Percy Weasley sighed as he stalked back toward his office with a purposeful gait.
His meeting with the Ministry's Census Bureau had run over by thirty minutes leaving him far less time for lunch than he desired.
He had the quarter of an hour to regroup and then the afternoon promised a long review session with his entire department to consider the Wizengamot's upcoming ruling for witches and wizards below the age of thirty-five. While his private thoughts upon the matter diverged from the official Ministry perspective, professionally, he also found himself hoping that the ruling wouldn't pass…
The thought of redoing months of figures and projections, reprinting public information, and pulling individual files for delinquency notifications sounded like a complete nightmare.
Sighing, Percy gave a half-hearted wave toward Iphigenia of Floo Regulation before ducking under a construction platform and heading for the corridor that housed his departmental offices. Even four years later, they were still patching up parts of the Ministry that had suffered damages during Voldemort's incursion.
Following the War, he had been incredibly thankful to receive the transfer and subsequent headship of the Ministry's Registry Department.
For the most part, it was a pleasant appointment.
He was the first to be notified of blossoming relationships and marriages - offering the Ministry's congratulations upon a new engagement or marriage license, along with a user-friendly packet of information that introduced new couples to the host of incentives and fertility options available to them for the subsequent months. He had also instituted a cheerful celebration system that sent a shower of either pink or blue stars across the department's ceiling whenever a new birth was to be recorded… and being able to witness the gradual rebuild of their nation's population was a process he greatly looked forward to experiencing.
Still, the position was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing in the sense of remaining a part of Kingsley's new government while a majority of his former colleagues had been ousted from their posts within the first year. Curse in the sense that he was continually reminded of how lucky he was to be a part of the workforce considering the stacked evidence of his blindsighted loyalty to the Ministry's rule beneath Fudge and Scrimgeour.
It was, of course, a deliberate nod to his parents and siblings for the hard work they had put in with the Order… and while he was immeasurably thankful for Kingsley's consideration, Percy knew that the road toward redemption would be long and hard.
Even now, the memory of his family's acceptance still rang with the bittersweet notes of guilt and relief… in the aftermath of the Final Battle, just as his younger brother had been laid to rest in their family plot, he had approached the estranged Weasley clan with uncertainty and a thin tendril of hope. And in typical all-or-nothing fashion, they had simply taken one look at him and opened their arms without so much as a comment or snarky joke from any one of his siblings.
In that moment, Percy had known that nothing would ever draw his loyalty away from his family again. They had raised him with nothing but love and respect… and the time had come for him to atone for his sins.
Turning into the brightly lit hall of the Registry, Percy reached out to accept a note from his newest secretary - a bright young man named Winters, if he recalled correctly. His usual secretary, Lucrezia, had just begun her maternity leave and they were all waiting anxiously for notification of the child's birth.
Percy made to slip the note into his pocket when he noticed that the young wizard appeared to be wringing his hands slightly. He lifted a questioning eyebrow.
"Mr. Weasley, I'm to inform you that-"
"The Minister is here to see you."
They both turned to see Kingsley Shacklebolt striding through the department doors with a quirked brow and polite smile. Winters shrank back with flushed cheeks even as Percy lifted a hand in greeting.
"Good morning, Minister," Percy replied automatically, gesturing toward his office in surprise. "What can I do for you?"
Shacklebolt did not reply, choosing instead to make a direct path for the Head's office without so much as a glance at the curious faces throughout the hall.
Percy buried all thoughts of his roast beef sandwich as they strode into his small office, the taller wizard waving the door shut with an absent flick of his wand. He made for his desk, feeling an uncomfortable flip-flopping sensation in his stomach as he wondered what the Minister could possibly need of him that demanded an in-person inquiry.
Perhaps he was just passing by...
The tall wizard chose to remain standing in front of Percy's desk, waiting with clasped hands as Percy hurriedly cleared the desktop with a flick of his wand.
"I need you to requisition the private records of Minerva McGonagall," Shacklebolt said in a low voice.
The words "of course" had been about to fall from his lips when the name finally registered and Percy did a double take as he rounded his desk, mid-way to reaching for spare bit of parchment.
His confusion must have registered because in the next moment, Shacklebolt was fixing him with a stern glare.
"Do as I say, Percy," the Minister replied gruffly. "The matter of her delinquent status is as equally concerning to your offices as it is to the Wizengamot."
A number of questions sprang to mind, but from Shacklebolt's expression, now was not the time to ask them.
Closing his mouth, Percy nodded swiftly and hailed for Mr. Winters through the frosted glass windows. The young man bounded through the doors a moment later, parchment at the ready and it was clear that he was jumping for an opportunity to impress the Minister himself.
Be careful, O seeker… Opportunity comes and goes on tiptoe...
Percy squared his shoulders and did his best to appear as though the request had not unnerved him entirely.
"Mr. Winters, please head over to Section 32B and pull all of the contents from File #3487. You'll need to prepare it for immediate extraction and perusal," he turned to the Minister, "I'll have it waiting on your desk by the time you return upstairs."
Shacklebolt stroked his goatee, chin poised as if he wanted to say something, but then… the moment passed. If the Minister was impressed with his ability to recall an individual file from the thousands housed within the Registry, he did not show it.
"Very good, Weasley."
His mission accomplished, the Minister offered a courteous nod to the two of them and swept from the small room in a flourish of purple robes without so much as a half-hearted explanation.
Predictably, Percy found himself swallowing his disappointment with an inaudible sigh. The Minister had yet to call him by first name despite continuing to address his parents and siblings with casual regard. The man had even sat next to him at The Burrow last Sunday dinner, for gods' sake!
Watching the Minister depart his office, Percy shook his head before noticing that his secretary was still standing beside the door uncertainly.
"Mr. Weasley, isn't file #3487-"
"Yes, Mr. Winters, it is" Percy replied tiredly, holding up a hand before the young man could ask his question.
Inwardly he was a bit impressed that the young man had already memorized the smattering of flagged files - the majority of which were high-profile cases given "special consideration" for which there was typically a separate process for extraction and perusal.
"However what the Minister asks for, we provide without question," he continued, sitting heavily at his desk, "Please fetch them at once."
The young wizard gave a smart nod and turned on his heel before striding away, robes snapping in his haste to carry out his task.
A moment later, Percy was left alone in blissful silence.
His previous appetite disrupted, Percy couldn't help but feel a sinking sense of worry as he mulled over the Minister's unexpected request.
The Headmistress' file was all but flagged to be untouchable… and while he knew without looking that Minerva McGonagall had absolutely no intention of following through with the Ministry's new marriage initiatives, privately he felt that there were plenty of other cases and citizens to consider in the meantime.
The privilege of having glanced through her file once had revealed to him that the witch in question had already paid her dues to the nation several times over. And while he also knew that the Headmistress and Minister were close friends… previous experience had taught him that no matter what personal narrative existed between those two prominent offices, the Ministry would always perceive to Hogwarts as a proverbial thorn in its side; the venerable institution had a reputation for charismatic leaders with a history of social and political involvement… sometimes to the detriment of the national voice.
Still… discussion and dissonance is what creates a strong democracy…
Running a hand over his hair, (it was getting far too long… he would have to ask Penny for a trim later in the week), Percy sat forward and pulled out a stray scrap of parchment.
Against his better judgment he scribbled a quick note and flicked his wand, folding it into an unobtrusive little message that would hopefully be disregarded until it landed into the right hands.
His father would know what to do.
The little paper airplane zoomed away and Percy sat back, all thoughts of lunch forgotten as he wrestled with his inner demons for another long moment.
The rulings of the Wizengamot had been growing more and more severe over the past several months, and while it was Percy's task to see that the new system of "single's penalties" was being applied judiciously, there had been more than one interaction with individual citizens which had left him feeling decidedly off-balance.
Of course, population decline was a very real concern that continued to press in against all of them…
But if we are to restrict the individual freedoms of our citizens… how are we any better than the system we just left?
Percy shook his head and fished his lunch from his briefcase with little enthusiasm.
If the Minister learned of his tip-off, he could very well lose his job.
On the other hand, he couldn't stand back and watch the Wizengamot rope another unsuspecting citizen into an undesired set of life circumstances.
Especially not Minerva McGonagall.
Damned if I do, damned if I don't.
Minerva fumed silently.
Stalking into the Great Hall she swept behind the High Table to take the center seat, pulling it aside roughly and settling her robes in a steadying gesture.
"Nothing like fresh air…"
Refusing to rise to Filius' open-ended statement, Minerva snatched up two pieces of toast and glared down at her plate.
"Come now, Minerva, you haven't had a good spar with Rolanda in weeks," Filius murmured appeasingly.
"I allowed myself to lose my temper in front of a student," she ground out, buttering her toast with more vehemence than necessary. Pomona's unhelpful little chuckle only served to make her more irate.
"Oh please. You aren't really going to devalue Hermione to such a simple label," Filius scoffed.
"Miss Granger is a student within these Halls -" she began firmly, annoyed that she was constantly rehashing such a critically obvious point to the Head of Ravenclaw, of all people.
"Not anymore," Pomona hummed happily, giving a pleasant little lift of her shoulders. She winked at Minerva cheerfully.
"Let the joyous news be spread, the Potions department has moved ahead!" Filius announced, dabbing his mouth with a napkin and reclining back in an obvious gesture of satisfaction.
"A terrible rhyme, even for you, Filius," Minerva snapped irritably even as she absorbed that bit of knowledge with a strange flip-flopping sensation in her stomach.
It seems more letters from the Board must have arrived.
"I liked it," Pomona piped in diplomatically, eliciting a snort from Neville who leaned forward, shaking his head even as he pinned Minerva with a sincere gaze.
"Please, Minerva… as surely as I am no longer your student, neither is Hermione," he said kindly, meeting her raised eyebrow and stern expression with a steady smile. Her ego folded at that slightly.
There was a time I could render him into a shivering mess by simply turning a corner.
She frowned.
"By that I mean that she is on your roster, yes… but the witch is a fully-fledged Master, Minerva. Regardless of her reappearance at Hogwarts, to see her as anything less is an insult to her title," Neville's smile grew sly, "Besides, she will hardly begrudge the fact that you're human and easily riled into a good round of verbal sparring. As I seem to recall, the two of you used to enjoy it together."
Minerva bit her lip fiercely, determined not to blush as her mind unexpectedly imbued the wizard's last statement with innuendo.
"Moreover, you're probably one of the few people around here… except for a select few at this table with whom she will be comfortable rekindling friendship. You would be doing her a kindness by treating her as more than just another seventh-year. Which she is."
Minerva's jaw worked as she stared at Neville for a long moment, drinking in his beseeching expression and the hopeful ones of Filius and Pomona.
"That's beside the point," she retorted. "So long as she remains a student enrolled at this institution, I cannot treat her any differently… regardless of any additional duties and responsibilities she may incur."
The three faces to her left exchanged a series of long-suffering looks before rising together and pinning her with matching raised eyebrows of disapproval. Minerva frowned, immediately annoyed by their choreographed gesture of solidarity.
She ignored their mutters as they left, watching as Neville fairly bent over at the waist to listen to whatever Pomona was saying. The sight of the tall wizard and his diminutive Mistress was enough to make Minerva smile softly and she shook her head. Incorrigible.
Speaking of Masters and Mistresses…
If Filius' slip was any indication, there was a great amount of work awaiting her toward crafting an appropriate contract for Miss Granger.
While Minerva realized she was more than pleased that the Board had acquiesced so quickly… and with obvious gusto... inwardly she groaned at the extensive amount of work it would entail to draft an agreement that would protect both the witch and the school from prying eyes… along with negotiating the particulars of salary, budget projections, not to mention reworking the blasted timetable.
Again.
A quick tempus indicated that the hour was drawing close to eight and Minerva sighed, glancing up to see that a number of students were beginning to fill the tables. Some thoughts are best left for later.
She would finish her toast and then depart. Minerva wanted at least forty minutes of time before her first class.
As her thoughts shifted toward the coming day, Minerva almost missed a familiar platinum-haired wizard sliding down a few seats to draw closer to her.
"Headmistress," Draco said smoothly, eyes focused somewhere between Ravenclaw and Slytherin.
"Draco," she replied quietly, scanning the room for a moment before turning back to her plate. "How many times must I cajole you into calling me by my name?"
"At least several more times, Headmistress" he murmured, seemingly content to slice his sausage into neat pieces. Minerva sniffed and sighed.
They sat for a moment, each busy with their respective meals before a niggle of suspicion flooded through her.
"Do I take your presence to indicate you are in agreement with the trio of musketeers that just departed?" Minerva asked quietly, slicing her grilled tomatoes with deliberate strokes.
She felt Draco look at her quizzically.
"Nevermind," Minerva said quickly, nearly rolling her eyes as she recalled just whom she was speaking with; the Muggle reference was clearly wasted upon him.
"To answer your question, no, I am not in agreement," Draco said after a moment.
"Then I should find your company tolerable."
Draco chuckled lightly. He moved to rise a moment later and Minerva followed his gaze, impressed as two upperclassmen at the Ravenclaw table broke apart with matching guilty expressions. A moment later they rose quickly and hurried from the Hall as Draco sat back with a smirk of satisfaction.
He's clearly taking up Severus' mantle...
Draco chuckled lightly, shaking his head as he glanced toward her. He murmured something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, "You Gryffindors."
They sat in silence for a moment, both gazing out across the large room, watching the sleepy faces scattered across the four tables. Minerva noted that the witch of whom they were speaking had yet to make her appearance.
"Unlike my esteemed colleagues, I do not believe you need to make allowances for Master Granger's reappearance at Hogwarts, nor do I believe she would ever ask it of you," Draco said softly, turning to gaze at her with an impenetrable expression.
"How you choose to address her in the coming months is your business and I imagine she will respect your authority and decisions regardless."
Minerva was disgruntled to discover that despite his agreeing with her, Draco's words did not manage to reassure her in any significant way.
"That said, Master Granger is your equal in many ways, Headmistress," he continued casually, as if they were speaking about something as innocuous as the weather. "Though her robes may indicate otherwise, she is not a witch to be trifled with… and I suggest you tread carefully."
Her brows drew together.
"Do I discern a note of warning in your words?" Minerva asked in disbelief.
Where is he going with all of this?
"Yes and no," Draco replied, his expression open and honest as he gazed back at her unflinchingly. "It's no secret that Master Granger could sit her N.E.W.T.s tomorrow - blindfolded, wand tied behind her back, drunk to all hell on Firewhiskey, and still earn a higher grade than most our graduating seventh-years..."
Minerva bit back an unladylike snort as Draco gave her a knowing look.
"... Which then tells us that her reasoning for returning to Hogwarts is likely beyond her control," Draco continued, folding his napkin carefully, "Surely you've heard whispers of the Wizengamot's next ruling?"
"The witch has a Mastery, Draco - I hardly believe the Ministry is willing to wage war against the Potions Society regarding any sort of delinquent credentials-" she began, unwilling to see the sketches of conspiracy without evidence.
"With all due respect, Headmistress, don't be naïve. You know as well as I that those of us in the public eye have a far different rules from the rest of the population," Draco interrupted swiftly, his jaw working briefly. "Some of us know it all too well…"
Minerva remained silent, her expression reserved as she considered the young wizard's dark words. Despite her irritation with the entire situation and largely herself for not knowing how to redraw her boundaries where Miss Granger was concerned, Draco's logic did make sense.
A ripple of unease passed over her.
Perhaps a letter to Kingsley should replace the one you intended to send to the Ministry...
"And while I imagine this is not news to you by any means, I am reasonably assured that Master Granger's intentions extend beyond what you and I can currently fathom. She was never one to take institutionalized prejudice sitting down, and at the moment I see no logical reason as to why she should have re-enrolled at Hogwarts at all."
Draco sniffed slightly as he gazed out across the room with the distant ghost of a smile.
"No doubt she is here to surprise all of us."
Minerva was surprised to hear the young wizard speak of Miss Granger with… is that a tone of fondness? And his continued use of her title spoke volumes about his impressions of her professionally...
However before she could formulate a reply, Draco turned and offered her a rather warm smile.
"Don't underestimate Master Granger, Minerva… though either way, I believe she will managed to delight you. As always, it's up to you how to proceed against her unpredictability."
Briefly she noted it was one of a handful of times Draco had ever addressed her by name and while her mind attempted to unravel his maddeningly cryptic words, Minerva found herself glancing up in surprise as she realized the wizard had risen. He stepped back from his chair elegantly before pressing it back into place.
"A good morning to you, Headmistress," he said, giving her a curt nod.
A moment later Draco was striding across the Hall, robes billowing behind him in a manner that would have made his godfather proud. The Slytherin table visibly perked up as he passed and Minerva smiled as a number of students gazed after him with wistful expressions.
Good. He deserves a bit of admiration.
Minerva sat back slightly, hands falling away from the table for a moment as she mused over the strange conversation that had just occurred.
Though she was known for being a witch of great intelligence and reason, Minerva acknowledged that the more subtle methods and cunning of Slytherin did not come naturally to her.
Unlike Albus, who had reveled in the chase for obscure information, politics was a realm for which she harbored great distaste, and despite keeping up to date with the Ministry's initiatives, Minerva preferred to keep her activities limited to the scope of the school.
Shaking her head, she vanished her plate with an impatient flick.
Draco's deliberate crafting of words would need to be reviewed at a later time.
With a sigh, Minerva rose carefully, pleased when more than a few of the younger faces looked up at her with poorly concealed expressions of intimidation and awe.
Well at least some are still impressed by me.
Gliding around the High Table, she nodded politely toward Septima and Horace who were still conversing down at the other end. Rolanda tossed her a saucy smirk and Minerva fought not to react, already plotting revenge for the witch's earlier offense. While the woman was indeed her good friend, she could not allow her to think that she had won.
Shuttling her mischievous thoughts to one side, Minerva strolled down the center aisle and departed the Great Hall in a flourish of emerald green. She sniffed at realizing that she'd only been awake for little over three hours and already felt tired by the amount of activity she had endured.
Shaking her head, Minerva began the familiar journey toward the Transfiguration wing.
It's been a most unexpected morning.