July 5, 2003 (Hermione)

Hermione woke with a start, taking in a rasping breath as if she hadn't breathed properly in weeks. Her head swam as she sat bolt upright, the world a blur around her, as her eyes struggled to focus. She had lost all sense of time and space, with no idea where or when or why she was. But the last thing she could remember was a fierce battle, the Dark Lord at his knees, as she fought to keep him contained…

"Take it easy," a soothing voice told her. "You're safe. Just relax, take your time."

It was bright, far too bright. Hermione brought up a hand to shield her eyes, only to feel that her arm was connected to half a dozen wires. Still in a daze, she struggled to remove them, only for a gentle but firm hand to grab her wrist. Hermione's eyes locked on an unfamiliar young witch, dressed in a white gown, who was kneeling beside her bed.

"It's okay, Miss Granger," the Healer told her calmly. "Lay back and catch your breath. You've been out for quite some time."

Trembling, Hermione slumped back into her pillows, taking in the room around her. She was in St. Mungo's, she now realized; she recognized the white marble floors and ceilings, the sterile environment that made her uncomfortable. But there was visible damage to the space: cracks in the tiles, chunks of wall missing. Signs of a recent battle, no doubt.

"How long?" Hermione croaked, her throat parched.

"Nearly three weeks," the Healer smiled, handing Hermione a bottle of water, which she greedily gulped down. "You were suffering from extreme magical exhaustion. Your body and mind had to shut down to allow your core to recover."

Hermione processed this. Now that the initial adrenaline rush had worn off, she felt incredibly weak, barely able to lift the bottle to her lips with shaking hands. It slipped from her fingers, splashing to the floor, but the Healer patiently picked it up for her, setting it on the bedside table.

"You are otherwise unharmed," the Healer told her. "We've been monitoring your vitals, and you are in no danger. You should feel back to normal in a few days."

"Everyone else?" Hermione croaked. "Safe?"

"A number of your colleagues have come to visit you," said the Healer. "I believe they've been taking turns guarding your room to keep the reporters away. Let me go find them." And the Healer stood to exit the room, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts, which bounced around her brain like pinballs.

Reporters, not Aurors. So she wasn't under arrest; that was good, then. Reporters meant that the battle had probably been a success. The fact that she was in St. Mungo's also fared well; it meant London was secure and the wizarding population had begun to rebuild. She'd worried that the devastation wrought by the Muggle military would render their operations completely non-viable, but the more secretive sites had clearly withheld the barrage. She surely had Rodriguez and Beckett to thank for that…

The Healer arrived moments later with a young blonde witch, whom Hermione recognized at once. "Luna!" she said weakly, as Luna beamed brilliantly at her and engulfed Hermione in a hug. Several monitors beeped in protest at the sudden assault to Hermione's person, eliciting a huff of annoyance from the Healer, but Hermione didn't mind. Luna was safe and sound – one less person to worry about.

"What's going on?" Hermione asked. "Is everyone okay?"

"It's going great, Hermione!" Luna smiled. "We lost a few people – Katie and Seamus didn't make it," Luna's smile faltered as she delivered this news, "but everyone else is fully recovered. We've all been worried sick about you!"

"I'm fine, I suppose," Hermione shrugged. "But what's happened with the war? Is it over?"

"Oh, yes," Luna nodded fervently. "Voldemort's supporters surrendered as soon as Harry announced he'd defeated him. The Wizengamot has disavowed the Dark Lord and pledged support for Harry. You two are being hailed as heroes. It's a bit chaotic right now, but I think we're out of the worst of it."

"Good," Hermione said. Her brain was still reeling with questions, but a sense of relief washed over her nonetheless. The nightmare of the past five years was finally over. They'd won the war. Now it was just a matter of cleaning up the mess left behind…

"Has Harry come to see me?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Erm...no, I don't think so," Luna said, shifting uncomfortably. "He dropped you off here, but other than that he hasn't stopped by. A few of us are taking shifts in the hall, but none of us have seen him."

"I see," said Hermione, feeling a pang of disappointment at this news.

"But he's been very busy, you see," Luna added quickly, as though to deflect the blow. "He's at the Ministry most days, working to sort things out. The Aurors have been conducting raids on high-level Ferrymen who got away, and the Wizengamot are scrambling to set up trials for war criminals."

"Who's in charge?" Hermione asked. "Have they named an interim Minister?"

"I don't think so," Luna shrugged. "Thicknesse tried to flee, but he didn't get far – I think Percy Weasley caught him and turned him in, matter of fact. Everyone just kinda assumes Harry's in charge, but it isn't really official. I guess it will be as soon as they can get a vote together, right?"

"Yes, perhaps," Hermione mused. She didn't know what Harry's intentions were now that his duty was fulfilled. Would he want to retire to a quiet life in the countryside? She doubted it. Would he join the Auror Department as he once proclaimed to be his ambition? Somehow she doubted that would be enough for him now. But did he actually want the responsibility and power that came with being Minister of Magic? She needed to speak with him to know for sure.

"Anyway, the reporters are dying to speak to you," Luna said. "They know that you were up there with Harry at the end. The aircraft were too far away to see exactly what happened, and no one knows where Voldemort's body is. Would you be willing to give a statement?"

"Erm…" Hermione stammered, frowning at this revelation. Did the public not know what happened to Voldemort? She hadn't told anyone her plan to send him to Nurmengard, nor did she wish for it to become public knowledge. "What has Harry told people?"

"He hasn't said a word," Luna frowned. "Just said that the Dark Lord is 'gone', and that's all anyone knows."

"I see," Hermione said slowly. She knew instinctively that she and Harry probably ought to get their story straight before making any kind of statement to the media. "Tell them I'm still feeling unwell, and I'll make a proper statement in a few days, once I've recovered."

"You got it, boss," Luna grinned. She gave Hermione's hand a loving squeeze before retreating back to the hallway. The Healer re-entered the room, fussing over Hermione's monitoring nodes that had come undone.

"Anyone else you'd like for us to contact?" the Healer asked her. "Any family, next of kin?"

Hermione's mind wandered far away, to Australia, where her parents were raising her daughter, blissfully unaware of the danger their true daughter was in. "No, thank you," Hermione said politely. I really ought to go visit to make sure they're alright, she thought to herself, as she once again faded into unconsciousness after such a hectic series of events.

Hermione spent the next few days drifting in and out of sleep, each time waking feeling as though she'd been hit by the Knight Bus. But she could feel her strength returning day by day, as the Healers forced her to eat liquid foods and fed her a steady diet of potions to replenish her physical and magical stamina. She remembered the sheer effort it had taken to hold Voldemort's magic at bay – she could only hope that the runes she'd installed at Nurmengard were doing the job effectively in her stead.

A few more visitors stopped by throughout her stay. George Weasley and Marianne appeared to inform her that all the children were safe, and were currently in a shelter in northern France waiting to be re-homed in wizarding households. Viktor Krum also came by to pay his respects, inviting her to the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic once she'd healed to accept his country's highest honor for her war efforts. Even Bill and Fleur came by to check on her, though they seemed rather frosty towards her. She supposed she deserved that for leaving them on such short notice, all those years ago.

Harry never came. Hermione supposed it wasn't a surprise, but it disappointed her all the same. After all they'd been through, after the sacrifices they'd both made to win this war, he still couldn't trust her. Was it the stupid prophecy, or her abandonment years prior, or something more? She badly wanted to explain herself to him, to make him understand why she'd made the decisions she did. But he seemed uninterested in hearing what she had to say.

The Healers steadily monitored Hermione's progress, and by the end of the week they'd informed her that she was cleared for release the following day. She was relieved by the news; physically she still felt weak, but mentally she was sharp and ready for action, ready to get out into the new post-war world and find out what the hell was going on.

She received one last visitor during her final evening in St. Mungo's, someone she'd definitely been hoping to speak to soon: Senator George Rodriguez. "Sorry for the late hour," he apologized; it was nearing midnight as he strode into the room, drawing the ire of the Healer on duty. "I had to make sure I wasn't recognized."

"Still on the run, are we?" Hermione asked.

"Not exactly," Rodriguez chuckled. "The political climate is very charged at the moment, both here and in the States. If I'm to run for President next year, I have to be careful who I'm seen talking to."

"Am I that much of a liability?" Hermione asked dryly, mostly tongue-in-cheek, but it was also an earnest question.

"That remains to be seen," Rodriguez winked. "MACUSA is extremely interested in who will be in charge once things settle down in Britain. They've been sending ambassadors on a daily basis to speak with Potter, but he hasn't given anyone the time of day."

Hermione frowned at this. "Maybe he's just busy," she offered as a possible explanation.

"Yes and no," Rodriguez shrugged. "According to my sources inside the Ministry, he's pushing the Aurors to initiate daily raids against former Death Eaters and Ferrymen. But the thing is, most of the ones who committed actual crimes have been caught or killed already. The DMLE has a lot of paperwork to do before determining who else they can arrest, and that takes time."

"And Harry doesn't like waiting," Hermione muttered knowingly.

"That's not all," Rodriguez said grimly. "He's done nothing to placate the no-Maj armies demanding compensation. Beckett is prepared to open fire again."

"He's what?!" Hermione gasped. In her mind, Voldemort's defeat meant the war was over. Were the Muggles not of the same opinion?

"You must understand, people are still afraid," Rodriguez explained. "The no-Maj population hasn't been properly told what happened. All they know is the wizards are still here, and their lives are still as miserable as they were under the Dark Lord."

"They're still being enslaved?" Hermione asked.

"In some areas, yes," Rodriguez said grimly. "Britain, the U.S. and parts of mainland Europe are beginning to liberate people, but in the more far-flung regions, anti-no-Maj policies are still in place."

"But the Dark Lord is gone!" Hermione said, displayed. "They can't do that anymore!"

"Who's going to tell them?" Rodriguez asked. "Their leaders are mostly puppets who supported the Dark Lord's policies. And I doubt the average British wizard cares for the plight of some no-Majes thousands of miles away who don't even speak the same language as them."

Hermione was appalled by this news, but it made sense to her. There wasn't exactly an international wizarding police force, unless you counted the International Confederation of Warlocks, which had no active military. Who, then, would tell the governments beyond Europe and North America that they had to suddenly start treating Muggles with respect? She thought of Australia again, far from Britain's reach, and how bad things might get if no one bothered to check on the state of affairs there…

But first, she needed to figure out what was happening here at home. "Take me to Beckett," she demanded, throwing the sheets off of herself and lowering her legs to the floor for the first time in weeks. She stood to her feet and promptly fell over, the muscles in her legs not strong enough to support her. Rodriguez hastened to help her back up, where she wobbled in place, head suddenly swimming with fatigue.

"I thought you might be keen to get moving," Rodriguez winked, reaching into his jacket pocket for a small vial of blue liquid. "Invigoration Draught?"

"Thank you," Hermione muttered, taking the vial and downing it in a single gulp. Immediately she felt strength returning to her body, her mind clearing and her legs steadying underneath her. It wouldn't last long, and she would crash hard in an hour or two, but the situation was too dire to let linger.

There was suddenly a great commotion as two Healers barged into the room, apparently alerted by Hermione's abrupt departure from bed. "Miss Granger, you are not yet cleared to leave!" one of them chastised her. "Please return to your bed."

"Sorry, but no," Hermione said firmly. "I have to leave now."

"Don't make us call our guards—" the other said warningly.

"And don't make me call mine," Rodriguez said threateningly, causing the young woman to go white. "We're leaving now, and unless you want a duel to break out on your ward, you'll let us."

"You really must rest, ma'am—" the first Healer said, wringing her hands.

"And I will," Hermione assured her. "Tomorrow." And with that, she led the way out of the room, Rodriguez close behind.

He steered her towards the stairwell and down into the lobby, which was mercifully near-empty at this late hour. They reached the Apparition point, and Rodriguez offered Hermione an arm. "You sure you're up for this?" he asked Hermione.

As an answer, she merely waved her wand over herself, transfiguring her hospital gown into a set of pristine robes. Rodriguez grinned appreciatively at the gesture. Hermione took the proffered arm, and felt herself twisted into nothingness with a faint pop.

They reappeared in a cramped bunker underground, amidst dozens of sleeping Muggle soldiers. They shouted in alarm and burst to their feet, but Rodriguez held up a placating hand. "Peace, brothers," he said coolly. "We've come to speak to your commander. He's expecting us."

"Piss off, wizards!" one of the men spat; the others similarly glared and hissed angrily at the two magical individuals who had disrupted their space. But they begrudgingly parted, allowing Hermione and Rodriguez to pass into the hall. Hermione could only imagine how bad things were elsewhere, if even the British Muggles were incensed by the mere sight of a wizard so soon after the war had (presumably) ended…

The hallway led them past a number of other bunkers housing soldiers, many of whom were now awake and glaring at the intruders. They arrived in a much larger space, filled with round tables – some kind of a mess hall, perhaps. Across the hall Hermione spotted a door guarded by two armed men – she presumed that must be their destination. Rodriguez led the way, drawing the attention of the two suspicious guards.

"What is your business here?" one demanded. "How did you enter this facility?"

"We've come to speak to General Beckett," Rodriguez said calmly. "He is expecting us."

"You were meant to check in at the front entrance, outside the bunker!" the other said furiously.

"I was fired upon the last time I attempted to use that entrance," Rodriguez said coldly. "Forgive me for choosing my own well-being over that of your trigger-happy men."

The guards both looked incensed, but they nonetheless stepped aside, granting them access. Rodriguez opened the door and walked into what appeared to be a command room, filled with maps and charts around a wide conference table. At one end of the table sat General Beckett, looking exhausted, his head in his hands as he looked up at their approach.

"This had better be good, Senator," Beckett snapped. "I'm tired of getting the run-around from your people. We demand answers, now."

"Unfortunately, I do not represent the British Ministry of Magic," Rodriguez said. "But I believe Miss Granger here can help you with what you seek."

"Erm...I don't represent the Ministry, either," Hermione muttered.

"Oh, perfect!" Beckett roared with laughter. "Another person with no answers!"

"Peace, Commander," Rodriguez warned. "Miss Granger here has a direct line to Harry Potter, whom many presume to be the de facto leader of the Ministry at present. She can get through to him, as soon as tomorrow morning, and set things right."

"Last I checked, she and Potter didn't seem to be getting on too well," Beckett snarled. "Isn't that what your intel told us before the Battle?"

Hermione winced at this; she hadn't realized the scope of Rodriguez's intelligence-gathering capabilities before now. But Rodriguez did not appear burdened by this revelation.

"She is as well-respected in Britain as Potter is," he went on. "If, say, she were to call an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot tomorrow morning, I imagine they would listen."

"And why would I do that?" Hermione asked, alarmed.

"To fucking negotiate!" Beckett snarled. "We demand fair compensation for our part in winning the war for you ungrateful bastards."

"Many wizards won't see it that way," Hermione pointed out. "They'll downplay your contributions and say Potter was the reason we won."

"And you believe that?" Beckett huffed. "You were there, Miss Granger. You saw how much damage we caused before your lot even showed up!"

Hermione couldn't argue with that. She'd seen the utter devastation the Muggle military had wrought against the Black Tower, and heard the tales from Luna, Krum and others of how quickly the Ministry surrendered to the foot soldiers who appeared on their doorstep. Harry and Hermione may have dealt with Voldemort, but the rest of the wizarding world was unquestionably conquered by Muggles.

"I believe you," Hermione said. "But if the Wizengamot doesn't?"

"Then convince them," Beckett said simply, crossing his arms. "Or this war is not over."

"Is that a threat?" Hermione asked, frowning.

"You're damned right it is!" Beckett roared, launching himself to his feet. "You think we couldn't have wiped your lot out if we wanted to? We showed you mercy, and got disrespectful silence in return!"

"The Ministry won't respond well to threats of violence," Hermione pointed out. "They don't like acting under duress."

"They don't frame it to them in those terms," Rodriguez said, attempting to mediate between them. "Convince them to pay off the armies that helped them win the war. Make them believe that they were on the winning side, and that they are merely extending an olive branch to the non-magicals who supported them."

"We're not children!" Beckett protested. "We won the war, not them! And you're letting them claim credit?"

"Wizards are a proud bunch," Rodriguez said simply. "Five years of believing themselves superior to your kind will only have exacerbated that feeling."

"What do you stand to gain from this, anyway?" Beckett demanded, rounding on Rodriguez. "Why aren't you Yanks demanding money, too?"

"Our side of the operation was government-funded, thanks to my efforts behind the scenes in the Senate," Rodriguez explained. "And once my contributions are made public – along with my successful arbitration with Miss Granger here – my path to the Presidency next fall should be clear."

"That so?" Beckett sneered. "And what if your lot figures out you're a filthy wizard?"

"They won't," Rodriguez said simply.

"What if I tell 'em?" Beckett grinned maliciously. "What if I don't get what I want and decide to stir up some shit?"

"Then you and I had best hope Miss Granger is successful in convincing the Wizengamot," Rodriguez said plainly. That shut Beckett up; the man raised his eyebrows and merely scoffed as he shook his head at Hermione.

"No pressure then, kid," Beckett laughed mirthlessly. "Shall we discuss our terms, then?"

They spent the next several hours hashing out Beckett's demands. Hermione was grateful for Rodriguez's presence, as he was able to guide the man through which bold claims were feasible and which would cause the Wizengamot to laugh in Hermione's face. The figures they settled on were still mind-boggling to Hermione, but Rodriguez and Beckett seemed satisfied that a deal was both possible and fair.

Hermione could feel the effects of the Invigoration Draught beginning to wear off. But her day was not yet over – far from it, in fact. "You have twenty-four hours," Beckett warned her as she and Rodriguez stood to leave. "If we haven't heard back by tomorrow morning, we attack at dawn."

"Duly noted," Hermione sighed tiredly. She couldn't begin to wrap her head around what might happen if she were to fail – it would surely be an even bloodier affair than the Battle of London had been. She had no other option but to succeed.

"Best of luck, Miss Granger," said Rodriguez, offering his hand.

"You're not coming with me?" asked Hermione.

"Too risky for me," he said, shaking his head. "If you fail, I can't be seen to have supported your efforts."

"But if I succeed, you intend to take credit," Hermione said dryly.

"Welcome to the world of politics," Rodriguez winked. "I must have contingencies for all outcomes. But for what it's worth, I do hope it's you that ends up on top."

Hermione wasn't sure if she respected his honesty or loathed his obvious lack of a moral compass. But she supposed it didn't matter one way or the other, if she failed her task. She shook his hand with a polite nod. Running on fumes and sheer determination now, she Disapparated, leaving Rodriguez and Beckett behind.

She appeared in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, which was dark and deserted at this ungodly hour. She hadn't the faintest idea of where to go or whom to talk to, nor did she have the time to ask around.

So instead, she pulled out her wand, aimed it over her head, and shot a series of sparks into the air, drawing ear-splitting BANG's as they echoed through the cavernous space.

Moments later, half a dozen guards sprinted onto the Atrium floor, wands drawn. "Freeze!" they bellowed at Hermione; she calmly stowed her wand away and raised her hands in surrender.

"Who do you report to?" she demanded in a clear, forceful voice.

"Erm...Amelia Bones," one of the guards muttered, confused. They now recognized Hermione and lowered their wands in confusion, wondering what one of the heroes of the war was doing here causing such a commotion.

"Good," Hermione said stiffly. "Take me to her."

"B-but she's at home, sleeping," another guard stammered.

"Then wake her up," Hermione snapped. "There's much work to be done."


Hermione stood off to one side of the courtroom, watching as it rapidly filled with members of the Wizengamot. They all look disheveled and confused, having been summoned for an emergency meeting with almost zero advance notice. Some took notice of Hermione's presence, and there was no missing the whispers about her, the gossip flying about her appearance. She could only hope that their opinion of her would hold strong, given the unpleasant nature of her visit…

Hermione yawned, rubbing her brow tiredly. She'd managed only a couple hours of shut-eye before the meeting, which she'd awoken from feeling worse than when she fell asleep. She was now on her third Invigoration Draught in a row and counting, already dreading the almighty crash whenever she let the effects run their course.

At precisely ten o'clock, Madam Bones smacked her gavel on her podium to call for order. "I, Undersecretary to the Minister Amelia Bones, hereby call this emergency meeting of the Wizengamot to order," she announced loudly, drawing a hush from around the room. But it didn't last long.

"Who called this meeting?" someone demanded from the back rows. "Only the Minister or Supreme Mugwump can call a meeting!"

"Considering that both men are currently residing in Azkaban, I took the initiative myself," said Madam Bones. That drew a few appreciative chuckles, but didn't seem to placate most.

"What is the purpose of this meeting?" someone else asked.

"There are a number of developments in the war that need addressing," Madam Bones said. "The floor will now recognize—"

"But the war's over!" someone else shouted, drawing cheers of agreement from the crowd.

"You will not speak out of turn, Lord Nott!" Madam Bones growled. Hermione felt a chill down her spine at the sight of one of Voldemort's former Death Eaters, sitting free and in power on the court bench. It was a reminder of the obstacles that the Ministry still faced in achieving peace…that she herself faced at achieving justice for the Muggles still deemed inferior by many…

"The floor will now recognize Hermione Granger for her testimony," Madam Bones went on, gesturing to Hermione. She strode to the center of the courtroom, drawing yet more whispers from the crowd. This was her first public appearance since the war had ended, and clearly many were curious how she would respond to all the attention so soon after being named Public Enemy #1. She drew a deep breath and spoke as loudly and clearly as she could.

"Good morning," she said, her voice ringing out throughout the chamber. "As many of you know, I have spent the past several years organizing the rebellion against the Dark Lord's regime. As part of these efforts, I coordinated with Muggle leadership, both here and in the United States, to make use of their military might to recapture London.

"The war may be over for us," Hermione continued, seeing the looks of rapt attention of the Wizengamot around her. "But for the Muggles, it has yet to resolve. They remain at the bottom of the food chain, still ignored and maligned by wizardkind. They grow increasingly restless and bloodthirsty, believing that the new regime will be no better for them than Lord Voldemort's." Many in the room flinched at the name; the Taboo had long been lifted, but the name still elicited fear and unpleasant memories.

"If the Ministry of Magic continues to ignore the Muggles," Hermione went on, "we could face further violence and unrest from their insurgent forces. It is imperative that we take action now to prove that wizarding Britain has turned over a new leaf, and is willing to exist peacefully alongside the Muggles moving forward."

"And why would we do that?" a voice sneered from the upper levels.

Because you'll be annihilated tomorrow morning otherwise, Hermione thought bitterly. But she knew taking such an approach would be poorly received. "Because we're better than the Dark Lord," she said instead. "Because we're not blood-obsessed bigots like he was. Are we?"

Her innocent question lingered in the air, a challenge for anyone to dare deny. She saw a cluster of pure-blood representatives to her right, seemingly led by Lord Nott, glaring down at her, but they remained silent, unwilling to admit publicly they still shared Voldemort's blood prejudice against Muggles.

"What specifically do you propose, Miss Granger?" asked Madam Bones after a few moments' silence.

"The leader of the Muggle insurgent groups has requested compensation for the Battle of London in the form of two billion British pounds," Hermione said. Then, noticing the lack of response, she added: "That's approximately four hundred million Galleons."

That revelation caused an uproar in the chamber. "Preposterous!" someone shouted. "That's more than the Ministry's annual budget!"

"General Beckett is willing to negotiate a multi-year installment plan," said Hermione. "If the Ministry is smart with the seized assets of captured Ferrymen, and invests the gold wisely, that can be paid off by the end of the decade with ease."

"Surely nothing can go wrong with the Ministry re-allocating hundreds of millions of Galleons," a booming voice rang out, causing all heads to turn towards the entrance. Harry Potter had entered the courtroom, and was striding out towards the center of the floor beside Hermione. "That has never gone wrong before." A few chuckled appreciatively at this quip, no doubt a dig at the corrupt days of Cornelius Fudge and his talent for making Ministry funds disappear into thin air.

"M-Mister Potter," stammered Amelia Bones. "To what do we owe the pleasure?" Hermione also cocked a curious brow at Harry, but he barely acknowledged her.

"I just received word of an emergency meeting of the Wizengamot," Harry said. "I was of the belief that only the acting Minister or Supreme Mugwump could call such a meeting."

"Correct," said Madam Bones.

"And why was I not notified?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Well…" Madam Bones stammered. "You're not...I mean, officially, that is...it was never made clear…"

"Never mind that," Harry said dismissively. "I find the nature of these discussions rather alarming. Why has Miss Granger called us all here to demand gold? Who named her in charge of Muggle relations?"

"I have spent the past two years negotiating with the Muggle military forces that aided us in the Battle of London," Hermione said. "Who else can make that claim?"

"And yet," Harry went on, "it is wizarding money you seek to steal."

"Not to steal!" Hermione protested, but the point had been made; she heard the gasps of indignation, the implication that Harry leveled against her sinking into the consciousness of the Wizengamot. He was winning this war of words.

"And once the Muggles have our money, are we to expect them to just run back to their homes?" Harry went on, emboldened. "Who's to say they don't come back and demand more? Do they expect to hold us ransom for eternity, always demanding more of us?"

"This is a one-time compensation!" Hermione said firmly. "The Muggles want to return home to their families just as much as we all did!"

"And they are welcome to do so," Harry said dismissively. "Wizarding Britain will not be held captive by idle threats from every disgruntled Muggle who tries to empty our pockets."

The room erupted with applause at this sentiment. Hermione's heart sank – the longer Harry spoke, the more her hope at convincing the Wizengamot dwindled.

"I would like to propose a vote," Harry announced confidently. "It's high time the vacant leadership position was filled. I call for the Wizengamot to name an acting Minister of Magic, effective immediately."

The crowd murmured in general assent at this, and Hermione knew all was lost. If Harry was named Minister now, he would kill her proposal, and bloodshed was inevitable. She did not believe Beckett's threats were idle in the slightest. The fate of the wizarding world – perhaps the entire world – depended on this meeting ending in a deal. She had to do something…

"Very well," said Madam Bones. "Does anyone wish to volunteer their name for the position?"

Desperate, Hermione grabbed Harry by the arm and yanked him off the floor, dragging him across the courtroom towards an alcove off to one side. Immediately whispers of confusion broke out all around them, wondering what on earth this could be about. Harry wrenched his arm free, but consented to the private conversation.

"It's over, Hermione," he said firmly in a low whisper. "You won't beat me in a straight vote."

"You're right," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "You're not going to offer yourself as an option."

Harry's eyebrows shot up. "Why would I do that?" he demanded. "Hermione, I'm basically in charge already. They'll do whatever I say."

"I know," Hermione nodded. "But it has to be me."

Harry frowned at her, seeing that she was serious. "Sorry, Granger, but it's not happening," he said coldly. "I'm not stepping down just because you fancy yourself in power." And he turned to walk back onto the floor of the courtroom.

"Then you will never meet your daughter."

Harry froze. He turned slowly at her words, processing them. "I have no daughter," he said blankly.

"Yes, you do," Hermione said. "I gave birth to her shortly after I left you at Bill and Fleur's."

Harry stared at her in shock. "You're lying," he said.

"See for yourself," Hermione said simply.

Harry narrowed his eyes in suspicion, but a moment later, she felt a probe of Legilimency poking at her mental barriers. She let him in, feeding him the image of her newborn child, a girl with jet-black hair and doe-brown eyes, staring innocently up at her.

Harry pulled away in shock and fear. "Where is she?" he demanded.

"Safe," Hermione said simply. "Far away from here."

"Take me to her. Now."

"No," said Hermione flatly. "You will never know where she is. Not unless you step down, right now."

"You—" Harry stammered, beginning to tremble, breathing heavily as he stared at her, wide-eyed. "You can't keep me from her. I'm her father."

"You will meet her one day," Hermione said. "When she's grown. Until then, you will not stand in the way of my political career."

Harry looked torn between bursting into tears and strangling Hermione on the spot, or worse. She kept her hand firmly on the handle of her wand within her robes, prepared for the worst. But he wouldn't dare attack her in front of the entire Wizengamot. Would he? Currently he looked more dangerous than even Voldemort, similarly backed into a corner with nowhere to run.

"Please don't do this," Harry pleaded. "I don't...I can't...I'll never forgive you for it."

His words stung, but Hermione did not give him an answer. She instead strode back to the center of the courtroom, hearing the crowd hush at her approached. She nodded to Madam Bones to continue the proceedings.

"Erm…" Madam Bones said, looking a bit flustered by the interruption. "Very well. Does anyone wish to submit their name for consideration for the position of Minister of Magic?"

"I nominate myself, Hermione Granger," Hermione announced clearly.

Madam Bones noted this with a scratch of a quill on parchment. "Anyone else?" she asked to the room.

All eyes looked to Harry, who had called for the vote in the first place. He stood off to one side, still staring intently at Hermione, face unreadable. She stared right back, betraying no fear, though secretly her heart was hammering. She wasn't sure whether she would rather fight Harry here and now or face a full-scale Muggle invasion in the morning, but she prayed that neither would come to pass.

"No other nominees?" Madam Bones asked a second time, sounding confused. The Wizengamot looked around at one another, perplexed by the silence.

"I nominate Harry Potter!" a voice rang out; all eyes turned to Lord Nott, who stood and gestured towards Harry while glaring suspiciously at Hermione. Several loud murmurs of agreement followed this nomination.

"I decline the nomination," Harry muttered, just loud enough to be heard by the room. A shocked silence fell at this statement. Even Madam Bones seemed uncertain about how to proceed.

"Any...any others?" she asked awkwardly. No one else seemed willing to put their name forward. All eyes were on Hermione now, some looking mutinous, others regarding her with mild suspicion and confusion.

"Very well," Madam Bones said. "A motion has been called to name Hermione Jean Granger the temporary Minister of Magic, effective immediately. All in favor?"

"Aye," came the scattered mumblings from around the room.

"And all opposed?"

A few emphatic nay's rang out, mostly from the old pure-blood families like Nott and Parkinson. But most of the Wizengamot seemed cowed into silence, completely perplexed by the sudden turn of events.

"The 'ayes' have it," said Madam Bones. "The motion carries. Congratulations to Minister Granger." And she banged her gavel, making it official. Not a sound of congratulations followed the statement; the chamber was deathly silent. Hermione knew at once that she would spend the entirety of her time in office looking over her shoulder, suspicion and distrust following her every move. But now was not the time to cower in fear...there was still work to be done.

"Thank you, Madam Bones," Hermione nodded politely. "I would now like to discuss the matter of compensation for the Muggle forces, as well as call for a meeting of the ICW to address the liberation of Muggles and Muggle-borns abroad."

There was a loud crash as the doors to the antechamber were slammed shut. Harry had stormed out of the courtroom, clearly unwilling or unable to watch on as Hermione took the reins of government. She knew that she may have irrevocably ruined her relationship with him. But she had no other choice.

We all must make sacrifices in war, Hermione reminded herself. If she had to sacrifice her relationship with Harry – and with her own daughter – to save the world, she would. No matter how much it hurt her to do so.