December arrived before they knew it. If sex went with political strategy, they strategized plenty and often. Of course, Kingsley wasn't a stupid man by any stretch of the imagination; he understood her endgame. He relaxed, letting the cards fall whatever they may. It wasn't the worst idea in the world, the two of them starting a family whilst in office. Within months, life fell into this comfortable routine, and he wondered for the umpteenth time why she hadn't done her soul searching with him. Kingsley fell back onto his pillows and caught his breath.

"It's like having the first cup of coffee in the morning," he said, wiping sweat off his brow. Patti laughed. "Where were we?"

"The Death Eater trials, Minister." Patti kissed him passionately.

"Enough of you. I need to think."

Although he leaned on his wife a lot for advice, Kingsley put his best foot forward trying to get the hang of this. As the papers read it, she was not the Minister's wife, yet he was the husband of Patricia Strauss. Some days, especially like the headache today promised to be, he didn't fight that label. Last night, an article in the Evening Prophet made him want to crawl into a dark hole and forget his political life. His advisors in the Cabinet told him not to read the papers, half of it being nonsense, but how could he not?

A Healer had leaked the news. "When do you want to make the announcement?"

Patti said nothing for some time, though Kingsley could tell she'd been hiding it. He had to hand it to her because the handbag trick worked wonders for photo ops. He'd laughed when she hid behind the Director of Communications last week during a briefing. As the Minister's wife, she had no official capacity, but none of them felt brave enough to tell her to step out.

She planned the garden parties and decorated his office, adding a few touches here and there. This bored her to death, and honestly, it wasted her because she slipped into autopilot. He'd guessed she'd gotten pregnant shortly after they got into office. Really, he wasn't officially the Minister for Magic yet. Kingsley was a placeholder, someone to hold the public's hand after the chaos of the war.

"You knew?" Patti sighed, relieved when he nodded. They were on the campaign trail, and she'd switched into crisis manager mode subconsciously. Patti did what Patti did best. From the time they laid down to the time whoever woke up them up, the two of them were husband and wife. Kingsley placed his hand on her stomach and felt a quiver there. "You're not angry?"

"No," Kingsley whispered. And he wasn't. At the rate they were going, he wasn't the least bit surprised because this was bound to happen. As they lay there, he played devil's advocate with himself. He ran against a church mouse, and although they held an election for appearances, this was no real contest. "Pace yourself."

Patti made a face, saying something about the polls. When Kingsley was about to point out their day hadn't started yet, there was a knock on the door.

"Here we go." Patti cleared her throat and wrapped her hair in a messy bun as she called, "Morning, Penelope."

Kingsley smiled as Grits jumped onto the bed the moment the bedroom door opened and curled into a ball by Patti's side. He went out like a light. The house-elf, Sully, entered, gave her usual curtsy, and delivered Patti breakfast in bed today on a laden tray. Kingsley went off to get ready for the day before Penelope really hit her stride. It was another Saturday.

"Minister," said Penelope the second he stepped out out of the bathroom. Kingsley chose plain robes today.

"Good morning," he said. Penelope lived three streets down in an expensive flat. Some days, he swore she might as well take one of the guest bedrooms here. Patti and Penelope were already in full swing about this and that. Smiling, Kingsley leaned over and helped himself to a green apple, tossing it in the air and catching it. "These, Patti? These gave you away."

"What?" Patti lost track of whatever she was saying to Penelope. She might not have said anything, but Kingsley watched his household, and Sully kept these in ample supply in the kitchen. Penelope smiled, which Patti noticed, throwing the same question at her in a different tone. "What?"

"It's ... the two of you are cute. Congratulations." Penelope knew this already, of course, but she followed the word of the papers. Patti snorted, biting into her apple.

"She knew, too. How could she not? Thanks, Sully." Kingsley thanked the house-elf for his shoes and found his cleaned jewelry on the bedside table. He slipped the wedding band back on.

"Oh, so I'm fat," said Patti, hearing whatever she wanted to hear. She shared a laugh with Penelope. When Kingsley shook his head, deciding not to give the apple back, she smiled at him.

Kingsley left with Penelope. Normal people had weekends. Kingsley said goodbye to those when he took this responsibility. As he and Patti were both devout Catholics, they usually got left alone on Sundays. When he entered the sitting room, Kingsley acted as though his coffee table disappearing under political propaganda was an everyday thing. He liked that Penelope and Patti were slowly becoming friends. Whenever his legal wife and his work wife agreed (and, no, they were not the same person), he stayed the odd man out.

"The polls are not the problem," he said, gesturing at the poster designs. "Penelope?"

"Sir?" Penelope sat down and read through a long roll of parchment.

"You're liking this race because it's new and exciting. It's not even a race with Francis Fawcett." He waved at the staircase and conjured some coffee with his other hand. "Why is my wife acting like my campaign manager?"

"She's Patti Strauss," said Penelope, shrugging this off like it was obvious. They had indeed decided on the name of Strauss and not Shacklebolt for his wife because the papers had made this decision for them. And it carried political punch with it. She added sugar to her coffee and helped herself to a scone. "What's wrong, Kingsley?"

Kingsley froze, momentarily surprised she'd used his first name. He'd insisted on it countless times, but she'd never said it. He picked up another copy of the paper. Mr. Fawcett, or whoever was running his campaign, had decided to play dirty. The Healer's slip of tongue could slide for the moment because this was going to get out anyway. He didn't know how to phrase this. Patti had pointed out that Penelope Clearwater was his work wife. He might as well shoot for plain honesty.

"I did not marry her to steal this office. The child? That baby is not political capital!" Kingsley rushed to get this out before Patti headed downstairs.
He hated this. He had not even asked for this. Remus Lupin had planted this idea into his head, and Fred Weasley had thrown it out there as a joke during Potterwatch broadcasts the previous year. A quiet man, he'd enjoyed his life as a bachelor. These papers, the media, made him into this naked man giving speeches in public. It wouldn't be so bad if he lost, would it? If he backed out, if he conceded to Mr. Fawcett, the country would fall flat in its face, but was that really Kingsley's problem at the end of the day?

He'd run a clean campaign.

"I am good at being an officer. I can get reenlisted into the Auror Department." Kingsley paused when Penelope snatched the paper from his hand and strode over to toss it in the fire.

"No! Look, I'm sure you're great. I've read your case histories, a few of them," she said, pacing in front of the fire. "But you are an extraordinary man, Kingsley, you're the calm in this fire. I'm sure you could help reform the Auror Department from the inside, and that's all for the good ..."

"...but you are extraordinary," said Patti, walking downstairs and tying the strap of her long grey cardigan. She wore her hair in a high ponytail. Sully carried the tray into the kitchen; Grits followed at the house-elf's heels.

"You're off today," said Kingsley, turning to face her.

Patti grabbed her handbag out of the wardrobe. "Step aside, Kingsley. You think some stupid reporters are going to put me on the sidelines? What? You're going to give out that Patricia Strauss is on bedrest with nine weeks left in the campaign?"

It hadn't crossed his mind, but now that she'd said it, Kingsley entertained the idea for a fraction of a second. He hadn't done the math until this moment. When he won this thing, he'd been a new father on or around his first day as the official Minister. Patti, furious at him, turned back to head upstairs.

"Wait," he said. Patti rested her hand on the bannister.

Kingsley would have to work really hard to mess this thing up, and he didn't want to do that, either. Always rather proud of his work, Kingsley put his best foot forward. He wasn't the only one running for office. And this was not about him as much as it was for the community.

"I can't do this alone," he said.

"Nobody does this alone, Kingsley." Patti went back upstairs and came back down with a large plastic container. Shaking his bead, Kingsley grabbed it for her. Chances were, she wasn't going to take another fall, but he erred on the side of caution. She raised her eyebrows, surprised by his overprotective gesture. "I have two hands."

"Who's this?" Kingsley set this box down and went to fetch the second half. He knew it wasn't him because Kingsley simply wasn't this interesting; he probably filled up a couple cardboard boxes, if that. It might've been his competition, but he doubted that.

"Senator Noah Jackson," she said, getting comfortable on the couch.

When she failed to mention her ex-fiancé, or her never was an ex-fiancé was coming over at nine, Kingsley rolled his eyes. An hour later, he answered the door for her and a portly blue-collared man stood there in jeans and a dress shirt. Patti cleared all the campaign merchandise with a casual flick of her wand. They shook hands, though Kingsley had very little to say to the senator.

"You're married?" Noah sat down beside Patti, smiling at her as they hugged. "Minister's wife is better than senator's wife. Don't fall down this time."

Kingsley didn't find this funny.

"Noah, you're in a mess. Why would you sleep with that girl?" asked Patti.

Never one to waste time with a client, Patti got right down to the point. When Noah denied whatever he did before she got the whole story out, Patti dug through a box, trying to find whatever she needed. Noah grinned, looking her up and down, though this was far from the pot calling the kettle black. Kingsley sat in the armchair, not comfortable with leaving the two of them alone together.

Patti handed him a little black book. Noah got quite the chuckle out of this.

"You're a playboy," she said.

He waved it at her, ruffling through its pages as he went down his lover memory lane. "Are you in this, Patti? I want to make sure you're being thorough, and look, yes, you are."

"Not the point," said Patti.

She excused herself to go use the bathroom. Kingsley, severely uncomfortable at this point, wondered if he should invent some excuse about something or another. He'd never actually met Noah Jackson face to face. Noah, a descendant of Josiah Jackson, one of the first leaders in MACUSA, lived a wild life because he carried the right name. As Patti put it, he was a good ol' boy from Massachusetts, and that prized senator's seat had had his name on it. His family had descended from the Salem Witch Trials. He reminded Kingsley of a pig in a wig, really, but this honestly more to do with this man having been a potential suitor for Patti.

"Mr. Jacobs," said Noah warmly, breaking the awkward silence. When he smiled, Kingsley was painfully reminded of the bump in the road earlier that year. The alias confirmed Kingsley's suspicions about the leak. "She's always gone for power. Patti. She's a fine woman."

Kingsley nodded curtly.

"I knew it was you. The way she ended it." Noah flipped through the book. He shrugged and grabbed at the leftover crumpets from breakfast. He started eating, speaking with food in his mouth, which made Kingsley want to look away, but he didn't. He was more concerned with the fact that this fellow was the first American he met. Noah and Patti shared a love of food. "Well, I didn't know it was you, but you're definitely her type, Mr. Shacklebolt. And a war hero!"

Kingsley said nothing. He'd imagined Senator Jackson as his American counterpart, so to speak, and apparently he'd set the expectations too high. How had Patti gone from this man, a pampered political figure head, to him? Back to him? Kingsley had Patti before and he'd let her get away.

He did have one question. Guessing Patti had fallen asleep or something, Kingsley decided he might as well talk with him. "Why did you leave her the bottom of the staircase?"

Noah's face was expressionless; he emptied his voice of emotion and fidgeted with a trinket in his pocket. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, but you do," said Kingsley conversationally, calm as ever. Noah's eyes darted towards the staircase.
Years of interrogating Death Eaters, and petty thieves, and all sorts put him in an interesting position. Kingsley sat back and crossed his legs, acting like he had all the time in the world. He studied the tips of Noah's fingertips and guessed they were black from years of smoking. Nicotine collected there. This man, a glutton, had many vices, and he rotated through them like a Rolodex.

"Do you mind if I step out for a smoke?" The man wanted an exit.

"You may when you leave." Kingsley did not drop the subject when Patti came back downstairs. When she asked when they were talking about, Kingsley smiled invitingly at Noah.

"I had a fundraiser to get to," he said at last, resting the black book is his lap, "and we were arguing for days. What does it matter? It wasn't mine."

"Senator," said Patti, startling Noah as she stopped behind him.

But he didn't know that at the time. Kingsley drummed his fingers on the armchair, taken aback by this man's candor, because he'd expected to hear any other story.

"The child was black," pressed Noah, searching for support where there was none. He'd explained he'd gone to the hospital afterwards to check on Patti, and she was all right. Kingsley hid his emotions behind a mask, and Patti, reading the room, declined to take on Mr. Jackson as a client as she escorted him to the door. "But..."

"Yes, you need... you need to go." Patti closed the door on the senator's face before she slid onto the floor, her face in her hands.

Kingsley got up a few minutes later after he let this sink in. Patti got to her feet and started tossing handfuls of documentation and research into the fire. The house-elf came by and offered to dispose of it, but Patti merely shook her head and burned all the evidence in the file

Kingsley eventually found his voice. "Did you know?"

"Did I know? No. Yes. I don't know." Patti, confused, slid one container into the other. When he turned to face her, she placed her hand on her lower back. "It's funny when you tell someone not to lie to you. The truth isn't a nice thing to hear."

This stood as one of her cardinal rules: her clients never lied to her. If they did, and some of them tried, Patti used her sources and found out one way or another. Kingsley, thinking about his alias, pictured living with her in some small house in Connecticut. He'd never actually been to anywhere else in the United States except for his one failed mission to New York. He probably couldn't point out the state of Connecticut on a map, but he could have given this all up for a quiet life as Mr. Jacobs.

Patti sat on his lap. He switched to drumming his fingers on her knee, imagining toddler running around the place. If only things had been different. "We would've been happy. Our children would've been American, but that's a small price to pay."

"Life happens," she said, shrugging it off. She rolled her eyes at the nationally comment, taking this as a jab at her dual citizenship, and entertaining his fantasy. She kissed him. "What about Mr. Jacobs's wife and two children?"

Kingsley ran his fingers through her soft hair, realizing his invented self could have become a reality. "I should have stayed with you."

"And done what? Locked me inside a padded cell? You saved a man."' Patti sighed when Kingsley mentioned Sirius Black had been murdered by Bellatrix Lestrange. "Yes, but you let him live. I can walk out this door and get hit by a bus and die tomorrow."

"Patti." Kingsley frowned at her. "Don't say such things."

"Sorry," she mumbled. Patti had missed the effects of the Second War, but she'd been stationed here as an Auror for the first one. Kingsley saw death at every corner and had attended enough funerals last summer to last him for a lifetime. "It doesn't seem right, does it? That we're happy."

Kingsley squeezed her hand. "Remus told me that's life."

Patti, lost again, cocked her head like a dog.

"When we were kids. His dad made these peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, and I couldn't have one because, you know, I've got this food allergy."

"No hazelnuts, no almonds. You are missing out on almond milk, my friend."

"Milk comes from cows, not plants. Anyway, that's not the point. Back to my story." Kingsley pretended to be annoyed at her interruption as a smile spread across his face. "Anyway, this five-year-old scrawny kid hands me a half-eaten chocolate bar and says, 'That's life.'"

"Oh, my God. Remus was adorable."

"He really was. Remus probably stole that saying from his dad, but a kid nearly half my age shut me up." Kingsley chuckled, safe enough to tell a dead man's tales. "I used to pick Remus up whenever he got in my way at Lyall's place, and I'd set him down. He'd go on his way. Never shut the hell up."

Kingsley hoped Remus's boy was just like him because he, Kingsley, needed a laugh every once in a while. Patti rested her head on his chest as she stared into the fire.

Time sped up and Election Day approached faster than Kingsley expected. As they waited for the results, he sat up in St. Mungo's with his wife. Although she complained of little pain, Kingsley took her away from the campaign rally. He didn't want to be there because his nerves were fried. When Penelope showed up by Patti's bedside, Kingsley was surprised at her bravery.

Patti, breathing through the pain, waved her hand at the press secretary. "Oh, for the love of God, girl!"

Penelope, taking a nervous step back, muttered something about coming back later. When Patti started screaming and almost breaking Kingsley hand with her death grip, he nodded, letting her go. Penelope probably got updated numbers from the polls every fifteen minutes. When the contraction passed, Kingsley grabbed a couple plastic cups and told a nearby matron he needed to step for a moment.

"Five minutes. Relax. I'll be right outside," he promised Patti. She nodded, laying her head on the pillow. Kingsley went into the corridor and cast a Freezing Charm on both cups, filling them with chipped ice. "How are you holding up?"

Penelope glanced at the closed door. She really wanted Patti. "Do you want the numbers? I mean, they're not bad, and polls closed a few hours ago, so it's ..."

"Not really." Kingsley checked his watch, hearing his wife again when a maternity matron stepped out into the corridor and continued on her way. "I can take you in to speak with Patti if you'd like."

Penelope shook head vehemently. "Is she all right?"

"She's tired. Nearly there. Look, I know you're working really hard on this." Cutting this short, Kingsley glanced at the door apologetically, this damned election the last thing on his mind at the moment. Penelope promised to keep him posted, and he gave her a thumbs-up. After he got the all clear from his work wife, he headed back into the maternity ward.

Patti demanded news, ignoring the matron coaching her through the pains.

"They're counting votes." Kingsley took his spot back after placing one of the cups on the bedside table. When she answered him with a rude hand gesture, clearly saying this wasn't an adequate answer, he grinned at a nearby Healer and fed Patti ice chips.

Hours later, around one o'clock the following morning, Patti held the baby to her chest. Kingsley pulled up a chair and sat down for the first time since the previous afternoon. Forgetting the election, Patti had eyes only for the child, a girl. Penelope edged over, grinning from ear to ear, almost skipping with joy, Kingsley snorted, reminded they'd told each other for ages to expect this outcome. Patti had told him the projections and predictions didn't matter, and the election sometimes took an unexpected turn.

"We have majority!" Penelope shouted the news, and Patti, giggling in spite of herself, shushed her. Penelope lowered her voice, resting her hand on Kingsley's shoulder. "We have the majority of the votes. It's a landslide! He's Minister!"

"That's nice, dear," said Kingsley wearily, barely able to string words together in coherent sentences. He felt sure the reality this would set in soon. He exchanged a look with Patti, sharing a laugh with her. He handed over a roll of parchment. "You want to give my victory speech, Penelope?"

Eager to jump at another challenge, Penelope snatched it out of his hand, beaming. She snuck a peek at the baby when Patti in her arms. She gushed. "Oh, my God. She's precious."

They thanked her together.

Patti called after Penelope when the young woman started down the ward again. "Penelope?"

Penelope backtracked, running off her elation. "Ma'am?"

"You kicked ass today. Stand tall." Patti sighed contentedly when Penelope left the ward punching the air. She laid back after handing the baby off to Kingsley. "That girl's a mess."

"Oh, I don't know," said Kingsley, running his fingers through the sleeping newborn's soft hair, "She kind of reminds me of someone."