Author's Notes: As always, my response to you reviewer-types is in…that's right! The reviews! Thanks again to all the loyal readers/reviewers, and to Ariana for the idea – I'll sneak you, or a character partly inspired by you and your Skittles-loving ways, into the story yet! ^_~ Thanks again, Ari.

***

Two years ago he was an unknown, simply a pawn in political chess. A year later, and the Pureblood elite began to whisper his name during their distinguished banquets and social gatherings. In January, he became confident. February, arrogant. By March, many had joined him. Come April, his words were being printed in the papers. May; their numbers grew. June; his grip on the Ministry tightened. In July he became an election candidate. In August he became a celebrity. By September, every witch and wizard in the world knew his name.

Now it was October, and the wizarding world was divided – those who loved him, and those who hated him. There were those who supported him, and those who supported Crump.

Only a few more months' time, and it would be Ministry elections. Who knew what power he would have by then?

Dameon Stark had every reason to smirk.

***

Professor Weasley strode purposefully into the staff room, slamming the door with a bang in order to announce his presence. Classes had just ended, so most of the Hogwarts staff had convened in the small, but comfortable staff room for their end-of-the-day caffeine fix. The Professors assembled jumped slightly as the door slammed shut, and turned to glare at the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.

"Must you always do zat?" Professor Bouchard asked disdainfully, gingerly stirring his coffee in a precise, clockwise direction. In response, Ron strolled behind him whistling, and made sure to kick one of the legs of his chair. Bouchard's hand jerked to the side and he sighed in frustration, pushing the cup away. "Now it eez tainted," he said sourly, casting dark looks at Ron.

"It's not a bloody potion, you know," Ron pointed out, plopping down next to Hermione and dumping a stack of essays on the table. The tower of parchment teetered and fell, spilling onto the paper Hermione was marking. Not even looking up, she pushed Ron's work aside. "If you accidentally stir it in a counter-clockwise direction, you're not going to sprout another head when you drink it."

"Ah, but zere is where you are wrong," the Potions Master replied softly, a strange gleam in his eyes. "Every liquid, every drink…anything that touches your lips eez a potion." He sighed melodramatically. Ron stared, and then turned to Hermione.

"Hi, Hermione!" he said loudly and cheerfully, ignoring the overdramatic Potions Master. Bouchard muttered something in French and went to get himself another coffee.

Hermione didn't seem to be listening, lost in the world of what was, evidently, a fascinating essay entitled Magical Properties of the Number Seven. With a strange sort of quill that was stubby and secreted thick red ink, she was correcting the student's punctuation, or lack thereof, and murmuring to herself.

"Comma…comma…period…capital…to, not too…argh!" Hermione pushed the paper away, brushing a frizzy piece of hair out of her eyes. "Where did these children go to school before they came here? Their teachers should be sued, and then possibly thrown in Azkaban."

"Most wizard kids don't go to school before they come to Hogwarts," Ron said conversationally, snatching away the weird red quill and examining it.

"Then how do they learn the basics?" Hermione asked, bewildered. "Grammar, spelling, addition, subtraction…?"

Ron shrugged, trying out the red quill on one of his papers to be marked. "They're all home schooled. Or, in my case, I just picked it up from Fred and George."

"You're joking."

"I'm not."

"Fred knows how to add?"

Ron snorted and returned Hermione's quill, chuckling. She looked rather pleased with herself, and smiled as she returned to her papers. Ron loved watching her work; the look of intense concentration on her face, the way her brown eyes darted back and forth, reading at a speed Ron could never manage, and the way she unconsciously bit her bottom lip when she made a correction. Her sun-kissed look from their summer vacation had all but faded, and all that remained were a few barely noticeable freckles, scattered across the bridge of her nose. She seemed to have given up on her hair this morning, which was piled unceremoniously on top of her head somehow, little wisps of hair coming loose every so often. By most people's standards, Hermione wasn't gorgeous or stunning – pretty, maybe, and even more so when she bothered to do her hair or put on makeup like other women – but in Ron's eyes, she was beautiful. And he told her so from time to time; usually in a light-hearted or joking way, which was the only way Ron knew how, but he hoped she knew he meant it.

Hermione used to feel uncomfortable when he'd study her like this. At school, she thought he did it just to annoy her, and at some times, got incredibly angry at him. Hermione was the smartest person he knew, but when it came to certain things, she was completely oblivious. Then again, he had been too - oblivious to his own feelings.

It had begun as a brotherly sort of affection; he had had these instincts to defend her, to keep her safe. Then it had developed into something different, something strong – jealousy at the Yule Ball, and a fiery sort of feeling that took over when they fought. Then, when it was all said and done, and Hermione would stomp away to the library, or her dormitory, or to class, she started leaving an empty feeling in her wake, a funny sensation in his stomach.

He'd catch himself watching her, studying her, trying to sort through the muddled mess that was his confused teenage mind, crippled by hormones and feelings he couldn't explain or control. They infuriated and boggled him, all at the same time. It took him two years to sort out his feelings; another two before he dared confess them to her. The war against Voldemort, the desperateness of the time – it had made him feel a sort of finality, a now or never. And then when he'd finally blurted it out, when he'd finally kissed her, everything had seemed so right, so perfect - only to be destroyed that same night. After that night, he'd had to suffer through seven years without Hermione, without seeing her face or hearing her laugh – hell, he even missed her lectures and arguing with her. He still would study her, only it was in his dreams. As the years progressed, her face became foggier and blurrier, and he became frustrated that he couldn't see her properly. Ron remembered with a wry smile that even in his dreams Hermione would become annoyed with his constant staring.

But now she was too absorbed to notice, and he could study her to his heart's content. He smiled as a bit of hair fell back into her eyes again. Still in a dream-like reverie, Ron reached out to gently brush it out of her face. But instead Hermione jerked her head backwards, giving him a meaningful look and snapping him out of his trance. Ron sighed, nodding half-heartedly, then tore his eyes away from her and took out his quill to begin marking his own essays.

He ended up making a long, scraggly line with his quill as the door burst open and slammed shut, making everyone jump yet again. "Hey now," Ron said disapprovingly to the culprit - Professor Roberts, the young Muggle Studies teacher. "There's no need to slam the door like that."

"There's a debate," Arden Roberts explained breathlessly, "between Crump and Stark, on T.V., right now!"

Professor McGonagall looked up from her tea, surprised, and pursed her lips. "I was not aware that there was a debate today."

Roberts shrugged. "Quick, someone put it on! Professor Flitwick?"

The tiny Charms professor rolled up his sleeves and stood on his chair as everyone else hurriedly cleared the circular table in the staff room. Ron pushed his chair back and watched inquisitively as Professor Flitwick cleared his throat.

"Tella Visionus," Flitwick said with flourish and much complicated waving of his wand.

Ron stared on in amazement as shapes and figures began to blossom from Flitwick's wand. He had never actually seen the complex Tella Visionus spell performed, preferring to read the news in the paper. However, the recently developed spell, more commonly known as "T.V." amongst wizards (who always had an ironic sense of humour – there was a Muggle device of the same name, apparently), was becoming increasingly popular. It was a way to watch, rather than read, about current news and events. And with the upcoming Ministry elections, there was always something on T.V.

Before long, little ghostly, semi-transparent figures and shapes were appearing on the staff room table, shadows of real people and things at a real place. The events that would unfold before them on the staff room table were taking place at that moment, except that in the vision, everything was over one tenth its actual size.

First, ghostly buildings rose up out of the table, creating the narrow passageway that was Diagon Alley. The alleyway suddenly widened, forming a clear, open space. A wide building was materializing in the background, all-too familiar to Ron; the Ministry of Magic. Though, in the vision, Ron noted that none of its polished whiteness could be seen. Instead, the building was the same smoky, semi-transparent grey as everything else. Next, a podium formed out of the swirling mists pouring out of Flitwick's wand. The mists stilled for a moment, leaving them with the picture of the podium in the open, clear courtyard of the Ministry of Magic.

Then the mists took the shape of people. At first, only one or two could be seen milling around the scene, but soon an entire crowd of tiny figures had assembled. They were only about the size of toys, giving them the appearance of tiny action figures. And while all their mouths were moving rapidly, no sounds were coming out. Then, as if coming from a radio, the Professors assembled began to hear voices; fuzzy at first, then clearer and louder. Finally, one tiny figure stepped forward, wand in hand. He spoke into his miniscule wand.

"Welcome, wizards and witches, to the BWBN – British Wizard Broadcasting Network! I'm Flash Anderson," the little man said, flashing a ghostly little smile. "We're currently here in London, England, where election candidate Dameon Stark has called for a debate with opponent and current Minister for Magic, Issac Crump. As you can see," he explained, turning to face the crowd of miniature people behind him, "the majority of spectators here today are Stark supporters."

The voices of the crowd, made up of a surprisingly young group of wizards and witches, suddenly became louder, as if someone had turned the volume up. "Stark for Minister!" they were chanting over and over again. "Stark for Minister!"

"Boo," Ron said flatly, resting an elbow on the table and glaring at one tiny man wearing Stark for Minister badges. He was now furiously waving in Ron's direction, as if he had suddenly realized that he was on the BWBN, even though he couldn't see the Hogwarts Professors watching him.

"While Stark has been criticized by some for his anti-Muggle attitude, Crump has been critiqued just as much for his soft-heartedness when it comes to Muggles, non-magic folk. Experts argue that –" Flash Anderson put a hand to his ear, nodding, then returned his attention to his viewers, invisible to him and the minuscule crowd. "I have just been informed that the candidates are on their way to the podium! And…yes, I believe I see them!"

The Professors assembled in the staff room squinted as two new translucent figures walked out of the vaporous Ministry of Magic building. The applause from Stark's supporters was deafening as he stepped onto the platform, waving and flashing his award-winning smile. It was evident even from the ghostly shadow of the real Dameon Stark that he was a somewhat handsome man, and even more evident as a few witches screamed his name, cheering loudly. When the tall, balding figure of Issac Crump stepped onto the platform, there were only a handful of people, mostly older witches and wizards, who applauded, though their cheers were just as loud as the larger group's had been for Stark. Boos and hisses arose from the Stark fans now as Crump stood beside the younger candidate, seemingly unfazed. Dameon Stark raised a hand, and the crowd abruptly settled down, their gazes fixed on the young candidate.

"My fellow wizards and witches," Stark began with another fabulous smile. His voice was clear and smooth, and though he wasn't talking very loudly, it seemed to fill the entire staff room. "My fellow candidate, Mr. Crump, has graciously agreed to participate in this debate today. I only ask that you bestow upon him the same courtesy that you give to me."

"You're so full of it, Stark," Ron spat. He was promptly shushed by everyone else in the room.

"The topic at hand - " Stark began. He was abruptly cut off by Crump, whose voice sounded crisp and harsh next to Stark's smooth, pleasant one.

"My, my, Mr. Stark," Crump said coolly in a subtly cynical tone, "multi-talented now too, are you? I was not aware that you would be moderating as well as participating in the debate today." Ron grinned approvingly along with a few of the other Professors.

"Of course not!" Stark said pleasantly. "I was only introducing the topic at hand, which is, of course, the newly-formed Department of Muggle Security. Now Mr. Crump, is it true that, if re-elected, you will be giving this…shall I say…expendable department even more funding?" This prompted some hushed whispering amongst the shadowy crowd.

"Mr. Stark," the Minister for Magic replied quietly, "over one hundred British Muggles were murdered or injured during the return of He Who Must Not Be Named - "

" - eleven years ago," Stark interjected. "Don't you think that perhaps you're a little late?" The crowd of Stark supporters immediately sniggered, as if on cue.

"If you'll allow me to finish," Crump continued impatiently. "I was about to say that more Muggles are still injured and even killed each year by an assortment of things - hexes gone wrong, spells that have been placed on Muggle artifacts, Memory Charms that have backfired, and, believe it or not, Dark wizards. Despite the peacefulness of these times, there are still those out there that believe the Dark Lord is not dead. And usually, these individuals enjoy taking out their frustration on Muggles."

Ron felt Hermione, who was standing next to him, shiver involuntarily. Though the castle was chilly in October, it was rather warm, if anything, in the crowded staff room. Ron fought the urge to protectively put his arm around her.

"If we as a wizarding community are not to take responsibility for these injuries and deaths, then who will?" Crump demanded. "That is why I formed the department, and that is why, yes, I intend to provide them more funding."

"Yet…" Stark said thoughtfully, directing his thoughts to the crowd. "Yet is it really the Ministry's job to deal with Muggle matters such as these?" Most of the crowd murmured their agreements.

"If Muggles are dying and being injured due to wizards, then yes, I believe it is the Ministry of Magic's responsibility!" Crump exclaimed.

Stark ignored him. "Wouldn't our money be better spent on us? On wizards? On blood that is pure rather than foolhardy Muggles that get involved with magic and pay for it?" Stark's supporters roared their approval.

"Oh you horrible, horrible man…" Professor McGonagall whispered, clenching her fists.

Stark seemed to sense that he had won the upper hand in this debate. "Far too much time and energy is spent by the Ministry trying to hide the wizarding world from Muggles!" he bellowed, and suddenly his voice was no longer quiet and agreeable, but loud and authoritative. "Entire departments are devoted to it! And yet why are we in hiding? Are we not the superior race?" Once again, Stark's supporters voiced their agreements loudly. Most of the Crump supporters were now looking bewildered, being swallowed up by the rest of the crowd.

"It is time for change, my fellow wizards!" Stark proclaimed. "It is time for a new Ministry of Magic! A new Minister for Magic! A new - "

"Oh, shut up!" Ron burst out angrily, swiping at the miniature, ghostly figure of Stark with his hand. Exclamations of protest were heard as Ron's hand passed right through Stark and the crowd. The entire vision was ruined; the only thing left of the tiny figures and objects were wisps of smoke that curled and drifted into the air.

"Now we 'ave missed it!" Bouchard exclaimed angrily. "And it was just getting to ze good part…"

"Then put it back on if you want," Ron said furiously. "I've seen enough." With that, he spun around and stomped out of the staff room, not even bothering to slam the door.

The newscast had definitely struck a nerve. He absolutely loathed Stark; however, he was beginning to think that he hated Stark's supporters even more. They were stupid, ignorant, and cocky. With the second fall of Voldemort already eleven years behind them, the magical community was starting to feel comfortable again, to feel almost arrogant. Ron was beginning to see echoes of the attitude of Cornelius Fudge's time begin to once again creep back into the Ministry and the wizarding world. A new generation was coming of age, one that had already forgotten the horror of the wars against Voldemort and the restructuring of the Ministry of Magic – hell, the entire wizarding world – after his fall. Or they had been too young back then to understand.

Emphasis was again being placed on the purity of blood, not the purity of heart. And what made Ron Weasley's blood boil the most was that everything his father had worked for in the past eleven years…everything his father believed in…was crumbling apart.

Seething, he marched down the hall, hearing the door close softly behind him, followed by hurried footsteps. Hermione finally drew even with him, and had to walk quickly to stay next to the enraged redhead.

"Ron, slow down!" she huffed, grabbing his arm and stopping him in his tracks. He turned to face her, arms crossed. "What's wrong?" Hermione asked in concern.

"What's wrong? What's wrong?!" Ron ranted. "That idiot! That's what's wrong! Did you see the crowd, the great bunch of - "

"Watch your language!" Hermione hissed, covering Ron's mouth with her hand as a few third-years walked by in the adjacent corridor, laughing at something or another amongst themselves. Ron pried Hermione's hand off his mouth.

"If that…" he saw the stern look on Hermione's face and refrained from swearing like a sailor. "…is elected, I'm going down to the Ministry and booting him out of office myself. Literally. With a boot. Preferably one with steel toes."

Hermione laughed despite herself. Ron still looked sour. "Listen…that crowd of people?" Hermione said dismissively. "They were just a bunch of kids that saw a young, good-looking man running for office and jumped aboard. Everything he says sounds good to them."

"Aha! So you admit he's good-looking!"

"Oh, be quiet. Yes, he's somewhat handsome. But he's also a pig who just practically admitted he wants all Muggles dead. The only people that are going to vote for him are Pureblood idealists like him. And you know they're a minority, Ron. Almost everyone now is a Half-blood," Hermione said matter-of-factly. Ron felt himself calming down somewhat, though his teeth were still gritted.

"They have a lot of power, though," he muttered, folding his arms, "those Pureblood idealists. They can make everyone else do stupid things…and all those young kids are young kids with voting rights, you know. They should've never lowered the voting age. Idiots." Ron shook his head. "I feel right sorry for Harry right now. I wouldn't want to be at the Ministry with all this rubbish going on. But…" he trailed off, still shaking his head slowly.

"But what?"

"I dunno. Maybe if I was still there I could do something."

Hermione smiled. "Unless you can rig an election, I doubt you could.

Ron sighed, scratching his fiery head. "Yeah, I guess you're right."

"Don't worry. Crump's going to win."

"Says the Divination expert," Ron smiled half-heartedly. "Thanks, Hermione. If I was allowed to kiss you right now, I would."

"That's what the weekend's for, Ron," Hermione replied, surprising him by giving his arm an affectionate squeeze then quickly removing it, smiling almost mischievously.

The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher sighed. "Well, I'm going to bed then…"

"Bed? It's only 5 o'clock!"

"Yeah," Ron yawned, shrugging. "Politics make me sleepy."

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I know that was quite an action-lacking chapter with all sorts of boring political mumbo jumbo that I'm not even sure I understand, but it was necessary, so my apologies. I also inserted some fluff in there just to make it a bit more interesting, and to kind of start to delve deeper into Ron and Hermione's relationship – seriously. Speaking of serious, all my author's notes were way too serious this chapter. What's up with that?! Quick, someone cue the review song!

Frau from Austin Powers: Cue the review song!

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii look at all the non-reviewers!

Do do, do do, do do, do do, do do…

Iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii look at all the non-reviewers!

Do do, do do, do do, do do, do do…

Releanor Eigby,

Turns on the comp, reads a fic, thinks it's great, don't review…

What's up with you?

You should review, girl.

It shows you're nice, helps me write, makes me laugh, makes me sing…

Reviews are really my thing.

All the lonely authors,

Feel sad without reviews.

All the lonely authors,

Feel guilty now, don't you?

I was in a Beatles sort of mood. ^_^