a red pin into a map at random and took off. They split the one with crabmeat, and Kingsley, ignoring Patti's giggles, went back for another. "It's good, right? Oooh, you want some gelato?"
"You're going to mess up your stomach," he warned her. As it was the weekend, they were off, and the real work didn't start until the following Monday. They'd fled into Muggle London, abandoning Penelope, a woman who tailed them like a faithful dog. Patti was a foodie, and he knew this, so there was no telling her no to eat something. They were running low on pocket money. "This isn't much of a honeymoon."
"Are you kidding me? Food. Two of those, please," asked Patti, handing over the rest of her change to a vendor. The vendor chuckled when she tossed a few food wrappers out of her handbag. Patti clapped her hands like a little girl when the vendor added a drizzle of Nutella to hers. "Is that the real stuff?"
Kingsley, allergic to hazelnuts and almonds, declined. He'd never had any. "There are different types?"
"Ah, poor London boy," sighed Patti, taking a plastic spoon from the vendor and taking a taste. "That's it. That's like a drug. Thanks. Yes, Kingsley, there are different versions of absolutely everything. Tomatoes and rice. Spaghetti. Cheese grits. Salads."
"Cheese grits? When did you turn American?"
He looped his arm through hers, enjoying his ice cream. When she looked away, he led her towards the Leaky Cauldron. When she turned back to face him, talking about some senator or official, Kingsley dabbed her nose in the ice cream before tossing it in a nearby bin. Her expression was priceless, for it took a minute to get it. They went right past the pub.
"Yeah, I want the other Patti back, please and thank you."
"Oh, my God." Patti dropped her cone in the street. It worked out better than he'd expected, really, for she smeared the stuff all over her face. Kingsley, laughing, took out a handkerchief and wiped the mess away. When he led her into Diagon Alley, Kingsley stopped outside the Magical Menagerie. "What're you doing?"
"A long time ago, you asked me for something." He handed over the umbrella and stepped into the shop. Kingsley worked quickly, for the proprietor, recognizing him as the new Minister, ate up time. He tried to for politeness because he'd left his wife outside in the downpour. When he came back, he showed her the black half -kneazle in the pet carrier and the litter box. "This is Grits."
He wanted no other grits in his home.
"This is my wedding present?" asked Patti.
Patti laughed so hard she wiped away actual tears from her eyes. She didn't take it out of the pet carrier. It had cost him ten Galleons, so Kingsley walked home broke, too. When they got home, Patti promised to have a private one-on-one with Senator Jackson, who they both guessed leaked the first secret to the papers.
About an hour later, Patti went off to grab groceries with the house-elf. The place, thanks to the house-elf, looked and smelled better. Tired, Kingsley dumped the half-kneazle in the sitting room; it immediately darted for the space under the coffee table, and then Kingsley passed out on the couch.
This is was the first day.