Chapter Fifteen:
Past and Future
London, 2025
***
A small fire-grate sprang to life on the desk of the Minister of Magic. The face of a plump, gray-haired witch appeared in the flames.
"Minister," the talking head said, "the Deputy Minister is here."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wormwood. Please send her in."
Mrs. Wormwood's face vanished, followed by the flames. The door opened to admit a witch of early middle years with shoulder-length brown hair.
"Arthur," she said, seating herself without formality. "What can I do for you?"
"I need an opinion," Arthur Weasley said, standing and looking around casually. The fringe of hair surrounding his bald pate was now almost completely white, and (much to his wife's dismay) fell well below his shoulders, swaying as he turned about.
Arthur paused, and the Deputy Minister waited patiently. She was accustomed to the Minister's long intervals between discourses.
"I"ve been thinking," Arthur continued as if no time at all had elapsed, "that this office could stand a bit of redecorating. What do you think, Hermione?"
"I've thought so for a long time," Hermione replied. "I've sent you a few memos on the subject, as I recall."
"So you have," Arthur nodded genially, "so you have." He stood surveying his desk, which was almost completely covered with framed photos of the Weasley children -- six sons and a daughter -- with their respective families. As his eyes roamed over this forest of smiling faces (all of them moving and/or waving), they settled on one in particular.
There was a definite schism between the males and females in this photo. The twin boys were tall and red-haired, freckled and blue-eyed, like their father. But the daughter sported a head of bushy brown hair identical to her mother's. They differed only in their eyes. The mother's eyes were a rich coffee color, while the daughter's were the clear green of polished emeralds.
Hermione cleared her throat, and Arthur's head snapped up.
"Oh, yes, um...well...where were we? Ah, yes -- redecorating. So, um, Hermione, I'd like you to make up a lst of recommendations. Get some cost estimates, all that sort of thing. All in triplicate, of course."
"Of course," she nodded, smiling. However different the wizarding world was from the Muggle world, certain aspects of civilization remained constant. "When would you like the figures?"
"Mm?" Arthur said in a distracted way. "Oh, they're not for me, luv -- they're for you."
"For me?" Hermione's eyes widened in confusion.
"Of course," Arthur said. "I mean, as you'll be taking over the office next month, I'm sure you'll want everything, shall we say, up to speed?"
"I'll be -- " Hermione bolted up.
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Arthur said with a sly grin. "I'm retiring next month. Got loads of grandkids haven't seen their old granddad in ages. Not getting any younger, am I? No, no, time to move on. Priorities, you know."
"B-but -- how -- " Hermione stammered, her hands clasping and unclasping. "I -- I mean -- doesn't the board have to vote -- "
"Already voted, didn't they?" Arthur said, his eyes twinkling. "Nearly unanimous. Only one dissenting vote, actually -- Lucius Malfoy -- well -- less said of him the better, what?"
Hermione stood motionless, her eyes nearly as large as those of a house-elf. Arthur leveled an impish stare at her.
"You do want the position? Well, I can understand. Load of headaches, isn't it? Ah, well..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if Percy would be interested? I'll have Mrs. Wormwood draw up a letter straightway." He reached a leisurely hand toward the fire-com.
Hermione dashed around the desk and threw her arms around Arthur's neck.
"Oh, Arthur, thank you..."
Arthur snorted with an exaggerated lift of his head.
"Thank me when you're waist-deep in ruddy forms waiting to be read and signed," he grunted. "Or the next time it all goes sour and they're crying for someone's head in a noose.
"You earned it, luv, and no two ways about it. Ask me, the Ministry could do with a bit of new blood all around. For two Knuts I'd sack the lot and let you start over from square one. All except Mrs. Wormwood. Don't tell her I said so, but she does most of the real work around here. Dumbledore told me when he stepped down that, in his opinion, she's the real Minister of Magic. She'll see you don't go wrong."
"Does Ron know?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes.
"Not bloody likely," Arthur said with amusement. "Told him I was staying until next year. 'Bout had my head for a ruddy Quaffle, he did. Well, you can set him straight tonight, can't you?
"Oh, before I forget -- "
Arthur opened a drawer and dipped his hand inside, his brow wrinkling with concentration. Then his face brightened and he withdrew something and handed it to Hermione.
It was a long, wedge-shaped piece of wood to which was tacked a gleaming brass plate. Hand-etched letters proclaimed:
HERMIONE WEASLEY
MINISTER OF MAGIC
Hermione touched the engraved letters gingerly, as if she might erase them and thus undo everything.
"It looks Muggle-made," she observed.
"Well spotted," Arthur smiled. "Had it made up last week, same place as mine." He nodded toward the cluttered desk, at the forward edge of which sat the counterpart to Hermione's plaque. "Little souvenir shop on the Muggle side of Diagon Alley. I placed a Memory Charm on the proprietor, of course. Not strictly according to the rules, but being Minister has its advantages, eh?"
Hermione sat on the edge of the desk, cradling her name plate in her hands. Her eyelids fell, and Arthur stepped away, his hand coming to rest on the window sill.
"I wish..." Hermione said softly, then stopped herself.
Arthur, who had been looking out the window, swiveled his eyes toward Hermione.
"You wish what, luv?"
She hesitated. "I was just..." Again she stopped herself.
"You were thinking about Harry."
Hermione nodded slowly, her half-closed eyes misting with the hint of tears.
"He...he always told me I'd be Minister someday. I just laughed at him and told him to stop...to stop being silly."
"Who's laughing now, eh?"
Hermione looked up tentatively, as if ashamed of her words. But Arthur's smile was warm and tender.
Though she had been married to his youngest son for more than twenty years, neither Arthur nor any other Weasley begrudged Hermione the memory of her first husband, the love of her youth, taken far too soon, from her and from the wizarding world.
"I wish..." she said softly, her eyes distant, "...I wish Harry could see me now."
Arthur, standing at the window, looked down now at the Garden of Heroes, the Ministry's most honored cemetery. He knew exactly where to look to pinpoint Harry's stone.
"What makes you think he can't?"
Hermione clutched her name plate to her bosom as her tears came in rivers. But the eyes behind those tears were glowing.
***
Author's Note: With apologies to all the R/Hr shippers out there, Harry/Hermione is still the only "Love Boat" in my ocean. Hence, the above reminder that Harry will never truly be gone, neither from Hermione's heart nor from the wizarding world.
One last epilogue chapter remains before the final curtain. You are all invited to attend. And to all who stuck around this long, thanks.
Past and Future
London, 2025
A small fire-grate sprang to life on the desk of the Minister of Magic. The face of a plump, gray-haired witch appeared in the flames.
"Minister," the talking head said, "the Deputy Minister is here."
"Thank you, Mrs. Wormwood. Please send her in."
Mrs. Wormwood's face vanished, followed by the flames. The door opened to admit a witch of early middle years with shoulder-length brown hair.
"Arthur," she said, seating herself without formality. "What can I do for you?"
"I need an opinion," Arthur Weasley said, standing and looking around casually. The fringe of hair surrounding his bald pate was now almost completely white, and (much to his wife's dismay) fell well below his shoulders, swaying as he turned about.
Arthur paused, and the Deputy Minister waited patiently. She was accustomed to the Minister's long intervals between discourses.
"I"ve been thinking," Arthur continued as if no time at all had elapsed, "that this office could stand a bit of redecorating. What do you think, Hermione?"
"I've thought so for a long time," Hermione replied. "I've sent you a few memos on the subject, as I recall."
"So you have," Arthur nodded genially, "so you have." He stood surveying his desk, which was almost completely covered with framed photos of the Weasley children -- six sons and a daughter -- with their respective families. As his eyes roamed over this forest of smiling faces (all of them moving and/or waving), they settled on one in particular.
There was a definite schism between the males and females in this photo. The twin boys were tall and red-haired, freckled and blue-eyed, like their father. But the daughter sported a head of bushy brown hair identical to her mother's. They differed only in their eyes. The mother's eyes were a rich coffee color, while the daughter's were the clear green of polished emeralds.
Hermione cleared her throat, and Arthur's head snapped up.
"Oh, yes, um...well...where were we? Ah, yes -- redecorating. So, um, Hermione, I'd like you to make up a lst of recommendations. Get some cost estimates, all that sort of thing. All in triplicate, of course."
"Of course," she nodded, smiling. However different the wizarding world was from the Muggle world, certain aspects of civilization remained constant. "When would you like the figures?"
"Mm?" Arthur said in a distracted way. "Oh, they're not for me, luv -- they're for you."
"For me?" Hermione's eyes widened in confusion.
"Of course," Arthur said. "I mean, as you'll be taking over the office next month, I'm sure you'll want everything, shall we say, up to speed?"
"I'll be -- " Hermione bolted up.
"Oh, didn't I tell you?" Arthur said with a sly grin. "I'm retiring next month. Got loads of grandkids haven't seen their old granddad in ages. Not getting any younger, am I? No, no, time to move on. Priorities, you know."
"B-but -- how -- " Hermione stammered, her hands clasping and unclasping. "I -- I mean -- doesn't the board have to vote -- "
"Already voted, didn't they?" Arthur said, his eyes twinkling. "Nearly unanimous. Only one dissenting vote, actually -- Lucius Malfoy -- well -- less said of him the better, what?"
Hermione stood motionless, her eyes nearly as large as those of a house-elf. Arthur leveled an impish stare at her.
"You do want the position? Well, I can understand. Load of headaches, isn't it? Ah, well..." He scratched his chin thoughtfully. "I wonder if Percy would be interested? I'll have Mrs. Wormwood draw up a letter straightway." He reached a leisurely hand toward the fire-com.
Hermione dashed around the desk and threw her arms around Arthur's neck.
"Oh, Arthur, thank you..."
Arthur snorted with an exaggerated lift of his head.
"Thank me when you're waist-deep in ruddy forms waiting to be read and signed," he grunted. "Or the next time it all goes sour and they're crying for someone's head in a noose.
"You earned it, luv, and no two ways about it. Ask me, the Ministry could do with a bit of new blood all around. For two Knuts I'd sack the lot and let you start over from square one. All except Mrs. Wormwood. Don't tell her I said so, but she does most of the real work around here. Dumbledore told me when he stepped down that, in his opinion, she's the real Minister of Magic. She'll see you don't go wrong."
"Does Ron know?" Hermione asked, wiping her eyes.
"Not bloody likely," Arthur said with amusement. "Told him I was staying until next year. 'Bout had my head for a ruddy Quaffle, he did. Well, you can set him straight tonight, can't you?
"Oh, before I forget -- "
Arthur opened a drawer and dipped his hand inside, his brow wrinkling with concentration. Then his face brightened and he withdrew something and handed it to Hermione.
It was a long, wedge-shaped piece of wood to which was tacked a gleaming brass plate. Hand-etched letters proclaimed:
Hermione touched the engraved letters gingerly, as if she might erase them and thus undo everything.
"It looks Muggle-made," she observed.
"Well spotted," Arthur smiled. "Had it made up last week, same place as mine." He nodded toward the cluttered desk, at the forward edge of which sat the counterpart to Hermione's plaque. "Little souvenir shop on the Muggle side of Diagon Alley. I placed a Memory Charm on the proprietor, of course. Not strictly according to the rules, but being Minister has its advantages, eh?"
Hermione sat on the edge of the desk, cradling her name plate in her hands. Her eyelids fell, and Arthur stepped away, his hand coming to rest on the window sill.
"I wish..." Hermione said softly, then stopped herself.
Arthur, who had been looking out the window, swiveled his eyes toward Hermione.
"You wish what, luv?"
She hesitated. "I was just..." Again she stopped herself.
"You were thinking about Harry."
Hermione nodded slowly, her half-closed eyes misting with the hint of tears.
"He...he always told me I'd be Minister someday. I just laughed at him and told him to stop...to stop being silly."
"Who's laughing now, eh?"
Hermione looked up tentatively, as if ashamed of her words. But Arthur's smile was warm and tender.
Though she had been married to his youngest son for more than twenty years, neither Arthur nor any other Weasley begrudged Hermione the memory of her first husband, the love of her youth, taken far too soon, from her and from the wizarding world.
"I wish..." she said softly, her eyes distant, "...I wish Harry could see me now."
Arthur, standing at the window, looked down now at the Garden of Heroes, the Ministry's most honored cemetery. He knew exactly where to look to pinpoint Harry's stone.
"What makes you think he can't?"
Hermione clutched her name plate to her bosom as her tears came in rivers. But the eyes behind those tears were glowing.
Author's Note: With apologies to all the R/Hr shippers out there, Harry/Hermione is still the only "Love Boat" in my ocean. Hence, the above reminder that Harry will never truly be gone, neither from Hermione's heart nor from the wizarding world.
One last epilogue chapter remains before the final curtain. You are all invited to attend. And to all who stuck around this long, thanks.