Chapter 26

The sky was still darkened by early morning hours. Minerva, never having been one to sleep in, stood at her bedroom window with a cup of tea, looking out over the grounds with a vague notion of calm. So much had happened over a short period of time that she found herself caught in a whirlwind. Nothing felt settled, hardly felt safe, but it was a start. Hermione lay sleeping, she presumed, in the bedroom across from her own. They kissed good night and parted ways, deciding to try living together, or at least live around one another, to see where it could possibly lead. It was strange to think that something like this was remotely possible. Aside from it, there was only one other thing that kept Minerva's mind from settling into the relaxation that was an early morning wake up, and that was the simple fact that neither Harry, nor herself, had informed the witch of what went on beyond the castle. She hadn't formally been told that in the eyes of the government and the world beyond those that had pullled her out from beneath the wreck of a manor that she was, in fact, dead. It was all a matter of keeping her safe.

A loud thump caused the woman to jump, her head snapping in the direction of her door as she was quickly pulled from her reverie. Her immediate action was to place her tea down on the window sill and venture out into the hall between their two rooms, calling for Hermione through the door to see if she was alright. She received a long slur of muffled curses in response. Without the slightest hesitation, Minerva quickly opened the door to find the woman on the floor beside her bed, her hands clutching her damaged leg. Her cane had clearly gotten away from her but, more than that, the woman was in pain. Desperate chocolate brown met emerald green, it was an unspoken plea that couldn't be denied. The older witch retreated back into her bedroom as quickly as she could manage to retrieve a leather bound case from beneath her bed, throwing it down quickly she began to open it and thumb through some phials and philters. She brewed her own medicine when she needed, keeping some stored away safely when her own injuries flared and pain relief was required. Grabbing what she knew would work, she uncapped it and returned to Hermione's bedroom and kneeled on the floor beside her, offering the potion that the woman clearly needed. Hermione took it. She drank it and found that it didn't taste quite as foul as it smelled. The effects were near immediate and the pulsing in her muscles began to subside.

She had done herself in. Her actions went against every single warning Poppy had slung, yet, she didn't regret it. Her only regret was that she had to be taken care of and seen.

"Better?" Minerva asked, taking the emptied glass bottle from the woman who's breathing began to slow. She was awarded with a look of gratitude. Fingertips apprehensively lifted, paused, but ultimately tucked a few stray strands behind Hermione's ear. The brunette leaned into the touch briefly.

"Thank you for the assist." Was the reply Minerva received, although she could see Hermione's discomfort rising minimally. She knew how the woman hated having to have it; the assistance. The women managed to get themselves up from the floor with relative ease after a short time and Minerva sought the cane that had rolled away to offer it to the woman who had aimed to use it in the first place. Clearly, she was still learning. Minerva hoped it wouldn't be for too long.

"Would you like some tea?" The ebony haired witch asked as she re-tied her robe, her hands slipping into their respective pockets afterward. Hermione gave a brief nod and made to stand, however, Minerva neared and withdrew a hand to place it on her shoulder. "Give it a minute, rest… I'll get the tea." Hermione bit back a remark, her lips pursing as she glanced at the woman but nodded once again after a moment.

The days had to get easier. Yes, it was day two of however many, but she felt like she had been out for century. So many days had flown by while she was asleep and she didn't want to waste anymore time. She wanted to be well, she wanted not to be reliant on a stick, and she wanted to make her own god damn tea. Not that Minerva wasn't an excellent preparer of the stuff, it was independence. She craved it. And now, after all was said and done, she was reliant on Minerva as well, as proven by the simple act of waking. It was embarrassing. Not to mention unattractive.

When the Scottish witch returned with her cup, Hermione began to position herself once again in bed, stacking a few of the many pillows behind her to lean. The woman placed her cup daintily on the bedside table and cast a small, brief smile before turning to leave her in peace. Hermione's eyes narrowed at the retreating figure.

"Darling…" Hermione's voice rose fractionally, halting Minerva in her tracks in the doorway. The voice was silky, almost foreign, but the woman couldn't deny that the newness of it, and the affection, caused her to take pause. She turned in the doorway and cast her gaze at the woman sitting in bed, holding her cup of tea, with a slightly lifted brow. "Would you… like to take your tea in bed with me?"

A request for company? It was a perfectly presented opportunity to further their communication, their closeness, but also for Minerva to make mention of the things that Hermione was yet to be made aware of.

"Of course." The Headmistress murmured in acceptance of the unexpected offer. Darling… She couldn't remember a time when Hermione had ever called her Darling without a hint of venom. Although she was sure it had happened, those moments were almost like dreams that she hardly believed were real anymore. Taking up her cooled tea from the window sill, the woman reappeared in the doorway a few moments later, edging to the other side of the bed.

"There are a few things I would like to discuss with you." Minerva mentioned, settling herself down in the empty space at Hermione's side and a few inches away. A mild look of question filled the eyes aimed in her direction.

"Oh?" Replied the brunette, lowering her tea to cradle in her lap. Minerva leaned against the headboard, her legs curling beneath her. She wasted little time before venturing forth in explanation.

"Minister Shacklebolt is under the impression that you didn't make it through the attack, any day we should be expect a summons from the Wizengamot to attend his hearing and trial - Harry didn't inform you immediately, neither did I, to ensure that this was going to be the case, however, by the sounds of it they are making quick work of it." Hermione gazed at Minerva, listening, wondering, and questioning. They were both damn lucky that she hadn't managed to think of penning a letter or making any false move in twenty four hours. But, more so, what was surprising was the swiftness of the action that the council was planning on taking. It felt fast.

"Any day now… It seems brisk." She stated, lifting her tea to sip. The woman beside her sighed.

"Actually, it has felt like it has dragged on… You weren't conscious to be aware of the work Harry had been subject to while you were in the infirmary, we've been waiting for some time to hear of improvements, days," Explained Minerva, her eyes casting themselves down at the patterned, ruby duvet laid over the younger witch's legs. "He requested that I send in testimony last evening and so I have, now it's just a matter of more waiting."

If this was the case, Hermione imagined it would be a quick turn around. She surmised not a matter of days, but a matter of hours. Time would tell. And if her cover was that she was struck down in the battle, however short that battle was, then Kingsley would be in for one hell of a treat when he saw her in court. A fire lit in the pit of her stomach. She couldn't wait to see him get what he deserved, as surely they would not let the actions stand. She took great pleasure in the thought.

"There's one other thing that I would like to discuss with you." On this point, Minerva felt trepidation flood her veins. Hermione seemed to notice a slight shift in Minerva's demeanor and leaned her head back against the headboard, gaze side long upon the woman's features. If it had anything to do with the conversation they had carried out the night prior, she was willing to hear it. If the shift to their newer accommodation was too quick, if she had doubts, or if she had to get something off her chest, Hermione was open. So she simply hummed, the gentle sound meant to urge Minerva onward.

"Your replacement, I need you to be aware of some things before you may hear them from someone else." Minerva managed to say before lifting her tea to coat her dry mouth with moisture. Hermione's curiosity was piqued. The last thing she had been anticipating was for the conversation to quickly turn to business. Of course, she was still under Minerva's employ so, naturally, it was to be expected.

"Is she going to be taking my job?" Hermione questioned lightly, a genuine consideration displayed upon her features. Minerva shook her head to affirm the negative.

"Of course not, the post is yours as soon as you can manage to teach once more, regardless of how long your hiatus will be, you are the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor Hogwarts needs," Comforted by this, Hermione found her heart settling once again, although Minerva's found itself subject to quite the opposite. "These matters are more personal than professional."

"Personal…" Hermione repeated, at that point highly curious. What in the world could Minerva mean by that? A pale hand raised and the Headmistress pinched the bridge of her nose, she exhaled slowly and begged her heart to end palpitating uncomfortably.

"Her name is Augustine Blanchett, she's…"

"The author Augustine Blanchett? The textbook writer?" A quizzical expression splashed across tanned features, and as she waited for Minerva to expand upon this, she watched the woman rise from her spot next to her in bed and place her tea down.

"Yes, the author… She has subbed in before, she is quite adequate, but her demeanor… It's just not a good long term fit for our faculty." The headmistress found it difficult to sit still, so she began to stroll along the edge of the bed while the other woman appraised her and grew ever more suspicious.

"Go on, I'm listening." Setting her own tea aside, the brunette returned her attention to the Headmistress and casually folded her arms over her chest, a signature as of late. Minerva glanced at her, her features displaying a pinched look, evidence of searching for where to begin lived there and danced across knitted brow.

"She was recommended by a dear friend and an old colleague a few years ago, we carried on many decent conversations… She taught for a short while and we parted ways, however, there was an… Entanglement." Hermione found herself pursing her lips at the choice word. Entanglement… They entangled. They slept together. That was what Minerva meant and rather than paint it as plainly as it was, she gilded it, perhaps, to make it sound less incriminating.

What struck Hermione as bothersome was not the fact that Minerva had decidedly had sex with another woman, what began to well in her chest was an upset by the fact that she feared that someone, other than the headmistress herself, would inform her of it. Which meant that either she feared the woman herself informing her, or it had become public knowledge. A feat that even she had never had the opportunity to accomplish, to be known publicly as Minerva's lover. That was a deep cut.

"People were aware of you two being together?" Hermione's voice remained eerily calm, despite her quickening pulse. She managed to conceal the slight edge but her steadily reddening cheeks easily could have given her away. Could have, and did. Minerva paused at the corner of the bed, and gave her a look of apology.

"No one was ever meant to be aware, I had explicitly informed her of how I prefer to keep my matters private," Whatever Minerva said, Hermione found herself half listening, the other half was fending off jealousy as mightily as she could. "But she failed to be discreet, when I found she was flaunting our business, I ended it."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hermione asked as she threw the covers off her legs and turned to sit on the edge of the bed. She needed to get up, to walk, even if only to the kitchen for a glass of water to cool herself down with.

Minerva watched her with uncertainty, questioning whether it had even been worth mentioning. She decided it must have, the last thing she wanted was for an unexpected word to be passed along that couldn't be farther from the truth. Rumors spread fast. Especially among staff. It hadn't taken long for Augustine's declarations to be twisted and misconstrued to the point of frustration those few years ago. And now that she had been asked to return, only due to being one of the few who was deemed acceptable and available. Purely necessity, nothing more.

"I needed you to understand the circumstance, I had wanted to explain earlier rather than later before…"

"Yes, before someone mentioned your lover to me, I understand." Cool. Hermione couldn't deny it, her tone was far from affectionate or warm in that moment. It was easier to digest that someone thought she was dead than to digest that it was even remotely possible for someone to reveal facts about Minerva's romantic daliance. She reached for her cane and rose to find that the woman who had been stationed at the corner of her bed was beside her, hands reached to take Hermione's hips and angle her to face the woman she had planned to avoid for a few moments. Minerva's words gave her pause.

"We weren't lover's, we were never in love," Stated the Headmistress pointedly when Hermione met her gaze, the brunette's hardened eyes met with sincere emerald. "You and I could be… We are… I would like us to be…" Minerva stammered. Her brain couldn't keep up with her mouth. Uncommon it was for the woman not to be capable of saying exactly what needed to be said when needed, or not be able to explain what her brain or her heart felt at once. Seeing this, hearing it, Hermione's immediate anger began to subside. Though the fury ebbed to be replaced by an unspeakable sadness.

Despite herself, in her state, Hermione couldn't help but to feel something akin to inferiority. It drove her discomfort, and her disdain for that situation. She had no right to be jealous over something that she had nothing to do with. Minerva's matters were only her own, they weren't together, they had been separated, although that didn't seem to matter in the heat of the moment. Their own circumstance was not easy, it was not simple, and it was a matter of trust. Hermione was given trust by being made privy, but she also asked for more. It was a step back. She knew it.

"If she were to offer herself to you, would you take her again?" Hermione asked blatantly, stirring a glance of surprise. A white knuckled grip held her cane but her other hand didn't move from her side. She didn't touch Minerva. She didn't have the strength to shove the woman down or claim her, nor the strength to make the woman understand the depth of her insecurity in that moment. So, she had to ask for the truth.

Augustine was known to be a beautiful and highly intelligent woman. A bit of a bitch, reportedly quite arrogant, but weren't most women who assumed an ounce of power reportedly difficult to work with? Hermione couldn't say, she didn't know her. Knowing of and witnessing were quite different. But any woman who managed to claim a moment of Minerva's time clearly had a bit of something. If Augustine had begun to spread their romance, good on her… Hermione certainly didn't have that sort of confidence. Of course, it had landed the woman single, still… It took some balls. Hermione gave her that.

The look Hermione was afforded was that of honest bewilderment. She seemed caught off guard by the line of questioning which only caused minor frustration. It was as simple as a yes or a no.

"After last night, and everything that has happened between us up 'til now, why would you question whether or not I would enter into involvement with someone else?" The hands on her hips tightened, holding her in place. Hermione considered the question and could think of a multitude of reasons why Minerva may choose to cut ties and choose another. Someone easier, less volatile, more pleasant, unscarred… Someone beautiful. Someone who she didn't have to feel ashamed of.

Hermione looked into Minerva's eyes and felt what she had felt those weeks ago when she was fading in and out of reality come rushing back. Every passing, pained thought she considered while she lay crushed. How, at last, Minerva could be freed. Free to let go of her and all that had happened, free to find love elsewhere; these thoughts battled her somewhere deep beneath layers of hopes and dreams. They just needed a reason to float to the surface. Here it was, finally, a reason. Now it was Hermione's turn to feel the uncertainty and fear she imagined Minerva had warred with.

"It's because of everything that I consider whether we might ever be content," The voice lost its strength, it wavered, and Hermione's hand finally raised to rest against the side of Minerva's neck. "I'm difficult and I am cynical, I'm older, I'm not as pretty as I was, I've crippled myself…" Never had Minerva realized that Hermione had such concerns when the night before she had seemed so damned sure of herself, and now in the span of a few moments she was laying herself bare all because of a passing fling, if only she knew, still she listened, growing ever more heated as Hermione began listing things off… She began to understand how the woman viewed them individually. The discovery was illuminating.

"I'm not an attractive woman anymore, brilliant as I may be, after what I've said and done to you, to myself, if some gorgeous little thing with a brain waltzed through and you felt compelled, who am I to stop you? I literally have only one leg to stand on, here, in comparison, I'm cut off at the knees… So, no one knows about us, know one could ever know, so you have little reason to stay… You could change your mind if you wanted to, I would never tell a soul, I couldn't, if you eventually found you were ashamed of me, or my looks, or my disposition." The words kept pouring out of Hermione's mouth without stopping, everything she had thought in those hours, feeling as though she would never have been found, in those moments she had discovered that she truly, most truly, didn't like a single thing about herself. Who she had become and what she seemed to stand for. In those moments, she considered what would happen if she lived, would she be dragging Minerva down with her? And now she remembered it. From the moment she woke until that point, she had entirely forgotten.

"Now you… You are beautiful, intriguing, masterful… I could have matched you, when I was younger, prettier, less daunted, I did match you…"

"You need to stop, I need you to stop. This instant." Minerva backed away from the woman and away from the touch of the hand on her neck. She turned her back on Hermione and left the woman standing there, alone, and leaning on her one mode of keeping herself perfectly upright. Hermione kept herself still and closed her mouth. Minerva had asked. She answered. But she couldn't let it drop without making one more point.

"If you choose that, in the end, you are too damn ashamed to have me as a lover to ever tell a soul, or that your position is too important to you, or both, how could I ever argue… Sometimes love just isn't enough, and I will wait until you make your final decision. Because it's yours to make, not mine."

"I have never been ashamed of you!" Minerva's breaking point hit and her voice filled the room. She turned on the spot and neared Hermione and lifted her hands, cupping the woman's face. She was so furious that she could hardly see through the tears. "Where has this all come from, why do you say such horrible things…" The brunette felt herself biting the inside corner of her mouth to stop the steady stream of tears from rushing over the dam of her own eyelids.

"When I was stuck under the debris, I kept waking up, I didn't think anyone would rescue me or that I could possibly survive it because even those brief moments were a struggle, and thought… We were honest, we forgave, we kissed, it was one of the sweetest moments in Hogsmeade that night, and when it was said and done, you wouldn't have to contend with giving yourself over to someone less than worthy… To me," Minerva cursed between gritted teeth, Hermione ignored it. "Telling me about Augustine, hearing that people were aware of it, it just… Kills me, for something so meaningless to have more credibility than I've ever had… When I have always been yours."

Minerva's emotions tossed between rage and indescribable pain. The distorted view Hermione had of the situation, of herself, was beyond what she imagined, but there it was. And it stung. It stung that the woman thought of herself as lesser than, it pained Minerva greatly that in those moments, the minutes that Hermione thought she was laying, dying, her last considerations were marred by feeling unworthy. She didn't realize how something as seemingly simple as being seen could be such a great weight, or how it could imply shame. But she understood it. She understood it and she could bear it.

"You…" Minerva's voice trembled, her eyes shining, as she held Hermione's face and forced the woman to peer back at her. "You are still as beautiful as the day I let you leave my quarters, the years that have passed have been meaningful one way or another, but I know, deeply, we are still well matched… We have the same strength of conviction, we are two of the brightest women of our age, we have accomplished a great deal with great things, whether for worse or for better…" The brunette couldn't avert her gaze from the Scottish witch. "If I had known that you felt so strongly… I would have, I will, do anything within my rights and power to assure you that I could never be anything but proud that we have shared in love."

Something in the way Hermione was looking at her, there was a glimmer. A faint crack in the facade of a hardened exterior that the woman had adopted as a protective shell. It wasn't tangible, nor was it long lasting, however, there was the briefest of moments when those eyes opened and Minerva could detect signs of someone she had known before. A person who begged to be witnessed and acknowledged - that young woman who had spent her years casting a shadow in her doorway, hanging on her every word, loving from a distance. And then it was gone.

Just that one minute look about eyes gave Minerva the gift of hope that she barely had allowed herself to give in to. Perhaps, Hermione hadn't changed so drastically after all.

If it hadn't been for a tapping at her bedroom window, she would have kissed the woman soundly. Rather, Minerva withdrew and left Hermione to stand alone in her own bedroom, mulling over their interaction with agonizing scrutiny. She couldn't help herself. As much as Minerva's sentiment had roused her want to believe, it was difficult to believe in something that had yet to pass or was left hanging in the balance.

"We need to get dressed, quickly." Minerva called from her bedroom. Hermione looked up at the ceiling, blinking away the tears that hadn't yet fallen and taking a deep breath. A matter of hours.

"Of course, darling," She called in return, taking cautious steps forward to mind her leg. She ventured into Minerva's doorway and leaned against the frame, watching as the witch began to undress. "There is just the matter that I'll have to return to my quarters for appropriate wardrobe and a shower."

The closeness of Hermione's voice made the headmistress still unbuttoning her flannel pajama top. She hadn't considered this.

"Can you shower alone?" Minerva asked her, vaguely motioning to her leg. A moment passed, Hermione fell silent.

"I won't know if I don't try." Replied the brunette, although with some reservation. Maybe she could lean on the shower wall, keep her weight steady there. As though reading the thoughts behind brown eyes, the older woman shook her head and continued unbuttoning her shirt.

"No, we will try… If you slipped and fell in your state, I'd never forgive myself." Hermione couldn't deny this was an answer for which she'd hoped. Despite her will to be purely steady on her own two feet, she didn't want to imagine what it would be like for her condition to worsen, or what that might do to her.

The women made their way from their bedrooms to their shared bathroom. Minerva helped her to get undressed and undressed herself without so much as a second thought. There was little time to dwell on the fact that, naked, they stood facing one another while hot water snaked over their bodies. It was an act that was quick and only meant getting refreshed before going to the Ministry to meet with Harry for the hearing. Even though they wasted little time, Hermione did catch Minerva gazing over her body, inspecting her, and every discoloration bruises had produced. She was riddled with them still, her face, though not swollen, still showed signs of being battered. She wasn't self conscious, rather apologetic that Minerva had to witness her state of being at all. When Minerva's eyes seemed trained on a rather large patch of nasty bruising on her ribs, Hermione's hand reached out and touched her hip, fleetingly.

"It'll lessen with time, I'll look less hideous." Whether to convince herself, her attempt to convince the woman, the look Hermione was met with was similar to the gaze she received in the bedroom that short while ago.

"You aren't hideous… It's just difficult to see how badly injured you were, it pains me." Replied the ebony haired woman as she rinsed the shampoo from her long strands of hair. Hermione said nothing more on the matter.

When they were clean, Minerva helped Hermione out of the tub with care and caution. They took up their towels and dried themselves in silence, returning afterward to Minerva's bedroom to get dressed for the upcoming event. A pair of fitted trousers and a blouse was tossed Hermione's way, an outfit of Minerva's, which Hermione did make only a few minor adjustments of to ensure a proper fit. She, and Minerva, found themselves side by side, dressed, and peering into the mirror, tying their hair up in tight, severe buns. Make up did work its magic to mask some of the bruising across the bridge of her nose and under her eyes, but the popped blood vessels darkening the corners she could do nothing about. Lipstick was applied, then out in the living room they went, Minerva furthering ahead to take the Floo Powder off the mantle. Hermione hesitated.

"Floo Powder… You expect me to come out the other side and not fall face first onto the marble floor?" A lifted brow aimed in the ebony haired woman's direction, who also seemed to hesitate in that moment. Minerva looked from the small pot in her hands to Hermione.

"Well, what's your suggestion…"

"The motorcycle."

"Certainly not."

"It's fast and you can steer it."

"There's no way I'm getting on that fucking hell contraption of Sirius Black's."

"Will you catch me if I fall?" Hermione questioned, seriously. Her features growing more apprehensive as it appeared Minerva wasn't planning on budging any time soon and time was not something they had a surplus of in the moment. Minerva peered back at her.

"I will always catch you, dearest."

Taking a deep, steadying, breath Hermione relented.

"Fine, you first.."

_~*HGMM*~_

Footsteps rang like thunder. Heels clicked with purpose against black marble. An older woman adorned in plum coloured robes carried blank parchments in her arms, leading the pack behind her. Once someone shed a word, the rumors spread like wildfire through the departments, the world within the Ministry screeched to a halt. Unrest bled through the workers as an unknown fear of the future became the focal point of conversation. What started off as a simple did you hear became cemented as four Wizengamot officials and Azkaban guards, in equal number, demanded entry to the Minister's office. They left within minutes of entry, a magically bound figure, dark in complexion, howling madly his outrage as he was forced to walk the halls of his own place of employ. Publicly disgraced, Kingsley shouted and roared obscenities, blinded by his own discontent to notice his fellows tucking themselves away behind office doors, avoiding the nearing commotion as it carried down the corridors.

The Wizengamot council, jury, attendees, and the witnesses awaited his arrival in relative silence. Among them were the Aurors who survived the recent attack, the Auror who pulled the wounded from the wreckage, others who had nearly been awarded the same fate who were willing to testify to their experience, the Headmistress of Hogwarts, and the staff who scoured the archives for evidence of prior wrongdoings. Sitting in relative silence, they waited in the dark, dimly lit room. The atmosphere was somber. In their discreet search, they had managed to find much information that led to the conclusion that their Minister had a vast history of placing those who he deemed unworthy, who tarnished the image of his Ministry - even if only in his own mind -, in situations most precarious, without consideration or question with regard to the humanity of his actions. Humanity lacked. A play of power. Harry found it vaguely reminiscent.

The transcriber opened the doors to the chamber with a flick of her hand and entered into the room followed by the remaining council members and the accused. The disruption stirred concern and heightened the tension beyond measure. The only people who showed little reaction, if any at all, were Hermione and Gwendolyn. Both of the women sat perfectly still, stone faced, and readied.

When Kingsley looked down the line of his colleagues and saw the dead woman counted among them, his features drained. Harry looked between them and saw Hermione's lips curl in satisfaction. Much like Barty Crouch Jr, in years previous, the Minister was forced into a chair, in a cage, in the center of the room. He'd long since quietened but he couldn't remove his eyes from Hermione's face. He loathed her. Hermione could see it in his eyes, she disgusted him. Now, in the broad day, everyone could see it for themselves, and she was not let down by his clear disdain. It only furthered her own point. He was purely driven mad.

A knocking gavel drew the attention to the woman seated in the very center of a long line of council members. She cleared her throat and began to read the charges and the corresponding sections under law which had been broken by their reigning Minister. Once again, Kingsley began yelling at her, defending his actions and decisions, until a guard was ordered to silence the man with use of charms.

One by one, they were called to recount their experience and were thoroughly cross examined by various members of the Wizengamot. Threads of circumstance weaved through their stores, each sharing commonality with the other, that in some way, they had fallen into a category for the Minister to condemn them. All of them entered into a promise of redemption, they received explicit orders to do the Ministries bidding without question, had been given falsified or incomplete documentation, and sent forth to meet unknown fates. Harry's questioning last longer than any of them had thought it would, being that he was Kingsley's poster child for the Ministry from the moment he entered into the roll. He had used Harry's celebrity to further his mission and Harry did admit that, at one point, post-war, he had believed in the Minister beyond reasonable doubt. Times had changed, too much information had been brought to light, and when the time came, he chose to expose it. He presented the council with a series of evidential documents and asked them to consider them, to read through them, and truly ask themselves, were these actions what the Ministry of Magic should stand for?

For Hermione, of course, she was among the last to be cross examined. They asked about her status, her work habits, her alcoholism, and her tactics. It was no surprise they lingered on her, only because she was considered high risk even when she had been under the Ministry's employ. Minerva didn't exactly appreciate the amount of scrutiny they applied to the woman seated in the middle of the room, in front of her prior employer, or the way they talked among themselves about whether they could take her into account, considering her past actions. It was decided, however, that her testimony was valuable. Despite her use of extraordinary tactics, it was difficult to determine as to whether it was only by her hand, or by instruction of the Minister who seemed to apply similar tactics in his own dealings. So, she was released of any obligation to the Ministry in the end and nothing further was attached to her personal records. It was good news. She couldn't have hoped for any better.

In the end, Kingsley was not sentenced immediately. They needed time to convene and consider their options, although the Wizengamot expressed that the gravity of the circumstance was not lost. He would be taken to Azkaban and held there on charges until a second trial. Then, they were dismissed until that date was decided.

Leaving the courts among the trove who had bore witness to the Minister's hearing, Hermione didn't rush herself out. She wasn't capable. Minerva walked alongside her, stoic, as she had ever been, while Harry led on before them. The crowd dispersed in the atrium, making it easier and less hectic. A few words were shared by the fountain, the approach of Hermione's prior colleagues was a mildly welcome surprise. Gwendolyn and Lewis shook her hand, even though Gwendolyn did make a point of stating that Hermione's actions in Kirkudbright were unfounded and extremely self centered, she thanked the woman for doing it and taking it on the chin, considering their situation grew dire in her absence outside on the grounds that day. Had it not been for the massive distraction Hermione's actions had caused, they might not have succeeded where they needed. Hermione accepted that.

They parted ways, Harry thanked them, and then it was over. For the moment, anyway. The witches were free to return to their business and no sweeter prospect was it to return to normal life. As normal as it could be, anyway. It was something that Hermione could hardly wait for, she had been granted freedom from the Minister, the Ministry, and no longer weighted by an arduous past, she could breathe deeply. And continue breathing, without fearing.

For the first time, in a very long time, the woman felt true relief.

TBC...