AN: Tut tut tut! Calm your thirst for blood, please. You know what I'm talking about, a certain redhead. If I serve desert now then you'll just feel bloated and sad, and this is a full-course menu.

I forgot to mention but I changed the disclaimer and tagging slightly to fit. Happy reading.

They had spent most of Sunday revising their notes about the Wizengamot and the laws of Magical Britain. Then on Monday, Hermione sent the divorce papers to Ron. And Tuesday they came back signed and ready for processing. Still they studied. Harry was fairly certain he had not studied like that since taking his NEWT qualifications two years ago. But he endured, because to them, and to her, it was worthwhile.

Only seventeen days left. And so much to do. Not nearly enough time to enjoy themselves properly.

"So," Hermione sighed, her hair in a messy pony-tail, a tell-tale sign that they had spend too much time cooped up in the library. "Let's go over it again. What are the three voting blocks in the Wizengamot?"

Harry took a deep breath. "The largest voting block is the pro-muggle progressive block, headed by Alpharius Greengrass. Notable members are his sister, Ornelia; Richard and Francine Bones; Anthony Burke and Midicus Flint, the so called reformed Lords; Marie-Joanne Slughorn; Theodorus Yaxley. And last but not least, dearest Narcissa Malfoy."

"The traditionalist block is headed by Cygnus Nott, surprisingly squeaky clean and a bit of a coward. Fillibert Prewett, distant cousin of Molly, and Gerund Rowle are notable members."

"And finally," he said with a deep sigh, "there is the neutral block, headed by Augusta Longbottom. She has Cassius Carrow and Perditus Fawley by her side. All around decent blokes, as we found out, despite Carrow's unfortunate family name."

"Well done," Hermione said with a too-wide smile. "Now for strategy."

"Well, we have dirt on Greengrass, but we don't know how best to use it. Could be the progressives just toss him to the wolves if he tries something major." Harry paused and narrowed his eyes. "We could make him talk."

She laughed. "We could make him sing with what we have."

"Anyway," Harry said, rubbing his chin. "We don't want to start this off too heavy, do we? What do they think about us?"

"From my interactions through the DMLE, they're either anxious or think we're idiots. So we should expect to be sidelined initially."

"We could poach some willing participants, if we end up joining the neutral block."

"That seems like the best plan."

But to Harry, this seemed too straightforward, too passive and at the same time too obvious. "We could give them what they want, for a start. We won't propose any legislation for some months anyway."

"Give them what they want?"

"Their expectations," Harry said with emphasis, "make them come true, at least in their eyes. If they think we're still muddling through basic procedure, we can figure out their weak points. They'll think our candidacy is just a publicity stunt, that we're in over our heads."

"Pretend to be incompetent?"

"Not incompetent, just inexperienced."

She didn't reply, but sat next to him and fell into his arms.

He cleared his throat to talk. "I've been meaning to ask – and this is going to sound stupid, but hear me out – where are we headed with this?"

Closing her eyes, she nuzzled into her favourite place, the crook of his neck. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, best case, say we get everything we want. Where are we, when it's all over?"

"Anywhere we want, doing what we want, however we want," she replied hazily.

"More specifically?"

She hummed happily into his neck. "On a beach of white sand. On the desk of the Minister's office. Just enjoying ourselves. And I would very much like to at some point gouge Draco Malfoy's eyes out. You?"

"Sounds like we want the same thing," he said, smirking.

-M-

The next day was a big one. Her bruises had mostly left, but she still wore the fashionable blue patch on her healing nose just for the extra kick the reporters would get out of it when they entered the Ministry.

"Do I look appropriately sad?" she asked.

"It's very sexy," he answered as he pulled on his cloak. "It just makes me want to hold you and kiss you until the pain is all gone."

She snorted. "I guess it works then. Time for our big entrance."

They had expected it, but the crowd of reporters dwarfed anything they had seen previously. Protectively putting an arm around her, he guided her through the mass that the Ministry enforcers tried to pull away. With a few barked insults at the vultures, Harry managed to do so graciously and they were past the checkpoint to the atrium.

She didn't have to hide her sad aura much, as the past few days off had been blissful in comparison. Together they went down the lift, getting hellos and awkward commiserating looks from people they didn't know the name of. They split off, him going to the cubicles of the Auror office, and she towards the offices of the DMLE.

There were three prosecutors in total under the Deputy, who plead their cases before an assembly of five different Wizengamot officials and a Lord. Most of the time was spent working within the DMLE, with the Auror Office for larger cases and with Patrol for routine cases. These days very few of the non-violent cases were tried, instead a solicitor would argue with a prosecutor for a sentence. And in the cases of smuggling or theft, it depended on how connected to ongoing investigations the accused seemed to be.

It was a well-oiled machine in recent memory, but dreadfully stale and unbending.

She entered the office where her boss, prosecutor Matthews, was not yet to be seen. Being late wasn't unusual for him, but he made up for it with late nights. The man hated his wife, and chose to deal with that by spending as little time as possible at home, save for mornings when she wouldn't bother him.

Hermione sat down and took a pile of files off one side of the large desk and sat down at the smaller one beside it. One case of muggle-baiting, two cases of underage magic, setting free sixty-four pygmy puffs in a pet store – those activists could really get out of hand sometimes, two cases of public disturbance by some drunks, two cases of theft, one assault by hexing and one attempted rape. The two latter ones as well as the muggle-baiting were clearly the priority, so she set to reading them.

She was mostly done with the assault file when she looked up at the knocking on the open door.

"Hello, can I come in?"

George, he didn't look good. And really, with having his brother revealed as a brute and an abuser, who could blame him? With an honest sigh of annoyance, she nodded and motioned to the chair opposite the desk. She didn't speak, and he sat down on the chair, fiddling with nothing at all.

"So, um," he started, "it's done between you and Ron is it? Completely?"

There were so many things she wanted to spit out like venom, for him even considering the opposite. "Yes."

He nodded thoughtfully. "I… had no idea. And I'm sorry, if I'd reacted sooner instead of just writing to Harry." He swallowed thickly. "I never expected Ron to do something like that."

"Neither did I, George," she said, frowning. "But in hindsight I probably should have."

George huffed an empty laugh. "You're okay?"

It didn't seem much like a question, he could see perfectly fine that she was. "Yes. How about you?"

"Yeah, I think so," he answered. But his voice was hollow. He drew apparent courage from the aether and sat up. "I don't want to tell you what to do, but could you not come to the Burrow for a few weeks? Just the time we deal with this, as a family."

There was a bitter note in there, and she wondered if Harry too was part of that distinction of 'family'. It might be good, for this to be what distanced them from the Weasleys. They could be a burden sometimes.

"That's okay, George. Harry has been helping me a lot, and I'll probably meet up with Neville some time."

They both stood. In a gesture of reassurance, one he showed he badly needed, she hugged him goodbye. George didn't seem like the one to make trouble or peer behind the veil like Ron had, but even if he did, they still had a silver bullet to deal with him.

Matthews decided to go through the major cases with her when he got there, a permanent frown sitting below his balding head. "So you know you won't be able to deal with cases you're ruling over, right?" he said, still nose-deep in the open document.

"Elected officials don't rule over court cases for their first year in office," she replied.

"But you are committed then? Should the position interfere with your job –"

"You shouldn't worry about that, John. If it does then please do throw me out the door."

He snorted. Her big mouth sometimes had the talent of irritating him. "I was sorry to hear what happened though. Was the two days off enough?"

"Is any amount of days?" she said, thinking back to their long weekend of leisure. "But I can work."

A while later another knock came, and she looked up to see Harry standing there.

"Mr. Potter?" John said. "Lunchtime, is it?"

"Hello, Mr. Mathews."

They went to a muggle noodle bar she found during her first month at the Ministry. It was approximately ten feet wide, with a counter and some stools. Very claustrophobic if that was a problem, which it wasn't. Because despite the fog of oil amassing on the windows, they served the best noodles in town. That they knew of at least.

As soon as they sat down, a cup of green tea was placed before them.

"So, how's the return to work?" he asked.

"George came by, not for long."

Harry grunted. "What'd he say?"

"Pretty much nothing. I think he came out of obligation and some hope that things would return to normal. I'm not to make an appearance at the Burrow for a few weeks."

"He said that?"

"He phrased it more kindly than that, but yes. Beef bowl?"

"Sounds good."

They placed their order, which the elderly owner echoed in his heavily accented English. Aside from them, the bar was filled with almost exclusively Japanese expats. Businessmen of all walks of life. Harry and Hermione were moderately tolerated, even thought hey didn't come that often. Normally muggles would not pay much attention to any magical talk, that was even truer when there was a language barrier.

"So it seems that once you deal with Ginny, things will be more calm," she said to him with a judgemental frown. "You have thought about it some more, have you?"

"You want me thinking about her?" he asked, a teasing smile lingering on his lips.

Her face flashed with heat and she turned away. "I will hurt you if you don't do as I asked."

"I love it when you sweet talk me, but that's not necessary." He turned her head to him with his hand, facing some resistance. "I do have some ideas, but none really seem satisfactory. I know you don't like it, but I'd rather end this peacefully. Anything to do with magic is going to only further raise suspicion."

She snapped her head out of his grasp and turned away. Anger. It was a good thing, something she wasn't used to, but good. This latest gift from Harry to their budding relationship, his dark fiery temper, licking at the pit of her stomach.

"Anyway," he continued, "you'll have to trust me on this. I know her better, and I doubt she would be as brash as Ron was. Can't exactly have her mutilate me. Once is coincidence, twice – well… people are stupid but there are limits."

"You know I trust you," she said with a finger on his thigh, "but don't step out of line."

Like nothing had happened, she crossed her fingers above the counter again, and they were served their beef bowl: hot, steaming, tasty noodles.

"So how are things at the AD?" she asked.

"Good," he said, "we followed up on the assault case. Mathilda told me it landed on your desk. Nasty business, the victim lost three fingers, but no need to further investigate. I heard Director Fuller is putting a patrol at Barnton."

"I haven't heard of it, but I suppose it's expected. If he did nothing they would crucify him. The papers have been pushing the issue very hard."

"They want the Wizengamot to make prostitution illegal, or controlled."

She nodded. "They're probably waiting to see what we're doing. How many do we have in safehouses now?"

"I couldn't tell you exactly, aside from Pansy's. The people we've hired to oversee the other two aren't complaining. Mathilda and Alfred have been checking in on occasion, but long term we're looking to have it work without our oversight."

"We could make it like a non-profit, like I did for the W.A.C.Y."

It took him a second to process. "You mean WACY? The Werewolf Association for Cursed Youths. Yeah, something like that, but you'll let me do the naming or we'll end up with CUNT or SLIT if your past naming sense is anything to go by."

"Oh, shove off. It's not my fault these acronyms end up like that."

"Maybe it is a curse, like my hair or Dumbledore's human resources skills."

That did get a laugh out of her.

-M-

Minerva Mcgonagall had always wondered how her mentor and predecessor had such an off-hand approach to running the school. She was not nearly as great a wizard as he was, but she knew what she was doing, and there was so much to do. She was on her way to Hagrid's. There were two reasons for that. The first being that she wanted to check if he wasn't illegally raising some abominable creature, and the second because she needed a chat.

One might think that Hagrid would be the last one to converse with, but he was the only one who still had a good understanding and bond with their former three Gryffindor students. The news of what had happened to Hermione was shocking, to say the least. Ronald Weasly was troubled, as is normal for a person that had been through all those awful things. But she never thought it was this dire.

In truth she wanted to summon him to her office at once and give him a stern talking to. But what would she say? He couldn't take back what he did, and this time, it was truly up to Hermione. McGonagall hadn't even sent him a letter, pathetic for a former Head of House, but writing didn't seem any easier than talking would be. And so she had decided to see Hagrid about it. There was something about his honesty that cut through the fog.

She stopped in her tracks hearing a pop in the hallway to her left, and turning the corner she spotted the fading blue of one of the Wheezes' fireworks. It was in the shape of a male sexual organ. The student gasped as he heard the rapid pace of her steps towards him and turned, looking green.

"Empty your pockets, Sutter!"

Looking defeated, the third year took out a handful of the awful jests out of his pocket.

"All of them."

He produced five more, and she promptly vanished them.

"Instead of a proper lecture, perhaps punishment will make you realize not to act so childish in the halls. You will serve detention with Professor Sprout for a week. I hear Assistant-Professor Longbottom needs help with fertilizing his gyrocacti. And that will be ten points from Gryffindor."

He didn't talk back, few students did now she held the title of Headmistress. With a huff, she continued onto her path, passing the greenhouses and waving at Longbottom. The thestrals were grazing at the edge of the forest and she watched them as she descended down the path to the hut.

She looked around for a moment before knocking. Everything seemed to be in order. No nightmarish creatures wailing nearby, no screaming children, no signs of acid or dragon fire. She knocked.

Hagrid came to the door munching on a rock cake. "G'evening professor! Come in, i've jes' put some tea on the boil."

"Good evening, Hagrid," she said, stepping inside and looking for a place to sit.

She took the opportunity while he was at the stove to cast a cleaning charm on a stool and sat down with a sigh. He served her tea in a mug, clean unlike the rest of the living space. He sat across her on a large box.

"I take it you've heard about what happened with Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger."

Hagrid grunted loudly. "S'jest the Prophet spoutin' their nonsense again. Can't believe all the awful things they put in there. After all they've dun fer us!"

MgGonagall swallowed a gulp of tea. "Hagrid, it's not a lie. I wrote to Mrs. Granger myself."

The half-giant's face fell, his beard twitching in confusion. "I – thas' – yer not bein' serious! Don' tell me – Ron did?" His voice raised to a boom on the last words.

"I'm afraid so, Hagrid."

Hagrid blinked at tears and shook the whole table with the flexing of his arms. He stood and the box he was sitting on cracked into the wall of the hut. "HOW COULD 'E DO THAT!" He sobbed, leaning against a large beam.

"I am as surprised by it as you are, Hagrid."

"But – 'E – 'E always 'elped 'er 'gainst bullies an' Malfoy," he spat the name like a curse. "They were s'posed to be happy, professor."

"Well, clearly they weren't. She's staying with Mr. Potter for now."

"'S good that, he's always bin there for 'is friends." Hagrid sniffled and wiped his tears with a giant handkerchief the size of a tablecloth. "Harry will know what to do," he said firmly. "Great man, he is."

"I think we can all agree on that," she said with a smile. "I believe it's a good thing for him and Mrs. Granger to work together. She won't be alone for the foreseeable future."

"Aye," he said, one-handedly lifting the scattered box and putting it back in place. "Aye, sorry 'bout all this. Haven't even asked how ye've been, professor."

They still had a pleasant chat, and she politely declined any rock cakes. With a clearer head, she left Hagrid's hut and went back to the tower under the rosy summer twilight. She preferred the castle at night sometimes. The quiet was conducive to better thinking. As she neared the tower, she heard mumbling behind her and sighed at the sight of Sibyll Trelawney, crocked off on her evening sherry.

"Sybill!" she called.

She stopped and shuddered, her unkempt hair waving about as she turned, laying unfocused eyes on the Headmistress.

"I would very much like, if you choose to wander the halls at night, to do that sober!" she snapped. "We must set an example for our students, even those who chose to break curfew. Am I making myself clear?"

"I – I see much less wandering in my future," Sybill said, waving around bony fingers. "Yes, yes, hmm, very clear. Just – the night, I – uh – wanted to see the stars, yes. Oh, who knows what terrible fate might befall me!"

McGonagall sighed heavily. "Fine! Have your walk and back to your chambers please?"

"Yes, thank you, thank you Headmistress," she said with a little bow. Her head turned upwards and her eyes narrowed. And deafening silence.

Trelawney gasped, and whimpered. "No… no it's too – too soon…"

Her face, stony and serious as if possessed, turned back to McGonagall.

"Sybill?"

Clouds of milky-white, magnified by the woman's thick glasses, filled her eyes like a thunderstorm. Her mouth widened in a silent scream, showing teeth and the back of her throat.

McGonagall whipped out her wand and pointed it at her Divination professor, hand trembling.

The eyes, now white marble, lit up glowing like the full moon. And the light, seeping from her eyes, shone through her skin and her mouth. A trembling purr came from her, from around her, behind her. The Headmistress was frozen solid, fear coursing through her.

With a voice from beyond the grave, beyond anything human, the incandescent mouth spoke.

"Beware the two headed dragon… Its claws sinking deep into Albion… And its fall at the Solstice… Shall bring us into the eye of the storm… Red, Gold and Black will end themm… And out of it… PURE… DARKNESS… BORN!"

It was all too late when the searing glow left and Trelawney collapsed in on herself. McGonagall frantically kneeled and looked over her, seeing nothing but a lifeless body, eyes dark with blood, skin dry as bone. She sent her Patronus for Madam Pomfrey, but she knew it was too late. And she realized what had just happened. Sybill Trelawney had just given a prophecy; her last prophecy.