Hermione's heart beats wildly in her chest as the Chief Warlock finishes counting the dissenting votes and asks them to lower their hands. To her annoyance, the Wizengamot decided to hear her bill directly after lunch on a Friday. In the leadup, she knew at least a third of them would be more concerned with daydreaming about their weekend than listening to her argument, so she brought as much energy and conviction as she could muster to try to force them to care. Now, watching about half the Wizengamot members vote against her, her skin crawls at the idea of falling short at the last hurdle.
His voice calm and excruciatingly slow, the Chief Warlock asks for anyone who wishes to pass the bill to lodge their vote. Slowly, hand after hand rises into the air. Each one is a victory, and there are so many – but is it enough?
If this comes down to one or two votes and she loses –
Squeezing her hands together in her lap, she waits because that's all she can do. The old clock ticks steadily through the silence, and she counts the seconds while the Chief Warlock counts the hands.
Then, finally, he straightens and clears his throat. 'You may lower your hands. With 29 votes to 21, the Wizengamot has spoken. The Lycanthrope Bill… has passed.'
At first, she isn't quite sure what she's heard. After all these months of gruelling work and fears that it wouldn't be enough, can the ending really be this easy? But then her co-workers start clapping her shoulders and congratulating her, and she breaks out in a broad beam as reality settles in.
Finally, finally, it's over. Her bill will become law, earning better working and living conditions for people like Remus. By giving them more anonymity, greater access to services, and stronger protections, they're more likely to be able to integrate into society instead of being shoved to the outskirts. And that will help not only actual werewolves, but their human descendants too – children like Teddy, who some people still look at with suspicion. The bill – the act now – may not encompass all the things she wants to change, but it's a start.
'Drinks?' she hears a co-worker ask, but in the haze, she doesn't even recognise the voice.
Once, she'd have shot that suggestion down in a second. It's not even three o'clock, and their other projects can't just screech to a stop because of this. But it's not as if anyone – even her – is going to get any work done for the rest of the afternoon. They may as well just accept it and celebrate properly. 'I think we deserve it.'
A/N: With this, we're in the final stretch of the story. I have two more chapters planned at this stage, although one of them may end up splitting into a few pieces.