A/N: I got asked for two different prompts, one about the kids driving Malc nuts and the other about Clara wanting another baby after the two girls, and this happened. Takes place right about now, February 2019; Sorcha is five and Catriona is two.

The New Minister

Life in the Oswald Household was rarely dull, to say the least.

Every morning, Clara and Malcolm would wake up in one another's arms, getting approximately four and a half minutes of silent cuddling in before being jumped on by both their daughters. With Catriona in a toddler bed, neither girl was bound by the four walls of a cot and they seemingly reminded their parents about it at every turn. Shuffle down the stairs and let the pans make breakfast—how the fuck did anyone ever eat first thing in the morning without magic again? Oh yeah, very poorly, as Malcolm remembered.

After breakfast, everything seemed to move at a breakneck speed with getting cleaned up and dressed until Clara was walking her way into the fireplace and the girls waving goodbye for the day. She gave Malcolm a wink and POOF, was gone in a tongue of green flames.

"Alright Sorchie, time to get to work," he said once the fire dissipated. The little girl glared up at him and pouted.

"I don't wanna do school today!" she argued. "I wanna watch telly and play and ride my broom!"

"The village school is open, so our school is open," Malcolm argued. He put Catriona down on the sofa so that he could pick up Sorcha, hoisting her to his shoulder. Carrying her up the stairs and into the room they set aside for studying, he placed her down in the desk chair by the computer and moved the mouse so that the great desktop behemoth woke from its nightly slumber. "I want to be able to see progress by the time I get back, okay?"

Sorcha didn't answer, instead folding her arms and slumping down in a scowl. Malcolm did not give her tantrum the pleasure of an audience and then left the room, going back down the stairs to Catriona. His younger daughter was hitting the television with one of her stuffed animals, the signal having gone out.

"No, no, we don't do that now," he scolded, plucking the girl up off the floor. If the television was out, then so was the internet, he already knew, thanks to their bizarre position out in the middle of a "former radio-controlled landmine testing ground" (a.k.a.: the varying layers of magical wards surrounding their property) warping all sorts of Muggle-tech signals on occasion. At least they had splurged on Sorcha's schooling program and it was almost all off-line, making it so that the only thing the man needed to worry about was what would ever happen if the entire week of Finals was out of commission.

So far, so good, and let him knock on fucking wood from sunup to sundown to keep it that way.

"Telly's not working right today," he said. "Sorry, but Sooty and Blue Peter have to wait."

"Daddy! Play!" Catriona clung to her father, not allowing him to put her down. "Play please!"

"Not right now; I still gotta do some cleaning around the house."

"Mummy magics?"

"No, Cat, we've been through this," he grumbled. "I do cleaning when Mam's at work because even when she does it with magic it takes effort, and it's not fair for her to cast cleaning spells after work when I've been at home all day." His daughter had now climbed her way to perch on his shoulders, watching contently as she cuddled her stuffed sloth and held onto her father by his hair as he crossed the house to get the vacuum cleaner from the cupboard. "Now, are you going to behave or not?"

"Yes, Daddy." She concentrated hard and the power cord lifted itself off the vacuum and plugged into the wall of its own accord. "Village?"

"No, darling; I'm in joggers. Daddy doesn't go out to the village in joggers."

"Oh." She considered that before sagely nodding. "Watch Peppa DVD at lunch?"

"We'll see."

For Clara Oswald, Director of Communications for the Minister for Magic, it was sometimes a miracle she ever had time to work where she wasn't having a shout at someone. Shacklebolt was out and Granger, of all people, was in as Minister, and even though the former had all but hand-picked the latter for said post, the resulting change of power had devolved into chaos as rumors of sackings and reshuffles made their rounds.

Oswald had not spent almost fifteen extremely competent years at her post for the youngest Minister ever to hold office to cock it all up with her very presence.

"Fuck, I'm going to murder her in a duel at this rate," Clara growled, glancing over papers that had been dropped on her desk not even ten minutes before. Sam clucked her tongue on the other side of the room as she put together tea.

"At least you have comfort knowing that your job isn't based on a political party, and that it would take a disaster for her to sack you," she replied.

"Granger's the one who's a fucking disaster," Clara sniped. "She spearheaded reforms that we really needed, I'll give her that, but now that's all said and done and we're mopping up the remaining mess and she has nothing left to do but come to power and talk about undoing the Statute of Mother Fucking Secrecy in her very first speech! Unscripted!" She looked out her office window to the terraced atrium below—her office was going to turn her grey before her daughters could get the chance.

"You have to admit that she was elected for being unconventional while somehow still being a rule-monger." Sam came over and handed Clara tea. "Met with her yet to do damage control?"

"No—letting her sweat and then come to me is the better option right now. I just want to make sure that the staff doesn't try revolting again and kick off another union panic."

"Just don't let her get to you," Sam shrugged. She took a sip of her own tea and leaned against the window. "Think of it this way: you can say that you have a life outside of work. I don't think Granger's so much as had a quickie since the coalition government ended."

Clara nodded at that; things had been fairly fucked up back then, with a few Muggle staffing changes that made it so the Magical side of things had to reconfigure contact points and more than a few Memory Charms put into action. That was the problem with working so closely with the Muggle government at times, and while it was part of Granger's overall reasoning as to why the Statute should be abolished, it was also likely the only thing that kept the magical community alive and Clara was not about to endanger that.

"Maybe what I need is a holiday," she mused. "A nice long one."

"I hear New Zealand's nice this time of year."

"I meant something longer than that…" Movement caught Clara's eye and she glanced over at the portrait wall—Moody was back. "…and…? How is it?"

"There's been the order to take down certain paintings because the subjects are throwing slurs at Miss Granger, but I'd like to see them try to keep the subjects in-frame while taking them down, let alone get beyond some of the permanent sticking charms." The grizzled old man nodded to himself. "It's rough, and I don't blame her, but she needs to be careful. Vigilance while making her decisions will make it so that she does not foster certain reactions in those still on your side of the paintings and undo all of her prior work."

"Alright; get back to the action and keep me informed," Clara requested. Moody wandered from frame to frame and left the room, the paintings on the wall empty once again. Granger's offices were the ones where everyone had scampered off to, which made their conversation all the more private. "Having him is such a relief."

"Is spying on the Minister via Aurors Past ethical?" Sam wondered.

"Probably not, but it's what needs to be done with the cards I've been dealt." Clara finished her cuppa and allowed the dishes to float back towards the table. "How would you feel about being in charge for a while?"

"How long is a while?"

"Maternity leave." Sam choked on her tea.

"Are you pregnant again?!"

"No, but I am considering it more and more," Clara said. She sat down at her desk and picked up the photo of her husband and daughters, watching as they laughed and smiled and winked at her. "It'd be a change, yeah, but if there's the time to do it, it would be now. I think Malcolm could handle a baby again, not to mention the fact that the kids would all have similar spacing between them."

"Have you talked to Malcolm about it?"

"Not yet."

"You think he might be up to the challenge? I mean, really? I'm amazed he's made it this long as the domestic end of things."

"Who knows? I think I'll bring it up with him tonight." She put the photo back down on her desk and went back to the papers from the Minister's office. "Now if only it wasn't like this was done by a bunch of children, I'd be much happier."

It was nearing dinnertime, with Malcolm cooking while the kitchen suffered through him wandering about yet again. Sorcha was still upstairs, as it was one of her "long days" for school, while Catriona sat in the sitting room playing tea party with some toys. With telecommunications still too fuzzy to work properly, it had been a day of DVDs and blanket forts and attempting to work around a sea of stuffed animals, toddler-sized LEGOs, and toy cars.

"Alright girls! Time to clean up!" Malcolm went into the sitting room and saw that it was devoid of either daughter, the Peppa Pig DVD menu screen on loop. "Catriona…? Girls…? Where are you…?"

Putting down the tea towel on the counter, Malcolm decided to allow the pans to finish up while he searched for his bairns. He looked in the schoolroom and saw that neither of his daughters were there. Their room, nothing; his room, nothing; his and Clara's office, nothing; the bog, nothing; he was almost ready to turn the house upside down before he remembered what Sorcha had asked to do that morning instead of lessons (let alone all during lunch).

Jacket, shoes, and outside he went, searching the garden. Malcolm nearly went back in the house unsuccessful when he heard the high, sweet giggle of his eldest daughter…

…up atop the roof.

"Sorcha!" he shouted, voice cracking. Looking up at the roof, he saw that Catriona was up there as well. "How the fuck did you girls get up there?!"

"Sorcha take Mummy's broom!" Catriona explained cheerily. The only thing that was truly stopping their father from fully panicking was the fact that neither child seemed terrified of the situation they were in. "Daddy join us?"

"Get down here this instant!" Malcolm shouted. "You could get hurt!"

"Okay, Daddy!" Sorcha pouted. She climbed up to where she had left the broom and glanced back towards her sister. "You coming?"

Catriona looked down instead, staring at the inside of the gutter, then their father down on the ground. "Daddy…?"

"I'm not in a good mood, Cat," he warned.

"My head hurts—Mummy broom too magic."

"I don't care if the magical output is giving you a headache. Get down here right now or I will have to come up myself and then you'll be in even more trouble than you could ever imagine."

"Huh, okay," Catriona nodded. She gave it a decent thought, considered her options, and did what any reasonable toddler would consider to be the best and safest option.

She jumped towards Daddy.

As it turned out, Minister Granger had needed Director Oswald's help before the day was out, facilitating the need for several people to stay behind and plan some battle strategies. It wasn't until their shifts entered the thirteenth hour did they call it quits for the night, with the Minister giving a rather sincere apology and bridges mended between her and her enforcer… at least, for the time being.

In a blaze of green Clara found herself at home. The house was a complete mess, with things thrown all higgledy-piggledy, and her very exhausted-seeming husband fast asleep in the middle of it all. A couple flicks of her wand and everything began to right itself and retreat to their correct places. She used her magic to adjust Malcolm, who had been sitting upright—arms over the backrest and head tilted up towards the ceiling—so that he was laying much more comfortably while she reheated her dinner. She finished off the plate in the fridge and quietly tiptoed through the house to check on her daughters. They were both down for the night, asleep just as soundly as their father.

A couple sleepy kisses distributed and Clara began to get ready for bed herself. She put on a nightie before summoning Malcolm's sleeping form watching him float in effortlessly due to her own magic. Once he was settled on the bed, she leaned into him, waking him up as her body touched his.

"Whoa, fuck, what happened?!" He sat up and looked down at Clara, who seemed to be put-out. "Please tell me I just dreamt all of that."

"Dreamt all of what?"

"That I just had the evening from fucking Hell," he said. When she did not answer, he decided to elaborate. "I spanked both the girls and their magic went fucking psychotic."

"Now the mess I came home to makes more sense," she shrugged. He groaned in frustration and laid back down, glad for her touch. There hadn't been much either of their daughters had done that would have required something as serious as reminding them why they had the fear of a spanking, which made Clara all the more curious. "They didn't look like they had been crying when I checked in on them—what happened?"

"Sorcha took Catriona on your broom and went flying around the yard," he explained. "By the time I found them, they were on the roof."

Clara tensed, her brown eyes going wider than usual. "The roof?!"

"…and Cat jumped off it."

"WHAT?!"

Malcolm ran his hands over his face, tears forming at his eyes; if only it had been a fucking dream.

"She floated down into my arms like a damn feather, but that shit took ten years off my life alone," he admitted. "A shout, a wee whack each, dinner, and straight to bed; that was when everything turned into fucking Poltergeist in the sitting room."

"Fuck." She allowed her body to relax as she rested her head on her husband's shoulder. Her hand found his chest and his arm rested along her shoulders. "I really should've been there; they wouldn't've done that if I was around..."

"No, don't think like that."

"It's true though—Cat wouldn't've done that if I was here, nor would Sorcha had pulled that stunt." They were silent for a while, with her contemplating her idea from earlier. "Malcolm?"

"Clara…?"

"I think I'm going to stay home for a while, take a bit off work, straighten things up around here."

"No, don't—it's fine," he insisted. He held his wife tighter, kissing the top of her head. "Blood magic means they can't kill me yet, so don't leave your job on our account. Kids are supposed to scare the shit out of their parents, yeah?"

"It wasn't…" She exhaled heavily and shifted so that she was propped up by her elbow, looking down into her husband's eyes. "I was talking to Sam earlier and… I was thinking about maybe having another baby… that is, if you thought you could handle one more…"

The room was silent, the only noises being that of their breathing and the rain beginning to beat on the windowpane. Entire minutes passed before either one of them said anything.

"Do you really want another one?" he wondered. "I'm not the one who would be putting their body through that again."

"…but you would be more involved than me in the day-to-day care." She paused as he placed some of her hair behind her ear. "Would you want me to have another baby?"

"I want you to do as you see fit and not worry about me; I'll manage." He then turned his attention towards the door to their bedroom and sighed. "What is it, kiddo?" Clara looked and saw Catriona making her way to their bed, crawling in with them so as to nestle between her parents.

"Scary," she said, pointing at the window. "Scary noise." The wind was starting to pick up, and it likely woke her, her parents surmised.

"Then you stay here with Mummy and Daddy, alright?" Clara said, kissing her daughter on the brow. She laid down and kept Malcolm's gaze from across the pillows. "I hear you and Sorcha were bad for Daddy today."

"Little bit." The girl snuggled into her mother's chest, feeling safer with both parents surrounding her. "I sorry."

"Enough of that; go to sleep," Malcolm murmured. He stroked Catriona's hair and leaned forward to land a light kiss on Clara's lips. "Tomorrow is a new day."

"Will you think about it?" Clara asked.

"We have enough," he replied. "Whatever number you would have decided on would have been enough from the moment we got married. Too late for less, but what we have now is good, and more would be welcome."

"Are you sure?"

"If it's what you want, I won't fucking argue."

They were the best words she had heard all day.

The following morning was damp and dreary outside, but inside Raven's Rook it was bright and cheerful, as Mummy and her girls laughed at Daddy as he cussed up a storm at the kitchenware that refused to cooperate, making the wait for waffles definitely worth it. A smile stayed on Mummy's lips until she stepped through the Floo Network into a panicking Ministry of Magic, because someone had suggested to Minister Granger that she Confundus Theresa May and she was actively considering it.

With that, thoughts of having another child went directly out the window. Why have another child for home when she had plenty of them right at work to coddle? She assured Sam things were going to be alright and mentally rolled up her sleeves—just because the Muggle government was cocking up in a deadlock didn't mean that it was Granger's place to fix it.

Time to get to work.