Bold declarations were great as slogans. Hermione heard her own words echo as Ron and Dean left. Because she could. She didn't need to justify it, just fix the problem and try to help society. She could print t-shirts to rally people to the cause with her bold shiny declaration. Unfortunately, slogans needed to have substance behind them. Substance that fell to her to provide. The onset of existential angst didn't begin until she Apparated to London to negotiate with Kenelm Marchbanks, the British Minister of Magic.
The goblins had to go through official channels. There was more than enough bad blood between Gringotts and the Ministry to bog efforts at cooperation without the new rancour of the defaulting loans. Having the Minister authorise wholesale seizure of vaults, superseding the goblins' authority, was one more slap in the face. Ulrik had told her privately that the bank had already informed Marchbanks there would be no more extension of credit. He had not taken it well.
Hermione didn't have to go through official channels.
Reg Cattermole had been a sympathetic ear during her time at the DRCMC and he was keen to avoid being shouted at by disgruntled people. The troubles in the Ministry were stretching everyone's nerves. Bitching at the maintenance staff was almost traditional, and they were fed up with it. He could get her into the building discretely as well as provide an impromptu meeting with Minister Marchbanks via a malfunctioning elevator.
Waiting for the right moment gave her plenty of time to fret about her proposal and make contingency plans. Hermione had discussed her trip with Andromeda, thankful for pointers on how to manipulate Marchbanks into listening to her. Conspiracies and backroom deals weren't her forté. However, she had already tried making an appointment, lodging suggestions, waiting patiently, and storming into meetings. That had got her at first patted on the head then latterly tersely removed.
The new strategy of being surreptitiously reasonable, so very reasonable, made Hermione feel diabolic. She would much rather lay out her offer honestly to get a show of hands. Unfortunately, Marchbanks and Shafiq had the Ministry in such a whirl of politicking that everyone was stepping on everyone else's fingers while blaming their underlings.
At Reg's nod, Hermione stepped out from an alcove on the second floor and slipped into the elevator occupied by a very well dressed wizard. The grill clicked shut then lurched before retracting quickly into one of the endless conduits. She counted under her breath, smiling as the elevator juddered to a halt on '4'. The man beside her straightened his cravat in irritation before tapping the roof with his wand. Nothing happened.
Hermione turned and dropped her disguise. Marchbanks's purposeful but pleasant expression didn't shift. He could be exceptionally charming when he tried and he worked as hard as any of his employees. He was however a traditionalist. While he had never said anything directly, Harry, Ron, and herself had felt his disapproval of their fame. Heroes were laudable when needed but they weren't needed any longer.
"Miss Granger." Kenelm braced himself for an impassioned speech on the rights of criminals. There would doubtless be many correctly cited points from Muggle law and the Ministry's own archives. She should have an escort as she was no longer an employee. He would have to express his displeasure to Security at next opportunity. This was hardly the first time she had been allowed to flout the rules. "I trust you are having a productive day."
"The Ministry is tens of millions of Galleons in debt that you are struggling to repay." Hermione went right for the jugular as she didn't have much time. Reg couldn't hold the elevator for long without implicating himself in this trick, which she wanted to avoid. "I can help you refinance." She handed him a dossier. "Please consider my suggestions."
"I am not interested in pie in the sky, Miss Granger." Kenelm didn't have much of a temper, a blessing in politics, so he didn't snap at the girl. "Kindly allow the wizards and witches who are properly qualified deal with any alleged budget shortfall." He took the dossier as it seemed arrogant to vanish it, and he wanted to know how she had discovered the amount she had mentioned. "You are not in a position to assist. Quite literally at the moment as I believe as after your resignation, you are without a position at all."
"With respect, Minister, this isn't about me. This is about the citizens of magical Britain, who have earned some peace and security." She paraphrased one of his own speeches. His eyes narrowed just enough that she noticed. Hermione didn't smile. She didn't want to gloat and he likely thought she was being snide rather than showing she had been paying attention. "I can help, without expectation of favour or preferment."
"I will consider your words." The Minister said magnanimously as the elevator shuddered, moving again. "Is there anything else?"
"I have no plans to go public with what I know. I understand what sort of panic that would cause." Hermione tried to sound mild and compliant. She honestly did want to work with Marchbanks quietly. Making a big noise about decades of financial mismanagement wouldn't fix the problem. It would very probably make it worse. "If you wish to discuss this matter with me, I will be at Mrs Tonks's cottage. Thank you for your time."
When the elevator jerked to a halt and the grill opened, Hermione made a hasty retreat. She was hoping the Minister would read the dossier then agree to her assistance. There was plenty of scope for modification and she would be entirely prepared to keep her mouth shut long-term about the restructuring if he demanded it.
Hermione left the Ministry and Apparated back to France. She arrived on the grassy verge at the base of the hill behind the cottage, an awkward piece of ground too much trouble to flatten and not picturesque enough to plant. Standing there staring as the clouds drifted uncaring above, the witch couldn't shake her disquietude.
She wasn't much given to random anxiety. She worked hard in order to reassure herself she had done everything she could. And her opinion of Divination was well known. So ominous portents of doom could go hang. Hermione acknowledged she had a bad feeling then analysed it. What was bothering her? What had she missed? She'd been over and over her proposal, wanting it to be perfect. So, what was the problem?
Marchbanks hadn't asked where she got the money.
Was that an alarm bell? Should she be concerned? He hadn't asked much of anything. Hermione mulled over the meeting as she walked to the cottage. She didn't want to be paranoid. But. The Minister was in a very awkward position. He needed to make hard choices and assuming he was unwilling to fall on his sword, he needed to find someone to blame. There were plenty of political rivals he could point to and of course his predecessors were fair game.
Marchbanks wasn't stupid and he wasn't grateful. Hermione hoped his dislike of the feted heroes wouldn't blind him to the need to accept her help. She was more than prepared to be a silent partner in salvaging the Ministry. Would he believe her assurance of silence? Maybe, depending on how bad the skulduggery was behind the scenes. The Minister might believe he was being set up for a fall.
She had kept the information in the dossier impersonal. Charts, projections and an outline of a repayment plan for each Department. The goblins had been invaluable with the numbers but they were aware several Department Heads and Deputy Heads had borrowed from outside sources to keep out of the red. Several Death Eaters had received harsher-than-average sentences solely because people owed them money. You didn't have to repay a prisoner.
Andromeda was in the garden with Teddy, who was helping his grandmother weed by grabbing handfuls of every plant. His hands were stained green, the nasturtiums looked battered, and Mrs Tonks was smiling. Her expression became more wooden as Hermione shared her misgivings about her meeting with the Minister.
"Whatever he does, it won't be today." Andromeda spoke once the younger witch had run down. "The Marchbanks don't jump into anything. He'll read your dossier then do some snooping." She considered what she knew of Kenelm; a plodder and a political animal. His family were shrewd but conservative. "He may decide to go quietly."
"I was hoping to keep the status quo. People were panicky when Kingsley died. I got owls from other Muggle-borns asking me if I thought they should get out of the country, just in case." Hermione crouched to point out a dandelion to Teddy. He pulled it up then offered it to her gallantly. "Thank you, kind sir." She nipped off the root, handy for potions, before tucking the flower behind her ear. "I've been so busy with the goblins, I don't know what's going on at the Ministry. His reaction seemed off, somehow."
"It may be time for Plan B." Personally, Andromeda wanted to avoid dramatic gestures. She wanted her grandson safe, her sister healthy, and her nephew and his friend happy. Hermione wasn't just a guest, she was a co-conspirator. Their Plan A was to quietly defy the Ministry. Plan B was much louder.
"I would rather Marchbanks took my advice. I worked really hard on those spreadsheets." She grumbled, not swearing because Teddy repeated everything he heard. Hermione watched the little boy play in the dirt. He looked to be having a lovely time. The nasturtiums would probably recover. "I'll go run some errands in case you're right. We may have to leave in a hurry."
Because her sister had endured enough surprises in her life, Andromeda broached the subject of Plan B with Narcissa while the boys had their nap. What Draco and Theo might've been doing in Draco's room to make themselves tired, neither witch felt the need to comment upon. The youngest Black daughter made no comment at all, merely nodding wearily before retiring to her own bed while her sister checked the emergency trunk. Just in case.
Hermione came back after seven o'clock with six French National identity cards, a lead box, a silver 2001 Renault minivan with heavily tinted windows, and a suitcase full of cash. She felt like a villain in an action movie and laughed out loud when she found Draco and Theo watching GoldenEye. The wizards made room for her on the cushions they'd scattered on the floor.
While Hermione had spent most of her time post-war working, she had not neglected her social life. She had flirted in bars, had danced in too-loud clubs chosen by Ginny who liked any music so long as it roared, and snogged in discrete nooks on occasion. So she had a fairly good sense for when she was being seduced.
Theo was on her right side with his back against the bed. His arm went casually behind her, his hand on her shoulder plausibly companionable. Draco had been propped up on his elbow when she had joined them, which was evidently no longer comfortable as he had re-arranged his cushions. One now rested against her leg with his hand brushing her knee.
That phase lasted until James Bond regained consciousness in the helicopter. Theo started playing with her hair and Draco shifted onto his back, his head pillowed on her thigh. Hermione settled quite comfortably in their closeness. She kept her eyes on the screen until Draco rolled onto his side facing her and looked up at her as Theo's hand slid across her shoulder to the collar of her shirt, his fingers caressing her neck.
"Draco and I have been talking." Theo whispered in Granger's ear. She'd worn perfume today. A hint of a light floral scent lingered. "About power and self-respect."
"And sex." Draco added, reaching out to smooth his fingertips over her blouse. Silk or some Muggle fabric that felt like silk. He rubbed his way across her stomach to toy with the buttons, stopping when she caught his hand.
"I don't want to take advantage." Hermione said firmly. She didn't move, didn't push them away but neither did she reach for them.
"We know." Theo nipped her earlobe, grinning at her frisson tremble in response. Draco slid his hand out of her grasp and began untucking her shirt. "We want to take advantage of you."
"I thought you wanted each other." James Bond wasn't nearly as much of a chaperone as he should have been. Hermione thought about the beach, about her pleasure at their not-quite-hidden admiration, at her enjoyment of their company. Getting to know them as young men in a way she couldn't with Ron or Neville or Dean. She didn't have to explain her scars to the Slytherins. Or compare wounds in a peculiarly Gryffindor competitive way, to reassure both parties they'd done enough.
"We do." Theo spoke as Draco pushed her blouse up to kiss her bare skin. "Very much." He smiled, recalling a pleasant afternoon exploring the blond's body. They had taken their time, anticipating their own nervous rapidity and had reacquainted themselves with pleasure. "We want you too."
"I can't." Hermione shook her head gently. "Not while you're suppressed. You need to be free to choose, and I don't want to be a witch of convenience."
"I said you would say that." A measure of smugness twisted Theo's smile into a smirk. Draco continued to kiss, unbuttoning when her shirt became a barrier. "Which is why we are telling you this way. Showing you who is in charge." He pulled her towards him, his hands twining in her hair. "The bond is mutual. You are here for us."
Theo kissed her, smearing the careful paint on her mouth then leaned back to allow Draco his taste. The blond sat up to join his lover in tormenting the witch. They had planned this, discussed what they wanted to say, how far they wanted to go, how much they thought they could get away with before she took herself from them.
"We want you." Draco said softly, his lips brushing hers. He held one of her hands, Theo taking the other before they closed the circle. Somewhere behind him the Muggle Secret Agent exploded something. That seemed to happen a lot. "With us."
"You will change your mind when you're free." Hermione said hoarsely, telling herself it wouldn't sting so much, that it wouldn't be personal when they left for greener pastures. She didn't want to cage them and whatever idle fancies she might have born of proximity and compassion, she had to be able to look at herself in the mirror.
"Possibly." Theo averred. He and Draco had talked about that too. They had to go out into the world if only to say they had done so. "Which is why we are informing you now, so you know." He squeezed her hand then released her. "We wanted to make sure you would remember this conversation." He met her stunned look with a serpentine smile. "I believe that is the summons for dinner."
The wizards rose and with the composure got by an afternoon's thorough debauchery, climbed down the attic ladder to sate a publicly appropriate hunger. They were out of sight by the time Hermione had regained command of her limbs. She glared at her shaking hands as she buttoned her shirt. Well. Her brain roused itself from a pink fog slowly. Well, damn.