Chapter Text
MARCH 16
5 Days Until Bathilda Bagshot’s Gala
Marlene’s office was located in an old Victorian building downtown that was renovated a bit over ten years ago, right before it became home for McKinnon & Associates . It wasn’t tall at all—just three floors, all rented out by Marlene herself—but Hermione still felt like it was towering over her as she stood in front of the main entrance, shifting her weight from one foot to another. She didn’t know where all her confidence suddenly went when it came to Marlene, but how could she have known Andromeda would insist she was the one to deliver an invitation to dinner at the Tonks residence?
Two days after the plans were made at the morning briefing, and approximately fifteen hours after they sat down and thought of everything that could go wrong with this plan, Andromeda caught her by the elbow amid the chaos in the headquarters and said, “You and Lily can leave the office now.”
Hermione knew that her eyes must have popped out of their sockets at these words; she couldn’t remember the last time she came home before nine in the evening since starting this job. She took a glance at her new wristwatch—a present Lily gave her just yesterday for being exceptional (or so she said)—and noticed that it was only a bit past three.
Andromeda seemed amused by the confusion on her face, letting out a little laugh, “I want you both to adequately prepare for dinner. Make yourselves perfect to Marlene’s standards, and Nymphadora and I will do the same in a few hours. But before you head to your apartment, I have a task for you. Think you can handle that?”
Mulling over Andromeda’s words now, Hermione could so clearly notice the teasing lilt in her tone as the older woman posed this challenge. She wasn’t sure it could be called a challenge as she fidgeted with an elegant card in her hands; there was just a simple fact that nobody ever stepped foot into McKinnon & Associates if they weren’t Marlene’s people or her clients. And there was another thing—nobody really knew who worked for Marlene. While Marlene was the public face of McKinnon & Associates , said associates kept out of the media, which initially got them the nickname ‘Ghosts’. As Marlene said multiple times, they were invisible to others to do their job more efficiently and without any arising problems, but they were invaluable and irreplaceable to her when it came to running day-to-day operations.
Hermione swore it must have been Christmas or her birthday when the door before her opened. The curly-haired brunette with golden brown skin in front of her must have been only a few years older than Hermione—closer to Nymphadora’s age, probably. She was wearing the kind of attire Hermione would wear to work, too: classic black slacks and an emerald-green cotton blouse with rolled-up sleeves. She looked a bit out of breath, as if she had been running for the better part of the day. Knowing the work Marlene probably had her people doing, Hermione wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
“Hi, so sorry for the wait,” the brunette smiled, holding the door open and gesturing for her to come inside. Hermione went up the stairs. “My name is Evelyn, I’m Marlene’s assistant. You’re Hermione Granger, I presume?”
Hermione hummed, nodding in response a bit distractedly as she walked into the building, looking around. There were glass walls practically everywhere, and the majority of the first floor seemed to be occupied by the open office. But this space was nothing like the Tonks headquarters; there were no cubicles inside—just a huge wooden desk in the middle of the room, surrounded by smaller desks with computers and comfortable-looking chairs. It was similar to the conference room in the HQs that Hermione considered her fourth home by now, but there was no display board or anything, unlike the one in the private room that she, Andromeda, Lily and Nymphadora used for strategizing.
Before Hermione could count the number of people in the open office and take a few guesses about what they were working on, she heard a firm, “Ms. Granger?” coming from behind her.
She looked over her shoulder, meeting Evelyn’s eyes and smiling apologetically. “I apologize. You were saying?”
“You need to sign these forms before we can proceed,” Evelyn said, handing her the clipboard.
Hermione frowned, slipped the invitation card inside her bag, and took the clipboard, her eyes quickly skimming over pages of text. “A non-disclosure agreement?” she asked, chuckling.
“I’m afraid so. We don’t really have a lot of guests in hee, but when we do, it’s a standard policy to make sure that you won’t disclose anything you see or hear in there, whether it came from one of the associates or Marlene herself,” Evelyn explained, twirling a pen between two of her fingers before handing it to Hermione.
“Of course,” Hermione hummed, turning to the last page of the agreement and leaving three signatures.
Evelyn immediately took the clipboard from her, making sure that everything was in order. As soon as she finished checking the placement of Hermione’s signature—and, by the determined look in her eyes, even its validity—the slightest crease between her eyebrows was gone. She smiled brightly.
“I’m afraid you will have to deal with my company for a bit—Marlene got wrapped in an unscheduled work call and insisted she was not to be disturbed for another ten minutes,” Evelyn said, pressing her lips in an apologetic manner and shrugging, as if saying ‘this happens often’ . Before Hermione could answer, a young man passed by, and Evelyn quickly handed him the clipboard before focusing on Hermione once again. “So, would you care for a quick tour?”
Hermione couldn’t believe her luck. The office of McKinnon & Associates seemed like a fortified castle to the general public, heavily guarded by Marlene to keep the personal lives of her clients anonymous. Hermione recalled that a number of journalists tried sneaking in to publish a detailed report on what was happening inside. There was even a story from ten years ago when Marlene just began hiring people and one Rita Skeeter wanted to be hired oh so desperately but didn’t qualify for the job because of the background check Marlene did for every one of her hiring prospects. Skeeter was a wannabe journalist back then and wanted her big break in the field of political journalism to be a piece about the inner workings behind the enigma that was Marlene McKinnon.
Before Skeeter’s intentions were exposed, she had already participated in a number of meetings in this building as a part of her hiring process, and, according to some people, managed to hear something that could have brought a few famous politicians in Washington down. However, her big break was a totally different piece, and she never wrote a word about Marlene McKinnon to this day, and nobody really knew why.
As the tour progressed, Hermione understood why so many people wanted to be a part of this. Evelyn explained that Marlene had around forty people altogether. There were two assistants—Evelyn and her assistant, who was a second assistant to Marlene to make sure the things were running smoothly, because as it turned out, Evelyn also helped out a few women who worked there, too. Specifically, there were three women that were the heads of different departments—apparently, Marlene’s business was big enough to have departments . Each of the departments had code names, code words, and information accessible only by those who knew them. They had an IT department, which was a nice word for hackers, if Hermione had to guess, two separate research teams, one of which, Hermione was sure, was always out in the streets collecting information for the second one, acting as spies. Hiding in the shadows, gathering bits and pieces of facts about the clients that Marlene and the actual research team worked on deciphering and turning into a full-sized picture.
This whole machine was as well-oiled as Andromeda Tonks’ presidential campaign, and Hermione would be a fool if she tried to lie and say she wasn’t completely taken aback by Marlene’s reach. As she walked, looking around curiously and listening to Evelyn’s lively chatter, she made a mental note of looking more into Marlene’s story. Something burned inside of her at the desire to find out how, exactly, the older woman managed to build something of this magnitude from the ground up and keep it successfully running for over a decade. Because, while presidential campaigns lasted one or two years every four years, this business had been Marlene’s day-to-day life for the past ten.
Hermione was almost even jittery by the time they finally reached Marlene’s office. Evelyn stopped dead in her tracks at the ping of her cellphone, and Hermione didn’t miss an exasperated “shit” escaping her lips in the form of an exasperated whisper.
“Troubles in paradise?” she asked, arching her eyebrow. She hoped her smirk looked just as cocky as when she had practiced it back when she was an undergrad student preparing for another debate in her comparative politics class.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I started telling you,” Evelyn let out a little laugh. “Do you mind if I go? Marlene has only about three minutes of her work call left, so you could just wait here. I could stay, if you want, but—” she glanced at her phone, then in the direction of the elevator. When her eyes got back to Hermione, she shrugged, offering a wordless explanation.
“No, it’s okay, you should go,” Hermione smiled, waving Evelyn’s concerns off. “I’ll be fine. It was very nice to meet you. And thank you for the tour—it was lovely to find out about the inner workings of McKinnon & Associates .”
“Oh, it was all my pleasure,” Evelyn assured her, and Hermione could swear that the smile on the woman’s face was almost even shy. “I was wondering—I apologize if this is unprofessional, but, well—maybe you would want to go out with me sometime? To talk in a more informal setting?” She handed Hermione her business card that seemed to appear out of nowhere.
Hermione slowly blinked, processing. She took the card into her hands. Evelyn Dominguez. A phone number, a work email. Hermione’s words got caught in her throat, and she stared at Evelyn, a little confused. “To go out? As in…?”
“ Asinforadate ,” Evelyn muttered, and the words were so slurred, so rushed that it took Hermione a few seconds to decipher them.
When she finally did, she could swear that a blush started creeping up the back of her neck. “Oh, I’m not—I’m stra—” she stuttered, scrambling for words. “I have a boyfriend.”
Evelyn frowned. “Oh? Sorry, I just assumed—well—” She let out an awkward laugh, fidgeting with the collar of her shirt. “This is awkward. I apologize, profoundly. You can just—throw it out,” she muttered, gesturing at the business card in Hermione’s hands, not daring to look up.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want to go out in an informal non-date setting, did I?” Hermione smirked, but her smirk quickly morphed into a smile as she met Evelyn’s eyes. The woman looked a little unsure, blushing as if it was the single most embarrassing moment of both her entire life and her entire career. “If you would like that, I wouldn’t mind that either,” Hermione offered.
She knew Ron would have hated that she did that. He would call her stupid for going out with someone who already asked her out on a romantic date, and then probably throw in some not very nice comments after hearing that the invitation came from a woman, not a man.
Hermione shook her head, her mind slipping from the thoughts about Ron so easily—she got used to doing that a lot in the past couple of weeks. She focused back on Evelyn, seeing the way the woman watched her movements as Hermione carefully put the business card in the front pocket of her bag.
“That would be great, honestly,” Evelyn smiled brightly. She opened her mouth, ready to say something else, but her phone pinged three or four times in rapid succession. She cringed. “And now I really have to go. I hope you have a nice chat with Marlene—and, as I said, it was great meeting you, Hermione.”
Evelyn hurried towards the elevator, the sound of her heels echoing off every wall. Hermione watched her leave and couldn’t quite suppress a smile at how easy it was to talk with Evelyn, how cheerful she was even though she had such a demanding job.
Then, she glanced at her wristwatch, noticing that the three minutes Evelyn told her about had already passed. She looked around but didn’t see anyone guarding the entrance to Marlene’s office—neither one of her assistants nor a security guard (she was half-expecting there to be one).
Hermione took a big breath, trying to relax, to seem less nervous than she actually was. She swiftly took the invitation card out of her bag and then critically looked herself over in the nearby mirror. Everything was as perfect as it could possibly be, and there was no point in delaying the inevitable anymore—after all, she still had to get home and prepare for the upcoming dinner. With that thought, she took a few tentative steps forward, not even making a single sound as she was nearing a slightly ajar door.
That was when she heard it. Marlene’s voice, clear as ever, slightly exasperated and a little bit annoyed. Somewhat desperate.
Hermione didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but before she could take a step back to grant the older woman her privacy, Marlene’s words reached her ears.
“What else do you want from me? I said I was working on it. You will get what you want, as you always do,” Marlene said, but maybe ‘spat out’ would be a more fitting choice of words. Her voice was bitter, and it felt like it physically pained the older woman to talk to another person that way. She sighed, then. “Of course I didn’t forget what you did for me. I will always remember. But that doesn’t mean—” The softness of the words disappeared as soon as Malene got interrupted. “Of course. Understood. Perfectly . I have to go.”
Hermione quickly took a few steps back, just as quiet and almost even soundless as before. That was a very smart move on her part—less than thirty seconds later, the door to Marlene’s office was opened all the way through. Hermione could feel the older woman's eyes on her as she typed utter nonsense in the notes app on her phone. She wanted to pass off as unassuming; as someone so engrossed into her own agenda that they couldn’t even hear what was happening around them. So she didn’t look up.
“Hermione?” Marlene’s voice rang across an empty hallway, but Hermione pretended to not hear it altogether. She kept typing, until, a minute and another try later, Marlene walked up to her and gently touched her elbow, as if not wanting to spook her.
The slightest jump Hermione made should surely be considered as the best acting she had ever done. Then, her eyes finally met Marlene’s, and there was no suspicion in the crystal clear blue eyes—which was Hermione’s ultimate goal.
She smiled and tilted her head in greeting. “Ms. McKinnon. Thank you so much for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice.”
“It’s a pleasure,” Marlene assured her, slowly taking her hand away, not allowing herself to linger for obvious reasons. “I hope you weren’t too bored as you waited for me to finish my work call. I apologize for that; today has been crazy, so the entire office is running a little behind. I’m afraid that also includes me.”
Hermione waved her words off with the hand that still held her phone in a firm grasp. “I had a great time. Evelyn showed me around while you were busy.”
“Ah, of course she did,” Marlene smiled. “My saving grace. The best assistant in DC, if you ask me. Some of my clients tried to poach her from me, did she tell you that?”
Hermione arched her eyebrow. “Really?”
“There was even that one prince. Was so adamant. I swear, he was almost ready to sell half of his country to me just so I would let her go.” Marlene shook her head, letting out a little laugh at the absurdity of the situation. However, just in a matter of seconds, her expression suddenly acquired a more professional edge to it. “So, why did you want to meet me?”
“Essentially, to give you this,” Hermione said, handing the older woman the invitation. She could clearly see the surprise on Marlene’s face as the blonde carefully read it once, then twice. Hermione wondered what was exactly so surprising about it that someone as professional as Marlene let her mask slip off for a couple of long seconds.
“A dinner? Today? At Andromeda’s?”
Hermione hummed in agreement. “If you accept the invitation, that is. Senator Tonks would like to discuss with you the prospects of cooperation regarding one of our policies and how grateful we would be for your input.”
Hermione expected to be forced to use more arguments to talk Marlene into showing up, into carving out some time in her extremely busy and complicated schedule for this unplanned last-minute social affair. So, when Marlene agreed instantly, the corners of the older woman’s lips twitching in a small smile, Hermione was dumbfounded, for the lack of a better word. All she could do was stare as a curious and hopeful “really?” slipped past her lips on its own accord; she couldn’t quite believe her luck.
“Of course,” Marlene smiled, as if it was the most obvious thing ever—the fact she would agree right away. “I will be there.”
As Hermione left, she kept thinking about how well everything was working out, how beneficial it was for her and for the campaign. And there was something strange about it, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on and clearly define, but she silenced it. It was a nice feeling—knowing things were working out exactly the way she desired. She didn’t want to let it go, not even for a second.
Hermione let out a relieved sigh as soon as she entered their shared apartment and noticed that all the lights were off. Harry was probably still at work, and Ron… well, out and about, as usual; maybe working, maybe not. It had been hard for him to keep a job this past couple of months; often enough, his anger issues would get the better of him at work to the point where he snapped at his boss, and Hermione would be the one who had to smooth things over and talk the boss into simply letting Ron go without filing a formal complaint.
She slowly walked to her bedroom, catching herself thinking about how nice it was to be at the apartment alone. It almost never really happened: these past few weeks, by the time she got home from work after exhausting fourteen- or sixteen-hour days, both Harry and Ron would have been home for hours, watching TV in the living room, disregarding their dirty dishes in the sink. Hermione always wanted to get into the habit of reading some fiction before bed—maybe even a thriller, or a detective novel—but Ron felt like it would be a stupid habit, the one that would take away a couple of hours he had with her in the evenings, so Hermione had never really gotten around to doing what she wanted. In more ways than one.
She was humming a half-familiar tune of the song she heard coming from someone’s phone earlier today as she rummaged through her wardrobe, searching for the perfect outfit. She laid out the three most favorable options on her bed: a dress, a skirt and a blouse, and another blouse and black classic slacks that had probably become the item of clothing she wore most often these days.
Hermione tapped on her chin as her eyes darted away from option number one to option number three. Eventually, she reached for her bag, took her phone out, and shot a quick text to Lily.
[Hermione, 16:21]
Hey, what are you wearing to dinner?
[Lily, 16:21]
Ohhhh, wanna match our outfits?? Nymph is gonna be pissed,
but I think Andy will love it. It can make us seem like a united front
and all this stuff that you could put in an article if you worded it beautifully
[Lily 16:21]
I was going for a black dress/skirt and something dark on top. You?
[Hermione, 16:22]
I had an idea. How about we do all in black, red lipstick, hair loose?
The idea came to her about a few seconds before she typed it. She thought of all the pictures of Marlene she saw from more formal dinners, and the woman seemed to prefer black clothing as much as Narcissa Black did, while also having the same preference for burgundy-red lipstick. Hermione usually liked bright accents in her style or generally calmer or lighter colors, but this could be fun. There would be no press to photograph them, no people at the nearest table staring at them quizzically. Plus, she knew that Lily had this killer black dress that could make every man bow before her. Who knew—maybe it would work even on Marlene.
[Lily, 16:22]
I see what you’re doing, you sneaky little thing. I’m on board;
going to wear the dress I hope you had in mind when you offered it. You?
[Hermione, 16:22]
Give me some credit… It's going to be a surprise. I’m going for jaw-dropping tonight.
[Lily, 16:23]
Ah, I see you decided to watch me pick my jaw
off the floor in front of Marlene McKinnon. You’re incredibly evil
[Lily, 16:23]
Need me to pick you up?
Hermione worried her lower lip between her teeth. Initially, she planned on asking Harry to give her a ride if he was home from work by that time. But the thought seemed daunting now—they didn’t spend much time together these days, and it felt like he was just as disappointed in her as Ronald. Lily was such a better option, in all ways imaginable, if Hermione was honest.
[Hermione, 16:23]
Please do. I would be eternally grateful. Give me 50 minutes? I want to get there early.
[Lily, 16:23]
Yeah, see you in 50. Wait for a knock on your door!
Hermione let out a little laugh. Lily was the easiest person to talk to these days.
She shook her head, letting the thought fall from her mind and land right on the bed. She put away the majority of the clothing she had picked out earlier, leaving only black slacks. She rummaged through her wardrobe once again, searching for the perfect top, and found the one she bought on a whim but had never really worn before. It was a black lacy top on thin straps, the one you could only wear under a jacket or a blazer. It seemed perfect for today: she wouldn’t be photographed, and it was just the right touch of informality to go with the overall formality of her outfit.
Hermione spent the majority of the next thirty minutes fixing her hair and makeup—it had surely taken a hit after seven hours she spent at work. She used some eyeliner, some extra mascara and a darker shimmery eyeshadow to make her eyes stand out. After she put her slacks and her top on, she had to admit she spent a ridiculous amount of time in front of the mirror in the living room area (this one had the best lighting) applying her lipstick.
Hermione was almost ready to go. She was moving around the apartment swiftly and picking up some things to take with her, the sound of her high heel boots so loud in the overall deafening silence of the apartment. Her jacket was draped over the back of the couch, and she carefully put her bag on top of the kitchen counter before heading to her bedroom to pick up some accessories. It was a no-brainer for her, her new favorite classic: the DKNY wristwatch Lily gave her, a couple of silver rings on both of her hands, a simple silver bracelet and an elegant necklace with a single diamond.
Hermione felt like she was almost even flying—that’s how good her mood was. As she came back to the living room, glancing at the clock on the wall, she noticed that it was only twenty minutes left before their agreed time, which meant Lily would inevitably show up in the next ten minutes or so. That was countless of the things about her that Hermione admired so much; the one she wished Harry and Ron would know about, too. They were late all the time, and if at the very beginning of their friendship it was a little endearing, now it was simply exasperating.
She shook her head, not wanting to think about any of them tonight. Hermione got back to the mirror, grabbing a bottle of perfume from the dresser. She sprayed a little of it on her hair and then on her wrist, rubbing her hands together afterwards.
Hermione felt so good she was short of singing when she heard the door open and then close. She glanced over her shoulder and muttered a quick greeting to Ron before heading towards the kitchen counter. She wanted to double-check she had everything she needed.
Ron whistled at the sight of her, and it felt so incredibly crass that Hermione barely fought the urge to flinch.
“Aren’t you dressed too fancy for our Chinese takeout night? It’s not that I mind, but…” he smirked, looking Hermione up and down too many times.
And that’s when Hermione remembered.
She was so preoccupied, expecting one dinner, that she completely forgot about another.
When she turned around to face Ron, her thoughts must have been written all over her face, because Ron’s smirk morphed into a scowl in a matter of seconds. “Seriously? You forgot? ”
Hermione sighed, nodding guiltily. She should have set the damn reminder. “I’m really sorry, this was so unplanned—I only found out the time earlier today.”
“Couldn’t you just cancel or something?” Ron grunted.
This time, Hermione didn’t even think of suppressing the urge to flinch. “This is my job we are talking about, Ronald. I’m having dinner with a candidate for President and the best political fixer in town to convince her to help us so we could get Andromeda elected as the President of the United States. Of course I couldn’t cancel. The dinner is to see if we can go through with my plan or not.” She tried to keep her voice calm and even as she talked, but sometimes, talking to Ron felt like talking to a child. He never really had any interest in politics, but he didn’t even try to read up on it since she got this job. It was a non-negotiable part of her life now, the part she loved and cherished so much she couldn’t quite describe it.
Don’t get her wrong—Hermione knew she fucked up plenty of times. But she also knew that it would get a little bit better over time. After all, she had only started two weeks ago and still had to show herself, and there was no campaign manager to work with, no one who would help lighten her workload because currently she, Lily and Andromeda were performing the duties of at least three different people to keep everything running smoothly. She told Ronald all of that and even more, but he just wouldn’t listen and wouldn't understand how important it was for her.
Hermione felt more apologies at the tip of her tongue, words of regret and offers of doing something together later this week—maybe ordering Thai food and watching Bond movies. Hermione was never really a fan, but Ron seemed to like them.
Before any more words could leave her mouth, Harry came back from work, joining them in the kitchen. His eyebrows shot up as soon as he saw Hermione’s outfit, and then his gaze travelled between two of his best friends. Eventually, he settled on staring at Hermione, with obvious, albeit mild disappointment in his eyes, as if he was wordlessly asking, “Again?”
Great , Hermione thought, letting out a loud sigh and massaging her temples. She could feel a headache coming—she would have to pop a few pills of paracetamol before she and Lily got to Andromeda’s place.
“Do you have something to say about the way I’m doing my job, Harry?” Hermione asked, not bothering to mask her annoyance. She walked to the couch and put her jacket on before coming back to the kitchen to grab her bag. While she did that, she took a quick glance at her wristwatch—Lily should be there any minute now. The thought felt like a lifeline.
Hermione suddenly couldn’t stand being in the apartment she mostly paid for. She missed the earlier silence, the feeling of being there alone, unbothered and not judged by people she called friends, family.
Harry and Ron were in the middle of their rant about how truly irresponsible and disrespectful she was being when Hermione finally heard a sharp, yet still somewhat soft knock from the hallway. She grabbed her bag, and before any of the guys could stop her, breezed past them and into the hallway. She practically threw the door open—that was how badly she needed to get away.
She didn’t quite count on the fact that seeing Lily would knock all the air out of her lungs, because, well… That dress didn’t have an effect only on men—it left her speechless, too, like many other women, she was sure of it. It was a tight-fitted black velvet dress with an off-shoulder neckline, hugging every curve of Lily’s body just the right way. Her natural red hair was styled into perfect locks and gathered on the right side, and their lipsticks matched one another perfectly—they probably ended up using the same shade by accident.
“Lily,” Hermione breathed out in relief. “I’m so glad you’re here. You look magnificent.”
Lily grinned, tilting her head slightly to the left. She brought her hand to Hermione’s face, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Not as magnificent as you, dear.”
“ Mom? ” came a high-pitched sound from behind.
Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes, which prompted a low chuckle from Lily. The older woman hushed at her to behave before putting her hand on Hermione’s waist under her blazer and turning her around, so both of them would be facing Harry and Ron.
“Harry!” she said, smiling. It wasn’t the usual smile she gave her son—it was somewhat dimmed, tainted. As if Lily noticed the way Hermione was ready to jump out of her own skin to escape when she opened the door. “I thought you would be at work.”
“I—I got out early,” he muttered. He shook his head. “You’re taking Hermione out for dinner?”
“It’s a work dinner, sweetheart. A necessary part of the job, I’m afraid. Hermione and I will have attended countless dinners by the time November rolls around.”
Ron scoffed, clearly displeased at the thought. “Yeah. Sounds real peachy ,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm and something so awful and hurtful Hermione couldn’t quite give it a name.
She flinched, but none of what she felt showed on her face—a trick she had to learn on her new job. But, of course, that wouldn’t fool Lily: the older woman kept throwing glances at her, her gaze darting away from the boys to Hermione every few seconds as if she was dissecting the situation in her mind. At some point, Lily started rubbing soothing circles on her back, and just like that, Hermione found all of her annoyance evaporating in a matter of seconds.
Lily turned them both around, and they headed out of a still opened door. At last, Lily threw a glance at the boys over her shoulder, and the smile she gave Harry and Ron could only be described as smug when she said, “I will try to not keep Hermione out for too long, but… I make no promises.”
Hermione caught the sight of the shocked expressions on Harry’s and Ron’s faces. She started laughing as soon as the elevator doors closed behind them, and Lily laughed with her.
Their car ride was mostly filled with Hermione singing along to Post Malone’s songs blasting through the speakers while Lily occasionally joined in for the chorus and tapped the rhythm of the songs on the steering wheel during red lights. It was light and carefree and everything Hermione’s latest interactions with Ron and Harry wasn’t, so she cherished every second of it. There was so much laughter, and Lily’s had always been so damn contagious Hermione couldn’t help but laugh, too.
They were about ten minutes away from the Tonks’ residence, nearing a crosswalk, when Hermione found herself saying, “I think a girl asked me out today?”
Lily hit the breaks so unexpectedly, and suddenly, Hermione was very grateful to herself for always putting a seatbelt on. She turned her head to look at the older woman, frowning, and there was something on her face Hermione couldn’t quite decipher. And it wasn’t like Lily at all to forget about driving smoothly.
Lily swallowed hard, laughing it off. “Sorry. Red light,” she said, staring straight ahead.
When Hermione followed her gaze, she noticed that it was, indeed, a red light, so she relaxed in her seat. She was probably reading too much into things.
Lily cleared her throat, gripping the steering wheel tighter. “You were saying?” she smiled. There was something wrong with that smile, but Hermione couldn’t quite tell what.
When Marlene showed up to dinner right on time and did a once-over of everyone, her gaze immediately lingered on Hermione and Lily.
They were huddled in a corner of the dining room with Nymphadora, standing by the window and talking in hushed tones, each with champagne flutes in their hands. Their conversation, which mostly consisted of Lily and Nymphadora trying to get her to talk about McKinnon & Associates’ office, didn’t stop Hermione from noticing Marlene’s eyes on them and a playful smirk on her face. At last, she turned around, successfully catching Marlene staring.
The blonde was, of course, dressed in all black, her lips covered with her signature red lipstick. Hermione heard Lily snicker behind her, and she cast a reprimanding glance over her shoulder before her gaze travelled back to Marlene.
“Ms. McKinnon! We are all delighted to see you,” Hermione greeted, and both Nymphadora and Lily nodded in agreement. “Andromeda should be here any minute—she is just finalizing dinner plans back in the kitchen.”
Marlene hummed, grabbing a champagne flute from the edge of the table and taking a small sip, not taking her eyes off Hermione even for a second. “With the way you know her schedule, I would peg you for a campaign manager, not a communications director.”
“Oh, I seriously doubt Hermione would enjoy pegging ,” Lily whispered behind her back, so quiet that Marlene couldn’t possibly hear. But Hermione could.
She was sure that the brightest shade of red covered her cheeks while Nymphadora promptly choked on her champagne. When Hermione turned to look at Lily, her lips parting in surprise, the older woman had the single most smug smile on her face Hermione had ever seen. They kept staring at each other for what felt like forever, speaking wordlessly and soundlessly, until Lily relented. She smiled shyly, ducked her head and mouthed ‘sorry’ as she bit her lip and sent Hermione a semi-apologetic look.
Nymphadora muttered something entirely incomprehensible and took a big swig of champagne, her eyes gleaming.
“Andromeda would straight-up murder you if she was here,” Hermione whispered reprimandingly, keeping her voice as low as possible. The last thing she wanted was for Marlene to hear even the ounce of what they had been saying. “We need to make a good impression, so please, behave .” She levelled them with a stern gaze, squeezed Lily’s arm and looked at her somewhat pleadingly before turning around and giving Marlene a bright, welcoming smile.
“Have you been to Andromeda's library before? I sneaked in there twenty minutes ago—it’s truly wonderful.”
That seemed to be the right tactic to use. Marlene was happy as ever to explore some of the rare tomes Andromeda had in her collection. She was especially impressed by a bookcase with a glass door that contained leatherbound first editions of classical English and American literature, and Hermione had to practically drag her out of Andromeda’s home library after they heard that the appetizers had already been served.
When they got back to the dining room, Andromeda was already there, seated at the head table, which guaranteed that both Lily and Nymphadora would behave. Hermione let out a sigh of relief and headed to take a seat next to Lily’s, who was seated to Andromeda’s left. However, she was stopped by Andromeda’s firm voice, “Hermione, dear, your seat is right here.” She gestured to the seat to her right, the one that was positioned right across from Lily’s.
Lily’s eyes widened on their own accord before she looked at Hermione. Her features were impossibly soft, full of admiration and something Hermione couldn’t quite name. It felt like Andromeda was making a statement with her simple, off-handedly thrown words, and Hermione’s legs were a little shaky by the time she took her seat. Her eyes immediately found Lily’s, and the older woman offered her an encouraging smile, so bright and warm, as if every single one of Hermione’s achievements at work made her the happiest person in the universe.
Nymphadora took a seat next to Lily, and Marlene was seated next to Hermione. Their positioning felt like a statement to Marlene; as if Andromeda was saying that Hermione was her right hand, and Lily was her left hand. It wasn’t that far away from the truth; actually, that was exactly the dynamic they settled into ever since Hermione started working as a communications director for the Tonks campaign.
The dinner was going as smoothly as was possible in a room where every person could have a hidden agenda. Nymphadora kept her eyes trained on Marlene in the most subtle of ways, and when their eyes inevitably met across the table, the younger woman would always duck her head and smile shyly. To anyone else, including Marlene, it seemed like Nymphadora was nursing a one-night crush on the woman in front of her. If Hermione had to guess, that was exactly Nymphadora’s intention; the perfect alibi to study the blonde’s mannerisms without giving away her agenda.
During every new course of their four-course dinner, Andromeda, Lily and Marlene would reminisce about their teenage years and their time in university. Hermione listened to their stories with unbidden curiosity, grasping at every word and cataloguing it in her mind into the neat folders that belonged to Lily and Andromeda. However, she couldn’t help but notice the Bellatrix- and Narcissa-sized gaps whenever Andromeda spoke, and there was something so bittersweet about it that made Hermione’s ache. Was it intentional on Andromeda’s part, to not let Marlene get even a hint of understanding of what they were trying to find out from this dinner? Or was it something Andromeda had taught herself to do over the years—erase her sisters from some of her memories to keep them intact?
And then, there was Lily. Of course, Lily did her part perfectly as Marlene’s old friend, with all the reminiscing, and she made sure to keep Nymphadora in check and see that she didn’t cross an invisible boundary with Marlene. She was there to continue the conversation when Andromeda needed to take a break from it and answer some work emails she couldn’t quite avoid—after all, it was only a little past six in the evening, and some people were still working back at the headquarters.
However, Lily kept sneaking glances at Hermione all throughout dinner, and Hermione couldn’t quite understand the purpose of it. Was Lily trying to make sure Hermione was okay, comfortable with Andromeda’s earlier statement and the position she put her in? For all they knew, Marlene could walk out of there, call a journalist, and speculate. She could say that Hermione was being considered to fill in the position of a campaign manager that, as of right now, was a gaping hole in the structure of the Tonks campaign. Hermione doubted they would fill it anytime soon. She knew Andromeda needed someone spectacular, someone exceptional, and you couldn’t just meet a one-in-a-million person who could get a president elected in the middle of the street.
Or was Lily still thinking about the conversation they had in her car? Hermione felt a little silly after she told Lily about Evelyn, the business card, Hermione’s stuttered confession about having a boyfriend. Lily seemed somewhat put off by it, uneasily shifting in the driver’s seat on every red light, and the conversation quietly died down after Hermione finished telling Lily about Evelyn. They spent the rest of the car ride in silence and got back to talking only when Nymphadora joined them in the dining room and offered to walk Hermione through the house and give her a quick tour.
Hermione shook her head, pulling herself out of her thoughts. Her eyes briefly met Lily’s, then Andromeda’s, and both gave her a quick, almost even unnoticeable nod. It was dessert time, and besides the wonderful tiramisu—Marlene’s favorite—they had something else planned for her as the fourth course of this dinner.
However, before Hermione could even mutter the first few syllables of her question, Marlene’s voice rang in her ears as she said, tentatively, “Actually, there is something I’ve been meaning to talk to all of you about.”
All four of them arched their eyebrows in an identical manner, and if the situation hadn’t just gotten serious out of nowhere, Hermione would probably let out a little laugh at how easy it was to learn other people’s mannerisms after two weeks of working alongside them.
“Oh?” Hermione found herself asking, turning to face Marlene.
“I wanted to talk to you about that when we first met, but a crowded coffee shop or an even more crowded street didn’t seem like the right places. My office didn’t feel right, either, because what I’m about to say can seriously compromise my credibility when it comes to my job,” Marlene admitted, focusing on Hermione. Bits and pieces of nervousness slipped past the older woman’s mask and filled the space between them.
“I’m all ears now, if you want to talk about it,” Hermione found herself saying. Her voice was calm and collected, the perfect picture of professionalism, but her hands were shaking a little under the table. She clasped them together to hide it, and she could almost feel Lily’s eyes on her, comforting and soothing.
“I was invited last minute, a few hours before the event, so I ended up going to Senator Yaxley’s dinner party a week ago. I didn’t know what I was doing there, but President Riddle made it clear that the topics that would be discussed in the inner circle after dinner might need advice from an experienced political fixer,” she licked her lips nervously, quickly glancing at Andromeda. “They were discussing a new legislation that they want to go through while President Riddle is still in the Office.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Nymphadora swore under her breath, loud enough for all of them to hear. “I’m honestly afraid to hear what it’s about.”
By the silence that followed, Hermione understood that everyone in this room shared the sentiment.
“President Riddle wants to increase the income tax to 38% for everyone with a yearly income of fifty thousand dollars and less,” Marlene said, and it felt like a bomb was dropped on all three of them at the same time.
Nymphadora dropped her fork to the floor not so eloquently, and a loud clank reverberated in everyone’s ears when it touched the wood. Lily promptly choked on her glass of wine, and Hermione was very happy she chose to drink white today, not red. And Andromeda… Andromeda was the picture of quiet, barely contained rage. She looked perfectly calm on the outside, but there was a fire in her eyes, making them look much darker than before—almost like onyx orbs of Bellatrix Black.
The silence fell to the table, and it seemed that all everyone could do for minutes was look around, shocked and disbelieving. Hermione sat there, unable to fathom why anyone in their right mind would support President Riddle, a man hungry for money and power who made fortunes from low-income families, people of color, immigrants. The only thing he did was keep getting richer and richer while the country suffered; healthcare was becoming more and more expensive in the past eight years, while the services insurance covered significantly decreased, leaving hundreds of thousands of people in debt or penniless.
“Well… shit ,” Nymphadora muttered, letting out a loud sigh. She probably voiced the thoughts of everyone else.
“When will the process of proposing the legislation be set in motion?” Hermione found herself asking. She was surprised her voice wasn’t shaky at all, but rather perfectly composed.
Marlene shrugged. “There were no concrete dates, but they are aiming for April.” She looked at them, one by one, and then swiftly stood up. “I will go freshen up a little and give you some time to discuss it, in case you need it.”
As soon as Marlene left, Lily breathed out a shaky, “Fucking hell…”
“Exactly my sentiment,” Nymphadora replied, chuckling. It was bittersweet. She seemed crestfallen, just like everyone else. “The question is—what do we fucking do?”
“We can’t just go around calling him out on it until he announces it,” Hermione said right away, in a tone that made her words sound non-negotiable. “It probably won’t stop him, but it will surely give him a chance to discredit Andromeda in the media. It’s our word against the President’s, and although not everyone supports him, big companies and media publications will. He can tell everyone we are lying to destroy Bellatrix’s campaign.”
“So, really, if we try to stop it, we lose,” Nymphadora said, her voice stone-cold. “And if we don’t, we lose, and everyone else loses, too. How many months are between April and January? How many people will be stripped of almost 40% of their already incredibly low income?”
“I know it’s horrible, but we have to think of a bigger picture, Nymph,” Lily sighed, fidgeting with the hem of a tablecloth. She would always fidget when she was particularly nervous—Hermione noticed that on quite a few occasions. She found it endearing, so, right now, she focused on watching the shaky movements of her fingers to calm herself down. “If we come forward, Riddle will just twist everything we say. If we try to call him out on his tax policy, he will trash our campaign in the worst ways imaginable. We could lose numbers in the polls—and I’m not talking small numbers, I’m talking big numbers. Right, Hermione?”
Hermione’s eyes darted away from Lily’s hands to the older woman’s face. She nodded. “It would be dangerous to do so at such an important time for our campaign. We need Bathilda Bagshot’s endorsement. We have Florida, Illinois, Missouri, North Dakota and Ohio primaries on March 25th, and we must win. And before that, there is a Democratic debate in Miami. And the list goes on and on.”
Her eyes locked with Andromeda’s, and the older woman sighed, resigned. “We all know that trying to call Riddle out won’t stop him from going through with the legislation on income tax, but, if we do that, he might stop us from getting all the support we need to win the election. And if we lose the election,” Andromeda’s breath hitched at the words, and Hermione watched as the older woman’s eyes became a bit glassy, unspilled tears shining in the dim lighting of the dining room. “If we lose, this country will descend into madness. And there will be no coming out of it.”
“I know all of that, okay?” Nymphadora said, stubborn as ever. “But what do we fucking do, then? Do we simply do nothing ?” she spat the words out, her voice breaking by the end. “Do we watch people get robbed of their money? Do we watch people starve? Do we watch as hospitals deny people medical attention because they don’t have insurance? Do we watch people get hate crimed every single day in the middle of the street in the broad fucking daylight? Killed ?”
A tear rolled down Hermione’s cheek as Nymphadora finished her speech, and it felt like every word punctured her heart and left a gaping hole in there, which could only be filled if Andromeda Tonks was announced to be the next President of the United States in November.
“We do,” Andromeda said firmly, and she looked positively disgusted at the fact that she had to say it. How powerless did the older woman feel, exactly? Hermione couldn’t imagine. “It’s our painful reality because there is nothing we can do about it now. So we watch, and we go out there every day and promise people that we will make it better. That we will fix things. We do the best we can in our circumstances and hope that it will be enough to get us into the Oval.”
Looking back at it, Hermione would always say that something broke in her that day, and yet, something else was built upon the broken pieces. Andromeda’s words hurt because of how truthful they were, how achingly honest, filled with raw emotion and the reality of their situation. Andromeda was a Senator, a person with enough political capital to potentially influence something important; she was running for President, for God’s sake. And yet, people were suffering, had been suffering for decades, and there was nothing they could do about it until the goal of their presidential campaign was achieved.
During the last election, Tom Riddle had no worthy opposition. The nominated Democratic candidate didn’t have what it would take to win, so he tanked most of the debates to the point where Democrats simply chose not to vote in November, staying at home and watching their country crumble under the terror of the tyrant in the Oval Office. But Republicans did vote. Riddle ran unopposed in most of the states in the primaries, and when the time came for the general elections, Republicans and Riddle’s supporters stood by him, getting him elected for another term.
Hermione remembered the day the results were announced as if it was yesterday. She was in her second year of undergrad, and Ron and Harry couldn’t understand why she didn’t feel like hanging out with them. Instead of staying in their apartment, she went to a bar next to campus and got absolutely hammered as the small TV in the corner of her room announced, over and over again, that President Tom Riddle was re-elected for the second term. It was a broken record. Later that day, Hermione lost herself in another person’s arms as they both fell apart and sought this unexplainable sort of comfort from one another.
But this year was different. This year, the Democratic party had a worthy candidate for the first time in eight years, a person who had all the right words and was actually planning on carrying her promises out, on fixing things and systems that had been broken for years.
Hermione knew that this was their time. The time to take the future into their own hands. And as she looked around, her eyes darting from Lily to Nymphadora and then to Andromeda, she realized that they knew it, too. There was a determination in all of their eyes, burning bright and loud, and Hermione knew they were going to win the primaries, and then the general election, whatever it took. Hermione knew she would do anything she could to make things right, no matter how many sleepless nights and late evenings at work and missed dinners it would take.
They were going to win Florida, Illinois, Missouri, North Dakota and Ohio primaries. They were going to get Bathilda Bagshot’s endorsement and donations. They were going to make people love Andromeda, the new American Sweetheart of the presidential election, to the point where it wouldn’t make sense to not vote for her.
They were going to win .
Eventually, what Marlene told them became a tipping point, and everyone got on board with enlisting her help. She was all too happy to help, and shortly after the official part of the dinner was over, they gathered in Andromeda’s study and started strategizing and planning. Nymphadora toyed with the idea of an article in The Washington Prophet , but Lily and Hermione understood that they couldn’t let Rita Skeeter know about this; because, in the end, if Rita Skeeter knew, Narcissa would surely find out.
Andromeda seemed to trust Marlene enough to put her on live TV. With just a few calls, she easily managed to book a time slot at seven in the evening the next day. All of them ended up staying at the townhouse until two in the morning, going through talking points and what Marlene explicitly needed to mention. They didn’t rehearse the entire interview Marlene would have during her sit-down with a CNN reporter, because Andromeda insisted that it was supposed to look unrehearsed, effortless.
After their discussions were over, Marlene’s driver took her back to her office (she claimed she still had some work to do, and no one was particularly surprised by that even though it was nearing two-thirty in the morning). Nymphadora decided to stay over at Andy’s place because she was “too drunk on politics” to drive back to her apartment.
After Andromeda escorted Hermione and Lily out, they headed to the older woman’s car.
Exhaustion seemed to be catching up with her, and Hermione swayed a little as she felt her knees giving out. In a matter of seconds, Lily’s hands were on her waist, supporting her; the older woman’s grip was firm but still incredibly gentle. Hermione leaned into her side, breathing in. Lily smelled of chocolate and whiske—all of them had a glass after Marlene left. It was something of a pre-celebration.
“I don’t wanna go home,” Hermione said, quietly, and she knew she was whining. She slowed down her steps on purpose, but Lily didn’t seem to mind.
“Hmmm? Why?”
Hermione shrugged, then sighed. “I guess I’m afraid Ronald is still not asleep. Or Harry. And I—I don’t feel like talking to them. They exhaust me lately—more than all the hours at work, so…”
Lily chuckled, but it sounded far-away and sad to Hermione’s ears. “I really should give these two idiots a pep talk,” she muttered, leading the way, making sure Hermione wouldn’t trip on the pieces of the cobbled pathway. “I’m sorry they are treating you this way. I’m sorry they are not supporting you as they should.”
“ You are supporting me, and it feels… it feels more than enough, honestly,” Hermione let out a little laugh, and then got quiet. At some point, she whispered, “God, I wish I could just crash at your place or something. But I wouldn’t want to bother you and James, so—”
“James and I don’t really live together,” Lily admitted reluctantly, looking away.
“Oh? Since then?” Hermione asked casually, as her mind kept drifting away. It took her about fifteen more seconds to fully process what she had just heard. “Wait— what ?” She frowned.
Lily let out an awkward laugh. “For over a year, and we’ve been separated for longer. I never got around to telling you, somehow.”
“You are silly,” Hermione huffed, shaking her head. “Really silly. Why didn’t you tell me? You know I wouldn’t judge.”
Lily took a deep breath. “I know you wouldn’t. It’s stupid, really—I guess I realized that as soon as I told you, I wouldn’t be this… perfect person anymore, the one all the blogs make me out to be.” She sounded exhausted as she said that, but there was still a lilt to her voice, as if Lily was trying exceptionally hard to make it sound less serious. “Look at the perfect Lily Evans Potter, who has it all…” she mocked one of the headlines.
Hermione kindly rolled her eyes. “You know that no one is perfect. Perfection is a foolish concept invented by girlish magazines that promote impossible, sick standards—God, I can remember reading them when I was younger.” She shook her head, as if reprimanding herself for her past actions. “The point is—every human being has a flaw or a secret. Doesn’t mean it makes you less of a person.”
“You do realize you sound like Narcissa Black right now, right?” Lily asked, barely able to stop herself from laughing. By that time, they had finally reached the car.
“ Rude ,” Hermione said as she climbed into the passenger seat.
Hermione ended up going back home that night, but somewhere at the periphery of her mind, the thought was born that maybe, just maybe, she could spend the night at Lily’s if she didn’t want to deal with Ronald or Harry. Lily kept throwing glances at her as they were nearing the older woman’s townhouse, and although she never voiced her obvious thoughts, it was clear to Hermione that the offer was there.
She curled up in the seat and put her head against the window, briefly closing her eyes. Her mind was a mess of plans and strategies and talking points with some whiskey and wine sprinkled in-between, and there was a lot of Narcissa and Bellatrix Black and Tom Riddle and everyone else she would be going up against, no matter what she did next. Of course, Lily was on her mind too, and it seemed to become something ever-present these days.
As she listened to Lily quietly singing along to All Too Well by Taylor Swift, Hermione thought that maybe, one day, she would take Lily up on the unspoken offer.
As soon as Hermione turned the WiFI on her phone exactly thirty seconds after opening her eyes, it started blowing up.
Before going to sleep yesterday, she set up an alert for Malene’s name, and her notifications center started drowning as soon as CNN announced on their Twitter account that one of their star reporters would be having a sit down with Marlene McKinnon herself later that day. From there, this piece of news was picked up by multiple media outlets, social media accounts, and political blogs as people kept speculating about what Marlene had to tell.
Although Marlene had a huge media presence, it was usually directly related to the cases she was working on—there were too many of those that ended up on TV, so she took on the role of the public face for her firm. Yet, as many blogs had noticed after thorough research, the cases Marlene was working on right now were not exceptional enough for an impromptu interview on live TV.
Hermione had been up and running since six-thirty and on the phone with Lily since exactly six-forty-five while she was getting ready to leave for work and shoving bits and pieces of toast into her mouth at the older woman’s insistence. It was a great tactic for avoiding talking with her boyfriend and her best friend, but it didn’t really rid her of a baffled look on Harry’s face every time he overheard their lively discussions.
Lily had come to pick Hermione up this morning with the sole purpose of having their own pre-briefing on their way to the headquarters, and it went as well as Hermione had expected it to go. Lily wrote down a few pointers for Marlene about their policies on the foster care system, as well as what parts of the system under Riddle’s rule it would be good to bring as an example of how things shouldn’t be.
By the time their actual morning briefing with Andy and Nymphadora was over, Hermione felt almost like flying. Everything was going exactly according to plan. Lily commented multiple times on how particularly bright her smile seemed today, and all Hermione could do was smile brighter.
Her workday passed by in a usual haze of meetings, phone calls, planning, and overseeing the work of multiple departments in tandem with Lily. Both of them managed to put thoughts about the upcoming evening aside as they focused on preparation for Bathilda Bagshot’s gala and studying poll numbers for the primaries that were looming around the corner. Unfortunately, they only had about twenty-five minutes that day to walk Andromeda through some of her talking points for the debate in Miami that was scheduled two days after Bathilda Bagshot’s gala.
Hermione felt like she was going to miss a lot of dinners with Ronald and Harry. But the alternative was having dinner with Lily in the older woman’s office; Thai or Chinese or Italian takeout boxes in their hands after they would kick off their heels and curl up on the couch, facing each other and talking calmly, gently, tentatively.
By the time the hand of the clock finally reached five-thirty and Hermione checked off at least twenty-nine more tasks from her to-do list, a different feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as the giddiness floated away. Hermione couldn’t explain this feeling fully or even simply give it a name; it felt like something big was about to happen, even bigger than Marlene’s upcoming sit-down with a CNN reporter. But what could possibly be bigger than that?
She brushed the feeling off as she tidied up her desk. A minute passed, maybe two, before a gentle knock on the open door of her office made her look up.
Lily was standing there, leaning on the doorframe, her bag in her hands and her beige trench coat unbuttoned—they had slightly warmer weather that day. She was wearing a simple black turtleneck, a brown leather skirt, and impossibly high heeled boots that made Hermione feel a little bit tiny. The older woman let her hair out of the messy bun it was in for the majority of the day, so now it was falling down her shoulders and back, framing her face perfectly and making her look even softer than she did before.
“Ready to head out, Mione?” Lily asked, her voice unusually cheerful.
Hermione swallowed, pushing down this ugly unexplainable feeling, and smiled. “Yeah, just a sec. Is Nymphadora going with us?”
Lily shook her head. “She left thirty minutes ago or so—had an errand to run, so she will meet us at the CNN headquarters. I’m afraid it’s just you and me.”
Hermione rolled her eyes kindly as she walked past her desk, grabbing her bag and coat. “Just the way I like it, then,” she whispered mockingly as soon as she stood close enough to Lily.
Their car ride was peaceful and calm, somewhat of a reprieve for Hermione that she felt like she deserved after a stressful workday and a confrontation with Ronald and Harry last night. They put Taylor Swift’s Lover on a low volume, and it filled the car with an overwhelming sense of comfort and familiarity as Hermione went through the flashcards with talking points for Marlene that she made during her lunch break. As she flicked through them, reading some parts out loud for Lily, the uneasy feeling came back, making her shiver.
She turned her head to look at Lily, who was tapping on a steering wheel with her index finger while humming the tune of Cornelia Street . She looked carefree, so sure of what they were about to do, and Hermione couldn’t bring herself to express these not-quite-doubts she started having. It was absurd—it was her own idea, and both Lily and Andromeda were confident enough to green-light it.
They met Nymphadora at the entrance, and, as soon as they were inside of the CNN headquarters, they were escorted to a dressing room on one of the top floors. There, in all her glory, stood Marlene, gazing out of the window and muttering something to herself as she fidgeted with a piece of paper in her hands. She looked thoughtful, almost even wistful, which was such a contrast to her usual demeanor whenever she wore her signature outfit: black clothing, red lipstick, perfectly styled blonde hair.
Hermione would have never thought there would be a day when she witnessed Marlene McKinnon, the picture of composure and grace, acting fidgety .
It felt jarring, but she didn’t have any time to focus on it: as soon as Marlene noticed that they came in, this strange kind of nervousness quickly seeped out of her, leaving only the ever-present, familiar confidence in its wake. They exchanged greetings, and Hermione and Lily started walking Marlene through the semi-structure of the interview they had planned, based on the questions they received from CNN this morning. Nymphadora walked from one corner of the dressing room to another, watching them like a hawk while picking up and putting back various makeup items.
Marlene’s task was simple. She was supposed to say that she supported Andromeda’s policies regarding changes to the foster care system and her criticism of the way the system functioned under Riddle’s rule, how flawed it had been for decades. However, there was something many would consider quite tricky: she was supposed to convey that message of support without actually saying that personally, she supports it. Her interview was supposed to make people realize that they should support Andromeda Tonks’ policies on that particular issue, and only then would Marlene chime in with her personal approval, the final card in this game.
These forty-five minutes of prep had gone perfectly before Marlene was whisked away for some last-minute make-up changes and a microphone check, but the uneasy feeling still sat at the bottom of Hermione’s stomach and slowly spread through her chest like weed would target a gorgeous rose bush. She couldn’t swallow it down anymore, and it became much more difficult to keep hiding it from ever-perceptive Lily.
They were backstage, watching Marlene sit down on one of the two chairs in front of dozens of cameras as she made small talk with a CNN reporter eight minutes before they were supposed to go live. Nymphadora was in one of the dressing rooms, making a quick call to Andromeda to report on their preparation. Everything seemed more than alright, but, for some reason, Hermione couldn’t stop fidgeting with her rings and unconsciously leaning into Lily’s side, never taking her eyes off Marlene as this ugly feeling kept spreading through her entire body. She couldn’t stop it, and she couldn’t figure out a reason for it, either.
“We can’t cancel it now, right?” Hermione asked casually, quietly as she turned her head to look at Lily. She tried to downplay what she was feeling, to make her words sound jokingly instead of showing the worry she was overflowing with.
Lily frowned, reaching out to rub soothing circles on her back. “Mione, are you okay?”
Hermione nodded a little too rapidly. “Yeah, it’s just—it’s silly. I’m just ridiculously nervous about this entire thing, you know?” she admitted shyly, letting out an awkward laugh. She missed the confidence she had yesterday evening at Andromeda’s townhouse, or during the planning session they all had with Marlene. She didn’t know where it all went, and, as she glanced at Marlene, she wondered if her mind was trying to alert her about something.
But this was absurd, wasn’t it? Because everything was going exactly according to plan, and she had nothing to be worried about.
It was three minutes before seven in the evening when Hermione watched Marlene take out her phone and type something—probably a text message. Then, Marlene looked up, and their eyes met, but the older woman hastily looked away.
For some reason, Hermione felt sick. “Something is wrong,” she whispered, but Lily didn’t hear. “Something is wrong ,” she repeated louder, hoping Lily would hear.
Lily did, and so did Nymphadora, who suddenly stopped next to them out of nowhere. “What do you mean? What’s wrong?”
Hermione shrugged, her eyes fixed on Marlene, who kept looking everywhere and at everyone but her. “I’m not sure. But—we should call it off. Immediately. I feel like—I feel like something bad is about to happen,” Hermione rambled, hoping she didn’t sound as frantic to Lily’s ears as she did to her own.
“Mione…” Lily let out a long sigh. “Everything has been going well so far. What do you think is wrong?”
“Plus, you know we can’t call it off. We lost the opportunity to call it off as soon as CNN announced they would be having a sit-down with Marlene,” Nymphadora chimed in, and Hermione absolutely hated that she was right.
At some point, she felt like she was going to pass out. Lily seemed to notice it, too.
“Hey, hey, Mione. Look at me and breathe.” She cupped Hermione’s cheeks, probably to get her to focus and make her stop frantically looking around. It had been one minute, maybe more, until Hermione felt her breathing even out, and Lily let go of her. “Okay, now, explain.”
“Don’t you think Malene is acting weird? Jumpy, nervous—so unlike her, usually calm and collected? And she keeps glancing at her phone—”
Nymphadora clicked her tongue. “Maybe there is something happening back in her office? She has a demanding job, some things are bound to make her nervous if she is not there to handle them,” she offered, shrugging.
Hermione knew it was a logical explanation, and so far, Malene had not given them any reason to doubt her. But still, there was something screaming at the back of her mind, and she didn’t know how to quieten it.
“People, it’s one minute before we go live!” someone’s voice ran in Hermione’s ears.
Hermione watched as the hand of the clock on her wristwatch crept closer and closer to seven in the evening, holding her breath in the process.
“Good evening everyone! Today, we have the Marlene McKinnon with me to talk about the foster care system, politics, and upcoming presidential election,” the reporter announced, his voice both serious and cheerful. Hermione knew why—it was an honor for every reporter to have a sit-down with Marlene that lasted longer than fifteen minutes.
This one was supposed to last for forty-five minutes, and Hermione wasn’t sure how she survived through the first thirty-seven of them: she was holding her breath so often that it was a miracle she hadn’t stopped breathing entirely. She was gripping Lily’s hand probably a little too tightly and kept her eyes fixed on Marlene, as if afraid something would happen the second she looked away.
Everything was going well, so far; exactly the way they had planned. At first, the CNN reporter had a couple of questions about the current state of the foster care systems, its inner workings and some statistical matters in relation to that. Then, after precisely twenty minutes, they moved on to discuss the presidential race and the candidates most likely to win in the primaries—both Andromeda’s and Bellatrix’s names were mentioned multiple times, but Marlene was reluctant to openly voice her support for either of them. Her responses were just the right amount of vague to seem mysterious instead of secretive, and Hermione supposed that was something the general public loved about her so much.
Finally, came the moment when the two topics were merged together, and the reporter asked, quite straight-forwardly, “What do you think about the Tonks campaign’s policies on the foster care system, especially when it comes to their opinion on the Remus Lupin incident?”
Marlene took a little bit too long to think, and that was the moment Hermione knew something was surely wrong. She wasn’t delusional, after all.
Marlene’s eyes briefly met hers as the older woman said, “I wouldn’t be so quick to trust the Tonks campaign’s view on the matter if I were you.”
Hermione felt like all the air got knocked out of her lungs as Lily openly gaped next to her. She could hear the faintest buzzing of her cell phone, then Lily’s, then Nymphadora’s, but all she could do was watch. It was impossible to get Marlene off-stage on live television. It was impossible to stop her now.
Fleeting hints of surprise and confusion flashed across the reporter’s face as he shifted awkwardly in his seat. “Would you care to elaborate?”
“Look at their logic in regards to the entire Lupin and Greyback situation. They blame the state of the foster care system for the actions of their ex-campaign manager. Is it fair? I seriously doubt that,” Marlene admitted, gesturing to accommodate her words. “Their message is clear: ‘If you are a product of the foster care system, then that system broke you.’ Well, I’m here to say that I am a product of the foster care system, and I’m not broken. I’m whole. Smart, successful, accomplished. Even in the past, I wasn’t going around and threatening people with a gun while seemingly supporting the gun control movement.”
“I see,” the reporter hummed. “So, if I understand you correctly, you want to say that nobody ever gave you a pass for being partially raised in the foster care system? And that you don’t understand why this ‘pass’ should be given to people like Remus Lupin, even though his past actions were the actions of an entirely different person, according to his closest friends?”
“Precisely,” Marlene agreed. “You can’t blame a person’s actions on the system. After all, we are all individuals with our own will, don’t you think so? We make our own choices.”
The conversation went on for about five more minutes, but Hermione stopped listening after that. It felt like she was floating underwater, unable to get out and take a breath of fresh air. Marlene’s message was clear: while she was not really siding with any particular candidate in regards to that topic, she was surely not supporting the Tonks campaign, if what she said earlier was anything to go by.
“What the fuck has just happened?” Lily seethed as quietly as possible, pulling her phone out of her handbag. Hermione glanced at the locked screen and saw countless missed calls and text messages from Andromeda, and she supposed that both hers and Nymphadora’s phones had about the same amount of these.
While all of them were staring at each other, the interview got wrapped up and they went off the air. Hermione heard the clacking sound of someone’s heels, and when her head immediately snapped up, she met Marlene’s eyes for a few long seconds as the older woman walked past them in complete silence, acting like nothing had happened. Hermione watched as she pulled her phone out and called someone right away—she was standing too far from them to hear the conversation, but Marlene looked… exasperated.
The older woman kept throwing quick glances at Hermione over her shoulder, and that was the moment it finally clicked.
“Narcissa fucking Black,” Hermione seethed.
Lily frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Narcissa orchestrated this entire thing. It had to be her.”
Lily sighed. “I don’t know, Mione. This could just be Marlene acting up on her own. You can never figure this woman out.”
Nymphadora let out a bittersweet chuckle, running her hand through her hair. “She sure is incredibly good at lying right to people’s faces and then fucking them over.”
Hermione shook her head eagerly. “Don’t you understand? It’s Narcissa. It has to be Narcissa. I just know it.”
“Mione—” Nymphadora tried, but immediately went quiet as soon as Lily raised her hand.
The older woman gently took Hermione’s hand, offering her a small smile. “Nymph and I are gonna make some calls, okay? We will be back soon. Just… just try to calm down, okay?” she asked. “And then I will be back. It’s going to be alright, Mione. It’s not the end of the world.”
As Lily and Nymphadora went away, Hermione wanted to shout at their backs that it was the end of the world. This sit-down was supposed to be her big, exceptional thing to do, and she failed completely and miserably. All because of Marlene McKinnon—that was her first thought. But then, she remembered bits and pieces of Marlene’s phone call she overheard yesterday, and suddenly everything fell into place.
As Marlene ended her call and once again turned to look at Hermione, she knew that what had just transpired was so much more than simply Marlene’s doing.
It was Narcissa Black’s revenge.
Before she could stop herself, she marched to Marlene, trying to keep her voice somewhat cool as she hissed, as quietly as possible, “Reporting to the orchestrator of this spectacle, I assume?”
Marlene sighed. “It’s nothing personal, Ms. Granger.”
“Like hell it isn’t,” Hermione spat out. Then, she took in a deep breath, willing herself to get it together. She couldn’t lose it right now; she didn’t have this luxury.
As soon as Hermione calmed down, she looked at Marlene and asked, “What did she promise you for doing this? What is the price of buying your opinion, your support, hm?”
“I doubt you can understand it, but I had owed her a favor for quite a long time. And when Narcissa Black comes to collect… well,” she chuckled, but it was bittersweet, almost even guilty, “you can’t really say no.”
'A favor' echoed in Hermione’s head as her mind seemed to go through hundreds of possibilities for what could have made someone as influential as Marlene in Narcissa Black’s debt. It was so long ago, so far away that she didn’t think of making this connection before, but now, as she stood there, freshly fucked over by Narcissa fucking Black, Hermione suddenly understood.
“This time Rita Skeeter dug up some dirt that could have brought McKinnon & Associates down—she never published it. Because Narcissa blackmailed her into keeping these things to herself?” Hermione said, her words turning into question by the end.
Suddenly, Marlene smiled. It was a sincere, albeit small smile, and it only made Hermione’s blood boil even harder.
“You are a very intelligent, bright young woman, Ms. Granger. But I doubt anybody, no matter how intelligent and bright they are, can go up against Narcissa Black and win.”
Hermione’s nostrils flared up as she gritted her teeth. She didn’t say anything, because everything she wanted to say right now could sound terrible when taken out of context, could reflect on her so poorly that it would be able to end her career.
“I’m tired of this world too, you know? The one we’ve been living in for the past decade,” Marlene whispered out of nowhere. She sounded a little bit broken, and all the rage seemed to leave Hermione’s body as she blinked, staring at the older woman.
“But oh well,” Marlene smiled, then—this tight-lipped smile Hermione always opted out for when she was trying not to cry. “Mark my words, Ms. Granger. If you go up against Narcissa, she will win. And she will destroy you in the process.”
“So what?” Hermione scoffed. “Are you advising me to just… leave? Give up on this campaign, this election?”
Marlene nodded somewhat even solemnly.
“She can try to destroy me, Marlene ,” Hermione started, puncturing her words with every fiber of determination that flared up inside of her. “But I will make sure of one thing—if I go down, Narcissa Black will go down with me.”